CHAPTER IX

PARSON'S METHODS

Next day, immediately after breakfast, Sir Geoffrey summoned his two footmen and the odd man, so called because he does odd jobs in a big establishment and works harder for less pay than any other servant except, possibly, the scullery-maid. The first footman, Alfred Rockley, had married recently his cousin, Prudence, and, for the moment, the Squire regarded him as ineligible for service elsewhere. Charles, the second footman, was held by the Squire to be an oaf, sadly in need of barrack-yard discipline; the odd man had been taken from the Home Farm, and felt more at home in a barn than in the pantry.

They had attended the lecture of the previous evening.

Sir Geoffrey marshalled them in front of him, as he sat at his desk, and said genially:

"Now, Alfred, what do you think about joining up?"

The gallant fellow answered promptly:

"I'm ready to enlist with Captain Pomfret, Sir Geoffrey."

"So he told me, and it warmed the cockles of my heart. But you have a wife and----"

"Somebody else coming, Sir Geoffrey," added a true son of Nether-Applewhite.

"Yes, yes; a hint of that reached me, and I was much pleased. Babies, b'Jove, ought to command premiums nowadays. Under the circumstances, Alfred, you can go back to the pantry. Single men must march first."

Alfred thanked the Autocrat, and withdrew. Charles happened to be the Squire's godson, and not a credit to his sponsor. Sir Geoffrey stared at his bovine face, now exhibiting a grin which might be seen at funerals and on all momentous occasions, a grin indicating nervousness and apprehension. If Sir Geoffrey could have looked through a very massive desk, he would have reprimanded Charles for standing on one foot and scratching his calf with the other.

"What do you propose to do, Charles?"

"I be thinking, Sir Gaffrey."

"Good. I want my people to exercise such thought as God has given to 'em. What conclusion have you come to--hey?"

"Mother don't fancy me going for a soldier."

"Possibly not. But this is a case for your conscience, not for your mother's fancy."

He spoke with increasing testiness.

"I be thinking, Sir Gaffrey," he repeated, with a still broader grin.

"Very well. Off with you! Think hard for the next twenty-four hours, and I'll see you again."

"Yas, Sir Gaffrey."

Charles withdrew, still grinning, and joined Alfred in the pantry, where he used encarmined language which provoked a rebuke from the middle-aged butler who had stepped into Fishpingle's shoes.

Sir Geoffrey eyed the odd man.

"What have you to say, my lad?"

"I ain't going to the wars, I ain't."

"Oh, you ain't going to the wars? Why not?"

"Because I'm quite satisfied with my place, sir."

"By the way, what's your name?"

"William Busketts."

"To be sure. Unmarried?"

"I'm walking out with Jemima Pavey, a very respectable young woman."

"What does Jemima Pavey say about it?"

"She thinks with me, sir. Most of us think the same, as we ain't ready to go to furrin' parts. If the Kayser invades Old England, I'm ready to shoulder gun, stand behind a tree, as brave as my neighbours, and take a true shot at 'un."

Sir Geoffrey stared at him. Did all the young men in his beloved village think this? And, if so, how was Authority going to deal with such a lot of damned fools? He said slowly:

"Has it occurred to you, my lad, that if able-bodied men like you refuse to enlist willingly, they will be made to do so? Willy-nilly----!"

"Ah-h-h, you're talking of conscription, sir. Old England won't never stand that. 'Tis devilish Proosianism, so they tell me."

"Who has told you that? Answer me!"

"I have heard William Saint say so."

Sir Geoffrey suppressed an oath. That William Saint, a former servant of his own, a tenant, a trusted friend, b'Jove! should so poison men's minds at such a time seemed incredible. If this were true, the world was indeed upside down. He fidgeted in his chair; his face flushed; wrath bubbled within him. He began to despair of his fellow-countrymen. However, he choked down his rising rage and said freezingly:

"You can go, sir."

"Where to?"

"Back to your work for the present."

William Busketts retreated, slightly moithered, but more at ease. He had expected an explosion, followed by the "sack."

Sir Geoffrey leaned back in his chair, sorely discomfited. It would be pleasant to record that happier fortune awaited him in his stables, in his gardens, and at the Home Farm; but truth will leap from her well on rare occasions. Out of all the young men interviewed upon this memorable morning, young men more or less dependent upon the will and whim of their interlocutor, only one promised to enlist forthwith. The others touched their caps, bobbed their heads, and professed themselves willing to do anything except bear arms for their country.

Luncheon at Pomfret Court, accordingly, was not a very cheery meal. The Squire sat silent and abstracted; the troubles in his brain upset his appetite.

In the afternoon, he called upon Captain Davenant, whom he found apoplectic with indignation. The Captain had a modest establishment, but he had discharged two men who--so the Captain affirmed--preferred to guzzle ale when a unique opportunity for sticking pig was held out to them.

"Country's rotten," concluded the Captain. "It may be saved by the gentlemen, by God! sir, but not by our yokels."

The Squire protested against this, saying, mildly for him:

"Perhaps, Davenant, our methods are at fault."

"That be damned!" roared the Captain.

"Well, well, it's fairly obvious that so far our recruiting campaign has not been an overwhelming success. Hamlin means to have a go at 'em on Sunday. I haven't a notion how he'll tackle the job, but there it is. What is your opinion of William Saint?"

"A very shifty fellow, Pomfret, with a face the colour of skilly. He licks your boots. I wouldn't let him black mine. By the way, I've promised Habakkuk Mucklow half-a-sovereign for every cove he collars."

"That we should have come to such a pass!"

"Light a fresh cigar, and we'll go to the stables. When I'm fed up with mankind, I always take a squint at my gees."

"So do I, Davenant. But they'll have to go, too."

"Mine are ready for 'em."

This talk took place in mid-September, at a moment when an astrologer, doing a roaring trade not far from Piccadilly Circus, predicted confidently that the final disappearance of the All-Highest would take place upon the twenty-fifth day of October, 1914! Many believed him. And the mere sight of our splendid regulars route-marching over country roads, singing "Tipperary" as they swung along, deepened in the hearts of those who beheld them the conviction that French's Army was quite sufficient to stem the Hun tide, and, later on, sweep it back to Berlin. The pacifist press was widely read by men who had never looked at a newspaper before.

Unspeakable atrocities had begun in prostrate Belgium. Some refused to credit them. Others shrugged their shoulders and remarked blandly that war was not five o'clock tea. Out of the seething mass of contradictions, affirmations, exaggerations and recriminations, men in the rural districts who could hardly read and write were invited to step forward and abandon the beaten tracks. Can one blame them, to-day, that they shrank at first from a desperate plunge into the unknown?

Upon the following Sunday, Nether-Applewhite Church was crowded to the galleries.

All over the country, churches were filling up or emptying according to the virtue that emanated from the preachers of God's Word. One wonders whether ministers of the Gospel apply this numerical test to themselves. It is certain, however, that those, like Hamlin, whether in Church or Chapel, who laid aside for the moment merely Biblical exegesis and the expounding of doctrine and dogma, and concentrated spiritual and intellectual energies upon dealing faithfully with the problem of human conduct as affected by a catastrophic war, had no reason to complain that they addressed empty pews.

Captain Davenant read the Lessons as if he were declaiming the Riot Act. The good man believed that the young men present were shirking hounds to be rated and whipped up to their Master. Under the lash of his rasping voice, even Mrs. Yellam, louder in fervent response than usual, winced and frowned. The Parson, in his three-decker, wondered whether a discreet hint would serve to tone down the zeal of this militant Christian, who positively wallowed in the slaughters and comminations of the Old Testament. The Captain, as a stout upholder of Church and Crown, must be handled delicately; a dry old stick breaks so easily. Uncle sat with his wife in the Mucklow pew, half-way down the nave. He carried a high head, and thought of the half-sovereigns soon to be rattling in and out of his pocket. Jane sat beside him, sniffing audibly. Alfred Yellam and Fancy Broomfield were opposite to each other, with the aisle between them.

Hamlin ascended the pulpit.

He chose for his text a maxim of Bishop Berkeley:

"Where the heart is right, there is true patriotism."

The shuffling of skirts and occasional coughs soon died down. Sir Geoffrey, from his coign of vantage in the chancel, perceived with some astonishment that Hamlin had a script on the cushion in front of him. As a rule he preached without notes. The Squire inferred rightly that the Parson deemed his theme to be of such paramount importance that he distrusted the effect of one careless, unconsidered word. Hamlin, however, possessed long sight. He could read his typewritten sheets without lifting them. Few in the congregation were aware of them.

He began with the curt statement that the actual word "patriotism" is not to be found in the Bible. This challenged attention immediately. The Squire fidgeted. He considered that Hamlin had made a shockingly bad start. A weapon had been thrust into the hands of recalcitrants. This apprehension, however, vanished as the preacher set forth convincingly, in words that children could understand, the obsessing love of country, of the Promised Land, which informed and sustained God's Chosen People during forty weary years in the wilderness. With a swift transition, he passed to the New Testament, dwelling, with more insistence, upon the love that had inspired simple, obscure men to forsake home, country and kindred, to fight God's battles in new and strange countries. When he paused, before touching his real theme, he had the ears of his congregation. He indulged in no gestures, his familiar tones fell quietly. So far, what he had said was preparatory, novel neither in theme nor treatment. None knew better than he how sadly his parishioners were lacking in imagination. His success, as a preacher, had not been gained by dealing with abstractions or by inviting ill-educated persons to transplant themselves to surroundings and conditions which the wisest of moderns find difficulty in apprehending. Hamlin believed in the personal appeal.

He leaned forward out of his pulpit, gazing keenly at the faces upturned to his.

"I am wondering," he said slowly, "how many of you young unmarried men will be here a few Sundays from now?"

He paused again. His voice was gentler:

"I am wondering, also, what the mothers and sisters and sweethearts of these young men are thinking to-day, and what part they mean to play--to-morrow." Then he said austerely: "Where the heart is right, there is true patriotism."

Many hearts began to beat faster, as he went on, picking his way, pausing again and again, but never faltering. The Squire, upright in his comfortable chair, became conscious of the man's grip upon everybody present, gentle and simple. He could see their tense faces.

"I have never doubted one great thing. I believe in the soul and its immortality. In God's sight all souls are equal, because they are part of Him. From birth that soul is struggling to inform the body, in all its functions. It never tires; it never despairs. I dare to affirm that it is most active when body and mind are fighting against it, spurning it, denying, perhaps, its very existence or power. I affirm, further, that this quickening spirit within us may be least potent to achieve its purpose when body and mind are stagnant, steeped in apathy, content with the things of this earth, food, drink, clothes, money and--pleasure.

"Try to believe, for a moment, that your souls are omnipotently right. In the text I have chosen, Bishop Berkeley uses the word 'heart.' I take it that he meant mind. Are your minds right? Are they working in harmony with your souls? Each of you is called upon to answer that question in relation to this world-war, and what that war may demand of each of us. It is the duty of some of you to go, not grudgingly, not because pressure is brought to bear upon you, not because you want to pose before others as more valiant than they are, not for any selfish reason whatever, but in the same spirit which informed the apostles, men like yourselves, hard workers, absorbed, as you are, in their own affairs, who abandoned everything with one unswerving purpose before them--the regeneration of a world in pain.

"A great Cause is animating all of us.

"This war may inspire some of you to actions undreamed of in days of peace, to a valour which you cannot measure if you would, because the hour provoking it has not yet come. Sooner or later that hour comes to the greatest and the humblest. And the manner of our rising to it may shape anew our lives and other lives, and determine our progress here and hereafter. From the cradle to the grave, each of us carries a sleeping energy capable of immense expansion, which wakes when the great opportunity presents itself.

"Some of you, I daresay, are unconscious of this latent power. We don't expect much of a child, do we? A child eats and plays and sleeps. But children of the tenderest years have performed amazing, incredible deeds. Why? Because of this Divine fund of spiritual force. And we who are past middle-age; how difficult it is to say, with any certainty, how early we began, resolutely, to exercise what is called the human will.

"I ask you again, are your hearts right? I repeat again that your souls are right. Obey the voice of conscience, and it will be well with you. It is the duty of some of us to stay here in Nether-Applewhite. I wish with all my heart that I could go, but I must stay. A very solemn obligation rests with the women. I have never doubted the immense influence consciously or unconsciously exercised by you women over men. Are your hearts right? Do you realise, thinking, as you must do, of your dependence upon your bread-winners, that you may be hindering instead of helping those whom you love; that, in urging them to stay at home, you may be taking from them an opportunity to rise to their full stature, never to be offered again?

"What does Bishop Berkeley mean by _true_ patriotism?

"Are the Germans true patriots? Let us admit that they are passionate lovers of their Fatherland. But their patriotism would seem to be an insensate fury of self-interest, shrinking from no outrage to be inflicted on others, provided only that the material end be accomplished--world-dominion. I cannot bring myself to speak, before young women and children, of the atrocities deliberately wreaked upon helpless Belgians. They are so abominable that details are unprintable in clean newspapers.

"Is, then, their form of patriotism true?

"What form will your patriotism take? Will it be true, springing to life and strength, out of a right mind inspired by the soul; or will it pattern itself after the Prussian model, concerning itself with material gain regardless of spiritual loss?

"Ask yourself these things.

"Before I close I want to say this. For many years I have worked amongst you, in sickness and in health, in prosperity and adversity, and your welfare is dear to me. Sometimes I have felt discouraged, acutely sensible of failure and disappointment. For many of you I have cherished ambitions, and some of these have been realised. And it is this which has sustained and fortified me in the dark hours which none can escape. What one can do may be done by another; not in the same way, perhaps, but in the same direction--upward and onward. I believe, with all the faith that is in me, that you will rise, with right and steadfast hearts, to meet this stupendous emergency. I am at your service. My house is open to you when I am in it. If you want counsel, if you feel perplexed, as you may well do, come to me, and together we will attempt to find a way. I shall not appeal to any one of you, personally."

The congregation filed out of the church. Many walked home in silence. Alfred Yellam booked no orders in the churchyard on that Sunday. Susan Yellam smelt no odour of baked meats as she passed the baker's. Uncle, after greeting them not so exuberantly as usual, said with conviction:

"A very moving and proper discourse. 'Tis strange that me and Pa'son do think just alike. I felt as I might ha' been preaching that upliftin' sermon myself. His motter be mine--upward and onward! He be counting on me to play my part, and I shan't disapint 'un."

His wife said tartly:

"There be one preacher you'll never disappoint, Habakkuk."

"You means Pa'son?"

"I means--yourself."

Uncle laughed, patting her shoulder.

"Old dear, I've heard 'ee make more foolish remarks."

Mrs. Yellam said no word about the sermon till the midday meal was over. When Alfred had lighted his pipe, she came and sat near him.

"Alferd?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"There be moments when Mr. Hamlin do soar, so to speak, high above me. I be a very unhappy 'ooman this day."

Alfred opened his mouth and left it open, gaping with amazement. The Parson's sermon had moved him to the marrow, particularly the references to the women, because he was well aware of the influence exercised over him by his mother and Fancy, the more percolating because he never admitted it except to himself. Nevertheless he knew that his mother was subject to moods and tenses which no ordinary man could conjugate. She held herself strictly to account upon matters affecting conduct, somewhat complacently aware that less robust spirits cited her as a model. Her cocksureness about others, oddly enough, accentuated pitifully her private opinion about Susan Yellam. From time to time Alfred alone was privileged to behold this strong woman self-shorn of her strength. He could remember well a terrible fortnight after Lizzie died, when Mrs. Yellam lay in bed and refused even his efforts to console her. The remembrance of her grim, set face came back to him now, as he stared mutely at her, wondering what he ought to say, and miserably conscious that the situation lay far beyond him.

Why should his mother be unhappy?

Had he been a student of history, he might have reflected that Boadicea, possibly, ruled wisely everybody except herself.

Mrs. Yellam continued:

"I have the notion that Mr. Hamlin expects too much o' me."

"What a queer, upsetting idea!"

"I be asking myself if my heart be right. It bain't."

"Maybe 'tis your stomach, Mother."

"No, Alferd. I be no true patriot."

"Well, I never! If such a woman as you are is bogged down, where are we, I ask?"

"You be in the right path, Alferd. 'Tis some comfort to think o' that. Now, let me bide wi' my own thoughts. Fancy be waiting for 'ee. Be kind to the maid, Alferd, if so be as you find her, like me, down on beam ends after this marning's sermon."

"Fancy'll be all right, I wager."

"Maybe. I tell 'ee this: we women be fearfully and wonnerfully made--a puzzle to ourselves and all mortal men. That be a fact, my son. I knows this too hard for any man to understand. If you stayed on here wi' me, wi' the whole-souled notion o' comforting an unhappy 'ooman, I should wax peevish wi' 'ee. God forgive us! We be cruel to they we love, when life goes wrong wi' us."

Alfred wisely had a squint at his motor-'bus to hearten himself up, and then took the road to the Vicarage.

Mrs. Yellam cleared away the dinner-things and washed them up. It was too early, as yet, to expect visitors. She went into the parlour and opened the big Bible, staring at Alfred's name and her own. She had rid herself of him cleverly. Had he stayed, she would have broken down. She wanted to make him swear to remain in Nether-Applewhite. She had made up her mind to do so that very morning. Every word spoken by the Parson seemed to be directed at her; his chance shafts quivered in the heart that was not right.

She closed the Bible.