The Major Part 57

"The man would drive me mad," said Mrs. Rushbrooke to Mr. Murray as they watched the boats away. "I am more than thankful that he is not my clergyman."

"Yes, indeed," said her husband, who stood near her and shared her feelings of disappointment. "It seems to me he takes things far too seriously."

"I wonder," said Dr. Brown, who stood with Mr. Murray preparatory to taking his departure. "I wonder if we know just how serious this thing is. I frankly confess, Mr. Rushbrooke, that my mind has been in an appalling condition of chaos this afternoon; and every hour the thing grows more terrible as I think of it. But as you say, we must cheer up."

"Surely we must," replied Rushbrooke impatiently. "I am convinced this war will soon be over. In three months the British navy together with the armies of their allies will wind this thing up."

Through a wonder world of moonlit waterways and dark, mysterious channels, around peninsulas and between islands, across an open traverse and down a little bay, they took their course until Jim had them safely landed at their own dock again. The magic beauty of the white light upon wooded island and gleaming lake held them in its spell for some minutes after they had landed till Mrs. Murray came down from the bungalow to meet them.

"Safe back again," she cried with an all too evident effort to be cheery. "How lovely the night is, and how peaceful! James," she said in a low voice, turning to her husband, "I wish you would go to Isabel. I cannot get her to sleep. She says she must see you."

"Why, what's up?"

"I think she has got a little fright," said his wife. "She has been sobbing pitifully."

Mr. Murray found the little thing wide awake, her breath coming in the deep sobs of exhaustion that follows tempestuous tears. "What's the trouble, Sweetheart?"

"Oh, Daddy," cried the child, flinging herself upon him and bursting anew into an ecstasy of weeping, "she--said--you would--have--to--go.

But--you won't--will you--Daddy?"

"Why, Isabel, what do you mean, dear? Go where?"

"To the--war--Daddy--they said--you would--have--to go--to the war."

"Who said?"

"Mabel. But--you--won't, will you, Daddy?"

"Mabel is a silly little goose," said Mr. Murray angrily. "No, never fear, my Sweetheart, they won't expect me to go. I am far too old, you know. Now, then, off you go to sleep. Do you know, the moon is shining so bright outside that the little birds can't sleep. I just heard a little bird as we were coming home cheeping away just like, you. I believe she could not go to sleep."

But the child could not forget that terrible word which had rooted itself in her heart. "But you will not go; promise me, Daddy, you will not go."

"Why, Sweetheart, listen to me."

"But promise me, Daddy, promise me." The little thing clung to him in a paroxysm of grief and terror.

"Listen, Isabel dear," said her father quietly. "You know I always tell you the truth. Now listen to me. I promise you I won't go until you send me yourself. Will that do?"

"Yes, Daddy," she said, and drew a long breath. "Now I am so tired, Daddy." Even as she spoke the little form relaxed in his arms and in a moment she was fast asleep.

As her father held her there the Spectre drew near again, but for the moment his courage failed him and he dared not look.

CHAPTER XXII

THE TUCK OF DRUM

In the midst of her busy summer work in field and factory, on lake and river, in mine and forest, on an August day of 1914, Canada was stricken to the heart. Out of a blue summer sky a bolt as of death smote her, dazed and dumb, gasping to G.o.d her horror and amaze. Without word of warning, without thought of preparation, without sense of desert, War, brutal, b.l.o.o.d.y, devilish War, was thrust into her life by that power whose business in the world, whose confidence and glory, was war.

For some days, stunned by the unexpectedness of the blow, as much as by its weight, Canada stood striving to regain her poise. Then with little outcry, and with less complaint, she gathered herself for her spring.

A week, and then another, she stood breathless and following with eyes astrain the figure of her ally, little Belgium, gallant and heroic, which had moved out upon the world arena, the first to offer battle to the armour-weighted, monstrous war lord of Europe, on his way to sate his soul long thirsty for blood--men's if he could, women's and little children's by preference, being less costly. And as she stood and strained her eyes across the sea by this and other sights moved to her soul's depths, she made choice, not by compulsion but of her own free will, of war, and having made her choice, she set herself to the business of getting ready. From Pacific to Atlantic, from Vancouver to Halifax, reverberated the beat of the drum calling for men willing to go out and stand with the Empire's sons in their fight for life and faith and freedom. Twenty-five thousand Canada asked for. In less than a month a hundred thousand men were battering at the recruiting offices demanding enlistment in the First Canadian Expeditionary Force. From all parts of Canada this demand was heard, but nowhere with louder insistence than in that part which lies beyond the Great Lakes. In Winnipeg, the Gateway City of the West, every regiment of militia at once volunteered in its full strength for active service. Every cla.s.s in the community, every department of activity, gave an immediate response to the country's call. The Board of Trade; the Canadian Club, that free forum of national public opinion; the great courts of the various religious bodies; the great fraternal societies and whatsoever organisation had a voice, all pledged unqualified, unlimited, unhesitating support to the Government in its resolve to make war.

Early in the first week of war wild rumours flew of victory and disaster, but the heart of Winnipeg as of the nation was chiefly involved in the tragic and glorious struggle of little Belgium. And when two weeks had gone and Belgium, bruised, crushed, but unconquered, lay trampled in the b.l.o.o.d.y dust beneath the brutal boots of the advancing German hordes, Canada with the rest of the world had come to measure more adequately the nature and the immensity of the work in hand. By her two weeks of glorious conflict Belgium had uncovered to the world's astonished gaze two portentous and significant facts: one, stark and horrible, that the German military power knew neither ruth nor right; the other, gloriously conspicuous, that Germany's much-vaunted men-of-war were not invincible.

On the first Sunday of the war the churches of Winnipeg were full to the doors. Men, whose attendance was more or less desultory and to a certain extent dependent upon the weather, were conscious of an impulse to go to church. War had shaken the foundations of their world, and men were thinking their deepest thoughts and facing realities too often neglected or minimised. "I have been thinking of G.o.d these days," said a man to Mr. Murray as they walked home from business on Sat.u.r.day, and there were many like him in Canada in those first days of August. Without being able definitely to define it there was in the hearts of men a sense of need of some clear word of guiding, and in this crisis of Canadian history the churches of Canada were not found wanting. The same Spirit that in ancient days sent forth the Hebrew Isaiah with a message of warning and counsel for the people of his day and which in the great crises of nations has found utterance through the lips of men of humble and believing hearts once more became a source of guidance and of courage.

The message varied with the character and training of the messenger.

In the church of which Reverend Andrew McPherson was the minister the people were called to repentance and faith and courage.

"Listen to the Word of G.o.d," cried the minister, "spoken indeed to men of another race and another time, but spoken as truly for the men of this day and of this nation. 'Thus saith Jehovah, thy Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel; I am Jehovah thy G.o.d, which teacheth thee to profit, which leadeth thee by the way that thou shouldst go. Oh, that thou wouldst hearken to my commandments! then would thy peace be as a river, and thy righteousness as the waves of the sea... . There is no peace, saith Jehovah, to the wicked.' Echoing down through the centuries, these great words have verified themselves in every age and may in our day verify themselves anew. Peace and righteousness are necessarily and eternally bound together." He refused to discuss with them to-day the causes of this calamity that had fallen upon them and upon the world.

But in the name of that same Almighty, Holy G.o.d, he summoned the people to repentance and to righteousness, for without righteousness there could be no peace.

In the Cathedral there rang out over the a.s.sembled people the Call to Sacrifice. "He that saveth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for My sake shall find it." The instinct to save life was fundamental and universal. There were times when man must resist that instinct and choose to surrender life. Such was the present time. Dear as life was, there were things infinitely more precious to mankind, and these things were in peril. For the preserving of these things to the world our Empire had resolved upon war, and throughout the Empire the call had sounded forth for men willing to sacrifice their lives. To this call Canada would make response, and only thus could Canada save her life. For faith, for righteousness, for humanity, our Empire had accepted war. And now, as ever, the pathway to immortality for men and for nations was the pathway of sacrifice.

In St. Mary's the priest, an Irishman of warm heart and of fiery fighting spirit, summoned the faithful to faith and duty. To faith in the G.o.d of their fathers who through his church had ever led his people along the stern pathway of duty. The duty of the hour was that of united and whole-hearted devotion to the cause of Freedom, for which Great Britain had girded on her sword. The heart of the Empire had been thrilled by the n.o.ble words of the leader of the Irish Party in the House of Commons at Home, in which he pledged the Irish people to the cause of the world's Freedom. In this great struggle all loyal Sons of Canada of all races and creeds would be found united in the defence of this sacred cause.

The newspaper press published full reports of many of the sermons preached. These sermons all struck the same note--repentance, sacrifice, service. On Monday morning men walked with surer tread because the light was falling clearer upon the path they must take.

In the evening, when Jane and her friend, Ethel Murray, were on their way downtown, they heard the beat of a drum. Was it fancy, or was there in that beat something they had never heard in a drum beat before, something more insistent, more compelling? They hurried to Portage Avenue and there saw Winnipeg's famous historic regiment, the Ninetieth Rifles, march with quick, brisk step to the drum beat of their bugle band.

"Look," cried Ethel, "there's Pat Scallons, and Ted Tuttle, and Fred Sharp, too. I did not know that he belonged to the Ninetieth." And as they pa.s.sed, rank on rank, Ethel continued to name the friends whom she recognised.

But Jane stood uttering no word. The sight of these lads stepping to the drum beat so proudly had sent a chill to her heart and tears to her eyes. "Oh, Ethel," she cried, touching her friend's arm, "isn't it terrible?"

"Why, what's the matter?" cried Ethel, glancing at her. "Think of what they are marching to!"

"Oh, I can't bear it," said Jane.

But Ethel was more engaged with the appearance of the battalion, from the ranks of which she continued to pick out the faces of her friends.

"Look," she cried, "that surely is not Kellerman! It is! It is! Look, Jane, there's that little Jew. Is it possible?"

"Kellerman?" cried Jane. "No, it can't be he. There are no Jews in the Ninetieth."

"But it is," cried Ethel. "It is Kellerman. Let us go up to Broadway and we shall meet them again."

They turned up a cross street and were in time to secure a position from which they could get a good look at the faces of the lads as they pa.s.sed. The battalion was marching at attention, and so rigid was the discipline that not a face was turned toward the two young ladies standing at the street corner. A glance of the eye and a smile they received from their friends as they pa.s.sed, but no man turned his head.

"There he is," said Jane. "It is Kellerman--in the second row, see?"

"Sure enough, it is Kellerman," said Ethel. "Well, what has come to Winnipeg?"

"War," said Jane solemnly. "And a good many more of the boys will be going too, if they are any good."

As Kellerman came stepping along he caught sight of the girls standing there, but no sign of recognition did he make. He was too anxious to be considered a soldier for that. Steadiness was one of the primary principles knocked into the minds of recruits by the Sergeant Major.

The girls moved along after the column had pa.s.sed at a sufficient distance to escape the rabble. At the drill hall they found the street blocked by a crowd of men, women and children.