The Liberty Girl

  CHAPTER XX

  THE LIBERTY TEA

  As Nathalie was ably seconded by the rest of the Liberty Cheerers,Van--he claimed he was a chump at story-telling--began the story ofLovewell, the Ranger, by saying that it was like one of the old Norse_Sagas_, for it had been told and retold by the mountaineer's firesidefor many generations.

  "When the white settlers were being harassed in the early times bymarauding bands from the neighboring tribe of Sokoki Indians," said theyoung soldier, "John Lovewell, a hardy ranger, set out from the Indianvillage of Pigswacket, now Fryeburg, near North Conway, and made hisway, with forty-five of his followers, to Ossipee. Here they built afort, and his scouts having found Indian tracks, they pushed farther onto a lake by whose shores they encamped for the night. The followingmorning, while trailing an Indian in the woods, Paugas, an Indianchieftain, whose name was a terror to every white settler on thefrontier, stole up behind the rangers, to their encampment, whichunfortunately they had left unguarded, and counted their packs. Findingthat they were only thirty-four in number, the Indians placed themselvesin ambush in the woods near, and when the rangers returned it was to besurrounded by the redmen, while the air was filled with their deadlyfire and hideous warwhoops.

  "Here, by this little lake, under the very shadow of Mount Kearsarge,fifty miles from any settlement, was fought one of the bloodiest battlesin Indian warfare, as the loyal rangers fought for their lives. Theyfinally compelled the Indians to flee, but not before Lovewell and manyof his men had been killed. The survivors made their way back to thefort at Ossipee, only to find it empty, for the guard, on hearing thatLovewell and his band had been killed, had deserted it.

  "After many incredible hardships," continued Van, "twenty emaciated menfinally reached the white settlement, many of them only to fall deadfrom wounds, or from hunger and exhaustion. But, practically, Lovewell'sband had won a great victory, for Paugas had been killed, and theremainder of the tribe forsook their strongholds among the foothills,and the white settlers were molested no more."

  Van also related how a ranger, the only remaining one of three brotherswho had set forth with Lovewell, when one of his brothers fell dead athis feet from the wounds inflicted by the savages, had started for theirvillage, only to find his other brother's body riddled with bullets.

  "Determined to be revenged, he pursued the Indians to the mountainfastnesses, where the defeated tribe, under the chief Chocorua, stilllingered. He finally sighted the chieftain, who had ascended a highmountain to see if the white men had departed. As he started to descendhe was confronted by the ranger, who, with his gun in hand, slowlyforced the Indian back, step by step, until he stood on the verge of theprecipice where he had been standing. As the chieftain saw that his endhad come,--as he had no alternative between the precipitous cliff andthe white man's weapon,--with a cry of bitter defiance he leaped fromthe pinnacle, to be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Hence the name,Chocorua Mountain."

  A mountain romance was now told by Janet, in the story of Nancy Stairs,a native of Jefferson, who had fallen in love, and become engaged to afarm-hand. On the eve of the wedding the girl's lover disappeared,carrying with him a small sum of money, her _dot_. How Nancy set forth,to overtake him at a camp many miles away, walking at night through thedark woods, clambering over rocks and fording the Saco, finally to reachthe place where he had encamped, to find it deserted, aroused thesympathies of all. "Finally," continued Janet, "the girl sank exhaustedon the banks of a brook, to be found some time later in the calm reposeof a deathless sleep, almost buried under the snow, under a canopy offriendly evergreen that stretched above her.

  "But Nancy had her revenge," smiled the storyteller, "for when thefarm-hand heard of her fate he lost his reason, and tradition tells usthat, on the anniversary of her death, the mountain-passes through whichshe pushed, in her weary pursuit of her lover, resound to his cries ofgrief."

  Nita's contribution to the Liberty Cheer was a little tale of an Indianmaiden, who was so beautiful that no hunter was found worthy of her.Suddenly she disappeared, and was never seen again, until one day anIndian chief, on returning from the chase, told how he had seen herdisporting in the limpid waters of the river Ellis, with a youth aspeerless as she. When the bathers saw the chieftain they had immediatelyvanished from sight, thus showing the girl's parents that her companionmust have been a mountain-spirit. From now on they would go into thewilds and call upon him for a moose, a deer, or whatever animal theychose, and lo! it would immediately appear, running towards them.

  Danny's story was about some white settlers captured by the Indians ontheir way to Canada. When they came to the banks of a beautiful stream,one of the captives, a mother with several children, from a babe in armsto a girl of sixteen, gathered her little ones about her in dumbdespair. She had toiled through trackless forests, forded swollenstreams, climbed rocky heights, slept on the cold, bare earth, and then,when she had refused to obey the commands of an Indian chieftain, fromlack of strength, she had been goaded with blows, or the gory scalps oftwo of her children, which still hung from his belt, had been flourishedmenacingly before her eyes.

  As she stood on the banks of the river, feeling that her reason wouldforsake her from anguish, she suddenly heard one of the Indians ask heroldest daughter to sing. The girl stood speechless with amazement, notknowing what to do for a moment, and then there floated out through thevast solitudes of these lonely mountains a curiously fresh young voice,as the girl chanted the sublime words of the psalmist in the plaintiveriver-song.

  There was a slight pause, and then Danny's voice, sweet and clear, tothe accompaniment of the soft strains of Tony's violin, was heard as hechanted:

  "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yes, we wept, when we remembered Zion.

  "We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.

  "For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth."

  Tony's hands lovingly fingered his bow, and the music, like the ripplingflow of the river Ellis, continued its sweet low murmur, as the littlenewsie told how the magic charm of these beautiful words must havetouched some chord in the savage breasts, for, as the girl ceased, thefiercest Indian caught the babe gently from the mother's arms andcarried it across the river. One of his companions also softened, and,picking up another child, bore it safely over the stream.

  Nathalie chose the familiar Willey story, about the family who lived inan inn on the side of Mount Willey, at the entrance to the great Notch."In 1826," said the girl, "one evening in June they heard a queer,rumbling noise, and hurried out to see an avalanche of stones anduprooted trees making its way with great speed down the mountain.Fortunately, before it reached the house it swerved one side, and theWilleys, believing it quite safe, returned to the house, and, as timepassed on, carelessly forgot the warning that had been given them.

  "In August a severe storm occurred, which raged with indescribable furyfor a day and a night, the rain falling in sheets, while the Sacooverflowed its banks, thus creating a state of general upheaval. Twodays later, a tourist traveling through the Notch arrived at the inn, tofind it uninjured, but deserted, with the exception of a half-starveddog who was whining dismally. He made his way to Bartlett, and themountaineers, hurrying to the scene, finally discovered the bodies ofMr. and Mrs. Willey and two hired men, who were buried in a mass ofwreckage not far from the inn. The bodies of the children were neverdiscovered.

  "It is supposed," explained Nathalie, "that they had all rushed out onagain hearing the rumbling noises, and had evidently tried to seek theshelter of a cave near. But they were too late," she ended with apathetic sigh, "for the avalanche was upon them before they reached it.If they had only remained in the house they would have been saved."

  A little later, as Philip and Van became engaged in a conversation aboutthe war, a topic of which they never seemed to weary, Nathalie
and Nita,with arms intertwined in long-cemented _camaraderie_, wandered to thehigh, jutting rock which Nathalie called "Heaven's window." Here in awedsilence they gazed at the faraway, scintillating blue peaks, hugeescarpments, and yawning mountain crevasses towering above the alpinemeadow, that, rich in many shades of verdure, darkened withcloud-shadows, and cut with ribbon-like trails of forest foliage, were a

  "Wondrous woof of various greens."

  In the sun-dyed splendor it was like a cloth of gold, a wondroustapestry woven by Nature in her most majestic mood, a picture that heldthem with the calm of its infinite beauty.

  Suddenly Nita, who never was quiet very long, cried: "Oh, Nathalie, youmust tell us what you meant when you said that you had a big idea. Don'tyou remember, it was when Janet made Philip stop his story?"

  "I don't know as it is a very big idea," replied her companion, "for itsbigness depends, as Dick says, on whether we make a go of it or not. Ispoke of it then, not only because I had just thought of it, but becauseI wanted to second Janet, for Philip was as white as a ghost.

  "You know," she continued slowly, "the afternoon teas at the Sweet PeaTea-House have not been very well attended lately. I presume the mindsof the people have been diverted by some new form of amusement. I'mawfully sorry, too, for I think my dear Sweet-Pea ladies need the money.Now what do you think of having Philip tell the rest of his story someafternoon at the Tea-House? We'll get Jean to tell his story, too, andthe boys can sing patriotic songs; and then, there's Tony, with hisviolin. I think we can get up a real good entertainment, and we can callit a Liberty Tea."

  "Oh, Nathalie, that's a peach of an idea!" Nita's blue eyes glowedenthusiastically.

  "You see," returned her friend, "it would attract the people to theTea-House again, and also bring Philip into notice. I think his storywould interest every one, and it might get him a few more pupils."

  As the little party wended their way down the trail, they were busymaking plans and devising ways to make Nathalie's "big idea" feasible.They had broached the subject to Philip,--Nathalie being careful not tomake it appear as if he would gain by the performance,--and he hadreadily consented to do his part. Janet, too, was won over, and as forthe children, they were in a beatific state at the idea of appearing ona platform, and "speaking a piece," as Sheila called it.

  Miss Whipple, when the idea was suggested to her, Nathalie making itappear that Philip would derive great benefit from it, heartily favoredthe plan. So, for the next two days Nita and Nathalie were as busy asbees, drilling the children, making posters to feature the event at thedifferent hotels, and then motoring to each one, and tacking them up,after getting the desired permission, so that the affair would be welladvertised.

  The boys and Van Darrell, with the help of some friends of Nita's at theSunset Hill House, the morning of the event decorated the Tea-House withgreens, goldenrod, and flags. Sam assisted by erecting a small platformso gaudily festooned with red, blue, and white bunting that Nita said itwas a regular "call to the colors," as she stood off and surveyed hiswork. Chairs, rustic seats, in fact, everything that could be used for aseat was now brought into the room, while the veranda was not onlydecorated with bunting and Japanese lanterns, the posts being twinedwith the national colors in crepe paper, but filled with smalltea-tables and chairs.

  At the hour designated for the performance to begin--to the girls'delight, the room was crowded--Janet began to play softly on the piano,suddenly breaking into "Hail Columbia," then a patriotic march,following these selections with "The Royal March of Italy," the"Lorraine March" and several other well-known favorites either of theAmericans or the Allies, ending with France's adored march, "Sambre etMeuse."

  The boys, in their khaki suits, each one carrying his gun, now marchedbefore the audience. They were headed by Sheila, who, as a littleGoddess of Liberty, acted as the color-bearer. As she stepped to oneside of the stage and stood at attention, the boys saluted the flag andthen repeated the oath of allegiance.

  Sheila now fell in line, and they went through a manual-of-arms, andthen, amid loud applause, broke into the "Red, White, and Blue." Thiswas followed by a number of patriotic airs, and the national anthem,when all rose to their feet and joined in the singing with patrioticfervor. After a short pause Danny started to whistle "LaMarseillaise"--Janet playing the accompaniment on the piano verysoftly--as the children joined in, coming out with startling effect withthe words:

  "To arms! Ye warriors all! Your bold battalions call! March on, ye free! Death shall be ours, Or glorious victory!"

  Van Darrell now appeared in front of the little platform--he hadmodestly refused to ascend it--and introduced Mr. Philip de Brie as aBritish soldier, a member of "Kitchener's mob," known as the greatestvolunteer army in the world. As Philip stepped forward in response to anenthusiastic ovation he bowed courteously, but with a certain diffidenceof manner that showed that this was a more trying ordeal than beingunder fire at the front.

  The personal part of Philip's story was quickly told,--how he came tojoin the army,--the audience cheering lustily when he claimed he was anAmerican, while a tenseness seized them as he related his strangeexperience while lying in a shell-hole, and the revelation theapparition of the White Comrade had brought to him.

  Their interest continued as he told how, in the British offensive southof the Somme, he and his company, with four machine-guns, had cleanedout a Prussian machine-gun nest that had been making havoc with theirmen. They peppered the enemy so severely, he asserted, while playing acrisscross game with their guns, that the only remaining German gunnerwas captured, surrounded by his dead comrades.

  When their ammunition failed, and they attempted to return to theirlines under a fierce artillery fire, with bursting shells and shrapnelflying around them, they were compelled to take refuge under a bridge,where they remained for four hours under a fierce gas attack. He wasagain cheered as he told how, in another attempt to regain thefiring-line, a bomb exploded, killing several of their men, and how,when their lieutenant was missed, noted for his bravery and daring, hestarted out to find him.

  This recital was made graphic as he told of crawling on his stomach tododge a bomb, or wiggling along to peer into shell-pits, and how, when aflare was thrown up by the enemy, illuminating the battlefield like somebig electric show, he suddenly found himself, as it were, back to thewall,--for he had no ammunition,--desperately fighting a big, huskyGerman who was fumbling in his pocket, evidently for a hand-grenade.Another cheer, and then almost a groan went through the room as Philipcontinued, and told how, as he tried to get him by the throat, he made alunge at him and thrust his bayonet through his arm. The German finishedoff his work by knocking him on the head with his rifle, finally leadinghim, dazed and blinded, behind the German lines, a prisoner.

  The neglect he received in the field and base hospital and the horribletreatment he was compelled to witness, as endured by the woundedprisoners, was received with a storm of hisses. How he was pronouncedcured, although he had been rendered dumb, either from nerve-shock orthe force of the blow on the head, and then taken to a Germanprison-camp, and crowded in with hundreds of men in a wooden shed, witha flooring of mud four inches thick, aroused renewed indignation. Here,with no blankets, no ventilation, overcoat, or personal belongings, heslept on a straw tick, with insufficient food, and that of such ahorrible quality that he grew emaciated and covered with boils.

  When some of the prisoners were transferred to another camp Philip toldhow he had the good luck to be one of them, and how, when the train wasstruck by a bursting bomb, crashing in the roof when going at a speed ofthirty miles an hour, he, with two other prisoners, climbed up andjumped to the ground, one man being killed.

  This was the beginning of his race for life, in which he dodged guardsand sentries, cut his way through barbed wire, and hid in a forest forthree days, and, after many other thrilling adv
entures, finally came toa field within a few miles of the British lines.

  "Here," Philip continued, "as we lay concealed in a dugout under a bank,we heard a familiar whirr, and looked up to see an air-battle takingplace between a French and Boche plane. With taut breath I watched theplanes circle round and round in the air, while keeping up a steady fireat one another, until the French plane began to drive its enemy back andback, until they were directly over the British entrenchments. Then weheard the rat-tat-tat, and knew that one of the planes had been firedupon from below. Suddenly it burst into flames, lunged to one side, andthen, in a long sweep through the air, began to circle downward like agreat flash of fire, sending forth a shower of sparks as it fell. Andthen I screamed from sheer joy, for I recognized that it was the Bocheplane that had fallen. It is needless to say that my speech hadreturned."

  After telling how they had regained the British lines, and how he hadfinally reached a hospital in London, where he remained for some weeksin a miserably depressed state of mind, on learning that his mother haddied during his absence, Philip finished his story by telling how hecame to sail for America. He told of his search for his grandmother, andhow he came to live in the little cabin on the mountain. From theplaudits that greeted him, as he bowed and retired from the platform, itwas evident that his story had been greatly enjoyed by his listeners.

  When Tony a moment or so later, in his old velveteen vest, with hisviolin under his arm, and his velvety black eyes aglow in a beatificsmile, bobbed a funny little bow to his audience, he was warmlyreceived. But a sudden hush succeeded as the little violinist, with hisinstrument tucked under his chubby chin, fingered the bow lovingly as hemoved it over the strings, evoking such sweet, rich music that theviolin seemed like some enchanted thing.

  Surely this little slum lad, with no training to guide him, of his ownvolition could not have produced such ravishing melody as floatedthrough the room. As he played his face lost its smile, and there came aplay of expression, now tender and sad, now dreamy or grave, in accordwith the varied moods of the music, as he played on and on with apassion, a rich tenderness, every note in tune, that seemed almostmarvelous. When he ended with a vehement little shake of his head--thatsent his waving hair flying about--in much the same manner that greatmusicians affect, it brought down the house in loud applause.

  As an encore he played several Italian airs, weird, dreamy music,finally ending with "Traumerei," Schumann's "Dream Song." No, he didn'tplay it all, only snatches, and these were not always rendered accordingto the score, but he held his audience in a hushed stillness, until,with a little shake of his bow, and a low bow, he turned and ran quicklyfrom the platform.

  Sheila hid her face in Nathalie's skirt when her turn came to ascend theplatform and speak her "liberty piece." Nathalie was in the throes ofdespair, for fear that she was going to fail her, when Tony leanedforward and teasingly whispered, "Oh, Boy!" This reminiscent remarkcaused the little lady's head to go up, and her chin, too, and in angrydefiance she marched up on the platform. As Nathalie, who was sittingdown in the front row of chairs, gave her the cue, her little treble washeard repeating James Whitcomb Riley's poem "Liberty," her voice ringingout loud and clear when she came to the stanza:

  "Sing for the arms that fling Their fetters in the dust And lift their hands in higher trust, Unto the one Great King; Sing for the patriot home and land, Sing for the country they have planned; Sing that the world may understand This is Freedom's land!"

  It was pathetic to see the little empty-sleeved Jean, as he straightenedup his slender form, and, in an attempt at bravery, hurried on theplatform. Without waiting for the accompanist,--forgetting to greet hisaudience in his fright,--he burst into the words of Belgium's nationalanthem, "Brabanconne," singing it with a verve and spirit,--as he stood,with his one hand nervously clinched in front of him and his eyesuplifted,--that showed that the soul of Belgium was not dead.

  This impassioned appeal from the boy as he ended, and stood in mutebewilderment, his eyes again haunted by that look of hopeless terror,aroused the audience to prolonged applause. Philip now stepped to hisside, and, as he laid his hand reassuringly on the little shoulder, therefugee began his pitiful tale.

  His arm had been cut off, he told, by a German soldier, who had made hismother cry, when he had rushed up and pounded him with his fists to makehim desist. The soldier had dragged his mother away, and then he hadbeen told that she had died. There was a quiver to the lad's voice as herelated this sorrowful incident, but he winked his eyes together to keepback the tears.

  Two days later, with his aged grandparents, he had been driven to thetown square, and there a soldier had shot his grandfather because theold man had rebuked him for dragging the boy's grandmother roughlyabout. She had shrieked and fallen, to be trampled in the crush, forwhen they picked her up she was very white, and had never opened hereyes again. When all the women and children were herded together likecows, and driven along a road, with a big German soldier pointing hisgun at them, Jean had suddenly run away, as fast as he could, and he hadrun and run with his eyes shut, for he was afraid of the bullets thatcame whistling on all sides of him.

  Finally he had fallen from exhaustion, and then he had crawled into thedark cellar of a shelled house. Here he had remained for a long time,going out at night to a battlefield near and taking what food he couldfind from the knapsacks of the dead soldiers. At last he could find nomore food, and then he had wandered on, walking wearily along for milesand miles, until he had become part of those fleeing throngs of refugeesthat blocked the roads for many long miles, sleeping on the roadside atnight. Sometimes he would have a little bread, or a piece of cheesegiven to him, and then for days he went hungry. Finally he reached atown, where a lady with a red cross on her white cap had cared for himin a hospital. But the Germans shelled the hospital, and they said thelady was killed, and then-- Well, he had gone on again, walking atnight, alone, from place to place, when no one could see him, whilehiding in the woods by day.

  On learning that he was not far from the French army, he had struggledon until he was within a short distance of their lines, where he hid ina forest. When a dark still night came, he stealthily crept into NoMan's Land, and, on his hands and knees, worked his way from hole tohole, quickly wiggling into one if he heard the slightest sound, untilhe reached the French sentry, who pointed his gun at him and told him tohalt.

  He was so frightened when he saw that gun aimed at him that he burstinto tears, but a moment later attempted to sing "La Marseillaise," soas to let the soldier know that he was not a German. The soldier tookhim behind the front, where a regiment of artillery not only fed andcared for him, but adopted him as their "kid mascot," as Philipinterpreted it, when it was learned that his father, who was fighting inthe Belgian army, had been captured and carried a prisoner to Germany.When the regiment had left for service at the front he was deliveredinto the hands of Father Belloy, a French priest, who finally gave himto a kind lady, who had brought him, with a number of other children, toAmerica. As the little lad finished his story, he turned to rush fromthe stage, and then, as if inspired by a sudden thought, he threw up hisone hand and lustily cried, "Vive la Belgique!"

  A second more and the audience, caught by the contagion of this cry, andthe appeal to their sympathies by the Belgian's story, broke intoenthusiastic clapping and cheering, mingled with loud hurrahs forBelgium. It was at this point that a guest from the Sunset Hill Housejumped to his feet, and proposed that a silver collection be taken up,to be divided between the American-British soldier, the little Sons ofLiberty, and the ladies of the Tea-House, who had so kindly given it forthe entertainment of the guests.

  This suggestion was heartily seconded, and while Van and the gentlemanwere passing the hat, into which flowed a goodly collection of silvercoins, the little Sons of Liberty appeared, and, as a finish to theentertainment, gave them a sing-song.
The old, sweet songs, the songsthat lie very near to the heart of every Anglo-Saxon, were sung by theseclear childish voices, Danny either singing or whistling, while Tonyaccompanied them on his violin, with Janet, Nathalie, and Nita,--eventhe audience at times,--proving good seconds in this musical song-feast."Annie Laurie," "The Blue Bells of Scotland," "Wearing of the Green,""My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," "Mother Machree," "Dixie," were given,followed by the new war-songs, as, "Keep the Home Fires Burning," "Packup Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag," "There's a Long, Long Trail,""Over There," and, as a grand finale, "The Star-Spangled Banner," whenthe audience rose and joined in with patriotic fervor.

  And then Miss Mona, Janet, Nathalie, Nita, the two soldiers, and eventhe little "Sons of Liberty" were all busy serving tea, out on theveranda, to the many guests, who all declared that they had not onlyenjoyed Philip's and Jean's stories, but the children's singing.

  Two days later, Nathalie was darning her boys' socks on the veranda,when Nita drove up in her car. She was so excited that she began toshout that she had good news to tell, as soon as she caught sight ofNathalie's brown head.

  "Oh, Nathalie," she continued, all out of breath, as her friend hurriedto meet her, "what do you think? The manager up at the Sunset HillHouse,--you know he is a dear--has asked Mr. de Brie and the whole crowdwho took part at the Liberty Tea, to come to the hotel next Saturdaynight and repeat the performance. And he says there will be anothersilver collection. And, oh, isn't it just the dandiest thing that lotsof the girls want to join the French class!" And then the young lady, inthe exuberance of her joy, fell upon the neck of her friend and began tokiss her with hearty unction.