Part 13 (1/2)
My work isn't so heavy now, and, much as I want to be here when the ”forward movement” comes, I believe I ought to use the small amount of kick I have left in me to go to give lectures on the war to men in ammunition works at home. They all seem to be slacking and drinking, and I believe one might rouse them if one went oneself, and told stories of heroism, and tales of the front. The British authorities out here seem to think I ought to go home and give lectures at various centres, and I have heard from Vickers-Maxim's people that they want me to come.
I think I'll arrive in London about the 1st of June, as there is a good deal to arrange, and I have to see heads of departments. One has to forget all about _parties_ in politics, and get help from Lloyd George himself. I only hope the lectures may be of some use.
[Page Heading: TO MRS. FFOLLIOTT]
_To Mrs. ffolliott._
VILLA LES CHRYSANTHeMES, LA PANNE, BELGIUM, _16 May._
DARLING OLD POOT,
One line, to wish you with all my heart a happy birthday. I shan't forget you on the 22nd. Will you buy yourself some little thing with the enclosed cheque?
This war becomes a terrible strain. I don't know what we shall do when four nephews, a brother-in-law, and a nephew to be are in the field.
I get quite sick with the loss of life that is going on; the whole land seems under the shadow of death. I shall always think it an idiotic way of settling disputes to plug pieces of iron and steel into innocent boys and men. But the bravery is simply wonderful. I could tell you stories which are almost unbelievable of British courage and fort.i.tude.
I am coming home soon to give some lectures, and then I hope to come out here again.
Bless you, dear Poot,
Your loving SARAH.
_17 May._--I saw a most curious thing to-day. A soldier in the Pavilion St. Vincent showed me five 5-franc pieces which he had had in his pocket when he was shot. A piece of shrapnel had bent the whole five until they were welded together. The shrapnel fitted into the silver exactly, and actually it was silvered by the sc.r.a.pe it had made against the coin. I should like to have had it, but the man valued his souvenir, so one didn't like to offer him money for it.
A young Canadian found a comrade of his nailed to a door, and stone dead, of course. When did he die?
A Belgian doctor told Mrs. Wynne that in looking through a German officer's knapsack he found a quant.i.ty of children's hands--a pretty souvenir! I write these things down because they must be known, and if I go home to lecture to munition-workers I suppose I must tell them of these barbarities.
Meanwhile, the German prisoners in England are getting country houses placed at their service, electric light, baths, etc., and they say girls are allowed to come and play lawn tennis with them. The s.h.i.+ps where they are interned are costing us 86,000 a month. Our own men imprisoned in Germany are starved, and beaten, and spat upon. They sleep on mouldy straw, have no sanitation, and in winter weather their coats, and sometimes even their tunics, were taken from them.
Fortunately, reprisals need not come from us. Talk to Zouaves and Turcos and the French. G.o.d help Germany if they ever penetrate to the Rhine.
A young man--Mr. Shoppe--is occupied in flying low over the gun that is bombarding Dunkirk in order to take a photograph of it.
It seems to me a great deal to ask of young men to give their lives when life must be so sweet, but no one seems to grudge their all. Of some one hears touching and splendid stories; others, one knows, die all alone, gasping out their last breath painfully, with no one at hand to give them even a cup of water. No one has a tale to tell of them. G.o.d, perhaps, heard a last prayer or a last groan before Death came with its merciful hand and put an end to the intolerable pain.
How much can a man endure? A Frenchman at the Zouave Poste au Secours looked calmly on while the remains of his arm were cut away the other night. Many operations are performed without chloroform (because they take a shorter time) at the French hospital.
[Page Heading: A HEAVENLY HOST]
I heard from R. to-day. He says the story about Mons is true. The English were retreating, and Kluck was following hard after them. He wired to the Kaiser that he had ”got the English,” but this is what men say happened. A cloud came out of a clear day and stood between the two armies, and in the cloud men saw the chariots and horses of a heavenly host. Kluck turned back from pursuing, and the English went on unharmed.
This may be true, or it may be the result of men's fancy or of their imagination. But there is one vision which no one can deny, and which each man who cares to look may see for himself. It is the vision of what lies beyond sacrifice; and in that bright and heavenly atmosphere we shall see--we may, indeed, see to-day--the forms of those who have fallen. They fight still for England, unharmed now and for ever more, warriors on the side of right, captains of the host which no man can number, champions of all that we hold good. They are marching on ahead, and we hope to follow; and when we all meet, and the roll is called, we shall find them still cheery, I think, still unwavering, and answering to their good English names, which they carried unstained through a score of fights, at what price G.o.d and a few comrades know.
CHAPTER VI
LAST DAYS IN FLANDERS