by Anthology
"The journey tired me a good bit," replied Merriam indifferently. "It wasn't very easy travelling, after I got into the war zone. How much longer do you think it'll last, Les?"
"Hard to tell. If the rumour's true that the Japs are on the point of giving up, we'll be able to turn an additional army of over half a million men loose on the Chinese, and that ought to finish things in a hurry. I'm looking for the end of the war before spring."
"Then we'll expect you in March, or April at the latest. Well, I think I'll try for a little sleep in spite of the bugs."
"Can't offer you a bed, Jim," said the Colonel, rising. "Haven't got one for myself. Blankets are just about as scarce, and even if I could get you any, they wouldn't be fit for a human being to use."
"Oh, don't worry about me. I'll curl up on the floor just as I am."
"I can give you some millet straw and that'll at least keep you off the ground."
Merriam watched absently while his friend spread a thin layer of filthy straw in one corner of the hut and carelessly threw down another bundle in the opposite corner for himself.
"Not much glory about war nowadays, is there?"
"Glory! "exclaimed the Colonel, looking up from his task. "Hell!"
The Professor scarcely closed his eyes that night. To the discomfort of his mind and his wretched temporary abiding-place, was added a growing discomfort of body that even his extreme weariness and surroundings would hardly account for. He had been chilled to the marrow earlier in the evening, but now, in spite of the intense cold, his whole body felt hot and feverish and there was a stitch in his side that pained him severely. "Guess I'm in for a touch of grippe," he muttered to himself drowsily. "Well, it's not to be wondered at after what I've been through." As the night wore on, the fever increased and strange images presented themselves to his burning brain.
It seemed to him that Evelyn and he were on opposite sides of a broad river, black as night, which flowed swiftly between them, bearing along in its rapid course the bodies of men, some of them such as he had caught glimpses of on the fresher battlefields he had passed the day before. She was calling to him, he could see that, although the roar of the river drowned any sound that might have come to him. And while he hesitated on the bank, Leslie sprang past him, and plunging boldly in, with vigorous strokes reached the other side. Then he saw Tom Hooker's face, wearing its accustomed grin, and he heard dimly and far away the naval officer's voice saying: "Circumstances alter cases. Any man may find the bottom of hell, but it takes a real man to get out again. After all, there's no reason why you shouldn't, when you've waited so long." He felt an impelling desire to follow, but something told him that if he ever entered those dark waters, he would never emerge again. Suddenly some one came up behind him and thrust him in, and the icy waves numbed him and dragged him down— down.
He thought that he and Leslie stood on the brink of a vast chasm, glowing white hot with leaping flames that licked upward and scorched them where they stood. And through the rifts in the flames he could see Evelyn's face, bright and glorious in the fearful glare. Then Leslie would have leaped across, but he held him back pleading with him that it was certain death to attempt that blazing barrier. But Leslie tore away from him and in an instant was safe beside her on the other side. Then he wished greatly to pass the barrier, too, but his feet seemed weighted with lead, and he fell short and was whirled down — down into the roaring furnace.
Many times the visions changed and shifted, but the central figures always remained — he and Leslie and Evelyn. He was conscious that his mind was wandering; conscious that the scenes were unreal, and his one desire was to gain control of his vagrant senses and conceal his illness before morning came and Leslie awoke again. At times he feared that he might have cried out in his delirium and aroused his friend, but when the confused noises in his ears subsided, he could always hear the Colonel's heavy and regular breathing as he slumbered undisturbed.
When the grey of early morning began to show through the cracks and holes in the rough door, the cheerful notes of reveille rang through the camp and the Colonel, rolling from his couch onto the hard earth, sat up, broad awake on the instant. Merriam made haste to rub his hot eyes ostentatiously, and dragging himself to his feet by a superhuman effort, affected to yawn and enquired whether or not there was any possibility of a train leaving for the base within the next few hours.
"I'll send my orderly to find out," said Leslie; "or perhaps, on second thought, you'd better go along with him. There's no regular schedule, of course, and you might just miss a chance to get back to Harbin while he was bringing word. I'd go myself, but the regiment starts for the lines again at sunrise."
"Just the thing," replied Jim, vaguely astonished at his good luck; "get your slave and I'll be off."
"But I say, you'll stop for something in the way of breakfast, won't you? It's only army whack, of course, but it'll be some foundation to begin your trip on."
"Guess I won't wait, Les, if it's all the same to you. What you said about the trains has made me anxious to get to the rail head as soon as possible. I can pick up grub of some sort on the way, I expect, and that'll do well enough."
"Yes, I guess you can — only be careful about the kind of native stuff you put inside of you. Wish you'd wait, but if you're in a hurry, you're doing the right thing to get off as quick as you can."
He stepped to the door and threw it open, letting in a blast of cold air that cut the Professor like a knife.
"Oh, Rogers!" An overcoated private crawled out from an adjoining hut and coming smartly to attention, saluted.
"Go with this gentleman to the railway and stay with him until he's safe on board a train for Harbin."
"Yes, sir."
Leslie turned back to Merriam. "Au revoir, old man. See you again next spring."
"Good-bye," returned Jim unsteadily. He pulled himself together and managed to stand upright without swaying, although his head was buzzing like a hornets' nest disturbed by the foot of a careless traveller, and returning the firm grip of the Colonel's hand, followed the soldier. When a turn in the path hid the low hovel and the tall figure standing by the door from sight, Merriam caught up with the orderly who was walking a few steps in advance.
"I'll take your arm, if you don't mind," he said to the man. "I haven't been very well lately, and I feel a bit dizzy."
He fought down the sickness through the long hours of the journey that followed, fought it down grimly until he could fight no more, and then lay in a semi-stupor while the train crawled slowly northward. At Harbin, the authorities found him raving in delirium, loaded him into an ambulance, and took him to the extemporized hospital used for medical cases. There, after his papers had been examined to make sure that he had the right to even the meagre consideration they could give him, he was made as comfortable as possible in a clean, white bed and one of the overworked doctors sent for.
"Pneumonia. Not much chance for him. Any friends?"
No, there were none who could be produced readily. They looked over his papers again and somewhat impressed by what they read, sent notification to Lieutenant-Colonel Smith of the 92nd infantry. But Colonel Smith and his regiment were already engaged in the six-day battle before Haicheng and so the message was held at Liaoyang, pending a lull in the hostilities. After all, the case was hopeless from the start and the over-burdened hospital staff was too busy nursing soldiers back into renewed usefulness to waste time in a losing struggle with inevitable death. But they hastily did what they could, saw that he had an English-speaking nurse to give him what attention she could spare from the men of the fighting force, and left him to meet his end in peace.
Eight days later, a field officer fresh from the front, as was indicated by his grimy appearance and tattered uniform, strode into the trim office of the hospital chief and asked for news of James Merriam, civilian, reported dangerously ill with pneumonia. The officer interrogated, making out with considerable difficulty the two bronze diamonds on the s
houlder-straps of his questioner, rose to salute respectfully and consulted a sheet which lay on the table in front of him.
"Died early this morning, sir."
The field officer's mouth tightened suddenly. "I see. Anyone with him when he — when the end came?"
Probably the nurse on duty at the time. Would the Colonel like to speak to her?
"If you please."
The hospital chief despatched a waiting orderly for the nurse, and when he had departed on his mission, summoned another and after giving him a brief, low-toned order, sent him from the room likewise. Presently the nurse entered — a slight, fair-haired, weary woman with a pale face illumined and glorified by service and sympathy with suffering.
Yes, she had been with him at the end, she said in answer to the Colonel's question.
"Did he say anything — make any last request — before he died?"
"He was conscious for a little while towards the last. I got my Bible and read to him for a few moments — all I could spare. It happened to be the second epistle of Paul to Timothy, and when I came to the verse, 'I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith,' he made a sign to me to read it over again. Then he smiled and seemed happier and more at ease, but he lapsed into unconsciousness soon afterwards and died a little later, quietly and without pain."
The officer thanked her briefly, almost coldly it seemed, but she saw the bitter grief in his eyes and understood. While she was speaking, the second orderly returned and now the hospital chief handed a little packet to the Colonel.
"His papers, sir."
The Colonel ran through the thin bundle rapidly, came to a folded sheet on which his own name was inscribed, and looked up quickly.
"This isn't his writing, though."
"He asked me to write it for him shortly after he was brought in," said the nurse. "He was too ill to do it himself."
"I understand. Thank you — once more." He opened the paper.
"Dear Les," he read, "they tell me here I've come to the end of my rope and have only a few days more to live. I'm selfish enough to hope that perhaps you and Evelyn and the others will be a little sorry because of my death; but it need be for your own loss only, for since death has come to me through no effort of my own, I welcome it gladly. My luck has turned at last, old man, and though the fight's been a long one, it's over now and I have my discharge. If you'll write to President Armstrong of the university, he'll take care of what little estate I leave. He knows where everything is and can handle it more easily than Mr. Thornton or Tommy. I've left everything to the college except a few little things of my mother's I'd like Eve to have. You won't mind, I know. It makes no difference to me where I'm buried. Right here will suit me as well as any other place, and I suspect it will have to be here in any case. I guess that's all except to say good-bye, old man, and God bless you."
The Colonel's face was very white and set when he had finished, but his hands were steady as he folded up the paper again.
"I'll keep these, of course. Anything else?"
"Not unless —" The surgeon hesitated and looked at his visitor a trifle dubiously.
"Yes, I would — if you don't mind my coming into the ward."
"That's all right, sir," said the chief soberly. "It's lucky you weren't two hours later. It would have been — " He paused apologetically.
"I know. You can't stop for sentiment in war time."
The nurse went on ahead and the Colonel followed, holding his sword close to his side lest it should strike against something. At the entrance to the ward, she spoke to a white-coated orderly who hurried on before them, and when they arrived at the bedside, a low canvas screen shut them off from the rest of the room. The nurse silently drew back the sheet that covered the calm, still face, and then withdrew, leaving the Colonel and his friend alone. When she had gone, Leslie remained for a space, thoughtfully regarding the quiet figure before him. Then he stooped and gently touched the cold forehead with his bearded lips.
Half an hour later, he was on his way to the front again.
Chapter XXIII
The Shadow Of The Past
WITH the spring, peace came. The representatives of the allies at length agreed to the payment of the billion pounds which the nations of the West demanded as a war indemnity, and to the cession of Port Arthur, destined to be the principal eastern naval station of the Federation. There were many who voiced the opinion that the Oriental nations were getting off very easily — perhaps too easily — and hinted at punitive measures and the exaction of much territory. But the grey President of the Federation Bought otherwise and, contrary to his usual custom, spoke his mind at length to the great delight and profit of the newspapers, which made haste to print his words on their front pages with scare-heads six inches high.
"I believe that the International Federation has decided the question of race supremacy once and for all, and now the more speedily we can forget that such a question ever existed, the better for the whole world. We have taught the nations of the Orient that in this present age, there is no place for the doctrine of race domination or race rule. Now we must begin to teach them that it is in the co-operation of the various races, not in their competition, that the progress of the world, the prosperity of the different nations, and the welfare of the individual exist. And we cannot do this, if we employ force to spread our teachings. What we win by the sword, we can hold only by the sword. If we endeavour to extend our borders by this war, we will acquire strife and endless discord for ourselves and no real benefit. I say that now it is better to lay the sword aside, and forego a fancied gain for the real one we shall obtain by inspiring those we have conquered with confidence in our justice and belief in our desire for the advancement of the human race."
Peace!
Like the clean, refreshing wind which follows the thunder-storm, the news swept through the cities and towns and villages of the Western world. It brought joy and thankfulness to the homes whose sons had gone forth and would return again. It brought thankfulness and rejoicing to the great industries which were shrivelling under the blight of war. And it brought quiet satisfaction to those few wise and far-seeing ones, now vindicated, who, in the face of hysterical idealism, in the face of confident ignorance and uninstructed sentimentalism, in the face of blindness and obstinacy and immovable prejudice, had taught the vital truth, so often revealed by history and so constantly forgotten, that no association of the human race, however inherently strong or potentially powerful, could trust in immunity from attack unless guarded by well-trained armaments and bulwarked by a ring of steel.
Flags everywhere, for already the soldiers were pouring in from the war. Worn and bronzed they were, by bitter cold and burning sun. Scarred they were, by bullet and bayonet and splinter of shell. Though their tattered rags had been replaced by bright, new uniforms, their faces still showed traces of the grime eaten in by months of trench and battlefield, and their eyes still held the haunting recollection of the frightful scenes they had looked upon. But through snow and ice, through flood and fire and terrible toil, they had cut the road to victory, and they marched with a firm and confident swing in their stride that told to the world how they had seen death and yet were not afraid to die.
They had paid the price of homage and honour in suffering and privation, in the risk freely and gladly taken of terrible death and wounds even more terrible, in unquestioning obedience to those who sent them forth to die when grim necessity demanded such a sacrifice. They deserved their reward.
But what of that sorrow-shrouded home in Boston, where Constance Coleman sits hour after hour by the bedside of her brother, who will never know the hope and joy of life again? What of the thousands of homes like it, scattered throughout the countries of the Western world? What of the many families left without support and thrown upon the charity of the state, and the self-respecting workmen, taught by the withering of the industries for which they toiled, to accept their means of livelihood from others
without giving their labour in return? These, too, have paid the price of peace and victory, but what is their reward?
On a certain morning in early May, a few days after the peace negotiations had been concluded, Lieutenant-Colonel Smith of the 92nd infantry, then quartered at Harbin awaiting its turn to board the long troop trains which were ceaselessly conveying the Army of Manchuria westward, stood in the presence of his commander, to whom he had been summoned some five minutes previously. Colonel Hopkins, ordinarily as good-natured an officer as ever cheered a mess table, wore on this occasion the air of a man possessed of a definite grievance against the world in general and ardently anxious to vent his ill-humour upon the first person or object conveniently presenting himself or itself for that purpose.
"I've just received an order from headquarters," he growled, as his subordinate came to attention and saluted, "permanently relieving you from further duty with the regiment and directing you to report to Colonel Villon in London as soon as possible. I wish to the devil they'd let me keep a good officer when once I've got him. I can't pick up a man like you anywhere in Manchuria."
For an instant the bare little room swam before Leslie's eyes, but he managed to maintain his outward composure, although he felt as though the firm earth on which he stood had suddenly crumbled away beneath him.
"I don't suppose — there was no reason given for this order, was there, sir?"
"Oh, no — of course not. That isn't the way they do things."
