The Major

R >> Ralph Connor >> The Major


An hour later Hugo Raeder came in with a message for him. Raeder after
one look at his face took Larry away with him, sick with rage and fear,
in his car, and for an hour and a half drove through the Park at a rate
that defied the traffic regulations, talking the while in quiet, hopeful
tones of the prospects of the Allies, of the marvellous recovery of
the French and British armies on the Marne and of the splendid Russian
victories. He touched lightly upon the recent naval disaster, which
was entirely due to the longer range of the enemy's guns and to a few
extraordinarily lucky shots. The clear, crisp air, the swift motion,
the bright sun, above all the deep, kindly sympathy of this strong,
clear-thinking man beside him, brought back to Larry his courage if not
his cheer. As they were nearly back to the office again, he ventured his
first observation, for throughout the drive he had confined his speech
to monosyllabic answers to Raeder's stream of talk.

"In spite of it all, I believe the navy is all right," he said, with
savage emphasis.

"My dear chap," exclaimed Raeder, "did you ever doubt it? Did you read
the account of the fight?"

"No," said Larry, "only the headlines."

"Then you did not see that the British ships were distinctly outclassed
in guns both as to range and as to weight. Nothing can prevent disaster
in such a case. It was a bit of British stupidity to send those old
cruisers on such an expedition. The British navy is all right. If not,
then God help America."

"Say, old chap," said Larry as they stepped out of the car, "you have
done me a mighty good turn this morning, and I will not forget it."

"Oh, that is all right," said Raeder. "We have got to stand together in
this thing, you know."

"Stand together?" said Larry.

"Yes, stand together. Don't you forget it. We are with you in this. Deep
down in the heart America is utterly sound; she knows that the cause of
the Allies is the cause of justice and humanity. America has no use for
either brutal tyranny or slimy treachery. The real American heart is
with you now, and her fighting army will yet be at your side."

These sentiments were so unusual in his environment that Larry gazed at
him in amazement.

"That is God's truth," said Raeder. "Take a vote of the college men
to-day, of the big business men, of the big newspaper men--these control
the thinking and the acting of America--and you will find, ninety per
cent. of these pro-Ally. Just be patient and give the rest of us time.
Americans will not stand for the bully," added Raeder, putting his hand
on Larry's shoulder. "You hear me, my boy. Now I am going in to see the
boss. He thinks the same way, too, but he does not say much out loud."

New hope and courage came into Larry's heart as he listened to the
pronouncement of this clear-headed, virile young American. Oh, if
America would only say out loud what Raeder had been saying, how it
would tone up the spirit of the Allies! A moral vindication of their
cause from America would be worth many an army corps.

The morning brought him another and unexpected breeze of cheer in the
person of Dean Wakeham straight from Alberta and the Lakeside Farm. A
little before lunch he walked in upon Larry, who was driving himself to
his work that he might forget. It was a veritable breath from home for
Larry, for Dean was one who carried not only news but atmosphere as
well. He was a great, warm-hearted boy, packed with human energies of
body, heart and soul.

"Wait till I say good-morning to father," he said after he had shaken
hands warmly with Larry. "I will be back then in a minute or two."

But in a few minutes Mr. Wakeham appeared and called Larry to him. "Come
in, boy, and hear the news," he said.

Larry went in and found Dean in the full tide of a torrential outpouring
of passionate and enthusiastic, at times incoherent, tales of the
Canadians, of their spirit, of their sacrifice and devotion in their
hour of tragedy.

"Go on, Dean," said Raeder, who was listening with face and eyes aglow.

"Go on? I cannot stop. Never have I come up against anything like
what is going on over there in Canada. Not in one spot, either, but
everywhere; not in one home, but in every home; not in one class, but in
every class. In Calgary during the recruiting I saw a mob of men in from
the ranches, from the C. P. R. shops, from the mines, from the offices,
fighting mad to get their names down. My God! I had to go away or I
would have had mine in too. The women, too, are all the same. No man is
getting under his wife's skirts. You know old Mrs. Ross, Larry, an old
Scotch woman up there with four sons. Well, her eldest son could not
wait for the Canadian contingent, but went off with Jack Romayne and
joined the Black Watch. He was in that Le Cateau fight. Oh, why don't
these stupid British tell the people something about that great fighting
retreat from Mons to the Marne? Well, at Le Cateau poor Hec Ross in
a glorious charge got his. His Colonel wrote the old lady about it. I
never saw such a letter; there never was one like it. I motored Mrs.
Gwynne, your mother, Larry, over to see her. Say, men, to see those two
women and to hear them! There were no tears, but a kind of exaltation.
Your mother, Larry, is as bad, as good, I mean, as any of them now. I
heard that old Scotch woman say to your mother in that Scotch voice of
hers, 'Misthress Gwynne, I dinna grudge my boy. I wouldna hae him back.'
Her youngest son is off with the Canadians. As she said good-bye to us
I heard her say to your mother, 'I hae gi'en twa sons, Misthress
Gwynne, an' if they're wanted, there's twa mair.' My God! I found myself
blubbering like a child. It sounds all mad and furious, but believe me,
there is not much noise, no hurrahing. They know they are up against a
deadly serious business, and that is getting clearer every minute. Did
you see that the Government had offered one hundred and fifty thousand
men now, and more if wanted? And all classes are the same. That little
Welch preacher at Wolf Willow--Rhye, his name is, isn't it? By George,
you should hear him flaming in the pulpit. He's the limit. There won't
be a man in that parish will dare hold back. He will just have to go to
war or quit the church. And it is the same all over. The churches are
a mighty force in Canada, you know, even a political force. I have been
going to church every Sunday, Father, this last year. Believe me, God is
some real Person to those people, and I want to tell you He has become
real to me too." As Dean said this he glanced half defiantly at his
father as if expecting a challenge.

But his father only cleared his throat and said, "All right, my boy. We
won't do anything but gladly agree with you there. And God may come to
be more real to us all before we are through with this thing. Go on."

"Let's see, what was I talking about?"

"Churches."

"Yes, in Calgary, on my way down this time, the Archdeacon preached a
sermon that simply sent thrills down my spine. In Winnipeg I went with
the Murrays to church and heard a clergyman, McPherson, preach. The
soldiers were there. Great Caesar! No wonder Winnipeg is sending out
thousands of her best men. He was like an ancient Hebrew prophet, Peter
the Hermit and Billy Sunday all rolled into one. Yet there was no
noisy drum pounding and no silly flag flapping. Say, let me tell you
something. I said there was a battalion of soldiers in church that day.
The congregation were going to take Holy Communion. You know the Scotch
way. They all sit in their pews and you know they are fearfully strict
about their Communion, have rules and regulations and so on about it.
Well, that old boy McPherson just leaned over his pulpit and told the
boys what the thing stood for, that it was just like swearing in, and he
told them that he would just throw the rules aside and man to man would
ask them to join up with God. Say, that old chap got my goat. The boys
just naturally stayed to Communion and I stayed too. I was not fit, I
know, but I do not think it did me any harm." At this point the boy's
voice broke up and there was silence for some moments in the office.
Larry had his face covered with his hands to hide the tears that were
streaming down. Dean's father was openly wiping his eyes, Raeder looking
stern and straight in front of him.

"Father," said Dean suddenly, "I want to give you warning right now.
If it ever comes that Canada is in need of men, I am not going to hold
back. I could not do it and stay in the country. I am an American,
heart, body and soul, but I would count myself meaner than a polecat if
I declined to line up with that bunch of Canadians."

"Think well, my boy," said his father. "Think well. I have only one son,
but I will never stand between you and your duty or your honour. Now we
go to lunch. Where shall we go?"

"With me, at the University Club, all of you," said Raeder.

"No, with me," said Mr. Wakeham. "I will put up the fatted calf, for
this my son is home again. Eh, my boy?"

During the lunch hour try as they would they could not get away from the
war. Dean was so completely obsessed with the subject that he could not
divert his mind to anything else for any length of time.

"I cannot help it," he said at length. "All my switches run the same
way."

They had almost finished when Professor Schaefer came into the dining
hall, spied them and hastened over to them.

"Here's this German beast," said Dean.

"Steady, Dean. We do business with him," said his father.

"All right, Father," replied the boy.

The Professor drew in a chair and sat down. He only wanted a light lunch
and if they would allow him he would break in just where they were. He
was full of excitement over the German successes on sea and on land.

"On land?" said Raeder. "Well, I should not radiate too freely about
their land successes. What about the Marne?"

"The Marne!" said Schaefer in hot contempt. "The
Marne--strategy--strategy, my dear sir. But wait. Wait a few days. If
we could only get that boasted British navy to venture out from their
holes, then the war would be over. Mark what happens in the Pacific.
Scientific gunnery, three salvos, two hundred minutes from the first
gun. It is all over. Two British ships sunk to the bottom. That is the
German way. They would force war upon Germany. Now they have it. In
spite of all the Kaiser's peace efforts, they drove Germany into the
war."

"The Kaiser!" exclaimed Larry, unable any longer to contain his fury.
"The Kaiser's peace efforts! The only efforts that the Kaiser has made
for the last few years are efforts to bully Europe into submission
to his will. The great peace-maker of Europe of this and of the last
century was not the Kaiser, but King Edward VII. All the world knows
that."

"King Edward VII!" sputtered Schaefer in a fury of contempt. "King
Edward VII a peacemaker! A ----!" calling him a vile name. "And his son
is like him!"

The foul word was like a flame to powder with Larry. His hand closed
upon his glass of water. "You are a liar," he said, leaning over and
thrusting his face close up to the German. "You are a slanderous liar."
He flung his glass of water full into Schaefer's face, sprang quickly
to his feet, and as the German rose, swung with his open hand and struck
hard upon the German's face, first on one cheek and then on the other.

With a roar Schaefer flung himself at him, but Larry in a cold fury was
waiting for him. With a stiff, full-armed blow, which carried the whole
weight of his body, he caught him on the chin. The professor was lifted
clear over his chair. Crashing back upon the floor, he lay there still.

"Good boy, Larry," shouted Dean. "Great God! You did something that
time."

Silent, white, cold, rigid, Larry stood waiting. More than any of them
he was amazed at what he had done. Some friends of the Professor rushed
toward them.

"Stand clear, gentlemen," said Raeder. "We are perfectly able to handle
this. This man offered my friend a deadly insult. My friend simply
anticipated what I myself would gladly have done. Let me say this
to you, gentlemen, for some time he and those of his kind have made
themselves offensive. Every man is entitled to his opinion, but I have
made up my mind that if any German insults my friends the Allies in my
presence, I shall treat him as this man has been treated."

There was no more of it. Schaefer's friends after reviving him led him
off. As they passed out of the dining hall Larry and his friends were
held up by a score or more of men who crowded around him with warm
thanks and congratulations. The affair was kept out of the press, but
the news of it spread to the limits of clubland. The following day
Raeder thought it best that they should lunch again together at the
University Club. The great dining-room was full. As Raeder and his
company entered there was first a silence, then a quick hum of voices,
and finally applause, which grew in volume till it broke into a ringing
cheer. There was no longer any doubt as to where the sympathy of the men
of the University Club, at least, lay in this world conflict.

Two days later a telegram was placed upon Larry's desk. Opening it, he
read, "Word just received Jack Romayne killed in action." Larry carried
the telegram quietly into the inner office and laid it upon his chief's
desk.

"I can stand this no longer, sir," he said in a quiet voice. "I wish you
to release me. I must return to Canada. I am going to the war."

"Very well, my boy," said Mr. Wakeham. "I know you have thought it over.
I feel you could not do otherwise. I, too, have been thinking, and I
wish to say that your place will await you here and your salary will go
on so long as you are at the war. No! not a word! There is not much we
Americans can do as yet, but I shall count it a privilege as an American
sympathising with the Allies in their great cause to do this much
at least. And you need not worry about that coal mine. Dean has been
telling me about it. We will see it through."



CHAPTER XXIV

THE MAJOR AND THE MAJOR'S WIFE


When Larry went to take farewell of the Wakehams he found Rowena with
Hugo Raeder in the drawing-room.

"You are glad to leave us," said Rowena, in a tone of reproach.

"No," said Larry, "sorry. You have been too good to me."

"You are glad to go to war?"

"No; I hate the war. I am not a soldier, but, thank God, I see my duty,
and I am going to have a go at it."

"Right you are," said Hugo. "What else could any man do when his country
is at war?"

"But I hate to go," said Larry, "and I hate this business of saying
good-bye. You have all been so good to me."

"It was easy," said Rowena. "Do you know I was on the way to fall in
love with you? Hugo here and Jane saved me. Oh, I mean it," she added,
flushing as she laughed.

"Jane!" exclaimed Larry.

"Yes, Jane. Oh, you men are so stupid," said Rowena. "And Hugo helped me
out, too," she added, with a shy glance at him.

Larry looked from one to the other, then rushed to Hugo. "Oh, you lucky
beggar! You two lucky beggars! Oh, joy, glory, triumph! Could anything
be finer in the wide world?" cried Larry, giving a hand to each.

"And, Larry, don't be a fool," said Rowena. "Try to understand your
dear, foolish heart, and don't break your own or any one's else."

Larry gazed at her in astonishment and then at Hugo, who nodded wisely
at him.

"She is quite right, Larry. I want to see that young lady Jane. She must
be quite unique. I owe her something."

"Good-bye, then," said Larry. "I have already seen your mother.
Good-bye, you dear things. God give you everything good. He has already
given you almost the best."

"Good-bye, you dear boy," said Rowena. "I have wanted to kiss you many
a time, but didn't dare. But now--you are going to the war"--there was
a little break in her voice--"where men die. Good-bye, Larry, dear boy,
good-bye." She put her arms about him. "And don't keep Jane waiting,"
she whispered in his ear.

"If I were a German, Larry," said Hugo, giving him both hands, "I would
kiss you too, old boy, but being plain American, I can only say good
luck. God bless you."

"You will find Elfie in her room," said Rowena. "She refuses to say
good-bye where any one can see her. She is not going to weep. Soldiers'
women do not weep, she says. Poor kid!"

Larry found Elfie in her room, with high lights as of fever on her
cheeks and eyes glittering.

"I am not going to cry," she said between her teeth. "You need not be
afraid, Larry. I am going to be like the Canadian women."

Larry took the child in his arms, every muscle and every nerve in her
slight body taut as a fiddle-string. He smoothed her hair gently and
began to talk quietly with her.

"What good times we have had!" he said. "I remember well the very first
night I saw you. Do you?"

"Oh," she breathed, "don't speak of it, or I can't hold in."

"Elfie," said Larry, "our Canadian women when they are seeing their men
off at the station do not cry; they smile and wave their hands. That is,
many of them do. But in their own rooms, like this, they cry as much as
they like."

"Oh, Larry, Larry," cried the child, flinging herself upon him. "Let me
cry, then. I can't hold in any longer."

"Neither can I, little girl. See, Elfie, there is no use trying not to,
and I am not ashamed of it, either," said Larry.

The pent-up emotion broke forth in a storm of sobbing and tears that
shook the slight body as the tempest shakes the sapling. Larry,
holding her in his arms, talked to her about the good days they had had
together.

"And isn't it fine to think that we have those forever, and, whenever
we want to, we can bring them back again? And I want you to remember,
Elfie, that when I was very lonely and homesick here you were the one
that helped me most."

"And you, Larry, oh, what you did for me!" said the child. "I was so
sick and miserable and bad and cross and hateful."

"That was just because you were not fit," said Larry. "But now you are
fit and fine and strong and patient, and you will always be so. Remember
it is a soldier's duty to keep fit." Elfie nodded. "And I want you to
send me socks and a lot of things when I get over there. I shall write
you all about it, and you will write me. Won't you?" Again Elfie nodded.

"I am glad you let me cry," she said. "I was so hot and sore here," and
she laid her hands upon her throat. "And I am glad you cried too, Larry;
and I won't cry before people, you know."

"That is right. There are going to be too many sad people about for us
to go crying and making them feel worse," said Larry.

"But I will say good-bye here, Larry. I could go to the train, but then
I might not quite smile."

But when the train pulled out that night the last face that Larry saw of
all his warm-hearted American friends was that of the little girl, who
stood alone at the end of the platform, waving both her hands wildly
over her head, her pale face effulgent with a glorious smile, through
which the tears ran unheeded down her cheeks like rain on a sunny day.
And on Larry's face, as he turned away, there was the same gleam of
sunshine and of rain.

"This farewell business is something too fierce," he said to himself
savagely, thinking with a sinking heart of the little group at Wolf
Willow in the West to whom he must say farewell, and of the one he must
leave behind in Winnipeg. "How do these women send their husbands off
and their sons? God knows, it is beyond me."

Throughout the train journey to Calgary his mind was chiefly occupied
with the thought of the parting that awaited him. But when he reached
his destination he found himself so overwhelmed with the rush of
preparation and with the strenuous daily grind of training that he had
no time nor energy left for anything but his work. A change, too, was
coming swiftly over the heart of Canada and over his own heart. The
tales of Belgian atrocities, at first rejected as impossible, but
afterwards confirmed by the Bryce Commission and by many private
letters, kindled in Canadian hearts a passion of furious longing to wipe
from the face of the earth a system that produced such horrors. Women
who, with instincts native of their kind, had at the first sought how
they might with honour keep back their men from the perils of war, now
in their compassion for women thus relentlessly outraged and for their
tender babes pitilessly mangled, consulted chiefly how they might best
fit their men for the high and holy mission of justice for the wronged
and protection for the helpless. It was this that wrought in Larry
a fury of devotion to his duty. Night and day he gave himself to his
training with his concentrated powers of body, mind and soul, till he
stood head and shoulders above the members of the Officers' Training
Corps at Calgary.

After six weeks of strenuous grind Larry was ordered to report to
his battalion at Wolf Willow. A new world awaited him there, a world
recreated by the mysterious alchemy of war, a world in which men and
women moved amid high ideals and lofty purposes, a world where the
dominant note was sacrifice and the regnant motive duty.

Nora met him at the station in her own car, which, in view of her
activity in connection with the mine where her father was now manager,
the directors had placed at her disposal.

"How big and fine you look, Larry! You must be pounds heavier," she
cried, viewing him from afar.

"Twenty pounds, and hard as hickory. Never so fit in my life," replied
her brother, who was indeed a picture of splendid and vigorous health.

"You are perfectly astonishing. But everything is astonishing these
days. Why, even father, till he broke his leg--"

"Broke his leg?"

"There was no use worrying you about it. A week ago, while he was
pottering about the mine, he slipped down a ladder and broke his leg. He
will probably stay where he belongs now--in the office. But father is
as splendid as any one could well be. He has gripped that mine business
hard, and even Switzer in his palmiest days could not get better
results. He has quite an extraordinary way with the men, and that is
something these days, when men are almost impossible to get."

"And mother?" enquired Larry.

"Mother is equally surprising. But you will see for yourself. And dear
old Kathleen. She is at it day and night. They made her President of the
Women's War Association, and she is--Well, it is quite beyond words.
I can't talk about it, that's all." Nora's voice grew unsteady and she
took refuge in silence. After a few moments she went on: "And she has
had the most beautiful letter from Jack's colonel. It was on the Big
Retreat from Mons that he was killed at the great fight at Landrecies.
You know about that, Larry?"

"No, never heard anything; I know really nothing of that retreat," said
Larry.

"Well, we have had letters about it. It must have been great. Oh,
it will be a glorious tale some day. They began the fight, only
seventy-five thousand of the British--think of it! with two hundred guns
against four hundred thousand Germans with six hundred guns. They began
the fight on a Saturday. The French on both their flanks gave way. One
army on each flank trying to hem them in and an army in front pounding
the life out of them. They fought all Saturday. They began the retreat
on Saturday night, fought again Sunday, marched Sunday night, they
fought Monday and marched Monday night, fought Tuesday, and marched
Tuesday night. The letter said they staggered down the roads like
drunken men. Wednesday, dead beat, they fought again--and against
ever fresh masses of men, remember. Wednesday night one corps came to
Landrecies. At half-past nine they were all asleep in billets. At ten
o'clock a perfectly fresh army of the enemy, field guns backing them up
behind, machine guns in front, bore down the streets into the village.
But those wonderful Coldstreams and Grenadiers and Highlanders just
filled the streets and every man for himself poured in rifle fire, and
every machine gun fired into the enemy masses, smashed the attack and
then they went at them with the bayonet and flung them back. Again and
again throughout the night this thing was repeated until the Germans
drew off, leaving five hundred dead before the village and in its
streets. It was in the last bayonet charge, when leading his men, that
Jack was killed."

"My God!" cried Larry. "What a great death!"

"And so Kathleen goes about with her head high and Sybil, too,--Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt, you know," continued Nora, "she is just like the others.
She never thinks of herself and her two little kids who are going to
be left behind but she is busy getting her husband ready and helping to
outfit his men, as all the women are, with socks and mits and all the
rest of it. Before Tom made up his mind to raise the battalion they were
both wretched, but now they are both cheery as crickets with a kind of
exalted cheeriness that makes one feel like hugging the dear things.
And, Larry, there won't be a man left in this whole country if the war
keeps on except old McTavish, who is furious because they won't take
him and who declares he is going on his own. Poor Mr. Rhye is feeling so
badly. He was rejected--heart trouble, though I think he is more likely
to injure himself here preaching as he does than at the war."