The Major [156]
colonel. It was on the Big Retreat from Mons that he was killed at the great fight at Landrecies. You know about that, Larry?"
"No, never heard anything; I know really nothing of that retreat," said Larry.
"Well, we have had letters about it. It must have been great. Oh, it will be a glorious tale some day. They began the fight, only seventy-five thousand of the British--think of it! with two hundred guns against four hundred thousand Germans with six hundred guns. They began the fight on a Saturday. The French on both their flanks gave way. One army on each flank trying to hem them in and an army in front pounding the life out of them. They fought all Saturday. They began the retreat on Saturday night, fought again Sunday, marched Sunday night, they fought Monday and marched Monday night, fought Tuesday, and marched Tuesday night. The letter said they staggered down the roads like drunken men. Wednesday, dead beat, they fought again--and against ever fresh masses of men, remember. Wednesday night one corps came to Landrecies. At half- past nine they were all asleep in billets. At ten o'clock a perfectly fresh army of the enemy, field guns backing them up behind, machine guns in front, bore down the streets into the village. But those wonderful Coldstreams and Grenadiers and Highlanders just filled the streets and every man for himself poured in rifle fire, and every machine gun fired into the enemy masses, smashed the attack and then they went at them with the bayonet and flung them back. Again and again throughout the night this thing was repeated until the Germans drew off, leaving five hundred dead before the village and in its streets. It was in the last bayonet charge, when leading his men, that Jack was killed."
"My God!" cried Larry. "What a great death!"
"And so Kathleen goes about with her head high and Sybil, too,-- Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, you know," continued Nora, "she is just like the others. She never thinks of herself and her two little kids who are going to be left behind but she is busy getting her husband ready and helping to outfit his men, as all the women are, with socks and mits and all the rest of it. Before Tom made up his mind to raise the battalion they were both wretched, but now they are both cheery as crickets with a kind of exalted cheeriness that makes one feel like hugging the dear things. And, Larry, there won't be a man left in this whole country if the war keeps on except old McTavish, who is furious because they won't take him and who declares he is going on his own. Poor Mr. Rhye is feeling so badly. He was rejected--heart trouble, though I think he is more likely to injure himself here preaching as he does than at the war."
"And yourself, Nora? Carrying the whole load, I suppose,--ranch, and now this mine. You are getting thin, I see."
"No fear," said Nora. "Joe is really doing awfully well on the ranch. He practically takes charge. By the way, Sam has enlisted. He says he is going to stick to you. He is going to be your batman. And as for the mine, since father's accident Mr. Wakeham has been very kind. If he were not an American he would have enlisted before this."
"Oh! he would, eh?"
"He would, or he would not be coming about Lakeside Farm."
"Then he does come about?"
"Oh, yes," said Nora with an exaggerated air of indifference. "He would be rather a nuisance if he were not so awfully useful and so jolly. After all, I do not see what we should have done without him."
"Ah, a good man is Dean."
"I had a letter from Jane this week," continued Nora, changing the subject abruptly.
"I have not heard for two weeks," said Larry.
"Then you have not heard about Scuddy. Poor Scuddy! But why say 'poor' Scuddy? He was doing his duty. It was a patrol party. He was scouting and ran into an enemy patrol and was instantly killed. The poor girl, Helen Brookes, I think it is."
"Helen Brookes!" exclaimed Larry.
"Yes, Jane says you knew her. She was engaged to Scuddy. And Scallons is gone too."
"Scallons!"
"And Smart,
"No, never heard anything; I know really nothing of that retreat," said Larry.
"Well, we have had letters about it. It must have been great. Oh, it will be a glorious tale some day. They began the fight, only seventy-five thousand of the British--think of it! with two hundred guns against four hundred thousand Germans with six hundred guns. They began the fight on a Saturday. The French on both their flanks gave way. One army on each flank trying to hem them in and an army in front pounding the life out of them. They fought all Saturday. They began the retreat on Saturday night, fought again Sunday, marched Sunday night, they fought Monday and marched Monday night, fought Tuesday, and marched Tuesday night. The letter said they staggered down the roads like drunken men. Wednesday, dead beat, they fought again--and against ever fresh masses of men, remember. Wednesday night one corps came to Landrecies. At half- past nine they were all asleep in billets. At ten o'clock a perfectly fresh army of the enemy, field guns backing them up behind, machine guns in front, bore down the streets into the village. But those wonderful Coldstreams and Grenadiers and Highlanders just filled the streets and every man for himself poured in rifle fire, and every machine gun fired into the enemy masses, smashed the attack and then they went at them with the bayonet and flung them back. Again and again throughout the night this thing was repeated until the Germans drew off, leaving five hundred dead before the village and in its streets. It was in the last bayonet charge, when leading his men, that Jack was killed."
"My God!" cried Larry. "What a great death!"
"And so Kathleen goes about with her head high and Sybil, too,-- Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, you know," continued Nora, "she is just like the others. She never thinks of herself and her two little kids who are going to be left behind but she is busy getting her husband ready and helping to outfit his men, as all the women are, with socks and mits and all the rest of it. Before Tom made up his mind to raise the battalion they were both wretched, but now they are both cheery as crickets with a kind of exalted cheeriness that makes one feel like hugging the dear things. And, Larry, there won't be a man left in this whole country if the war keeps on except old McTavish, who is furious because they won't take him and who declares he is going on his own. Poor Mr. Rhye is feeling so badly. He was rejected--heart trouble, though I think he is more likely to injure himself here preaching as he does than at the war."
"And yourself, Nora? Carrying the whole load, I suppose,--ranch, and now this mine. You are getting thin, I see."
"No fear," said Nora. "Joe is really doing awfully well on the ranch. He practically takes charge. By the way, Sam has enlisted. He says he is going to stick to you. He is going to be your batman. And as for the mine, since father's accident Mr. Wakeham has been very kind. If he were not an American he would have enlisted before this."
"Oh! he would, eh?"
"He would, or he would not be coming about Lakeside Farm."
"Then he does come about?"
"Oh, yes," said Nora with an exaggerated air of indifference. "He would be rather a nuisance if he were not so awfully useful and so jolly. After all, I do not see what we should have done without him."
"Ah, a good man is Dean."
"I had a letter from Jane this week," continued Nora, changing the subject abruptly.
"I have not heard for two weeks," said Larry.
"Then you have not heard about Scuddy. Poor Scuddy! But why say 'poor' Scuddy? He was doing his duty. It was a patrol party. He was scouting and ran into an enemy patrol and was instantly killed. The poor girl, Helen Brookes, I think it is."
"Helen Brookes!" exclaimed Larry.
"Yes, Jane says you knew her. She was engaged to Scuddy. And Scallons is gone too."
"Scallons!"
"And Smart,