The muezzin has awakened all the soldiers in the mountains. One could fancy a scurry of rabbits from the hidden tents. They are fetching water for the ablutions, and I, too, must wash me—in eau de Cologne. The blood flowing into my numbed limbs forces a cry I cannot stifle. “That is what happens when a woman goes out to war,” I said with a laugh, for the officer confessed that I had given him some anxious moments.
Yet another cup of tea outside the now stifling tent, over the exquisite violet-tinted fumes of a charcoal fire—deadly poison, maybe, but harmless so long as you do not know.
The ablutions, a religious rite, are performed here in couples—one pouring the water into the other’s hands, that he may wash his face three times, carefully going over the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. When he, in his turn, pours the water for his companion.
The cheik tells me Moslem custom demands the body must be clean, though the clothes may not be free from dirt. If only the morning “ablutions” were part of our Christian creed, what a difference they would make to the comfort, par exemple, of Naples!
All now lay down their “carpets,” and proceed to prayer. To-day, indeed, many must manage with the bare earth. What an inspiring picture it is—the absolutely unselfconscious absorption of the humble and prostrate Turk before his God! There is, surely, a sense of shame to the true Christian for some of his own brethren in the sight of reverence so natural and so devout.
My enthusiasm, unfortunately, does not extend to the steaming dish of most sustaining breakfast-soup, compounded of flour and vinegar and egg. One or two sips of the tonic are enough a send me to dry bread and a glass of tea—about my tenth since dawn!
All around us, though not yet in their uniforms, are scattered the future soldiers of the new Citizen State, ready and eager, poor fellows, for their fifty miles march a day, on coffee and bread, or even on bread and water!
By what right do we ask such things from the sons of women? That, cut off from every pleasure, all joy in God’s world, they should spend their days in war and prayer! They seem happier, somehow, than those of us who have travelled and seen the world, who must think and judge for ourselves, wondering at last what is Truth or Justice, where are the profits of self-sacrifice? Love and joy are, after all, but the “negatives” of grief and hate. Abolish the dark couple, and you will gain the light.
For the moment, however, the soldiers of to-morrow are content. They have never tasted alcohol; miserably clad, without proper clothing or shelter, they sit about us expressionless and resigned—singing hymns of joy that sound far more like a funeral dirge. There is no need for thought, since they are ready to die for their fatherland, their leader, their faith.