"Have you read the papers to-day?" asked the Professor.

"Yes."

"Did you come across that account of the correspondent who described what he had seen on the stricken field? Did you get at the inwardness of it all? You are a fellow with imagination, Nancarrow; didn't you feel a ghastly terror of war?"

"Yes," replied Bob, "but that does not clear up the question. Meanwhile, Germany is marching towards Paris and Lord Kitchener is calling for more men. What ought I to do?"

"Read your New Testament," said the Professor, "remember the words of our Lord just before He was crucified, 'My Kingdom is not of this world, else would My servants fight.'"

"Yes," cried Bob, "but——"

"I really cannot stay any longer now," interrupted the Professor, and he slipped away, leaving Bob alone.



CHAPTER X

The next day Bob was in London. He had engaged chambers in the Temple in order to prepare for his examinations. In spite of what he had said to Professor Renthall, his old opinions remained unshaken. It might be right, it undoubtedly was right, to defend the weak against brutal strength in the way he had done, but war between nations was different. He simply could not participate in it.

He had been stigmatised as a coward, and as a traitor to his country, but still he must be true to his conscience.

Law and order were different from the arbitrament of the sword. War was a violation of all that was best and noblest in humanity, and he must walk along the lines he had marked out.

Still he could not get away from the spirit of the times. The one subject talked about in restaurants, in clubs, in offices, and in the streets was this bloody carnage which was convulsing Europe. Almost every vehicle that passed was placarded with a call to war. Every newspaper he opened was full of news of the war. Even the religious papers seemed to have forgotten that the Gospel of Christ was the Gospel of Peace.

It was true that here and there were letters from correspondents protesting against the whole horrible business, but these were in the main, at a discount.

After he had been in London a few days, he happened to get hold of a German newspaper, and there he read the German side of the question. This newspaper pleaded that the Kaiser never wanted war. That he had struggled against war, and that during the whole of his reign, war had been kept at arm's length. If the Kaiser loved war, the paper urged, the country would not have remained at peace so long, seeing that never since 1870 had Germany drawn the sword. Now that war was forced upon them, the people were only doing what they were obliged to do.

One evening he dined at a small hotel, and, having found his way to the smoke-room after dinner, he met a man from Cornwall with whom he was slightly acquainted.

They talked about other things at first, but were eventually led to the one subject of the times.

"Do you know," said the man from Cornwall, Richards by name, "that I heard a strange story the other day?"

"What story?"

"A man with whom I am acquainted, a financier from Alsace, told me that he, with two other bankers, were some weeks ago dining with the Kaiser; and the Kaiser spoke to them about the mission of Germany. He said that a great part of Europe was paralysed by materialism, that immorality had eaten out the best life of France, and was fast finding its way into the vitals of England. That Germany was called by God to purify Europe, and that he who was anointed by God to reign over Germany, felt it his duty to fight against this scourge of materialism and immorality. In no other way could Europe be saved from infidelity and ruin, and that he, the Kaiser, was raised up as a scourge of God. That just as Jesus Christ drove the hucksters and money-lenders out of the Temple when He was on earth, so was he, the Kaiser, called upon to cleanse Europe, and that this war was God's crusade to bring back Europe to purity and righteousness."

"Your informant told you this?"

"Yes. He said that the Kaiser was undoubtedly sincere, and was one of the most religious men he had ever met. Of course the man is mad, but there is not the slightest doubt but that he believes this."

When Mr. Richards had gone, Bob felt very lonely. He wanted to get away from his sad thoughts, wanted to blot from his memory the facts which had seemingly blighted his life. He was alone in London; he had no friend to whom he could go. Of course a hundred places of amusement were open, but he did not feel in the humour to go to them. He dreaded the thought of going back to his chambers, while the streets repelled him.

He glanced around the smoke-room, and noticed that it was peculiarly shaped, and then, looking behind a huge palm, he saw an alcove which he had not hitherto noticed. Sitting in it, he would be completely hidden from the rest of the room, and yet could command a view of a great part of it. The place was quite empty, and, although in the heart of London, singularly quiet. Acting on impulse, he threw himself into a chair behind the palm, and prepared to light another cigar.

He had scarcely taken his seat in the alcove when two men entered and summoned a waiter. The man fulfilled their orders and left the room.

One of the men got up and looked around. "We are lucky," he said; "there's not a soul here."

"Yes, we have an opportunity for our chat. Not that there's much difficulty anywhere. The English people are the most unsuspicious in the world. No matter what nationality a man may be, he is absolutely free to go where he likes, and do what he likes."

"Except the Germans and Austrians," and the other laughed meaningly.

"Yes, yes, and aren't their precautions silly? Because our parents thought it wise to educate us in England, we speak the language like natives, and are looked upon as thorough John Bulls. Heavens, if they only knew!"

Bob's pulses began to quicken. Surely he had seen one of them before. Where, he could not tell, but both face and voice were familiar.

Evidently they had no idea that he was near. Even if they looked towards him, he was hidden from them by the huge palm fronds.

"Yes," responded the other. "Of all the guileless people in the world, these British fools are the worst. Here are you and I regarded as English people. We do what we like, we go where we like, and they welcome us. It is true, since the war broke out, they have taken all sorts of precautions against what they call German spies. But, bah! they are as easy to deceive as children. Why, only a week or two ago, by the simplest ruse imaginable, I obtained some valuable information down in Cornwall."

Again Bob looked at the face, and wondered. The speaker was a middle-aged man, and spoke without the slightest suggestion of a foreign accent. He would pass anywhere as an Englishman. He had an air of assurance too, as though it were his habit to move in good society. Dress, manner, and general appearance suggested an Englishman of good standing and yet he spoke as an enemy to the country.

"In Cornwall, eh? That's an out-of-the-way part of the country."

"Yes, in Cornwall. It was at a little fishing village called St. Ia. I laugh when I think of it, the whole thing was so amusing."

Bob gave a start. He knew who was speaking now. His whole appearance had changed, but he could not help penetrating his disguise. It was the man who had called himself Count von Weimer—an Alsatian whose sympathies were so strongly French, and who had come to Cornwall for peace. The simplicity, and yet the audacity, of his action made Bob wonder.

Forgetful of the fact that he was playing the part of an eavesdropper, he sat still, and listened.

"Yes, I promised I'd tell you about it," the man went on, "although, strictly speaking, I ought to say nothing. Still, the matter is over and done with now, and the information lodged in the right quarter; besides we, to an extent, work together, so it will be all right. As you know, I was instructed to obtain information on certain naval matters, and I had a great difficulty in getting it. You see, I couldn't get introduced in the right quarters. By and by I discovered that a retired Admiral who was in the secrets of the Admiralty lived in a little out-of-the-way place in Cornwall. I learnt all that was possible about his fads and prejudices, and then went down there as an Alsatian."

"An Alsatian, eh?"

"Yes, as an Alsatian, who, although bearing a German name, was a suspect by the Germans on account of his love of France. It was a move which presented certain difficulties, but, having considered everything, I thought it best to risk it. You see, I went down as a lover of peace, as one who was tired of the militarism of Germany and wanted the quiet and rest which only such a place could afford."

Both of the men laughed heartily at this.

"Of course I looked the part. I adopted the circular spectacles, and assumed the manner befitting my role. I knew that a Count von Weimer lived in Alsace, knew also that this old fool of an Admiral had heard of him. So I went to the golf links."

"Golf links?"

"Yes. I knew that a young chap called Nancarrow often played there, and that he was very friendly with the Admiral's family. A worshipper of his daughter in fact. This Nancarrow is of Quaker descent on his father's side, and is a sort of peace-at-any-price fellow. Rather a nice chap, but brought up with his father's notions. As luck would have it, a match had been arranged between Nancarrow and a rival for the Admiral's daughter's affections, and the old man was present. You see, my star was in the ascendant. Of course I followed the match as an ignorant but ardent admirer of the game."

"I see. Spare me the details."

"Pooh! the tricks of a child! I feel almost ashamed of them! Of course I made no attempt to get introduced to the old fool just then, but in Continental fashion I praised the prowess of the young one. I, the simple foreigner, thought him wonderful! Eh?"

"Just so."

"Naturally I met him later—of course by accident. I played my cards carefully. I was a rich man charmed by the place, and was on the look out for a house to buy. What could one want more? Eh?"

"Exactly."

"Of course I had seen a house of the Admiral's that was for sale, and I hated dealing with house agents. Would it be possible to deal direct with the Admiral? The little fly walked into my parlour at the first invitation, and two or three days later I was introduced to the Admiral. Your line of work has not drawn you into contact with this class of man. A typical John Bull, my dear chap. Blunt, straightforward, above board. No diplomacy, no arriere pensee, but loud-voiced and hearty. Proud as Lucifer in one way, but as gullible as a hedgehog. English, quite English, you know, with a proper scorn for everything that isn't English. The British Navy, you know—the British Navy can defy the world!

"Of course I was ignorant of the British Navy. I was not anxious to hear anything about it. I was keen to buy or rent his house, and I was able to refer to the names of men who were just slightly above the Admiral in social position. Of course one can't take a house without some palaver, and one meeting led to another. Naturally I offered my cheque as a deposit, and a guarantee of my good faith. I was invited to dinner, and then, without the old buffer suspecting anything, I drew the truth from him as easily as a wine waiter draws the cork out of a champagne bottle. I learnt man—I learnt——" and his voice became so low that Bob could not catch what he said.

"By Jove, that was a haul!"

"A haul! I should think it was. It told me what our people were willing to give their eyes to know. And the best of it was, he did not think he was telling me anything! Ah, you should have seen me, the mild-eyed Alsatian pleading the uselessness of a big navy, and he, to prove me in the wrong, giving me all sorts of information. Of, course, when I had sucked him dry, I hooked it. I paid him for my information; all the same, I got it cheaply. A year's rent for his house! I expect he is wondering why I don't come and take possession."

"The British are fools!"

The other laughed. "Fools, yes, but arrogant fools, proud fools, dangerous fools too, in a way. They are what we are not, and what we are destined to be—a World Power. But the reckoning day has come."

"Do you think so? That is, do you think this is the right moment for the war? Of course it had to come—we had made up our minds to that; but don't you think William forced the pace too soon? Surely he meant to crush France, and control her navy before he angered the little dog which calls itself the British Lion. I had always reckoned England's turn would come about 1920."

"Perhaps you are right; but the result will be the same. Austria will deal with Russia and the Balkan States while William marches to Paris; then, when we have a repetition of 1870, we can go back and settle Russia."

"The English generally put up a good fight!"

"A pricked bubble, my dear fellow. It took the whole British Empire four years to deal with about 70,000 Boer farmers; how then can it do anything against us? Aren't facts speaking aloud? In about three weeks we have armies within twenty miles of Paris. In another week that capital will be in our hands. What is the use of Kitchener's absurd army? Before it can do anything, England will be on its knees. As for the French! Bah!"

"And meanwhile we play our little game here."

"Yes, John Bull may have the heart of a lion, but he hasn't the brains of a water-hen. Oh, John is hospitable, very hospitable. You and I, my dear Charles, with hundreds more, go around as Englishmen. Doesn't John scorn a spy? That's why we can go everywhere. At present I am London born, never having been out of England in my life. I know the Stock Exchange inside and out. I am a city man! And who suspects? There are over 20,000 Germans in London, all registered, yes, all registered. Meanwhile—eh?"

"But if we are beaten!"

"We can't be. It is impossible. The time-table will be kept. But oh, I can't help laughing! They never suspected our designs, never imagined the game we have been playing. They were just contented with their contemptible little army, and they allowed us to learn their secrets, not dreaming that England will be a vassal state to Germany, and that all her colonies will be ours. But there is that other matter. I want to speak about it. You remember that at the close of the Boer War——"

During the whole time Bob had listened like a man in a dream. He felt as though he were standing on the brink of a precipice. His eyes were opened to truths that he never dreamt of. He saw that for years there had been a deliberate plot to conquer England, that the Kaiser had not only made Germany an armed camp, and had strained every nerve to construct the greatest and most powerful and complete fighting machine the world had ever known, but he had sent an army of spies to the country to learn her secrets and fasten upon her weaknesses. He realised that the Kaiser had been our enemy during all the years he had been pretending to be our friend. He had been spending vast sums of money on men and women who were willing to do the dirtiest kind of work, in order that he might cause our downfall.

His honest, straightforward nature revolted at it. These two men were spies, traitors. He wondered at their speaking so freely, that they had not taken greater precaution to make sure no one was near. But the room was peculiarly shaped, and it was difficult for them to see the recess in which he sat, hidden as it was by the huge palm. To all appearance the place was empty.

Again he acted on impulse. Forgetting the rights and wrongs of the situation, he felt he must act. Looking through the fronds of the palm, he saw that the two men were conversing eagerly. Behind him was a door, but where it led he did not know. He must get out without their being aware of his presence.

Silently he opened the door, and soon found himself in the domestic portion of the little hotel. A waiter looked at him questioningly. Bob held up his finger to command silence.

"Show me to the manager, at once," he said.

The waiter instinctively felt how much in earnest he was, and obeyed him.

"This way, sir," he whispered.

"There are two German spies in the smoke-room," Bob said to the manager a minute later, and he explained how he had been led to this conclusion.

"Did you serve two men in the smoking-room?" asked the manager, turning to the waiter.

"Yes, sir, I served them each with a whisky-and-soda. But they are not Germans, sir, I'll swear to that."

"We'll see, anyhow," was the manager's response. "You guard your door carefully, and I'll go in at the public entrance. Will you come with me, sir."

The manager led Bob to the door by which he had first entered the room, and then they both entered silently.

The room was empty; the two men had gone.

"But can't we do anything?" asked Bob.

"What can we do, sir? If you were mistaken, then no harm is done. If you were not, they must have seen you leave the room, and then made their way out. I'll speak to the hall-porter. There are very few people here to-night, and he will know how many people have gone out during the last five minutes."

"Yes," the hall-porter declared a few seconds later, "two gentlemen have just gone out in a hurry. They said they were late for an appointment, and had to make haste."

"Did you recognise them?" asked the manager.

"I've seen them here once or twice before," was the porter's reply, "but I know nothing about them."

The manager looked at Bob in despair. "You see how it is, sir. I daresay you are right. London is just infested with them, and in spite of all our precautions they just laugh at us."

Bob went back to his chambers and tried to reflect on what he had heard. On reconsideration he supposed there was not so much in it all, but he was much disturbed nevertheless. He supposed every government had its secret information service, but the fact that this man calling himself Count von Weimer had by lies and fraud found his way into Admiral Tresize's house, and thereby obtained valuable information about our Navy, staggered him. From the conversation of the two men, moreover, it was evident that Germany had always meant to go to war with England, and had for years been preparing for it. The German army had evidently been built up for the express purpose, not of defence, but aggression. They had been waiting for years for a favourable opportunity, and then, when the time was ripe, to force the pace.

Oh, the madness, the criminal madness of it all!

But it was worse than madness. There was an awful danger about it all.

He opened the evening paper he had just bought, and read the staring headlines.

GERMAN ARMY WITHIN A FEW MILES OF PARIS. FRENCH GOVERNMENT REMOVED TO BORDEAUX.

Of course all sorts of theories were propounded. This was all strategy on the part of General Joffre and Sir John French. They were trying to draw the Germans from their base of supplies, and that done, would pounce upon them, and annihilate them.

All this, however, was very unsatisfactory. The truth was, the German Legions were sweeping all before them.

He turned to an article copied from an American paper, written by a man who had been admitted into the German lines, and who had gone into the very heart of the German Headquarters. Bob found his muscles hardening as he read. The article in graphic language described the countless hordes in the German army. It told how the writer rode hour after hour in a swiftly moving motor-car, always through this great seething mass of the best-trained soldiers in the world. They were not ill-fed weaklings, either; but young, stalwart, well-fed, strong, the flower of the German nation.

The camp was a vast moving city of fighting men. Everything was perfectly arranged to the minutest detail. Nothing was lacking. Every need was supplied as if by magic. The discipline and order were perfect. The soldiers were confident and happy.

How could these legions be overcome? Were they not, as the German General had said, invincible?

"See the accuracy of our big guns," said the General to the newspaper correspondent. "You see that windmill three miles away. Now watch."

An order was given, and then as if by magic a great gun was directed towards the distant object. A few seconds later there was a tremendous explosion, and the windmill was shattered to atoms.

That was it! Germany was a huge fighting machine, and with it the Kaiser and his minions intended to rule the world!

And if he did? Supposing Germany won in the war, as she was determined to win? What would be the result? Where would all Bob's dreams and visions of Universal Peace be?

"No, no!" cried Bob aloud, as if he were answering some pleading voice of his own heart, "I tell you I can't. The whole thing is ghastly, hellish! It would be to fight the devil with the devil's weapons. If I did, I should have to give up my faith in Christ and His salvation. The sword would take the place of the Cross. I should have to say that the life and work of Christ are a miserable fiasco, that He Himself was an idle dreamer. There is no possibility for a man who believes in the New Testament to take part in this hellish business!"

But if he only could!

All his patriotism, his love of home and country, called to him. For a moment the longing to take his part in helping England to drive back this huge fighting octopus, which was longing to stretch out its tentacles all over Europe, became a passion.

But no, he could not, he simply could not. He was trying to be a Christian, and no man who followed the Christ Who said "Love your enemies; . . . if a man strike thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also," could volunteer to take part in this bloody welter of the nations! He had been true to his principles so far, and he would continue to be true.

But the cost!

Yes, he had counted the cost, and paid it. He had sacrificed the dearest thing on earth, he had lost the woman he loved. Nancy could never be his now. She had driven him from her mind and heart, because she believed him to be a shirker, a recreant, a coward.

He took from his pocket-book the white feather she had given him, and looked at it. Yes, that was what she thought of him. A coward! And all the time he would have given anything to be able to offer himself for the front.

A knock came at the door, and a servant entered bearing a letter.

"It's from my mother," said Bob to himself, as he broke the seal.



CHAPTER XI

Evidently some one had sent Mrs. Nancarrow an Oxford newspaper, for her letter was in the main about what Bob had done there.

"I am proud of you," she wrote. "People down here have been saying that you are a coward, and that you ran away from home because you did not dare to meet the people who knew of your action in relation to the war. What you did at Oxford at least shows that is untrue. I am delighted that you defended the poor creature, and thrashed the wretches badly. I see that one of them is still suffering from the blow you struck him. I have written to Oxford for fifty copies of the paper, and shall send them to all our friends. I cannot bear, I simply cannot bear people to think of you as a coward; and I have also arranged with our local paper to insert a full account of what you did. I was glad yesterday to see that one of the Cornish papers had a full report of it, and in its bill of contents printed the following:

"'PLUCKY CONDUCT OF A YOUNG CORNISHMAN IN OXFORD

"'MR. ROBERT NANCARROW THRASHES TWO BLACKGUARDS AND HANDS THEM OVER TO THE POLICE.'

"But, Bob, I don't understand you. In spite of your Quaker principles you felt it right to thrash these villains. What is the difference between thrashing the wretches who would harm a weak and defenceless woman, and helping your country to thrash that German bully who is a menace to Europe? If it was your duty to do one, it is surely your duty to do the other? The same principle is involved.

"By the way, Nancy Tresize has been accepted for Nursing work abroad. You remember that years ago she took a full certificate as a Nurse, and through the Admiral's influence she has obtained a post in France—at a French hospital, I expect. Perhaps she thinks she will thus be nearer Captain Trevanion, to whom report says she is going to be, if she is not already, engaged, If he is wounded, it might be that she would be able to nurse him.

"Oh, Bob, my boy, my boy, you've lost her. I am told that she despises you beyond words, while the Admiral regrets having given you free access to his house and called you his friend. All this is an awful grief to me. If you went to the front I should of course live in daily and hourly dread of anything happening to you, but all the same I should be proud beyond words to know that my son had offered his life for his country. But now—well, before I received this Oxford paper I felt ashamed to meet my friends."

Bob closed the letter with a sigh. He was wounded in the house of his friends. If it were only right, if it were Christian to——; but no, it was not. It was a violation of every known principle of Christ. Because the Germans used murderous means to make Europe a hell, it did not follow that England should do the same. Two wrongs could not make a right Besides, how much peace and good-will was there in it all?

The next day he saw an announcement that a great meeting was to be held that same night at the Imperial Opera House, to be addressed by certain well-known statesmen. The purpose of the meeting was to instruct the public as to the real causes of the war, and to point out the nation's duty. Bob made up his mind to go. Throughout the day he applied himself to his work, and then after an early dinner he left the Temple, and going out by way of the Temple Church found himself in Fleet Street.

Everywhere the evidences of the war were manifest. On every conveyance was a call to arms. Newsboys were eagerly shouting the contents of the papers, people were talking in the streets of the one prevailing topic.

Presently he stopped at a bookshop, and was immediately struck with the changed character of the literature in the window. There were no "latest novels," no "new and important biographies"; instead every shelf was weighted with books about the war.

"GERMANY AND THE NEXT WAR, by General von Bernhardi. Startling disclosures of Germany's aims and plans, by a well-known German General," he read. "This is one of the most popular books in Germany, and is recommended by the Kaiser and the Crown Prince of Germany, as a book which every patriot should read. It explains why we are at war to-day."

Side by side were others of a similar description, all written by men who bore the greatest German names.

Prince von Buelow, ex-German Chancellor, Nietzsche, Trietschke, and similar great names were given as the authors of the books.

Bob entered the shop, and having selected three which he thought promised to give him the best idea of Germany's aims and methods, ordered the bookseller to send them to his chambers.

When he reached the Great Opera House, early as it was, he found a vast concourse of people. After some little difficulty he found a seat in a good position for viewing the audience. He was immediately struck by the fact that here was no thoughtless, irresponsible crowd; rather one largely made up of men of grim determination and iron will. They were intelligent, well-read men too. They knew the history of their country, knew its weakness, and realised its faults. Nevertheless they loved it.

They were not saints. They were just commonplace people, who lived commonplace lives, amidst commonplace surroundings. But they had a sense of right and wrong, and in spite of their failings they had an inherent love of right. They were Englishmen who instinctively hated war, and would do anything in their power to avoid it. But there were, to them, worse things than war. Breach of faith was one; the destruction of truth, honour, and the nation's good name was another. If England had made a promise, no matter what it cost her, she must keep it. England could not stand by and see a little nation whom she had promised to protect, crushed:

But above all, they were Englishmen. Love of country was a tremendous factor. The homeland was dearer than their own lives. They could not stand by and see it filched from them.

Of course there were a lot of patriotic songs in which the whole audience joined. Some of them were silly doggerel, but there was nothing coarse or unworthy in them.

"Yes," thought Bob, "there is something almost divine in this love of home and country. It is eternal in the human heart. One can't get away from that."

Presently the speakers came on the stage, amidst great cheering and waving of handkerchiefs.

The chief speaker, one who held the supreme position in Naval matters, spoke first. It was a masterly speech, every sentence of which was carefully prepared and tellingly delivered. He did not appeal to passion, but in cold, measured terms spoke of the causes which led to the war, and then passed on to the success of the Navy and the Army.

"Yes," reflected Bob, as the young statesman sat down amidst the thundering applause of the multitude, "as far as a war can be righteous, this is. If ever a war were justified, this is. But can a resort to brute force and instruments of murder ever be justified? That is the question. No, it is not right that these Germans should be a menace to Europe and the world; but do we not believe in God? Can we not trust Him? Must blood be washed out by blood, must brutal arrogance be swept away at the cost of carnage and infinite misery?"

The second speaker, although he had not the same weight, deepened the impression the other had made by his brilliance and rhetoric. He too told the story of the English Ambassador in Berlin who was asked whether England would go to war for "a scrap of paper."

That was the question which he asked amidst the cheers of the crowd, and then waited a second.

"Yes," and his voice rang clearly through the great building, "when that scrap of paper meant England's honour and faithfulness."

Before Bob knew what he was doing, he found himself cheering wildly. A man, a nation should fight for its honour, its plighted word.

Then the old question came back. But how could it do so in the name of Christ? Should not the weapons of Christ be used? Should not an appeal be made to the Founder of the Christian religion? Would not the Kaiser, he who professed to be a Christian, have laid down the sword if he had been appealed to in the name of the Prince of Peace? How could a bloody war be waged by those who believed in Christ? It was all confusing, maddening!

The last speaker was a Labour Member of Parliament. He used no polished phrases, no brilliant epigrams. He had no knowledge of the classics, and could not illustrate his arguments by quotations from great writers. But he had something better—a homely wit, a great human sympathy. He had a ready tongue, too, and the crowd roared at his homely humour.

"Six years ago," he said, "I went to Berlin. I was a delegate at a Peace Conference in that capital. I was one of many sent there by all the nations of Europe. Our aim was to discuss means whereby national quarrels could be settled without an appeal to the sword—by brotherly counsel, by friendly arrangement, by arbitration.

"What happened? Remember this was in Berlin, the capital of the German Empire. We had met there in the interests of the peace of the world. Surely the noblest, the most Christ-like purpose for which any conference could meet."

Bob's heart grew warm at this. It was the dream of his own life, it accorded with the teaching of Hint Who died for the world.

"What happened?" went on the speaker. "This happened. No sooner had the President of the Conference got on his feet to address the delegates, before a single sentence had been spoken, than a number of soldiers rushed in, sent there by the German Government, and brutally broke up the Conference. We were not allowed even to discuss the means whereby the nations might live at peace, there in the German capital. What would become of the liberties of England if we were conquered by a nation like that?"

Bob had no knowledge of what took place at the meeting after that. The incident told, as it was, in homely, yet forcible fashion, seemed unbelievable. Yet, he thought, the man would not dare to tell it if it were not true. It was not a matter of hearsay; the thing had been seen, experienced by the speaker. Not only did the Germans not desire peace, but they made it impossible even to discuss means of maintaining it. That was Germany! War they could engage in proudly, but even friendly discussion among lovers of peace, to obtain peace, was made impossible by the soldiers of the Kaiser.

Bob left the meeting bewildered. The brilliant speeches were forgotten in the recital of this single incident. Surely there must be some mistake! It could not be! It was opposed to, nay, it was the grossest violation of the first elements of Christianity. And it had, been done by the Government of the Kaiser.

No, no, the Kaiser did not know, he could not know! But this must have been because of the law of the land, and the Kaiser must be cognisant of it.

As he entered the door of the building where his chambers were, he saw a young fellow whom he knew slightly.

"I say, have you seen this, Nancarrow?" he said.

"What is it?"

"It is an order given to his army by the Kaiser. It was sent me by a man who actually saw it. Just read it. It is the sweetest thing I have seen yet."

Bob read what has since become public property, but which was at the time but little known:—

"It is my Royal and Imperial Command, that you concentrate your energy, for the immediate present, upon me single purpose, and that is that you address all your skill, and all the valour of my soldiers, to exterminate first the treacherous English, and walk over General French's contemptible little Army.

"HEADQUARTERS, "AIX-LA-CHAPELLE, "August 19."

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Bob's heart grew hot. The arrogance, the self-glory, the mountebankism of the order aroused all the fighting spirit of the old Trelawneys.

"But they haven't done it yet, neither will they," went on the young fellow. "Thank Heaven the tables are being turned, and we are driving them back. No, by Jove, French's 'contemptible little Army' has given them something to do already. Even when the Kaiser poured the flower of his army upon them, when they were five to one at Mons, they couldn't break our ranks. Our chaps faced the fire without a squirm, and coolly told as afterwards that their shooting was rotten. For that matter I'm told by the German prisoners that but for the English they'd be in Paris before now."

"Have you talked with them?"

"Yes, I was admitted into one of the prisoners' camps. I know one of the men in authority. According to their account the soldiers themselves scarcely knew why they were fighting; but they were promised a sort of picnic. Instead of which the British gave them hell. Oh, they have tremendous respect for us now!"

"I wonder you haven't enlisted."

"Heavens, don't I wish I could! I've tried again and again, but my eyes are bad. I have to wear tremendously powerful glasses. When are you off?"

Bob did not reply. He would have given anything to say, "To-morrow," but he felt as though a weight were on his tongue.

He made his way to his chambers. It was still early—not more than half-past nine. He was excited beyond measure, and it was madness to think of going to bed. What should he do?

Looking around, he saw a parcel, on which was the label of the bookseller at whose shop he had called.

"It's the books I bought," he reflected. "I can't do any law work to-night; I'll read them." Almost feverishly he untied the parcel. A few minutes later he was reading hard.

The book he opened first was Germany and the Next War, by General von Bernhardi. He had heard it spoken of, but had no idea of its contents. At that time it was but little known. The publishers had just brought out a cheap edition, and although it was beginning to be talked about, the world at large was almost ignorant of it.

It has been said that on more than one occasion a speech or a book has altered the history of nations; that some of the utterances of our great statesmen have altered the destinies of an Empire. Doubtless such sayings have much truth behind them, and it would not be difficult to quote instances in proof of them. Sometimes even a song has moved a whole nation, and made what seemed impossible, an accomplished fact. What influence had the Marseillaise on the French Revolution? Let French historians tell us.

When Bob opened Von Bernhardi's book, he expected to be interested, and perhaps enlightened; but he certainly did not expect it to revolutionise his thoughts.

At first he read with only half his mind. He had been greatly excited by the meeting he had attended, and for the first few minutes constantly found himself thinking rather of the speeches than of the book.

Presently, however, a sentence gripped him, and then he forgot everything else. He realised that he was reading, not simply the opinions and sentiments of a single individual, but of the ruling caste of the German Empire. As he read, he rubbed his eyes. He could not believe that he saw aright. He had expected windy vapourings, instead he found cold, reasoned statements—a kind of Machiavellian philosophy.

Hour after hour he read, regardless of time, his mind absorbing the author's arguments as a sponge sucks up water.

An hour after midnight he rose from his chair and flung the book from him as though it were something unclean.



CHAPTER XII

It is not my purpose to analyse the book which moved Bob so profoundly, and I am only referring to it because of its effect on his thoughts. It must be remembered that he had been reared to regard war as something born in hell, something which meant, in the words of the Prime Minister of England, "Hell let loose." He had never heard any one speak of it as something to be desired. At best it was only a "ghastly necessity," something which should not be resorted to until "all the resources of civilisation were exhausted."

Here, however, he found war not only gloried in, but set forth as a necessity to the well-being of nations. War was not only a necessity, it was a virtuous thing, it was the will of God, it was taught by Christ.

A score of sentences burnt like flames of fire before his eyes. Sentences, not written in the heat of passion, but in cold, measured terms. And they were accepted as the Gospel of Germany.

"Without war," said the writer, "inferior and decaying nations would easily choke the growth of healthy and budding elements, and universal decadence would follow. . . .

"It is not the possessor, but the victor who has the right. . . .

"Might is at once the supreme right, AND THE DISPUTE AS TO WHAT IS RIGHT IS SETTLED BY THE ARBITRAMENT OF WAR. . . .

"Reflection shows that not only is war an unqualified necessity, but that it is justifiable from every point of view. . . .

"If we sum up our arguments, we shall see that from the most opposite aspects the efforts directed towards the abolition of war must not only be termed foolish, but ABSOLUTELY IMMORAL, and must be stigmatised as unworthy of the human race. . . .

"According to peace treaties, 'the weak nation is to have the same right to live as the powerful and vigorous nation.' . . . this is absolutely immoral. . . .

"Efforts for peace would, if they attained their goal, not merely lead to general degeneration, but would have a damaging and unnerving effect. . . .

"Every means must be employed to oppose those who work for peace. . . ."

As Bob came to this last passage, he understood why the German soldiers entered the Peace Convention in Berlin and broke it up by force of arms. He felt that the Germans lived in a different world from that in which other nations lived. What to him was a duty, was to them a crime. What to him was the goal of every Christian and humane man, was to the German something to be destroyed root and branch. They lived in different worlds, worshipped a different God. Christianity was not the same thing to them as to us. We had no common ground on which to meet. He understood now why the Hague Conference was a failure. Germany had made it a failure. What other nations longed for, they discarded with scorn.

They had an utterly different religion. In spite of whatever militarism there might be in England, the people believed in and worshipped the Prince of Peace. In Germany Christ was crucified, and in his place was set up a WAR GOD before which they fell down and which they adored. All the policy of the Empire was directly controlled by this War God, and they could not understand being governed by any other power.

It was all overwhelming, bewildering. This Gospel of the Germans completely revolutionised his whole intellectual outlook. The idea of living at peace with such a people was impossible. One might as well think of living at peace with a mad dog. They had no common morality to which one could appeal. One could not appeal in the Name of the Prince of Peace, because to them the Gospel of Peace was immoral.

Then the arrogance of their Creed was revolting. This man Bernhardi, and Treitschke, and Nietzsche, and the rest of them lived, and acted on one assumption. They compressed their thoughts into a syllogism:

The people with the highest civilisation and the highest culture should become dominant throughout the world.

Germany had the highest civilisation, and boasted the highest culture.

Therefore Germany had the right, and not only the right, but the duty to make war in order that Germany might be dominant. Of course she must wait for a favourable opportunity, and when that opportunity came, she must make war regardless of all the misery and bloodshed that it must cause.

"The great Elector," said Bernhardi, "laid the foundations of Prussia's power by deliberately incurred wars."

In the light of all this Bob called to mind the German Emperor's speech to his soldiers when on their way to the front.

"Remember that the German people are the chosen of God. On me, on me as the German Emperor, the Spirit of God has descended. I am His weapon, his sword, and his vizard. Woe to the disobedient! Death to the cowards and unbelievers!"

It would be laughable if it were not so terrible.

Of course the Emperor was sincere and conscientious in all this mountebankism, but he was a menace and a blighting danger all the same.

Mohammed was earnest and sincere when he led his wild armies forward crying, "Death or conversion!" Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain were earnest and conscientious when they roasted the Moors of Spain in the name of the Holy Church and Jesus the Saviour of the world. Torquemada was earnest and conscientious as the Grand Inquisitor who burnt heretics who could not accept his doctrines.

But that did not make this German menace any the less dangerous. Rather it increased the danger. The military caste, the ruling caste in Germany, they who had been planning and preparing for war, and looked upon it as a duty, had no moral standard to which a Christian could appeal. Their right was our wrong. It would be as easy to argue with a virus-toothed tiger as to argue with them. They had accepted the terrible religion of the duty of war as the faith of the nation, and nothing but equal or superior force would stop them in their onward march.

This explained the terrible stories in which Bob had not hitherto been able to believe. The ghastly outrages at Louvain, the unspeakable deeds at Malines. They were all a part of the same ghastly creed.

"A sacrifice made to an alien nation," said Treitschke, "is immoral. . . .

"Among all political sins, the sin of feebleness is the most contemptible. It is the political sin against the Holy Ghost."

It also explained their violation of the Belgian treaty. Bernhardi argued most earnestly, that if a treaty placed a difficulty in the way of a great nation's realising its purposes, then it was not only justifiable, but the duty of that nation to break that treaty.

"We must not hold back in the hard struggle for the sovereignty of the world," he argued.

Every nation that stood in their way must be swept aside. For that Germany had been for years building up her "invincible army," and filling her war chests. Protection was no part of her policy; it was for ever and always, aggression, aggression. How can Germany obtain the sovereignty of the world?

Again Bob found that these Germans regarded England as their greatest hindrance to the fulfilment of their dreams. Therefore the question arose as to how England could be swept aside. It was all a matter of calculation. Laying down the basic principles that war was a necessity and a duty, and that Germany must dominate the world, all the rest followed as a natural consequence.

The nations of Europe were like so many pieces on a chessboard. They must be made strong, or destroyed just as the occasion fitted in with Germany's plans. Thus for the present Italy must be strengthened, and Turkey must be supported, but the power of France must be destroyed. Why? What harm was France doing? That was not the question. France stood in the way of Germany's ambitions, therefore France must be crushed.

"In one way or another," said Bernhardi, "we must square our account with France. This is the first and foremost condition of a sound German policy. This must be settled by force of arms. FRANCE MUST BE SO COMPLETELY CRUSHED THAT SHE CAN NEVER AGAIN COME ACROSS OUR PATH."

As I said, Bob had arisen from his chair and thrown the book from him. It in itself was a crime. The cold, calculating immorality of its teaching was revolting. He felt as though he had been wading through filth.

"There is nothing for it," he cried, "but to destroy it root and branch. Great God, this is a Holy War. It is Christ's war!"

He saw everything in a new light. Yes, war was a crime, it was "hell let loose," but by no other means could this poisonous lust for war be destroyed.

"He that hath no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one!"

Who said that?

He remembered that they were the words of Jesus just before His crucifixion. They were not uttered lightly, they contained the essence of a great truth.

What did Jesus mean?

Again He said, "I came not to bring peace on earth, but a sword."

Bob walked to and fro in the room in his excitement. Did not Christ have such a problem as now faced him in His mind when He uttered these words?

Here was a great military caste which threatened, nay, destroyed, the peace of the world. That caste was so poisoned by the virus of war, that to reason with it was impossible. To appeal to it on moral grounds was a waste of breath, simply because there was no common ground of appeal.

What then? Must this great immoral force be allowed to menace the world?

He thought of his long-cherished dream. War against war. Why, every sword drawn in this war was drawn in the interests of peace? Overthrow this great War God, and this might be the last European war.

He thought of all his old arguments. "I say unto you, love your enemies, do good to them that hate you." The spirit of it all was, Live by the law of Love.

He did not hate the Germans. Millions of them were quiet, industrious, honest people. Left alone, they would pursue peaceful avocations, kindly, and with good intent. But they were under the reign of the War God, they were turned into killing-machines to satisfy the ambition of a great military caste which ruled the Empire and enforced its will.

The practical effect of love was service. It would be the greatest blessing that could befall this German people if this War God could be destroyed, crushed to atoms. Then the people would be free to live their own lives.

"I'll enlist!" he cried excitedly. "It is a great duty! It's service for Christ!"

The thought staggered him. Where were all his old qualms and objections? He hated war as much as ever. He still longed for peace with a consuming passion; and it was because he longed for peace, and because he was trying to be a Christian, that he felt the call of God!

This war caste in Germany was like a great cancer growing in the heart of Europe. Its poisonous roots had found their way into the vitals of the German Empire, and the thing threatened to destroy the best life of the world. If the Kaiser and his hosts won in this war, it would keep the spirit of war more alive than ever. It would mean the destruction of liberty, it would mean the impossibility of peace; and more, it would mean that in future every country would be forced to increase its armaments, to the ruin of the best life of the people, in order to protect themselves from this evil power.

German culture! What was it worth in the last analysis? It was a resort to barbarism and savagery, and brutal arrogance.

No, no, the poisonous cancer must be cut out. The power of the German war caste must be destroyed so that the people might live in peace.

Christianity stood for brotherhood, purity, truth, honour, love, mercy—it stood for the peace of the world, while this War God of Germany stood like a great Colossus making all these things impossible.

Bob felt as though a great burden had fallen from him! His eyes were opened! His duty was clear!

The next morning he found his way to a recruiting station which he had previously noticed. All hesitation had gone. Not a suggestion of his old qualms occurred to him. He had no more doubt about his duty to fight in this quarrel than he would have doubted about his duty if a mad dog were in the district.

When he arrived at the station, a number of young men had gathered. Some belonged to the poorest and most uneducated classes; but in the main they were clerks, assistants in shops, and young tradesmen. A few of them, Bob judged, were of the professional class. They were in a group by themselves, and did not seem at home amidst their present surroundings. They looked curiously towards Bob as he came up, and seemed to be carefully summing him up.

Bob nodded in a friendly way.

"Joining?" asked one.

"Yes," replied Bob.

"Had any previous training?"

"O.T.C."

"While you were at school?"

"Yes."

"Which?"

"Clifton."

"Good! I know some of the chaps there. I was at Marlborough. We used to play cricket and football with Clifton. What years were you there?"

Bob was about to reply, when a motor-car drove up, and a tall, military-looking man got out.

He looked around him, and then seemed to be about to pass into the building when his eyes rested on Bob. He immediately came towards him.



CHAPTER XIII

"That you, Nancarrow?"

"Yes, Captain Pringle," replied Bob, whom by this time he had recognised.

"What are you doing here?" asked Captain Pringle, with a smile.

"I want to enlist, sir."

The Captain lifted his eyebrows; perhaps he remembered their last conversation together.

"Will you come this way," he said; "I should like a chat with you."

Bob followed the Captain, while the other fellows looked envyingly towards him.

Captain Pringle led the way to a small room which he evidently used as an office. To all appearance he was in authority at the station.

"I'm rather surprised to see you here, Nancarrow," he said, when he had taken his seat behind a business-looking desk, and pointed Bob to a chair.

"I'm rather surprised myself, sir."

"What have you been doing since I saw you last?"

Bob told him.

"And now you want to enlist?"

"If I can, sir."

"What as?"

"Anything, sir. For the front, if it is possible. I want to be at it."

The Captain smiled at Bob's eagerness.

"But, my dear chap," he said, "this is surely a big change for you. If I remember aright, you joined the O.T.C. only to please your mother, and you hated soldiering and all its doings as you hated the devil."

"I expect I do still, sir; but—but I am afraid it would take too long to explain why—why I feel I must go to the front. I've had a bad time in one way and another. You see, my father was a Quaker, and I was brought up to believe in his teachings. I do still, for that matter. War is hell, there's no doubt about that. But I've gone through the whole business, and now I want to be at it. I don't want to stay in England five minutes longer than I can help. I must get to the firing-line. I feel like a man who wants to kill a mad dog."

"Commissions aren't so easily obtained."

"I'm not troubling about a commission, sir. We can't be all officers, and I feel that all I ever learnt about soldiering would come back to me in a week. If I can help it, I don't want to be idling around in a barracks, or in camp; I just want to go to France as soon as ever I can. I'll do anything, be anything; I don't care what, so long as I can get into action."

"That's the spirit," replied Captain Pringle; "and I can't tell you how glad I am to see you here. Of course I remember you when you were in the O.T.C. You did jolly well—distinguished yourself, in fact. You remember what I said to you."

"Yes, sir, I remember very well."

The Captain was silent for a few seconds. He seemed to be thinking deeply, as if he were uncertain what to say.

"Naturally you know that even although you took a kind of double first in the O.T.C., in the ordinary course of things you would have to have further training before you could go into active service as a private."

"That's what's bothering me, sir. I did think of joining one of the Public School or University Corps, but from what I can find out, they are kept down at Epsom or some such place. I suppose they are having a great time, and all that sort of thing; but, don't you see, that's not what I want! I mean business, Captain Pringle."

The Captain started from his chair, and took two or three turns up and down the room.

"You are really anxious for active service?" he said presently.

"I am. I feel that I've waited too long, and I want to make up for lost time. It's several weeks now since the war commenced, and although, heaven knows, I thought I was doing the right thing, I feel now as though I have been playing the sneak and the coward. Other chaps have been fighting while I have been sitting in an arm-chair theorising on the ethics of the business. Now, however, I see my duty, and my way is clear. But I want to make up for lost time. I want to be in the thick of it. Of course, if I can't, I can't, and, as I said, I'm willing and anxious to do whatever I am told. But I do want to go to the front; I don't care in what capacity, but somewhere where I can help to kill this Mad Mullah who is threatening the best life of Europe."

"You want to help to smash Germany?" laughed the Captain.

"Yes, that's it!"

"But why?" asked the Captain curiously.

"Because Germany, that is, official Germany, the Germany that holds in thraldom millions of people, is the spirit of war. It worships the God of War, and I want to go to war in order to kill war. You can't argue with it, you can't appeal to it, because what is right to you is simple madness to them. There's nothing for it but to crush it, destroy it root and branch."

"But what about your religious views?" laughed the Captain. "Don't you still believe in prayer and in that kind of thing?"

"It's because I do believe in it that I've been led to think as I do think. But it would be mocking the Almighty to pray to be kept from starvation when you refused to work; blasphemy to pray for good health while your drains are foul; madness to pray that no robbers might enter your house, when you left your doors unlocked, knowing that all the time fellows were waiting to come in and rob you. Just the same it would be mockery to pray that Germany may be kept from going to war, when she believes that Christ encourages it, that it is her duty to force war, and as a consequence has been for twenty years preparing for it, and waiting for a favourable opportunity to begin her hellish work, without doing all one can. We've got to crush, to kill this War God of theirs, and make war impossible for the future. Forgive me, sir, for talking like this; I didn't mean to. I've been a long time in getting to this point, but now it has become a kind of passion with me, because I feel it to be the Call of God."

"By gad, Nancarrow, but you've touched the spot this time, and you've put it well too! I'm not much at religion, I'm afraid, and I've had no scruples. I'm an Englishman, and an Englishman must stand by his promises, and help the weak. That's enough for me. All the same, I've thought, as I suppose every one else has, how any war can be squared with Christianity. But as you've put it—yes, I see—you mean that out of love for the German people themselves, this War God, as you call it, must be thrown down and crushed to powder!"

"Yes, that's it."

"Yes, and then there is another question—but no, I'll not go into that now. As you said, you mean business, and I've spent a good quarter of an hour, or more, talking. But still, old times are old times, after all, and we were friends in the old days. But to business now. I'm as keen as you are that you shall get into the thick of it. As a matter of fact, I expect to go to the front myself in a week, and I want to do what I can for you. You are willing to do anything, you say?"

"Anything."

"Look here, can you ride—well, I mean? No modesty, now. Speak plainly."

"I can ride anything, sir. I can stick on a horse galloping, with my face to its tail."

"Good! Know anything about motoring?"

"I've had a car for years, and always driven it myself. I do my own repairing, and I know every inch of it, inside and out."

"Good again! Know anything about motorbikes?"

"Ridden one for years. After the last Easter Vac., I went from Cornwall to Oxford on an old Humber. When I got there, I took it all to pieces, repaired some of the parts, and turned it into a good machine. Excuse me for talking so much about myself. I wouldn't have done it, had you not asked me. Besides, I'm anxious to show you that I'm not helpless."

"Helpless, by George! You are a useful man. You ride like a Centaur, and you know all about motor-cars and motor-bikes. In addition to all this, you did jolly well in the O.T.C. Yes, you certainly must be made use of."

Again Captain Pringle was silent for a few seconds.

"You've got your licence and all that sort of thing for motoring?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Ever been to France?"

"Often, sir; also Germany."

"Know the lingo?"

"Passably."

"That is, you can understand what a Frenchman or a German says?"

"Everything, sir."

"Good! I'll speak to my Colonel right away. But let's strike while the iron is hot. You came here to enlist as a private, you say. In that case let's get through the medical business at once."

"I'm all right, sir."

"That must be proved. You are big enough, Heaven knows! Six feet high, aren't you?"

"Just a trifle above that."

"And forty inches around the chest, I should think. Come this way."

A few minutes later Bob had been overhauled by a doctor.

"Sound as a bell," was the doctor's verdict.

Next he had to submit himself to an oculist, who tested Bob's eyes.

"All right?" asked Captain Pringle, who was present during the examination, and told the doctors that Bob was an old friend of his.

"Should be a good shot," replied the oculist. "He's all right."

"Good!" said Captain. "How are your teeth, Nancarrow?"

Bob opened his mouth with a laugh. He was in high spirits.

"They look all right," said Captain Pringle; "but you must be properly examined. A week or two ago hundreds of fellows were taken on without any real examination at all. Only yesterday, when I was down at S——, I was talking with a doctor there, and he told me that a fellow had actually been passed who had a weak spine, and wore instruments to support his back. Of course he was sent home at once, but it shows how, under the new conditions, things were conducted in a loose fashion. However, that's all over now. We are taking only sound men. Here you are."

Bob was quickly dismissed by the dentist, and pronounced "all right."

"I suppose you are ready at once?" asked Pringle.

"Give me a couple of hours to settle up about my chambers, and a few things like that, and I shall be ready, sir."

"Right. Of course there are the papers to sign and all that kind of thing, but that's nothing. Be here at three o'clock this afternoon."

"Very good, mon capitaine," and Bob saluted military fashion, while the other laughed.

"I don't know quite what to do with you yet, Nancarrow," said Pringle. "You see, you are too good a man for a private—beside, you want to go straight to the front. Naturally, too, at such times as these we can't do everything by cast-iron rule. Exceptional cases demand exceptional treatment. I can't say any more than that until I see my Colonel. You will go with me to see him this evening. As you will see, I'm not treating you quite like an ordinary recruit."

"I should think not, sir. I did not expect such favours."

When Bob got back to his chambers, he wrote to his mother.

"I expect this letter will come as a great surprise to you, mother," he wrote. "This morning I enlisted! Of course you are rubbing your eyes by this time, especially when you remember how I regard war. I haven't altered my opinions in the slightest about its horror, and all that. In fact, that's why I have enlisted. I'm not going to enter into any explanations of my change of belief and conduct. I'm only going to sy that I believe it is my Christian duty to fight as long as God gives me health against this War God which Germany has set up. I'm not sorry I have gone through what I have gone through, even although I've lost nearly everything I treasure most, and have lived in hell for weeks. If I had enlisted when you wanted me to, I should have been no good. I should have been feeling all the time that I was not doing right. I should have been like a paralysed man trying to walk. Now everything is different. I am eager to be in the thick of it. I am just longing to be at those Germans. Not that I have anything against the German people, but I want to help to kill the system that has gripped them body and soul. It seems that nothing but war will cut out this poisonous cancer of militarism, and it is the call of God to cut it out.

"That's why I've pleaded to be sent to the front right away. I met Captain Pringle this morning (you remember him), and he's going to do his best for me. He's off to the firing line in about a week's time, and I'm in hopes that I shall be able to go with him. In what capacity I don't know as yet; possibly only as a private, but I don't mind that. We can't all be officers, and I'm eager, anxious to be anything whereby I can help the cause. It is possible, therefore, that in a week or two's time I shall be out of England, on my way to, if not in the very midst of action.

"Please don't talk about this. God knows it's too serious to be talked about. Fancy a doctor going to perform an operation which may kill not only the patient but himself, and you have a hint of my feelings at this moment. Let the people think what they will of me—I'm beyond all that now. I'll write you in a day or two telling you exactly what has taken place."

When Bob arrived at S—— that afternoon, Captain Pringle went straight to Colonel Sapsworth. In a few minutes the Colonel knew the main outlines of Bob's career.

"I should have advised him to join one of the Public School Corps," said the Captain, "but in that case he would have been months before he could have gone into active service. You see he's as keen as mustard to be at the front, and remembering my last conversation with you, I thought I'd bring him down. We shall be sadly in need of men of his stamp. He will provide his own motor-bike, which he knows inside and out; he speaks French and German almost like a native, he's as plucky as they make 'em, he's eager to get to work; in addition to which he was the best lad we had in the O.T.C. with which I was connected."

"Does he want a commission?" asked the Colonel.

"Yes, I should think so—naturally. You see he's been well brought up, and is well off. On his mother's side he belongs to one of the best families in the West of England, and—and—well, Tommies are having to rough it just now."

"And none the worse for it," snapped the Colonel.

"Exactly; and he's quite prepared to enlist as a private. I was only answering your question."

"Just so: let's see him."

A few minutes later Bob was undergoing a severe cross-examination by the Colonel, who had the reputation of being somewhat eccentric in his methods. Bob, who of course knew that he was being subjected to special treatment, did not know whether the old officer was pleased with him or not. He only knew that he was asked keen, searching questions in a brusque, military fashion, and that he was finally dismissed without knowing what was to become of him.

For some time after this Bob knew what it meant to be a Tommy; he soon found out, moreover, that his experiences in the O.T.C. did not prepare him for those he was now undergoing. Each morning he was up at half-past five, and then for several hours a day he was submitted to the severest drilling. He quite understood the necessity for men being physically fit before being drafted into the army at war time. When he lay down at night in the company of men whom in ordinary times he would never think of associating with, he was so tired that he forgot the uncomfortable surroundings and uncongenial society. Never in his life had he slept as he slept now. Never did he imagine he would have to put up with such privations.

In one sense he found that, as far as the privates went, the army was a great democracy. One man was as good as another. The sons of well-to-do families rubbed shoulders with colliers and farm labourers. Tommy was Tommy, whether he was "Duke's Son" or "Cook's Son." And yet, in another sense, education and social status were recognised. He found that in spite of themselves, and in spite of the fact that all distinctions were technically sunk between them, those who came from labourers' cottages found themselves almost instinctively paying deference to the men who did not belong to their class.

There were some half a dozen men in Bob's company who had come from good homes, and while general comradeship existed, these men naturally drifted together.

One of the great hardships to Bob was the food. The rancid butter, the coarse bread, the almost uneatable bacon, the tough meat, tried him sorely. At first he could scarcely swallow it. He got used to it at length, however, and found that he was none the worse for it. He also longed for the luxury of a private bath. Oh! just for half an hour in the porcelain bath in his mother's house! Just to have the exquisite pleasure of feeling the sting of cold pure water around his body!

But things were not to be. As he laughed to himself, "I am a full private, and I must take my chance like the rest of them!" Nevertheless, to a lad reared amidst all the refinements of a good home the change was so great that had he not felt it a bounden duty to be where he was, he would have felt like running away. Still he was not there for fun, neither had he anticipated an easy time. Sometimes, it is true, he was more than disgusted by what he saw. Many of the men did not seem to understand the ordinary decencies of life, and acted in such a fashion as to grate sorely upon his sensitive nature. Their language was often unprintable, while their ideas of life and conduct often made him sick.

How could such fellows as these fight for honour and truth? Some of them seemed to have no sense of honour or decency. He saw presently, however, that even these, who were not by any means representative of the whole, had far higher standards than he had at first thought. They were coarse, and some times brutal, but they were kind to their pals, and would put themselves to any trouble to do another chap a good turn.

One night it was very cold, although it had been very warm during the day. They had all been drilling hard, and were dog-tired. One of the men was evidently very seedy. He complained of a sick headache, and he was shivering with the cold.

"Bit off colour, mite?" said one.

"Jist orful, Bill. Gawd, I wish I was 'ome. The graand is so —— hard too, and I'm as sore as if some one had been a-beatin' me with a big stick."

"Ere mitey, you just 'ave my blanket. I don't want it. And let me mike my old overcoat into a bit of a pillow for yer."

"You are bloomin' kind, Bill, and I don't like——"

"Oh, stow it, it's nothink. Anything you'd like, mitey?"

"No, that is——"

"Come, out with it you ——. Wot is it? Shall I fetch the doctor?"

"Ee ain't no use! besides, you'd get into a —— row if you went to him now. When I wos 'ome and like this my mother used to go to a chemist and git me some sweet spirits of nitre, and it always made me as right as a trivet. But there ain't no such —— luck 'ere."

"Wot yer call it? Sweet spirits o' mitre? Never 'eerd on it afore. 'Ow do you tike it?"

"Oh, you just puts it in 'ot water; but there, I can't 'ave it. Good night, Bill, and thank you for the blanket."

Bill, without a word, tired as he was, left the tent, and half an hour afterwards returned with the medicine.

"Gawd, Bill," said the sick man, "but you ain't a ——"

"Not so much chin music. There, tike it, and go to sleep."

Such little acts of kindness as these were constantly taking place, and they were by no means confined to men who belonged to the better-class but were more frequently seen among the roughest and coarsest.

Bob found out, too, that there was a rough sense of honour among them. Some of them seemed to revel in filthy language, but if a man did a mean thing, or didn't play the game according to their standard, he was in for a bad time. Indeed, he soon found out that, in a certain sense, the same code of honour which prevailed at Clifton, with exceptions, operated in this newly-formed camp.

Day after day and week after week passed, and still Bob knew nothing of what was to happen to him. He had enlisted as a private, but on Captain Pringle's advice had put down his name for a commission. From the first day, however, he had heard nothing more of it. From early morning till late in the day it was nothing but hard, tiring work.

It was all wonderfully strange to him, this intermingling with a mixed humanity, working like a slave for that which he had hitherto hated, and which he still hated. Still, he threw his whole heart into it, and he could not help knowing that he was progressing rapidly. After the first few days his tiredness and soreness passed away, and he could go through the most arduous duties without feeling tired. There was something in it all, too, which inspired him. The military precision of everything appealed to him, and the shouts, and laughter of hundreds of voices made life gay in spite of everything. As the days passed by, moreover, he could not help seeing that the association with clean-minded, healthy-bodied, educated men, was having a good effect upon the coarse-fibred portion of the strange community. They did not indulge so frequently in coarse language, neither was their general conduct so objectionable. It seemed as though they had something to live up to.

"Shut up, mate, and don't be a beast," Bob heard one man say to another one day.

"You are mighty squeamish, you son of a swine," was the rejoinder; "wot are you so partic'ler about?"

"'Cos I don't want to tell them 'ere fellers that we're a low lot."

"We're as good as they are, thet's wot we are. We're just all equals 'ere. They are Tommies just as we are. That's wot I ses."

"We may be all equals as soldiers; but we cawn't git away from it, Bill, some of 'em are gentlemen. Thet's wot they are. Some of 'em just make me ashamed of myself sometimes. No, I ain't a puttin' on no side; but I just want to let 'em see that we workin' chaps can behave as well as they can. Thet's all. See?"

Meanwhile, good news came from the front. The Allies had driven the Germans back over the Marne, and were making progress all along the line.

The men cheered wildly as they heard the news.

"They'll git licked afore we get a smack at 'em," some ventured.

But in the main they knew better. They realised that the war was going to be long and bloody, and although going to the front possibly meant their death, there were very few who did not want to get there.

No one felt this more than Bob. He had now been three weeks in camp, and it seemed to him possible that it might be months before his time for action came. Of Captain Pringle he had heard nothing since he enlisted, and he was afraid he had gone to the front without having been able to do anything for him.

One evening he was sitting outside his tent, smoking his pipe. It had been a hot, sweltering day, although the summer was now over. Around him, as far as he could see, was a sea of bell-shaped tents. Everywhere was a great seething mass of men in khaki. Horses of all sorts abounded. Many of the men were bandying jokes one with another, others were at the canteen, while many more had gone to the nearest town. Bob himself had earlier in the day gone to the town to indulge in a "good square well-cooked meal," as he called it; and now, early as it was, although he little relished the thought of sleeping so-many in a tent, he was just thinking of going to bed. Near him a number of soldiers were singing gaily.

"Nancarrow!"

Bob turned his head, and saw a fellow soldier beckoning.

"What's up?"

"You are wanted."

"Where?"

"Officers' quarters."

As Bob obeyed the summons, he caught the song in which a great mass of men had joined.

"It's a long way to Tipperary, It's a long way to go; It's a long way to Tipperary, To the sweetest girl I know. Good-bye, Piccadilly; Farewell, Leicester Square. It's a long, long way to Tipperary. But my heart's right there."

As he reached the officers' quarters, he was surprised to see Captain Pringle.

"I've news for you, Nancarrow."

"Thank you, sir."

"You've got your commission."

"That's great. Thank you. I'm sure I owe it to you."

"Nonsense. Come this way. You've to go to Colonel Sapsworth. But that's not all. You start for the front almost immediately."

For a moment Bob could not speak. It was not fear that overwhelmed him, it was something more terrible. Every nerve in his body quivered, while his heart beat wildly.

"It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes, Captain. By Jove, that's great!"

And that was all Bob could say.



CHAPTER XIV

"I was afraid—that is, I thought you might be at the front," Bob stammered at length. "You told me, the day I enlisted, that you expected to go in a week."

"Yes, I know, but fresh orders came from headquarters. However, it can't be long now, thank Heaven! You were surprised at not seeing or hearing from me, I expect."

"I was a bit."

"Yes—well, that was by order."

Bob looked up inquiringly.

"You don't know Colonel Sapsworth," went on Captain Pringle. "He's what some of us call a holy terror. A fine officer, but has methods of his own. He's jolly good to us all, but he's determined to have no mugs about him. When I first brought you to him, I thought he didn't like you, but I found I was mistaken. All the same, he wanted to see the stuff you were made of. The truth is, he hasn't much of an opinion of O.T.C. men. He says that a lot of whipper-snappers from the public schools pass their exams, in the O.T.C., who are no more fit for officers than girls from a boarding-school. So, seeing you were willing to enlist as a private, he took you at your word. In fact, if Sapsworth had his way, he would have every officer in the Army rise from the ranks. No man, he maintains, can be a good officer unless he knows what it is to be a private. That was why you were sent here. He gave special instructions about you, however, and told the drill sergeant to keep his eye on you. He wanted to see what sort of stuff you were made of."

"I satisfied him, I hope?"

"You've got your Lieutenancy. That's the answer. Here we are."

Bob felt very uncomfortable during the next half-hour. As Pringle said, the Colonel was not a man who would stand any nonsense. He gave Bob some wholesome advice in no honeyed terms; he asked him many searching questions, after which he shook hands with him, and wished him good luck.

If Bob had worked hard as a private, he worked still harder as an officer. The work was, of course, different, yet it was essentially the same. Every day he expected orders to go to the front, but day followed day without the order being given. Meanwhile it seemed as though he were doing three days' work in one.

Of course the circumstances were somewhat more pleasant than they had been, the society was more congenial, and, instead of sleeping twelve in a tent, there were only two. Still the life was rough and hard.

"I wonder when we shall be off!" thought Bob, after what seemed to him an interminable number of days. "Pringle said we were to start immediately, and yet we are still hanging around here."

At length the orders arrived, and one night Bob found himself in a closely packed train bound for the South Coast. He wondered at what he called his good fortune in being allowed to start so soon, but reflected that he owed it to Captain Pringle's good offices and to what were called the Colonel's eccentricities. He rejoiced now, although he had been very reluctant at the time, that he had joined the O.T.C. This, of course, had made it possible for him to get to the front so soon.

Eager as he was to be in action, he could not help being saddened as he watched the men making their way to the trains. Splendid young fellows most of them were. The cream of England's manhood. They were almost without exception ruddy with health, and as hard as nails: straight, muscular men, who laughed at hardships, and who seemed to look at the whole business as a joke. They might have been going to a picnic, so merry were they. And yet, as Bob looked more closely, it was easy to see by the compressed lips, and the steely looks in their eyes, that they realised what they were doing.

"Good-bye, Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square, It's a long, long way to Tipperary, But my heart's right there."

They sang, and perhaps as they sang they pictured the homes to which they would never again return; they saw, as in a vision, the girls to whom they had said "Good-bye," perhaps for ever.

In a few days, perhaps, many of those light-hearted boys would be lying in the trenches, or in some ditch, stark and dead, or in some hospital maimed and crippled for life.

Yes, war was a ghastly, hellish business, and it should never be possible in Christian countries. This war, Bob felt, was one of the greatest crimes ever known, and all through which he had been passing ought only to be able to exist in troublous dreams.

Still he had no doubts about his duty. England's hands were clean, and England's path was clearly marked out. We were not fighting for gain or territory. With us it was a war of sacrifice, a war of duty. We were going in order to keep our word with a small state, to crush tyranny and slavery. But more, we were going to overthrow the war devil which the Germans had set up as a god. That was the thought that stirred Bob's heart and hardened his muscles. It was a war against war; he was really taking his part in a great mission on behalf of peace. Yes, it must be a fight to the finish. The sword must never be sheathed until this military god, which had turned all Europe into an armed camp, and which had made Germany a menace to the world, should never be able to lift its ghastly head again.

"I say, Nancarrow, you look mighty grim."

"I'm in for grim work, Pringle."

"By gad, yes. How many of these chaps will be singing 'It's a long way to Tipperary' in a month from now? How many aching hearts are there because of this business? Yes, Nancarrow, you were right, war was born in hell, but we must see it through."

When they landed on French soil, they were received with great jubilation.

"Vive les anglais!" was the cry on every hand. Old men with tears in their eyes welcomed them; old women vied with each other in showering blessings upon them; young girls followed them with shouts of laughter, yet with sobs in their laughter, and wished them every blessing.

"Yes, monsieur," cried an old dame to Bob, as he entered a fruit-shop, "take what you will. You English are our friends, our saviours. We French did not want to fight, but the Germans forced us. And then, voila! You came forward like the friends you are, and you say, 'Down with the German eagle. France shall have fair play.' No, no, I will take no payment. Take what you will."

"But you are, perhaps, poor, madame!" urged Bob. "This war has made it hard for you."

"Hard! Ah, you say the truth. We have a garden near by. My husband and sons worked in it—now they are all gone. My husband and four sons went, but two of my sons are dead—killed."

"Perhaps they are only taken prisoners."

"And is not that death? What is life in a German prison but death? But, never mind, I have my husband and two sons still alive—but no, I will not take your money. Perhaps you have a mother, young monsieur?"

"Yes," replied Bob, and the picture of his mother sitting alone in the old home at St. Ia flashed before his eyes.

"Ah, yes, I see," said the old woman. "I see. But perhaps you have brothers, sisters?"

"No, I am her only son."

"And she grieves to part with you?"

"Yes, but she wanted me to go. She was angry with me for keeping back so long."

"Ah, that is the true woman. She hates the Germans?"

"No, we have friends there. But she wanted me to be here for duty's sake, and for England's honour."

"Ah, yes—England's honour. You promised Belgium, didn't you? And then there is the Entente Cordiale. Vive l'Entente Cordiale, monsieur! Ah, must you go? There is nothing else you will take?"

"Nothing, madame. Good-bye. God be with you."

"If you meet my husband, Alphonse Renaud is his name, or my two sons, Jean and Albert, you will tell them you saw me, spoke to me."