CHAPTER VII

SECOND IMPRESSIONS

August--with its stupefying surprises, disappointments, and acrimonies--drew to a close. The black Sunday, at the end of the month, will never be forgotten by those who happened to be in London at the time. For a few terrible hours it was said that our Expeditionary Force had been annihilated. In the evening an official contradiction lifted the town out of a pea-soup fog of despair.

Day by day, the Hun hordes advanced. Sir Geoffrey devoured his morning papers, talked over the immeasurable possibilities with his wife and Fishpingle, and finally determined to tap fresh information at its source. He went up to London, spent three days at his clubs, and returned to Nether-Applewhite an angry and disillusioned man. Having many friends in high places, some of them old schoolfellows and kinsmen, who had become pale and anxious Cabinet Ministers, he buttonholed them all, demanding the truth in his jovial, autocratic fashion.

"A damned lot of Mandarins," he told his wife, "nodding their confounded heads and saying nothing. At the club, by Jove! I felt as if I were in a submarine with the periscope shot away. Every other fellow I met was 'credibly informed' about something or t'other, and I could have made a pot of money, my dear, laying odds against their precious bits of information. The Government is scared stiff, at the mercy of the Labourites. Out of the welter of talk and twaddle I collared this conviction: the England we love has vanished never to return. Kitchener says that we shall be bled white, and the best will be the first to go."

Lady Pomfret smiled faintly.

"George Mucklow has gone."

"Has he? I shall give Uncle a sovereign. Now, Mary, sick as I feel about the incompetence and crass stupidity of the people who have got us into this mess, I shall carry a stiff tail in the village."

"I am sure you will, dear."

"Yes. I asked 'em at the War Office what I could do. Get recruits, they told me. I shall mug up a lecture, dealing with military terminology. My people don't know the difference between a brigade and an army-corps. Coming down in the train, I thought out some useful diagrams. And, Mary, unless a miracle happens, the slaughter will be appalling. We must turn our dear old house into a Red Cross Hospital."

"I had thought of that, Geoffrey. We are quite ready."

"Get your staff together, a competent, professional nurse, and the pick of the women in the village."

"Susan Yellam has promised to help."

"None better! The sooner we get to work and stop jawing and fuddling our wits over newspapers, the less miserable we shall be."

"Yes, yes."

After dinner, the autocrat of Nether-Applewhite felt less unhappy.

Upon the following morning, bright and early, Squire and Parson put their heads together at the Vicarage. Since the marriage of Hamlin's daughter to Lionel Pomfret, the somewhat strained relations between the two fathers had pleasantly relaxed. Hamlin had this advantage over the Squire. He could see and understand the autocrat's lordly point of view. The Squire was, and always would be, incapable of standing in the Parson's shoes. Possibly, the war had modified their extreme opinions. The Squire read and approved the leading articles in _The Morning Post_; the Parson read omnivorously papers and reviews, but he would have admitted candidly that _The Westminster Gazette_ embodied most accurately his ideas and judgments.

Both men were uncomfortably conscious that grave blunders had been perpetrated by Authority.

When they had lit their after-breakfast pipes, Sir Geoffrey laid before Hamlin a synopsis of what he had gleaned in London, and his impressions thereon, but he spoke temperately, perceiving whimsical gleams in his Parson's eyes.

"A lot of fools believe that Russians are pouring through this country. An old pal and myself tried to investigate on our own. We went to Euston. By Jove! we dropped on to a porter who swore that he'd seen thousands of 'em passing through Willesden, big bearded men in queer uniforms, at dead o' night. To show the ignorance of these fellows, Hamlin, I'll repeat to you what was said in answer to my questions. The porter affirmed positively that he had seen six hundred thousand of 'em! _Six hundred thousand!_ I asked him, then, if he knew how many soldiers could be packed into one train. He scratched his head at that. Finally, he admitted that he could swear to three trains full of these bearded warriors. When I told him, as an old soldier, that three trains might carry three thousand troops he absquatulated. A man at the War Office, whose name I can't mention, told me, next day, that no Russians from Russia were passing through England. A few, coming from America to Russia, have aroused this ridiculous gossip."

Hamlin nodded.

"I told my wife last night that knowledge is simply unachievable, because the biggest men don't know yet the temper of the country. Nobody knows. But I'll tell you this: the Government is afraid of the Industrials, terrified of strikes, terrified of Ireland, terrified, of course, of being kicked out. A sort of mental palsy has 'em by the throat. They are putting out feelers, tentatively approaching everybody. It's a sorry business. The bright spot is the response from our Colonies; India is behaving well. That must be a rare sell for the Kayser. Well, well; I've let off a little steam. Let's consider ourselves and what we can do. Men must be got. In this village your dear boy has set a glorious example."

"George Mucklow enlisted three days ago."

"So my wife tells me. I propose to give a lecture in the school-house on elementary military dispositions, so that our people will be able to read their papers with some sort of intelligence."

"They don't read papers--much."

"I want you to fill the school-house for me."

"With pleasure."

"We shall open a Red Cross Hospital as soon as may be, at the Court."

Hamlin promised cordial co-operation. He had never doubted the Squire's willingness or capacity to "do his bit." And very mournfully he told himself that, making due allowance for Sir Geoffrey's reactionary sentiments and hatred of politicians the indictment brought by him against the Mandarins was in the main justified. He said quietly:

"Most of my considered judgments are in the melting-pot."

"Bless my soul! I never expected to hear you say that. So are mine. The main question for all of us is this: will the country rise to this stupendous emergency? I suppose the mere mention of conscription gives you a fit?"

"I carry an open mind about it."

"You amaze me, Hamlin. We were both 'blue-water school' men."

"Yes. You use the past tense. I am humbly sensible that what I have felt and acted upon, principles and theories essentially rooted in peace and for peace, is of the past. I shall leave them there. The needs of the present are obsessing." He paused a moment; when he spoke again his voice held conviction: "Out of the darkness, I see light."

Sir Geoffrey asked eagerly:

"What light?"

"The light of a happier civilisation, of a broader and more sympathetic internationalism. The ashes of this conflagration may fertilise anew the whole earth. It must be so."

He had surprised Sir Geoffrey a moment back; it was the Squire's turn to surprise him. Hamlin expected a wail from the many-acred lord of the manor, a Jeremiad personal and embittered. Inevitably the men of large estates, with little outside their domains to support them, must suffer cruelly. It was difficult, indeed, to envisage the Squire of Nether-Applewhite without his shooting and hunting, with a much-reduced establishment, constrained to cheese-paring, entertaining wounded Tommies instead of county magnates. Sir Geoffrey answered as humbly as the Parson:

"God send it may be so, Hamlin. This is a war between autocracy and democracy; and I don't believe in democracies, as you know."

Hamlin remained silent. The Squire continued, more vehemently:

"Can you mention one country that is a democracy? Is America a democracy?"

"We shall know soon."

"Is it a democracy to-day? Uncle Sam says so. But isn't America governed by the few and for the few? Do you call France a democracy after the revelations of this Caillaux trial? Are we a democracy, in the true sense? Perhaps Switzerland comes nearer the standard mark, but I know nothing about Switzerland. I have always distrusted profoundly the mob."

"That may be at the root of the trouble. Distrust breeds distrust. If this war should open all eyes, if men should learn to see each other as they are--much alike in the mass--and not, not, as they blindly believe, essentially different, why, then this war will not have been waged in vain."

Sir Geoffrey wrestled valiantly with these words.

"I grope, Hamlin, I grope. It sounds humiliating when one is past sixty."

Hamlin nodded. He was groping, too, but he had greater faith in human nature. He said hesitatingly:

"The result of all wars, according to history, has been this: the poor emerge poorer; the rich richer. I hope that it will not be so after this world-war. And our energies should be directed to that end, Pomfret:--a more generous distribution of material wealth, a happier understanding between all classes, a breaking-down of barriers everywhere, not only as between man and man, but as between nation and nation."

Sir Geoffrey jumped up, holding out his hand.

"You are a good fellow, Hamlin, sound at core. I have often misjudged you in the past. Forgive me! The past, as we knew it, is dead. We will work together in the present."

Hamlin rose quickly, grasping the outstretched hand. After discussing practical details concerning the lecture, they separated. The Squire strode on to the village, much heartened. The Parson sat down at his desk to write the Sunday morning sermon. For a time, he put no pen to paper. He leaned head upon hand, thinking deeply. Out of the dump-heap which was left of his pet theories, he tried to piece together some sort of mosaic pavement upon which he could stand. It was difficult to realise the change in himself, more difficult to realise the change in the Squire. But the change had taken place. What would be the effect on his parishioners? Who would help? Who would hinder? If this war meant the regeneration and reconstruction of the world, all were involved. He thought of the dead Pope, who had passed away without exciting a ripple of excitement outside the Vatican. What part would his successor play? Would the Church of England grasp a tremendous opportunity? Would the Nonconformists gird up their loins for the spiritual battle?

Consider Armageddon how he might and did, from every point of view which presented itself to an active and prescient brain,--the material outlook of diplomatists struggling to adjust the balance of European powers, of monarchs gazing at tottering thrones, of politicians still grabbing loaves and fishes, of business men thinking of their tills, of the rank and file in all countries working apathetically for their daily bread,--this thought rose up and dominated others. To him and men like him, ardently concerned with the potentialities of souls, ordained teachers of God's Word, called upon to interpret, so far as they could, the mysterious designs of Omnipotence, the issues shone clearly forth. Evil was arrayed against Good. The pomps and vanities of the world were marshalled against the powers of the Spirit.

And, in the end, the Spirit would triumph.

He began his sermon.

The Squire, meanwhile, was approaching the _Sir John Barleycorn_ tavern, intending to have a word with William Saint, and, later on, with Susan Yellam and others, whom he regarded as aides-de-camp. Not being a very judicious reader of character, indolently disposed (because he was so busy himself) to accept his own people as they appeared to be, he regarded William Saint as a respectable, intelligent publican, who had been an excellent servant as first footman at the Court. He counted upon William as a likely "whipper-in" in the hunt for recruits. The Boniface of the _Pomfret Arms_, the larger of the two Nether-Applewhite taverns, happened to be stout and scant o' breath. He seldom stirred out of his snug bar-parlour. William Saint scoured the countryside, a very energetic, enterprising fellow.

"Morning, William."

"Good morning, Sir Geoffrey."

The Squire removed his hat and wiped an ample brow. He had found Saint in the sanded tap-room, overhauling supplies. He noted the man's drab complexion, and wondered whether he consumed too much of his own beer. The publican asked his old master deferentially if he would drink a glass of ale. Time was when the Squire never refused such invitations. To-day, he declined the ale, saying trenchantly:

"No, no. We shall have to tighten our belts, William. Take my word for it. You must reckon with being hit. We shall all be hit in our purses and our stomachs."

William Saint agreed politely. He had no intention of being hit in either place, but he kept that to himself. Already he was secretly enrolled amongst the would-be profiteers, and resolutely determined to extract good from an ill wind. Sir Geoffrey stated the nature of his errand. The village must set an example to less beatified hamlets, such as Ocknell, for example. Did William think the younger men would come forward with enthusiasm? William was doubtful about the enthusiasm. With discreet pressure from Authority, they might be induced to follow the example of George Mucklow. The Squire slapped his thigh.

"I am very pleased with George Mucklow. A snug billet shall be kept for him."

William smiled, not very pleasantly.

"His father, Sir Geoffrey, used pressure."

"Did he, b'Jove? And very proper, too. Uncle is one of the right sort. Even his weaknesses are endearing. The truth is, William, in such damnable times as these we must keep an eye peeled for the good in our fellow-men, and wink the other discreetly."

Perhaps William profited by this advice, and winked the eye farthest from Sir Geoffrey. After more conversation, dealing strictly with recruiting methods to be applied to a community essentially peace-loving, Sir Geoffrey walked off and on, very well satisfied with his talk with an old servant. William apostrophised his diminishing figure in language never printed nowadays.

As the Squire walked down village he, too, like the Parson, thought seriously of what he should say to his people when he met them in the school-house. He was not concerned with spiritual issues. As a former M.F.H., he went a-hunting recruits with the same ardour and resource formerly consecrated to foxes. With profoundest sincerity he wished that he were of an age to bear arms. Indeed, he had offered himself, as an ex-Guardsman, quite ready to tackle a new drill-manual, to an old schoolfellow, now a general at the War Office. Sound advice had been tendered him.

"You can serve your country, Pomfret, on your own pitch. We shall want men and food. Food may become the more difficult problem."

Hence the allusion to tightened belts.

Sir Geoffrey walked briskly, reflecting complacently upon his excellent physical condition. He might be slightly dazed in mind, but fit as a fiddle in body. An odd expression that! What constituted a "fit" fiddle? Obviously, an instrument tuned to the right pitch. He felt taut all over. What had kept him fit at an age when many men of his acquaintance were falling into the sere and yellow stage of life? Sport. To scrap sport filled him with apprehension. So far, sport in England went on as usual. When he visited Euston to make enquiries concerning Russians, he had seen many cheery-looking fellows on their way north, bent on slaying grouse and stags, reasonably convinced in their own simple minds that, Germans or no Germans, the world must wag on as before. Sir Geoffrey was not so optimistic. He knew much better. Already the supreme sacrifice of an only son had been demanded of him and made instantly. Other sacrifices bulked larger and larger in the immediate future. Standing in his fine hall, with the portraits of dead-and-gone Pomfrets looking down upon him, he had smelt anticipatingly the pungent odours of carbolic acid and iodoform. The stately saloon must be turned into a ward--! The mere thought was hateful, but he never flinched from it. Let the poor boys come! He would welcome them with courtesy and geniality. A Mandarin predicted a five-shilling-in-the-pound income tax! The Squire had responded generously to the Prince of Wales's Fund.

The situation could be summed up in one all-embracing word--Hell!

Little girls curtsied, small boys touched their caps, as the Autocrat of Nether-Applewhite passed them by with a kindly word and glance for each. He reflected: "The little 'uns are out of it, bless 'em!" He wondered whether respectful salutations would last his time. They were dear to him, outward and visible signs of the respect paid to Authority. Would they be scrapped? The Government had taken over the railroads. If the Labourites came into power, the land might be grabbed ruthlessly.

Sir Geoffrey walked less briskly, as the possibility obtruded itself.

He stopped first at Uncle's cottage. Mrs. Mucklow received him. Uncle, it appeared, was at work, thatching a dormer window, which exacted his particular skill. Yes, George, poor boy, had gone for a soldier. His father had insisted upon it.

"Quite right," said the Squire heartily.

Jane Mucklow sniffed. She dared not contradict the Squire, but a sour face betrayed her feelings. The Squire laid a sovereign on the mantelpiece, saying that it was for Uncle, with the donor's compliments. Jane thanked him, wondering whether the piece of gold could be despatched, surreptitiously, to George. Always, Uncle got credit for what more deserving individuals accomplished. An exasperating thought! A recital of her own aches and pains, however, provoked the promise of a bottle of port. Sir Geoffrey shook hands with his former cook on leaving, and said graciously:

"Now, remember, Jane, if George gets leave and comes home, I want to see him. Send him up to the Hall."

"Thank you kindly, sir."

Sir Geoffrey went his way. As he approached the Yellam cottage, he muttered half audibly:

"Good people. Good people."

If he had known the truth--! At this moment Jane Mucklow was reviling him, because she laid her George's approaching death at the Squire's door. She made quite sure--and so did George--that he would be killed in his first action. With much reluctance we present these two old servants of the Autocrat smiling deferentially to his face and cursing him behind his back! And he believed so absolutely in their honesty and sincerity.

Five minutes later, Mrs. Yellam dusted a chair which needed no dusting. The Squire sat down upon it. He liked and respected Susan Yellam, and she--you may be sure--was well aware of that. No insincerity lurked behind her welcoming smile. But, in justice to the unhappy Jane Mucklow, it must be stated that Susan happened to be independent of the Autocrat. Many times and oft had Uncle been "behindhand" with his rent. More than once Sir Geoffrey had remitted that rent altogether, simply because Uncle was so knowledgeable about foxes and deer, and such a wrath-disarming scallywag even in his cups. Mrs. Yellam paid her rent punctually, and possessed independent means. She had never been in service. She exercised brains, rare in any village, which enabled her to apprehend something withheld from the unprivileged classes, to wit:--that position carried with it crushing responsibilities and disabilities. Mr. Fishpingle, so near and dear to Sir Geoffrey, a friend and servant of fifty years, had often pointed out to her the sacrifices made by the Squire for his people. And she had kept eyes and ears open to these, deducing inferences from them.

For some minutes Sir Geoffrey talked about the Red Cross Hospital, enlisting Susan's sympathies. Co-operation had been promised already to Lady Pomfret.

"My lady be none too strong," observed Mrs. Yellam.

The Squire was not of Mrs. Yellam's opinion, but he didn't say so. He mentioned his proposed lecture, and solemnly invited her considered views on the recruiting campaign. She was not enthusiastic.

"Be they wanted real bad, Sir Geoffrey?"

"Of course they are."

"Wanted as soldiers more than they be wanted on the land?"

The Squire frowned. He had not weighed the pros and cons of a question hardly raised as yet even by far-seeing men.

"Lord Kitchener asks for them."

"I be afeard they'll hang back. 'Tain't easy to believe that us is at war. My Alferd be doing wonnerful well; trade stimulated as never was."

"I hear that Alfred is engaged to be married. Tell me all about it."

At such moments the Squire was at his best, keenly interested, avid for details, always ready to assume sponsorial obligations for the unborn, and promising five pounds if the little strangers appeared in couples. Mrs. Yellam spoke of Fancy.

"Bless my soul! She opened the Vicarage door to me this morning. A very pretty girl, on the thin side, but modest and intelligent. I shall congratulate her. Your Alfred is a very sterling fellow. He deserves the right sort of wife. By the way, we shan't want him. You can tell him so from me."

Mrs. Yellam said gravely:

"Alferd be my only son, and I tells him that others should go first."

"Um! What does he say to that?"

"Nothing--not a word."

"Well, Susan, I want Alfred to help me. As a carrier he is constantly meeting young men and young women. Let him talk to both."

"Yes, Sir Geoffrey. Alferd be a very forcible man, wi' plenty o' brave words and thoughts. Certainly this war be a marrer-stirring affair. I hopes as how Master Lionel be enjoyin' good health, and his dear lady?"

Sir Geoffrey chuckled.

"Captain, Susan, Captain. And only yesterday, I remember, he came sneaking in here, always sure of a bull's-eye." He glanced at his watch. "Time, confound it, is always hurrying on. I'm due at the Home Farm. Before I go, one word in your faithful ear. It will travel no further for the present, hey?"

"You knows that, Sir Geoffrey."

They both stood up, a fine couple. The Squire patted Mrs. Yellam's substantial shoulder. Then he lowered his jolly voice:

"You asked about Mrs. Pomfret. After Christmas I am expecting the sort of present I want badly. You understand----?"

"Lard bless 'ee, Sir Geoffrey, and her too. Tis gert news."

"Isn't it? But mum's the word!"

He went on to the Home Farm, whither we need not follow him. But it may be added, incidentally, that the translation of Benoni Fishpingle from the position of butler at Pomfret Court to the more responsible post of Bailiff had worked greatly to the Squire's advantage and happiness. He returned home to luncheon in reasonably high spirits, having prodded the sides of many fat bullocks. He found Lady Pomfret on the terrace facing the park. From her face he divined instantly that something of importance had happened. She came up to him, with her slow, measured walk, holding out a telegram. It was from Lionel.

"Expect Joyce and me to-night. I go to France this day week."