XV
HOW THE CHANGE BEGAN
"That was Lethbridge's daughter, wasn't it?" asked the Squire, as wedrove towards my little house.
"Yes," I replied.
"I am surprised that she should be there;" and I noticed that theSquire's voice seemed tense and angry.
"Surprised! Why?"
He hesitated a second, then went on.
"I had a row with the man this morning. I--I could not help it."
"A row with Mr. Lethbridge?"
"Yes, he made me mad. I tried to act as generously as I could; but thereare limits."
I was silent, although, truth to tell, I wanted to know what had causedthe Squire's anger.
"I went to see him this morning," he went on presently. "You see, Iwanted the platform to be as representative as possible, and knowingthat Lethbridge is a large employer of labor, and therefore has a greatdeal of influence among working men, I thought he might be of value tous. I suppose I ought to have gone to see him before; but the meetingwas arranged in a hurry, and--and--anyhow, I didn't. But I went thismorning, and asked him to propose the chief resolution."
"And what did he say?"
"He refused pointblank, and added an insulting remark to his refusal."
"And then what?" I asked.
"I am afraid I lost my temper. You see, I did not understand his pointof view--how could I? Whatever he is, he was born in England, and I amafraid I told him some home truths. I told him he was a disgrace to hiscountry, that he was unworthy to be called an Englishman, and that Ishould refuse ever to enter his house again."
"Pretty drastic," I remarked.
"Drastic!" replied the old man. "How could I help being drastic? Heabused the Army, abused our statesmen, said we had been dragged into thewar by a bungling diplomacy, told me we were as guilty as the Germanswere, and that we had torn up more scraps of paper than the Germans had.I asked him to prove his words, I challenged him to bring forward asingle instance where we had treated any country as the Germans hadtreated Belgium."
"And he?" I asked.
"He couldn't answer me."
"Well, what was the upshot of it?"
"After a bit I got rather ashamed of myself for having lost my temper;besides, I thought I might have misunderstood him, and I wanted his helpin the fund we are raising."
"And did he help you?"
I felt the old man's body quiver as he sat by my side in the carriage.
"Not a penny, sir, not a penny. He actually had the cheek to tell methat he had lost a large sum through the war, and that he would be bledto death with taxes. God bless my soul! What have we English people todo talking about taxes at a time like this! Besides, he is a rich man.If he lost a hundred thousand pounds to-morrow, he would hardly feel it.He has been making money hand over fist for a quarter of a century, andnow, when the country is in peril, he complains about taxes; squealslike a stoat caught in a gin! I have no patience!"
"And you got no further than that with him?"
"I got no further with him because I didn't stay. I have tried to beneighborly with the man, although I hate his views. But when one'scountry is at stake, when a man tries to hide his meanness andniggardliness by whining about taxes!--well, you see, we had nothingmore to say to each other. He proved himself to be a bounder, a rankoutsider. I told him so, too. I said, 'Henceforth, Mr. Lethbridge, weshall be strangers. I shall never enter your doors again, and naturallyyou won't want to enter mine.' Then he turned round and asked me what Ihad sacrificed for the country. I suppose he thought he was going tomake a point against me there, but he didn't get much satisfaction outof it. I told him I had written to Headquarters and offered everything Ihave. If they wanted my house for a hospital, they could have it; ifthey wanted my land for a camping-ground, they could have it. At that hesneered, and said I was perfectly safe in making such an offer. Think ofit, Erskine, think of it! What can you do with a man like that?"
"His only son has enlisted," I said.
"What, Hugh! You don't mean it?"
"Yes, I do. He has enlisted as a private, although I understand thatowing to his knowledge of modern languages, and his skill in mechanics,besides being a very good shot, they are going to make a special case ofhim. All the same, he enlisted as a private."
"God bless my soul! That's good."
"I am afraid that is why Mr. Lethbridge is so angry," I went on. "Yousee, he is one of those men who hate war."
"Hates war! Well, what of that? We all do. We English are a peace-lovingpeople, and we detest war, we loathe it, shudder at it. Did I not losemy only son in the Boer War? But in this case everything is at stake,our plighted word, our honor! If we slunk out of it, we should be abyword among the nations. Besides, think what these Germans mean to do.If they are not crushed we shall have no country, no home. Have you readwhat they are doing in Belgium? Have you read about Louvain, Malines,Aerschot? It is devilish, man, devilish. They have violated every law,human and divine. I never thought that any fiend from hell could do whatthey are doing. And if they can do these things in Belgium, what willthey do in England, if they get here? What would become of our women andchildren? No, no, it is a call of God, my boy, it is a call of God. Youput it straight to-night, hot and strong. I nearly lost my head when Iheard you."
"Anyhow, Hugh Lethbridge has joined the Army. And what has hurt hisfather even more than that is that he has married that girl MaryTreleaven."
"God bless my soul! You don't mean that!" and the old man lapsed intosilence. "I am glad he did it," he went on presently. "It serves hisfather right. And--and Hugh is a fine lad."
"He _is_ a fine lad," I assented. "But you can understand how his fatherfeels about it."
"Yes, yes," said the Squire. "All the same, I am glad I gave him a pieceof my mind. I could not help it, Erskine. I am a peaceful man, and Ihate losing my temper, though, God knows, I am a bit given to it. But Iwas surprised to see his daughter there to-night," he went on, "and shewas carried away by what you said too. Well, she has good blood on hermother's side. The Vivians are good people, and the family has ownedland in the county for centuries. Ah, here we are. I hope you won'tsuffer for what you have done to-night, my boy."
"I do not think I shall," I replied. "I dare say I was very foolish, butI could not help it."
"I am proud of you!" and the old Squire gripped my hand heartily. "Youhave got good English blood in you, you have got the old Cornishfeeling. By the way, I hope you will come over and see me sometimes. Iam a poor man, Erskine, and we shall all of us have to retrench, but youwill always find a welcome at my house."
Then he left me, and I found my way through the copse to my lonelylittle house.
For the next few days I was almost prostrate. I was paying the penaltyfor my foolishness. I knew I ought not to have gone to the meeting, andyet, I was glad I had.
So ill did I become that Simpson, without obtaining my permission, sentfor the local doctor to come and see me. This doctor was a tall, gauntScotsman, who had, as he informed me, come to Cornwall rather for thepurpose of building up his own health than for building up a practice. Iwas vexed that Simpson had sent for him, but I could not remain angrywith the poor fellow, for I was so ill that he dare not be left alonewith me without having some one to advise him. Dr. Wise was one of themost talkative men I ever met in my life, and after he had asked me afew questions about my illness, he assured me that I had not long tolive, and that in all probability what I had done had curtailed the fewmonths which otherwise would have been left to me. I found out, however,that his chief interest in me was not the malady from which I wassuffering, or how he might get me better, but to have me as a listenerto his views.
"The country is in a bad way," he said. "We have neither arms normunitions. Even now the Woolwich Arsenal is only working two days aweek."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Oh, I got it from a man who knows a man who lives near Woolwich," hereplied. "I got a letter yesterday morning, telling me about it."
&
nbsp; "Has your informant an entree into Woolwich Arsenal?" I asked.
"Oh, I know it is true," he replied. "Our house-maid has a brother whoworks there too, and he says the same thing. Oh, the country is in a badway."
"It must be," I replied.
"Yes, and then there is all this talk about the Russians coming over tohelp us; do you know there is a plot in that, a deep-laid plot?" heasked in serious tones.
"You don't mean it!" I said, for by this time the man had begun to amuseme.
"Yes, I do," he replied. "I have heard on good authority that theRussians mean to turn round on us. They are in league with the Germans,and they are sending over half a million men to attack our Army at theback. I am not at liberty to tell how I got my information, but it istrue. Then there is the Army food. Do you know, it is in a terriblecondition."
"How is that?"
"Our soldiers at the front haven't got enough to eat. I know it for afact. One of the men who went out with the Expeditionary Force wrote andtold me that if it were not for the food they took from the Germanprisoners they would be starving."
"That is terrible," I replied.
"You would not believe it, would you?" he went on, "but the wholecountry is governed wrongly, and they are allowing the Germans tohoodwink us at every corner."
"If that is so," was my answer, "it seems strange that the Germansshould have been driven back from the Marne. How is it that when theygot so near to Paris they did not take it?"
"Ah, that is because they hated the English so. They had Paris in theirhands practically, and might have been there now if they had not hatedthe English."
"That is very interesting," I said. "How did it come about?"
"Well, you see, the German generals had made all arrangements to marchinto Paris, but they gave way to a fit of anger, and determined to crushthe English instead. It was a false move on their part, and but for thatwe should have been done for."
"How lucky for us," I replied.
"Yes, but they are arranging to get to Calais by another road now. Theyhave everything fixed up for the invasion of England."
"What, the Germans have?"
"What they are going to do is this," and he spoke very solemnly. "Firstof all they are going to take Calais; then they are going to bring theirbig guns and bombard Dover. After that, they are going to lay mines intwo lines, allowing a lane for the German boats to land two hundredthousand men in Dover. They are going to be flat-bottomed boats, and Ihave it on good authority that the Kaiser is coming with them."
"What! that he is coming over in these flat-bottomed boats with twohundred thousand men?" I asked.
"Yes, that is it. He is going to march on London with all these men, anddictate terms of peace from there," he added.
"And can you inform me what the British Fleet is going to be doing allthis time?" I asked.
"We have no coal, man," was his answer. "Besides, think of the Germansubmarines. They will sink all our ships as fast as we can bring themup."
How long he went on in this strain I hardly know, but that he believedin all he said was evident, and that he took a delight in his mournfulprognostications was just as evident.
"Simpson," I said, "Dr. Wise has done me good. I feel better than I havefelt for days."
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," said Simpson. "Has he given you anymedicine, sir?"
"Oh, no," I replied. "But he has done me a world of good; only, Simpson,don't allow him to come again."
September passed slowly away, and although I gradually recovered fromthe effects of the excitement through which I had passed, I did not gofar afield, and beyond going into the village, and roaming round thecliffs, I took little or no exercise.
I discovered, as far as the people of St. Issey were concerned, that nosooner had the first effects of the declaration of war passed away, thanthey settled down to the old mode of living. Indeed, the war was notreal to them at all. It was something that was happening a long way off.Only a few of them read the newspapers, and in spite of the bad newswhich circulated, they had not the slightest doubt about the Englishsoon bringing the Germans to their knees. They found, too, that the wardid not affect them in the way they had expected. There was neitherscarcity of money nor food; work went on as usual, the harvest wasgarnered, and there were no prospects of a famine, which they hadfeared, coming to pass.
Indeed, as I think of those days, and as I reflect upon my ownexperiences, I do not so much wonder at the general prevailingsentiment. We are far out of the world down here in Cornwall--St. Isseyis some miles from a railway station--and removed as we are from theclash and clamor of the world, it is difficult for us to realize what isgoing on in the great centres of life. That the war existed we knew,that a great struggle was going on hundreds of miles away was commonknowledge, but it did not come home to us.
The following incidents will give some idea of what I mean.
One day, while walking through the fields towards St. Issey, I passed acottage, by the door of which a woman of about forty years of age wassitting.
"Look 'ere, maaster," she said. "I want to ax 'ee a question."
"Well," I asked. "What?"
"Well, 'tis like this," she said. "Me an' my 'usband 'ave come towords."
"I am sorry for that," I said. "But that is not so bad as coming toblows."
"Oh, we do'ant come to blows, maaster, and 'ard words break no boans;but that is ev et; we 'ave come to words about this, and we 'ave 'adseveral arguments about et, and I d'old to one thing, and my 'usband toanother; and I thought you bein' from London would be able to put usright."
"If I can I will, but I have my doubts."
"'Tis this," replied the woman. "'Tis about Lord Kitchener. My 'usbandd'say that Lord Kitchener is for the Germans, and I d'say 'e ed'n. Id'say 'e's for the English. Now which is right, maaster?"
Later in the afternoon I met Martha Bray, who, it may be remembered,proffered her services to Simpson on the day of my arrival.
"'Ow be 'ee gettin' on then, maaster?"
"Oh, better than I deserve, Martha," I replied. "Thank you for the hamyou sent over."
"Oh, tha's all right, sur. Es the war still goin' on?"
"Yes," I replied; "still going on."
"Ter'ble pity," was her answer. "It ought to be stopped."
"The question is, Martha, how can we stop it?"
"We could stop et all right," said Martha, "ef everybody made up theirminds to send them no more money. They would have to stop et."
"Send who any more money?" I asked.
"Why, Lloyd George, maaster; ef everybody in the country refused to send'un a penny, he'd 'ave to stop et, and then the war would be over."
I could not help laughing at Martha's method for ending the greatstruggle of the world, neither would I have mentioned it, but to give anidea of the feelings which obtained in certain sections of the country.
But although to many the great carnage of blood which was convulsingEurope was not real, the fact of war brooded over us like a great blackcloud. In a sense we did not realize it, everything was so quiet andpeaceful; but in another we did. It was in the background of all ourlives, it colored all our thoughts.
Although I had given up all hope of getting any answers to the questionswhich troubled me either at Church or Chapel, I still went almostregularly. I could not understand how, but I had a feeling that it washere I should solve the problems which faced me.
For the first two or three weeks after war was declared there was aslight improvement in the congregations, and then things seemed tosettle down to their normal condition again. And yet there was adifference, a subtle, indefinable difference. In a way I could notexplain, it colored, as I have already said, all our thoughts andfeelings. The services both at the Church and the Chapel were conductedjust as they had been, except that some new prayers had been added tothe Church liturgy, while the preacher at the Chapel generally made somemention of the war in some part of the service.
It seemed to me, too, that the peo
ple were thinking more than usual.Questions were being asked, which they had never thought of asking whenI first came to the village. They did not go very deep, but they weresuggestive of the new forces which were being realized. The change wasso slight that a casual observer might not have noticed it; but it wasthere. I could not help thinking of the old Biblical story I had read atschool, about the cloud the prophet saw which at first was no biggerthan a man's hand, but which presently overspread the whole sky.
One day, when I went into the village, a woman stopped me ratherangrily.
"Look 'ere, Mr. Erskine, I 'ave got somethin' to say to 'ee."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Well, a few weeks agone my boy Jim enlisted as a sojer 'cause of whatyou said at the meetin'."
"Very sensible of Jim," I replied.
"I ded'n like it at the time," said the woman.
"I'm very sorry."
"Well, none of my family have ever come so low as that before, and themornin' after he'd enlisted I told my sister Betty, who comed over tosee me about it. I said to 'er, 'Jim's goin' for a sojer,' and she saysto me, 'God help us, Mary!' she said,'to think that one of our familyshould sink so low as that.'"
"Yes," I said. "And what then?"
"Well, sur, he went away, and a week agone he didn't get on very wellwith one of the officers."
"No," I said, "that is a pity. Didn't the officer behave nicely?"
"No, 'e didn', that is, what I call nicely. He spoke to my son 'boutwhat I call nothin' 't 'oal."
"Well, what then?"
"Well, Jim wad'n pleased, so he gived a fortnight's notice to leave."
"What! to leave the Army?" I asked.
"Yes. You see, down 'ere wi' we, when a man d'want to leave 'is job, 'eed'give a week's notice; but Jim thought he would be generous, so 'egived a fortnight's notice. He went to the officer, and he said, 'Id'want to give a fortnight's notice to leave.'"
"And then?" I asked.
"Well, first the officer laughed, and then 'e told Jim to go back to 'iswork, and said ef 'e left the Army before the war was over, 'e would beshot. I do'ant 'old with things like that, so now Jim 'as got to stay,whether 'e d'like it or not."
"And Jim doesn't like it?"
"No, 'e ain't bin used to bein' treated like that, and it was allbecause of you, too. Ef et ad'n bin for the speech you made in theschoolroom, 'e would'n 'ave joined."
But although humorous incidents were often happening, the graverealities were slowly gripping our minds and hearts. Day after day, thisand that lad was leaving his home to prepare for the war, while many ofthe Naval Reserve men were already away in the North Sea, or elsewhere,waiting to give their lives, if need be, for their country's safety.Indeed, the Navy was far more real to us than the Army. The Cornish havenever been a military people, but have always been at home on thewaters. Many a time, as I have watched those great steel monstersploughing the Atlantic, I have reflected that they were manned verylargely by the Cornish, and that they were the chief bulwark againstenemy invasion.
"I wonder if my boy is on her?" said an old man to me, as one day Iwatched the smoke from a great warship in the distance. And thatquestion was echoed by thousands of hearts all over the county.
Week after week passed away, until the days became short and the nightsgrew cold. Blacker and blacker grew the clouds, while the lists ofcasualties which daily appeared in the newspapers made us feel that itwas no game we were playing, but that we were engaged in a deathstruggle.
I had not been to Josiah Lethbridge's house, neither had I seen anythingof the family, since the night of Hugh's departure, and then--I think itwas the beginning of November--I was greatly surprised to see JosiahLethbridge come to my door.