CHAPTER XIX
"Your name is Robert Nancarrow?" The words came suddenly, not in the form of a question, but as an assertion.
The voice was light, almost thin; the eyes were the eyes of a commander; the face, to Bob, suggested weakness.
He spoke English almost as an Englishman might; there was scarcely the suggestion of a German accent.
"Yes, sir," was Bob's reply.
"You are under General Fortescue, and to-night were placed on outpost duty. By your quick, decisive action you gave your men alarm and frustrated the plans of those you call your enemy?"
"I'm very proud to think so, sir," replied Bob.
Again those piercing eyes rested on him. Bob felt a shiver run down his spine as he saw them. Evidently the man at the desk was reading him like an open book; he was estimating his quality—his position.
"You wear a lieutenant's uniform, I see?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you trained as a soldier?"
"No, sir."
"How long have you been in the Army?"
"Only a few weeks, sir."
"And yet they made you a lieutenant?" and the suggestion of a smile passed his lips—a smile that was almost a sneer.
"You may know, sir," said Bob, "that in England we have what is called an 'Officers Training Corps'; men who join that corps do not necessarily go into the Army, but they join it so that in time of need officers may be forthcoming. When I was at school at Clifton, I joined the Officers' Training Corps, and qualified. That accounts for what would seem a rapid promotion."
"I see; and you come from what is called a good family in England, I suppose?"
"I can claim to have that honour, sir," and again the lonely figure was silent, and appeared to be reexamining the papers before him. His face was still in the shade, but, as far as Bob could judge, he appeared to be thinking deeply. "Who is he, and what does he want with me, I wonder?" he reflected. "I am nobody; why have I been treated in this wonderful fashion?"
"You Englishmen think you are winning in this war, I suppose?"
Again the words came suddenly, and still in the same, almost light, weak voice.
"We do not think, sir—we are sure."
"Ah, how? why?"
For a moment Bob felt afraid to speak; the silence of the room, save for the ticking of the little clock, and the occasional rustle of papers, together with the experiences through which he had been passing, almost unnerved him; besides, there was something uncanny, almost ghostly, about the silent, lonely figure there.
"You would have me speak freely, sir?"
"I command you to do so."
"We shall win, sir, because God is always on the side of right."
"God! Do you believe in God?"
"I believe in nothing else so much."
"Right! Then you think you are in the right?"
"What doubt can there be? We stand for liberty against tyranny; for faithfulness to our promises; but, more than all, we stand for peace against war,—that is why God will be on our side."
Again the lonely figure looked at Bob intently; the young man's words seemed to have caused him some surprise.
"Nonsense!" he said presently. "I suppose you are thinking of the
Belgian Treaty? What do you English care about the Belgian Treaty?"
"Enough to risk our very existence, sir."
"Come, tell me frankly—of course, you cannot speak for your statesmen—but do you know anything of the English people as a whole? I was informed just now that you seemed intelligent; perhaps you are. It will be interesting to hear what you regard as the general feeling in England about this war."
"The English hate it, sir—hate it as they hate the devil; they think it is the greatest crime in history. The English are a peace-loving people; they want only peace."
"Ah, then they hate this war?"
"Bitterly."
"And, as a consequence, they do not support it."
"On the contrary, sir, never was so much enthusiasm shown about any war in the history of the nation as is shown about this."
"And yet they hate it. Why then are they enthusiastic?"
"Because they believe it to be war against war; against the spirit of war; against the doctrines that might is right, and that force is the will of God."
"How? I do not understand. Tell me."
"Since you command me to speak plainly, sir, I will, and perhaps I can best tell you what I mean by recounting my own history. My father belonged to a Community in England who believe that all war is sinful, and I was brought up to accept his doctrine; he took the teaching of our Lord literally."
"What teaching of our Lord?"
"What we call the Sermon on the Mount: 'Ye have heard it hath been said, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth; but I say unto you, that if a man strike thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. Ye have heard it hath been said, thou shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine enemy; but I say unto you, love your enemies'; I was taught to believe that, sir, and to regard all war as a crime.
"For some time after this war was declared I refused to volunteer. I was trying to be a Christian, and I did not see how a man who wanted to be a Christian could be a soldier."
His interrogator looked at him, evidently in surprise: "You believe that?"
"In a deep vital sense I believe it still, sir."
"Well, go on."
"That was why I refused to volunteer for the Army, when Lord Kitchener sent out his appeal that he wanted half a million men immediately."
"Why have you changed your mind? It might be interesting to hear," and again there was the suggestion of a sneer in the voice.
"I read some German books, and got to know what the Germans actually thought; I realised the ideas which lay at the heart of Germany, and then I knew that if Germany won this war, all liberty would be gone, all our free institutions would be destroyed, and that the spirit of war would reign more and more throughout the world. I saw that what to the Germans was right, was to us wrong; that the Germans' Gospel was different from ours."
"Different! How?"
"I saw that the Germans gloried in war; that they regarded it as necessary; that to them those who asked for peace committed a crime. I heard one of our Members of Parliament say that he had been in Berlin at a Peace Conference, but that Conference was broken up by the order of the German Government. I read the works of authors whose words are accepted as gospel by the dominant party in Germany, I realised the Germans' aim and ambitions, and I knew that if they succeeded, peace would for ever be impossible in the world. Then I knew I had a call from God, and then I no longer hesitated."
"Ah, you are a dreamer, I see. So you joined the Army; but are your beliefs common in England, may I ask?"
"Throughout the major portion of England they are common," replied Bob. "The great feeling in the hearts of the English throughout the whole country is—we must destroy this War God of Germany. Against Germans as individuals we feel nothing but kindness, but this War God, before which the people fall down and worship, is a devil."
"And you say that is the belief throughout England?"
"That is so, especially among thoughtful people."
"Then why is it you have so few volunteers?"
"Few volunteers, sir! I do not understand."
"Why is it, in spite of Lord Kitchener's call, only a few thousands of the offscouring of the country have joined his Army in spite of huge bribes?"
"Your question shows that you are misinformed, sir. Instead of a few thousands of the off-scouring, as you call them, there has simply been a rush to the English recruiting stations; not only of the poorer classes, but of every class—from our public schools, from the Universities, from our middle-class families, the flower of our young manhood have come."
"Do you mean that your well-born people have been willing to join as privates?"
"I mean, sir, that there are tens of thousands of the sons of our best families, who have joined, side by side with privates with labourers and colliers. In three weeks after the call, half a million volunteered."
"Half a million!" this with a contemptuous shrug, "and what then?"
"The call for the second half-million came," was Bob's reply; "and that second half-million has responded."
"From England alone?"
"From the British Isles."
"But the Empire as a whole has not responded."
"The Germans thought our Empire was a rope of sand—that it would fall to pieces at the first touch of war; instead of that, from Canada, from Africa, from India, from Australia, men volunteered by thousands—by hundreds of thousands."
"And you believe that these can stand against the Army through which you passed?"
"I don't believe—I am sure, sir."
"And that is the feeling of your nation?"
"That is the conviction of our nation, sir."
"But do you realise that Germany has millions of trained soldiers?"
"Yes, sir; but every German is forced to be a soldier. We have in England to-day hundreds upon hundreds of thousands who are soldiers because they long to be at the front. If a man doesn't pass the doctor's examination, he is disappointed beyond measure, because he is longing to fight. Ours is not a conscript army, sir, but an army which pleads to be at the front."
"You are sure of this?"
"I'm absolutely certain, sir."
Again the lonely man turned to some papers before him and read eagerly.
"And when your first million is killed, what then?" He again spoke suddenly.
"Another million will come forward, sir, and, if need be, another, and another, and another. Rather than that Germany should conquer, the whole nation will come forward—the whole Empire will fight."
"And what have the English thought of the German victories?"
"That they are merely passing phases," was Bob's reply; "but this I will tell you: the greatest impetus to volunteers coming forward has been the news of a German victory. Officers have repeatedly told me that our new volunteers, eagerly do more work in a week and learn more of the art of war in a few days than the men learned in six months in time of peace. In England we have no need for conscription, because the best manhood of our nation pleads to be allowed to fight for the country."
"And yet the English hate war?" Again there was a sneer in the voice.
"That is why we are eager to fight," was Bob's reply, "and we shall never rest until German militarism is destroyed root and branch; until this War God which dominates Germany is thrown down, and crushed to atoms; until this poisonous cancer of war which has thrown its venomous roots into the heart of Europe is cut out for ever. We shall never cease fighting until that is done, and when that is done, we shall have peace."
Bob had almost forgotten where he was by this time—forgotten the circumstances under which he spoke, and to whom he spoke; he did not seem to realise that he was in the heart of the German camp—that he was speaking to one in high command in the German army; he had got away from the mere material aspect of the question—he was dealing with spiritual things.
"And if you win"—and still there was a sneer in the other's voice—"what do you expect to gain?"
"As a nation, sir?"
"As a nation."
"Nothing, sir; I've never heard of an Englishman speaking of any gain that might be ours when we win."
"Then what do you suppose will happen?"
"Justice and peace will come, sir; Belgium will have justice."
"Belgium! If she had obeyed our commands, she need never have suffered."
"But why should she obey your commands, sir? You had promised her neutrality and independence, and you broke your promise; she had depended upon you, and you failed her. Then she turned to England, and England will never rest until Belgium has justice."
"And what is to become of Germany?"
"This is to be a fight to the end, sir; and Germany will never have power to make war again."
"You would rob us of our country, I suppose?"
"No, sir, we do not want to rob you of your country. We hope that when the war is over, the German people—many of whom hate war—will come back to their peaceful life; but we shall never rest until the War God of Germany is destroyed and is powerless to make war again. That is why we are fighting, and will fight for the peace of the world."
"But, surely, that is not the feeling of England as a whole?"
"It is the feeling of England as a whole, and we shall never cease fighting until our object is accomplished."
"And the Kaiser, what think you of him? What is the feeling in Britain about him?"
"We believe the Kaiser to be sincere, sir, but obsessed with the war spirit, and that because of it he is full of arrogance and conceit; many believe him mad—that he suffers from a kind of megalomania. Evidently he, like the rest of the war party in Germany, believes that war is a good thing—a virtuous thing, a necessity; and, because of it, he regards himself as a kind of Deity. We believe that his great ambition is to make Germany the dominant power in the world, and that war is the means by which he hopes to accomplish this. That is why we are fighting, sir—and will fight."
While Bob was speaking, he saw that the other's hand moved nervously among the papers on the desk; he saw too that he fidgeted uneasily in his chair, as though with difficulty he restrained himself.
"And you think the Kaiser is responsible for this war?"
"We believe that he has been preparing for it for years. For a long time we fought against the belief, and a great part of the country held that those who regarded him as a kind of War god were mistaken: now we know otherwise. Doubtless, in many respects, he is a great man—a strong man; but he is mad."
Again the man in the chair started: then he touched the bell, and the officers who brought Bob there again returned. The man at the desk nodded to them and they led Bob out. As he withdrew, the last sight which met his gaze was that of the lonely figure seated at the desk, his face still largely in obscurity, but the eyes plain to be seen—light, steely, penetrating—the eyes of a master of men.
A few minutes later Bob heard two of the officers, with whom he had been previously brought into contact, conversing in their own tongue:
"It was unlike him to give an audience to a subaltern like that," said one.
"Yes," was the reply; "but he said he was dissatisfied with the reports of the spies; he wanted to see England's position through English eyes. I wonder what the young cuckoo said to him."
Still between his guards, Bob walked away from the house where he had been for more than an hour; he was oblivious of the fact that he was passed from sentry to sentry, from guard to guard; his mind was full of the strange scene in which he had taken part.
The figure of the lonely man at the desk, who was thinking and working while others were asleep, haunted him, and he wondered.
As he came to the tent from which he had been led more than an hour before, he again saw the officer who had given the command which had ended in the scene we have just described.
"Whom have I been speaking to?" he asked, as the officer entered the tent with him.
"Didn't you recognise him?"
"I fancied I did, but I dared not think I was right."
"You've been speaking to the Emperor of Germany," was the reply.
"I'm glad I spoke my mind," Bob said.