“‘But, Jim,’ I says, ‘Jim, ye know a mounting man fights best on his own ground. Hit ain’t in nature fer him to go scrappin’ on furren soil amongst furreners. Up a hillside, behind a bunch o’ laurel, is a heap better place fer a mounting man than in them trenches yer talkin’ about. Fust o’ all,’ says I, ‘I’m fer peace; but if ye’ve got to fight, then stay home and fight nigh yer own front door.’
“Them’s exactly the words I spoke to him, lawyer,” continued Seth, cramming a handful of tobacco into his mouth. “Wait till somebody’s hit ye, then hit back and hit back damn hard. But don’t go meddlin’ ’round in a country ye don’t know nothin’ about, ’mongst folks what ain’t no kin to ye. That’s what I says, jest about them very words.”
“And yet Jim went,” said Todd. “Those two years you gave him at Berea College, Seth, made Jim more thoughtful than most boys hereabouts. He read war, he studied war; and, impatient at the delay of his own government in getting into it, he went up to Canada, enlisted in her armies and shipped to France—”
“Yas, that ’as the way hit was,” assented the old man. “All his ma and me could do couldn’t keep that boy from goin’ oncet he’d sot his head on hit.
“That ’as ’most a year ago. Course we miss Jim and all that,” Seth added; “but even if he has gone to war agin’ Keeser and his Germins, the rest o’ us here ain’t bearin’ no grudge toward ’em so long as they leaves us in peace.”
“They aren’t leaving you in peace, Seth; that’s just it.” Todd watched him closely to see the effect of his words. “Already when Jim enlisted Keeser and his Germins’ had killed American citizens by the score. Since then they’ve killed other Americans; helpless, unoffending people who believed as you do that because they hadn’t harmed the Germans, the Germans wouldn’t harm them.
“You had some reason for opposing Jim’s enlistment. We weren’t at war with Germany then. He was under no personal or patriotic obligation to fight. He acted mostly from the urge of conscience, I know, and after much far-sighted deliberation. But now it’s different, Seth. Last week our men in Washington declared war on Germany. We’ve got to fight as a nation whether as individuals we want to fight or not. Otherwise your rifle-gun and mine, and all the rifle-guns in these mountains, won’t save our homes and our women and children once the Germans land in this country. Don’t you see how it is, Seth? Our boys have to go to war, to save from war those who are left behind. Don’t you feel differently now about Jim’s going the way he did?”
The old man shook his head stubbornly. “I tell ye, lawyer, hit ain’t any o’ our war. What happens outside o’ these hills don’t consarn me and my folks. ‘What happens amongst these hills we can take care of when hit comes. Let them as wants to fight, fight. We’uns don’t axe nothin’ o’ other folks and other folks ain’t got no business axein’ nothin’ o’ us. That’s whar hit stands with me, lawyer.”
“Listen, Seth.” Todd leaned toward him from his saddle. “You know, the people outside of Breathitt don’t think much of us who live here. Not only in other parts of Kentucky, but in all the other states and even abroad, they call us ‘Bloody.’ That’s because we’ve been a bit too handy with our guns. We’ve killed too many of our own folks. We haven’t paid much attention to the law. Now this war gives us a chance to show the outside world that there’s more good than bad in us; that we can leave off fighting each other and use our lead on the Germans.”
Todd leaned closer to the old man, enthusiasm in his voice. “Listen, Seth. The President wants volunteers for the army. He’s got to have soldiers, lots of them. And the best soldier material in the country is right up here in these hills. We men of Breathitt are born to the trigger. Most of us soldier in a manner all our lives. Now, I say, we’ve got to stop aiming our rifle-guns at each other and point ’em toward the enemy. I’ve been thinking about it considerably lately and I want your help in bringing this very thing to pass.