Chapter 7 No.7

When Bob knocked at the door of the house, he realised that he was expected. Without delay the servant opened the door, and without question at once ushered him into the room which went by the name of "the library," though there was but little indication that the apartment was used as a storehouse for books. Nautical charts, globes, pictures of Dreadnoughts, and things appertaining to naval warfare practically filled up all the available space.

As Bob entered, he saw the Admiral seated at a table, with a map of

Europe spread before him.

"Ah! Bob," cried the Admiral, "glad to see you. I hoped you would have come in for dinner, but I suppose you were busy. I wanted a chat with you, my boy."

The old man spoke with an obvious endeavour to retain his old friendly footing, but it was evident that he was anxious and somewhat nervous.

"This is a terrible business, my boy," he went on; "who would have thought it a month ago? I, who always believed that the Germans meant war, never imagined it would come upon us like this. But, by gad, they have found us ready this time! Never was the mobilisation of the Army and Navy managed with such speed; everything has gone like clockwork-just clockwork. Of course you know that Dick and George are gone?"

"I heard they were going," said Bob.

"Yes, the young rascals were just mad to go. Naturally I expected it of Dick, who had just finished his training at Sandhurst; but George was just as keen. I am proud of them too. Yes, my boy, I have lost one son in war, and God only knows what it meant to me; but I would rather lose these two as well, than that England should not play her part."

Bob was silent; he knew what the Admiral had in his mind, and what he was leading up to.

"I have been thinking a good deal about you, Bob," went on the old man. "Of course you have been almost one of the family for years; your mother's people and mine have been friends for centuries. Ah! my lad, let the Radicals say what they will, but it's grand to come of a good family. You have to go a long way back in English history before you come to the time when the Trelawneys and Tresizes were not known. They have fought in a hundred battles for their country, and, thank God, their descendants are ready to do it again. It is a great thing to have a good name, eh, my boy?"

"Yes, sir," replied Bob.

"You told me some time ago that you were in the O.T.C. while you were at Clifton College, and Dick says that you quite distinguished yourself. I am very glad of that; I have some influence in military quarters, although I am a naval man, and I can arrange for you to have your commission right away. Of course it will be in a Cornish regiment." He did not refer to the conversation which had passed between the young men two days before, although Bob felt sure he knew of it, but was assuming his enlistment as a matter of course.

"I have not made up my mind to join," said Bob.

"Not made up your mind to join! Then it is time you should. Every young fellow should join in these days. Of course it will break in upon your law studies and the other things you have in your mind, but, God willing, we shall get all this business over in a few months, and then you'll be able to come back to your work. You'll not suffer for it, my boy-you'll not suffer."

"It is not that at all, sir," replied the young fellow.

"What is it, then?"

"You knew my father, sir?"

"Knew him-of course I did! A good fellow and an honest man, but, you will excuse me for saying so, a crank."

Bob was silent; he did not dare let himself speak.

"Your father was a Quaker," went on the Admiral, "but your mother was a Trelawney. She told me only a few days ago that if war came, hard as it would be for her, she would not move a finger to keep you from going, even if it meant your going to your death. Come now, I will do all I can to push things forward for you."

"Thank you, sir," replied Bob, "but-but I have made up my mind that I can't."

"In heaven's name, why?"

"Admiral," said Bob, and his voice became tremulous, "do you think it right for a man to undertake anything which his conscience condemns?"

"No, of course not; what has that to do with it?"

"Everything, sir, to me. War is brutal and devilish, opposed to everything I have been taught to believe."

"Do you mean to say," cried the Admiral, "that you are not convinced of the righteousness of this war? Why, my lad, the thing is as plain as the nose on your face. Have you gone through the papers? Have you read the correspondence between the various ambassadors?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then do you not think that Germany has been planning this war for years, and that she has checked every movement for peace?"

"That is debatable, isn't it, sir?"

"Debatable? No! You are not such a fool as to believe that this war is on account of the Servian assassination? That is a mere flimsy pretext-one of the flimsiest ever known. I have read all about it to-day. Austria had practically agreed to live at peace with Servia, to allow Servia to retain her independence. The trouble was, to all intents and purposes, patched up, and then Germany insisted on an impossible ultimatum. Austria would never have declared war on Servia had not Germany given her orders to do so. Here is a letter written by Sir Maurice de Bunsen, on July 26. He states plainly that Germany wanted war, that she had schemes in Asia Minor which she wanted to carry out. She believed that by war with Servia she would be able to accomplish her purposes. She believed that Russia would keep quiet during the time Austria worked her will, and as de Bunsen says, 'Germany knew very well what she was about in backing up Austria-Hungary in this matter.'"

"Yes, sir, that is all very well, but that does not make war right. Personally, I find it easy to believe that Germany was the aggressor in this case; I believe, too, that Russia decided to stand by Servia not for the sake of the Servians, but for her own interests; that does not justify her in dragging the whole of Europe into war."

"Yes, but are you mad, my boy? The Servian business was only the beginning of it. Of course, when Russia prepared to protect Servia, Germany, knowing that the war she had been trying to bring about must come some time, declared war on Russia. Then, without giving France a chance, she invaded Luxemburg and French territory; don't you see?"

"I do not see how that makes war right, sir."

"No, but when Germany invaded Belgium, broke all treaty rights, and

Belgium asked us to protect her what were we to do?"

"Admiral," said Bob, "I believe you pretend to be a Christian."

"Yes, of course I do, but what has that to do with it?"

"Do you happen to believe in 'The Sermon on the Mount'?"

"Good Lord, yes! Isn't it our Lord's own words?"

"Then I want to ask you how a man can reconcile the teaching of 'The

Sermon on the Mount' with bloody warfare such as this is to be?"

The Admiral was nonplussed for a moment; he was a simple seaman, and not versed in the philosophy of ethics.

"Look here, my boy!" he cried passionately, "if I know anything about Christianity, it teaches a man to be honourable, truthful, and to keep his word. I would not give a fig for any Christian who did not keep his word. Well, we gave our word to Belgium. The Germans did so, too, but, like the brutes they are, they violated theirs, and when Belgium appealed to us, and asked us to keep our word, could we refuse? Could any Christian refuse? No, by gad, no!"

"But, Admiral, don't you see that--"

"Look here, Bob, I want no more talking. Are you going to back out of your duty, or are you going to play the game like a man?"

"I am going to try to be true to my conscience, sir. As I told you, war to me is unchristian, devilish, and if I enlisted, I should, by so doing, become a paid murderer."

The Admiral rose to his feet, his eyes blazing. For a moment his temper had got the better of him, and, had he been able to speak, he would have hurled at Bob words for which he would have been sorry afterwards. Luckily, he could not. Presently he had gained command over himself.

"I do not think we had better say any more," he said quietly. "I am sorry I have been mistaken in you; sorry that you should have accepted the hospitality of a Pagan home like this. Of course you are not renewing your visits here?"

"But, Admiral!" cried Bob, angry with himself for not weighing his words before uttering them. "I-I--"

"Excuse me," said the old man, "it is no use saying any more. Good night."

He did not offer to shake hands, but went to the bell push. A second later a servant appeared, to whom the Admiral nodded. Without hesitation the man opened the door and held it while Bob passed out, and then led the way to the front entrance. When he had gone, the Admiral threw himself into an arm-chair and heaved a deep sigh; it was like saying good-bye to his own son.

As Bob walked down the hall he felt as if an end had come to all his dreams, and that he was being turned out of the house which he had always looked upon as a kind of second home. Of course Nancy would be aware of the interview, and would learn the result. In bidding good-bye to the house, he was also bidding good-bye to her. The servant had his hand upon the door-knob when he heard the rustle of a woman's dress, and Nancy, pale and eager-eyed, came from an adjoining room.

"Jenkins," she said, "Mr. Nancarrow will not go yet; you need not wait." The man left without a word, and Nancy led the way into the room where she had been sitting.

"I felt, perhaps, that I was not fair to you yesterday, and I thought I would give you another chance of-explaining yourself." Her voice was hoarse and trembling-indeed it did not sound like Nancy's voice at all.

"Oh, Nancy," he said, "I was afraid I should not see you! Thank you for speaking."

"Father told me he had written you," she went on. "I-I hope everything is arranged all right. Bob, do you mean what you said? Do you mean that you are going to play the coward?"

"I am doing the hardest thing I ever did in my life," he blurted out.

"In taking a coward's part?"

"Call it that if you like," was his reply.

They were alone by this time, and the door closed behind them.

"I am trying to be calm," said Nancy. "You know all we had hoped and planned, but-but I don't want to be foolish; there must be deeper reasons than those you mentioned the other day. I do not think you can have realised the circumstances. Since you left, I have done nothing but read-and try to understand. I have been very ignorant about such matters, and I thought, perhaps, my ignorance kept me from understanding you. I have read all the papers which father has been able to obtain, all the miserable story which led up to this war. Have you?"

"Yes," said Bob; "all!"

"Then surely you do not hold to what you said?"

"I am afraid I do."

"Then perhaps you will explain."

"That is what I want to do," cried Bob. "Oh, Nancy, you don't know what I have been through since I left you!-you don't know how I have longed to enlist, longed to take part in the fray-but-there it is. Look here, Nancy, I was never one to talk much about these things, but you knew my father, knew that he was a Quaker, a Christian, in a very real sense of the word. When he died, my mother and others told me they hoped I should be worthy of him, and-I have tried to be. It is difficult to talk about such matters, Nancy, and I am not one of those fellows who parade their piety and that sort of thing. I would not say what I am going to now, but for the circumstances. I have tried to understand what Christianity means. I have read the New Testament, especially the Gospels, again and again. I have tried to realise what Jesus Christ said, what He lived for, what He died for, and I think I have tried to follow him. No, I am not namby-pamby, and this is not empty talk. I expect there are hundreds of young fellows who never talk about religion, but who are trying, honestly and squarely, to live Christian lives. Anyhow, that is what I have tried to do. When this war seemed to be inevitable, I went into the whole business. I read everything I could,-newspapers, state papers, correspondence between the ambassadors, and all that kind of thing. You see, I felt what was coming; and, Nancy, I simply cannot square Christianity with war. Either Jesus Christ was mistaken, and Christianity is an empty dream; or war is wrong-wrong under any circumstances. It is hellish, and I can't stand for it-I can't!"

The girl looked at him with wide open eyes, and her lips trembled, but she did not speak.

"Yes," he went on, "I know what it means. I shall be boycotted, sneered at, called a coward, and all that; but that is nothing, is it? What is much more terrible to me is the fact that I shall-that I shall lose you! You drove me away the other day, Nancy. You did not mean it, did you? You would not have me go against my conscience?"

"Conscience!" there was a world of scorn in her voice. She seemed to be hesitating whether she should not open the door and tell him to leave the house. Perhaps there was something in the tone of his voice, in the expression of his eyes, which kept her from doing this. "Perhaps you have not thought of the other side," she tried to say calmly. "Have you ever thought what it would mean if Germany conquered England-Germany with her militarism and her savagery? Have you thought how she would treat us, what would become of us, and all that we hold most dear?"

"Yes, I have thought of that."

"And would it not be right, if, to save our country, and all our country stands for, if need be, to deluge Europe in blood? Oh, Bob, can't you see?"

"It is never right to do wrong," said Bob. "Is it right to tell a lie that truth may come? Is it right to tell a lie to save any one from pain? Is it right to commit murder to save some one from an even greater calamity? That's nothing but the old Jesuit doctrine of the end justifying the means. But, Nancy, don't let's talk anything more about it. I am tired, weary of it! You love me, I love you. Can't you let me live my own life, carry out the projects I have in my mind, and trust to Providence?"

"What right have we to trust in Providence," asked the girl passionately, "when we stand by and do nothing? Suppose at the end of this war we come off victorious, I suppose that you, who have never lifted your finger to save your country, will think it your right to enter into the benefits which others have won for you? That is your idea of Christianity, I suppose?"

"But war cannot be right."

"I don't know about war in the abstract," cried the girl, "but I do know that this war is. I am not a sophist, and I can't put into words what is in my mind. I am only an ordinary girl; but, Bob"-she raised her voice as she spoke-"if you can stand by while your country is in danger, if you can turn a deaf ear to her call, if you refuse to help, and go on working at your law books while other young men are fighting for their country's honour and safety, then-then-don't you see? We live in different worlds, we breathe different air, and-there is an end to everything."

"Have we tried to understand the German position?" said Bob. "Germany is a Christian country as much as England is; the German people are what Thomas Carlyle calls them, a brave, quiet, patient people. Are we right in attributing evil motives to them?"

"But do you not believe," cried Nancy, "that the Emperor and his ministers planned all this?-that they depended upon the neutrality of England, thinking we would stand by and see a little nation crushed? Everything proves that their object and desire is to crush England, and to dominate the world. You say you have read all about it. Surely you do not believe that Germany is going to war to crush Servia because of the assassination of an Austrian prince? You do not believe in that flimsy pretext?"

"No," said Bob, "I can't say I do."

"And have you thought of this?" said the girl. "When this war was declared, it was not at the time the Crown Prince was assassinated, but when things seemed to be favourable to the Kaiser's plans of aggression. Any one can see how everything fits in. A speech had been made in the French Senate about the unreadiness of that country for war, and then when the President and Foreign Secretary of the French Republic were staying in Russia and could not get back for days, Germany hurled out her ultimatum. War was declared at a time, too, when Russia was believed to be confronted with revolutionary strikes, and was almost bled to death by her war with Japan. It was declared at a time when England was believed to be on the eve of civil war on account of her Irish troubles, and when it seemed that she must, of necessity, remain neutral. Can't you see the fiendishness of the plot? The Kaiser and his creatures thought the time had come when they could begin the war for which they had been preparing."

"Is not that a pure hypothesis?" exclaimed Bob; nevertheless, he was struck with the girl's evident knowledge of affairs.

"Hypothesis!" cried the girl. "Are you mad, Bob? Isn't everything plain? What sense of honour has Germany shown? What desire for peace? She had her plans ready, and she determined to carry them out at whatever cost. To little Luxemburg she promised protection, and yet without even saying 'by your leave,' invaded Luxemburg. Belgium, also, was protected by treaty. Germany, as well as other countries, had plighted her word that Belgium's neutrality and integrity should be respected; yet she sent that infamous ultimatum to Belgium that if the German troops were not allowed to march through the country without opposition, she would be treated as an enemy. Can you think of anything more dishonourable? Why," and Nancy's voice trembled with pain, "I was just mad when I read it in the newspapers, and when afterwards dad showed me the official reports about it, I could scarcely contain myself. The Chancellor of Germany said, 'Yes, we know we have done wrong; we have broken our word to Luxemburg, and violated the treaty we signed; but necessity knows no law. It was a part of our plan to do it, and we did it. We know we signed a treaty that Belgium's neutrality and integrity should be maintained, but you see it did not suit our plans to keep our word, so we broke it. We will make it up to the Belgians afterwards, if they will do what we tell them; but if they will not, we will crush them.' What is honour to a country like that? Can't you see that all along Germany intended to dominate Europe, and because she thought the present time propitious, she was willing to cover herself with dishonour in order to do the thing she wanted?"

"Is there not another side to that?" interjected Bob.

"Another side? How can there be another side? When our Ambassador met the German Chancellor, what took place? The Chancellor had the audacity to make what our Prime Minister called an 'infamous proposal.' He suggested that we should break our word to Belgium, and remain neutral so that Germany could crush France. Then when our Ambassador asked, as any gentleman would ask, 'But what about the treaty we signed?' he replied, 'What is a treaty? A thing to be broken! A scrap of paper! Will you go to war for that?'"

"But consider what war means!" cried Bob. "Does it follow that because the Germans are willing to plunge Europe into war, we should do likewise? Does anything, anything, justify the violation of every law, human and divine?"

"Bob, do please just call to mind what that horrible German, who had not even the first instincts of a gentleman, said, 'Have you counted the cost, and still stand by your honour and plighted word?' As if an English gentleman could ever count the cost when his plighted word was given!"

"Yes," said Bob, "but any statesman ought to count the cost. Think of what it will all mean, Nancy; think of all the hatred, the feelings of devilish revenge, the mad passions that will be roused; think of countries lying waste, think of the whole spirit of war, of the untold misery and horror of it all, and then ask if anything justifies war. I know you have a strong case, but two wrongs cannot make a right. Suppose a man broke his word to me, outraged my feelings, did me great wrong; would that justify my driving a knife into his heart? I should be called a murderer if I did it, and be hanged for my deed. Besides, to come back to where we were just now, Nancy, how could I pretend to be a Christian, if I enlisted, and went to the war for the purpose of killing my fellow-men? Christ said, 'Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you, pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute you. If a man smite thee on thy right cheek turn to him the other.' Oh, Nancy, can't you see how utterly opposed Christianity is to the whole ghastly thing? Here is the German Emperor saying to his soldiers, 'Go to church and pray-we are fighting God's battle.' Here are our clergymen saying to our people, 'Go to church and pray-we are fighting God's battle.' How can God answer both our prayers? They believe they are in the right, we believe we are in the right, and so to uphold what we both believe to be right we engage in this hellish business."

"And that is your explanation," she said.

"Yes, Nancy; I cannot, I simply cannot be a soldier and a Christian at the same time. But you will not let this come between us, will you? I am trying to be true to my conscience, to act in accordance with the teaching of the New Testament, and I cannot reconcile Christianity with war."

"Do you believe that we shall win in this fight?" and the girl's voice became hard as she asked the question.

"Yes," said Bob. "Yes, I believe we shall in the end. After rivers of blood have been shed, after horrors worse than can be described have been realised, after tens and tens of thousands of men have been killed, after a whole continent has been desolated, I believe we shall win. We shall be stronger than the Germans because we have such vast numbers of men in reserve; yes, I expect that in the long run we shall be able to dictate terms of peace; yes, I expect that."

"But you believe that no war can be justified?"

Bob shook his head.

"Think," said the girl, "think of the sixteenth century, when Philip of Spain made such great preparations to conquer and subdue England. If he had succeeded, our religion would have been destroyed, our homes taken away from us, our liberty torn from us, our existence as a nation would have been practically wiped out. Do you believe God meant Drake and Hawkins and the rest of them to sit down quietly while the Spaniards invaded our land and destroyed our liberties? Do you believe that?"

Bob was silent.

"No, you do not believe it. You know that had Philip II succeeded there would be no England to-day such as we know. Well, now it comes to this: A greater and a more terrible power than Spain seeks to crush us; but our men, thank God, have not ceased to be Englishmen, and they will safeguard our liberties, and keep for us still the England we love. When the war is over, and all danger is gone, I suppose that you, who stand idly by, and talk about the ethics of war, will think it your right to enjoy the liberties which these brave fellows suffer and die to give you. Is that it?"

"Nancy, that's not fair."

"I want to be fair. Tell me, is that your attitude? It is un-English, and it is cowardly. Is it yours?"

"I will not try to answer you, Nancy-I should be sorry afterwards, perhaps; but-but-Nancy, is everything over between us?"

"That's for you to say."

"For me?"

"Yes, you. You have your choice. I-I had nearly overcome dad's-objections to you."

"But, Nancy, do you mean to say that--"

"I can never marry a man who shrinks from his duty at such a time as this? Yes, I mean that."

"Nancy, you make it a choice between you and my conscience."

For a few seconds she looked at him without speaking. Her lips were quivering, and her hands were trembling. It was easy to see that she was greatly wrought upon.

"No, that is not the choice," she said, and her voice had a hard ring in it.

"What is it, then?"

"A choice between me and cowardice."

He staggered as if some one had struck him. "Do you mean that?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes, I mean that."

Without speaking another word, he staggered blindly out of the house. Nancy heard him close the front door behind him, and then, throwing herself into a chair, sobbed as though her heart would break.