the forest of sword 14

the forest of sword 14

"Good old Marne," he said, "you're certainly one of the best friends

I've found in Europe. In fact, you're about the only living being I've

associated with that doesn't want to kill somebody."

 

He entered the house and closed the door. In addition to the

sitting-room there was a bedroom and a kitchen, all bearing the signs of

recent occupancy. He found a small petroleum lamp, but he concluded not

to light it. Instead he sat on a wooden bench in the main room beside a

small window, ate a little more from the knapsack, and watched a while

lest friend or enemy should come.

 

It had grown somewhat darker and the clouds were driving across the sky.

The wind was rising and the threatened flurries of rain came, beating

against the cottage. John was devoutly glad that he had found the little

house. Having spent many hours immersed to his neck in a river he felt

that he had had enough water for one day. Moreover, his escape, his snug

shelter and the abundance of food at hand, gave him an extraordinary

sense of ease and rest. He noticed that in the darkness and rain one

might pass within fifty feet of the cottage without seeing it.

 

The wind increased and moaned among the oaks that grew around the house,

but above the moaning the sounds of battle, the distant thunder of the

artillery yet came. The sport of kings was going merrily on. Neither

night nor storm stopped it and men were still being ground by thousands

into cannon food. But John had now a feeling of detachment. Three days

of continuous battle had dulled his senses. They might fight on as they

pleased. It did not concern him, for tonight at least. He was going to

look out for himself.

 

He fastened the door securely, but, as he left the window open,

currents of fresh cool air poured into the room. He was now fully

revived in both mind and body, and he took present ease and comfort,

thinking but little of the future. The flurries of rain melted into a

steady pour. The cold deepened, and as he wrapped the two blankets

around him his sense of comfort increased. Lightning flared at

infrequent intervals and now and then real thunder mingled with that of

the artillery.

 

He felt that he might have been back at home. It was like some snug

little place in the high hills of Pennsylvania or New York. Like many

other Americans, he often felt surprise that Europe should be so much

like America. The trees and the grass and the rivers were just the same.

Nothing was different but the ancient buildings. He knew now that

history and a long literature merely created the illusion of difference.

 

He wondered why the artillery fire did not die, with the wind sweeping

such gusts of rain before it. Then he remembered that the sound of so

many great cannon could travel a long distance, and there might be no

rain at the points from which the firing came. The cottage might stand

in a long narrow valley up which the clouds would travel.

 

Not feeling sleepy yet he decided to have another look about the house.

A search revealed a small box of matches near the lamp on the shelf.

Then he closed the window in order to shut in the flame, and, lighting

the lamp, pursued his investigation.

 

He found in the kitchen a jar of honey that he had overlooked, and he

resolved to use a part of it for breakfast. Europeans did not seem able

to live without jam or honey in the mornings, and he would follow the

custom. Not much was left in the other rooms, besides some old articles

of clothing, including two or three blue blouses of the kind worn by

French peasants or workmen, but on one of the walls he saw an excellent

engraving of the young Napoleon, conqueror of Italy.

 

It showed him, horseback, on a high road looking down upon troops in

battle, Castiglione or Rivoli, perhaps, his face thin and gaunt, his

hair long and cut squarely across his forehead, the eyes deep, burning

and unfathomable. It was so thoroughly alive that he believed it must be

a reproduction of some great painting. He stood a long time, fascinated

by this picture of the young republican general who rose like a meteor

over Europe and who changed the world.

 

John, like nearly all young men, viewed the Napoleonic cycle with a

certain awe and wonder. A student, he had considered Napoleon the great

democratic champion and mainly in the right as far as Austerlitz. Then

swollen ambition had ruined everything and, in his opinion, another

swollen ambition, though for far less cause, was now bringing equal

disaster upon Europe. A belief in one's infallibility might come from

achievement or birth, but only the former could win any respect from

thinking men.

 

It seemed to John presently that the deep, inscrutable eyes were gazing

at him, and he felt a quivering at the roots of his hair. It was young

Bonaparte, the republican general, and not Napoleon, the emperor, who

was looking into his heart.

 

"Well," said John, in a sort of defiance, "if you had stuck to your

early principles we wouldn't have all this now. First Consul you might

have been, but you shouldn't have gone any further."

 

He turned away with a sigh of regret that so great a warrior and

statesman, in the end, should have misused his energies.

 

He returned to the room below, blew out the lamp and opened the window

again. The cool fresh air once more poured into the room, and he took

long deep breaths of it. It was still raining, though lightly, and the

pattering of the drops on the leaves made a pleasant sound. The thunder

and the lightning had ceased, though not the far rumble of artillery.

John knew that the sport of kings was still going on under the

searchlights, and all his intense horror of the murderous monarchies

returned. He was not sleepy yet, and he listened a long time. The sound

seemed to come from both sides of him, and he felt that the abandoned

cottage among the trees was merely a little oasis in the sea of war.

 

The rain ceased and he concluded to scout about the house to see if any

one was near, or if any farm animals besides the horse had been left.

But Marne was alone. There was not even a fowl of any kind. He concluded

that the horse had probably wandered away before the peasant left, as so

valuable an animal would not have been abandoned otherwise.

 

His scouting--he was learning to be very cautious--took him some

distance from the house and he came to a narrow road, but smooth and

hard, a road which troops were almost sure to use, while such great

movements were going on. He waited behind a hedge a little while, and

then he heard the hum of motors.

 

He had grown familiar with the throbbing, grinding sound made by many

military automobiles on the march, but he waited calmly, merely

loosening his automatic for the sake of precaution. He felt sure that

while he stood behind a hedge he would never be seen on a dark night by

men traveling in haste. The automobiles came quickly into view and in

those in front he saw elderly men in uniforms of high rank. Nearly all

the German generals seemed to him to be old men who for forty or fifty

years had studied nothing but how to conquer, men too old and hardened

to think much of the rights of others or ever to give way to generous

emotions.

 

He also saw sitting erect in one of the motors the man for whom he had

felt at first sight an invincible repulsion. Prince Karl of Auersperg.

Young von Arnheim had represented the good prince to him, but here was

the medieval type, the believer in divine right, and in his own

superiority, decreed even before birth. John noted in the moonlight his

air of ownership, his insolent eyes and his heavy, arrogant face. He

hoped that the present war would sweep away all such as Auersperg.

 

He watched nearly an hour while the automobiles, cyclists, a column of

infantry, and then several batteries of heavy guns drawn by motors,

passed. He judged that the Germans were executing a change of front

somewhere, and that the Franco-British forces were still pressing hard.

The far thunder of the guns had not ceased for an instant, although it

must be nearly midnight. He wished he knew what this movement on the

part of the Germans meant, but, even if he had known, he had no way of

reaching his own army, and he turned back to the cottage.

 

Having fastened the door securely again he spread the blankets on the

bench by the window and lay down to sleep. The tension was gone from his

nerves now, and he felt that he could fall asleep at once, but he did

not. A shift in the wind brought the sound of the artillery more

plainly. His imagination again came into vivid play. He believed that

the bench beneath him, the whole cottage, in fact, was quivering before

the waves of the air, set in such violent motion by so many great guns.

 

It annoyed him intensely. He felt a sort of personal anger against

everybody. It was past midnight of the third day and it was time for the

killing to stop. At least they might rest until morning, and give his

nerves a chance. He moved restlessly on the bench a half hour or more,

but at last he sank gradually to sleep. As his eyes closed the thunder

of the cannonade was as loud and steady as ever. He slept, but the

murderous sport of kings went on.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IX

 

THE PUZZLING SIGNAL

 

 

When John awoke a bright sun was shining in at the window, bringing with

it the distant mutter of cannon, a small fire was burning on the hearth

on the opposite side of the room, a man was bending over the coals, and

the pleasant odor of boiling coffee came to his nostrils. He sat up in

amazement and looked at the man who, not turning around, went on

placidly with his work of preparing breakfast. But he recognized the

figure.

 

"Weber!" he exclaimed.

 

"None other!" said the Alsatian, facing about, and showing a cheery

countenance. "I was in the boat just behind you when your own was

demolished by the shell. In all the spray and foam and confusion I saw

my chance, and dropping overboard from ours I floated with the stream. I

had an idea that you might escape, and since you must come down the

river between the two armies I also, for the same reasons, chose the

same path. I came upon this cottage several hours ago, picked the

fastenings of the door and to my astonishment and delight found you, my

friend, unharmed, but sound asleep upon the bench there. I slept a while

in the corner, then I undertook to make breakfast with provisions and

utensils that I found in the forest. Ah, it was easy enough last night

to find almost anything one wished. The fields and forest were full of

dead men."