The Colonel, who throughout his life while making a great show of radical opinions in the mess for the benefit of his brother-officers had always voted quietly for the Conservative party on the ground that they made upon the whole less of a hash of Imperial affairs than their Liberal opponents was profoundly troubled by the proceedings in Ulster.
"The beggars are undermining the morale of Ireland," he told Mr. Trupp. "And only those who've been quartered there know what that means."
"If you said they were undermining the foundations of Society I'd agree," the other answered. "Geddes says they've poisoned the wells of civilisation, and he's about right."
The Presbyterian minister, indeed, usually so sane and moderate, had been roused to unusual vehemence by the general strike against the law engineered by the Conservative leaders.
"It's a reckless gamble in anarchy with the country's destiny at stake," he said.
"And financed by German Jews," added Joe Burt.
As the Campaign developed and the success of the Unionists in tampering with the Army became always more apparent, the criticisms of the two men intensified. They hung like wolves upon the flank of the Colonel, pertinacious in pursuit, remorseless in attack.
"You can't get away from the fact that the whole Campaign is built on the power of the Unionists to corrupt the officers of the Army," said the minister. "Without that the whole thing collapses."
"And so far," chimed in Joe, "A must say it looks as if they were building on a sure foundation."
The Colonel, outwardly gay, was inwardly miserable that his beloved Service should be dragged in the mud.
"What can you say to them?" he groaned to Mr. Trupp.
"Why," said the old surgeon brusquely, "tell em to tell their own rotten Government to govern or get out. Let em hang half a dozen politicians for treason, and shoot the same number of soldiers for sedition--and the thing's done."
And the bitterness of it was that it looked increasingly as if the critics were right.
The Colonel came home one night from a rare visit to London in black despair.
"The British officer never grows up," he complained to his wife. "He's a perfect baby." His long legs writhed themselves into knots, as he sucked at his pipe. "Do you remember that charming little feller Cherry Dugdale, who commanded the Borderers at Umballa?"
"The shikari?--rather."
"He's joined the Ulster Volunteers as a private."
Mrs. Lewknor chuckled. She was a Covenanter sans phrase, fierce almost as the Archdeacon and delighting in the embarrassments of the Government.
"Just like him," she said. "Little duck!"
Then came the crash.
The Commander-in-Chief in Ireland sent for General Gough, commanding the 3rd Cavalry Brigade at the Curragh, and asked him what his action would be in the event of the Government giving him and his Brigade the alternative of serving against Ulster or resigning. Gough forthwith called a conference of his officers, and seventy out of seventy-five signified their intention to resign.
"We would rather not shoot Irishmen," they said.
On the evening after the news came through the Colonel was walking down Terminus Road when he heard a provocative voice behind him.
"What about it, Colonel?"
He turned to find Joe Burt at his heels.
"What about what?" asked the Colonel.
"This mutiny of the officers at the Curragh."
The Colonel affected a gaiety he by no means felt.
"Well, what's your view?"
Joe was enthusiastic.
"Why, it's the finest example of Direct Action ever seen in this coontry. And it's been given by the Army officers!--That's what gets me."
"What's Direct Action?" asked the Colonel. The phrase in those days was unknown outside industrial circles.
"A strike, and especially a strike for political purposes," answered Joe. "General Gough and his officers have struck to prevent Home Rule being placed on the Statute Book. What if a Trade Union had tried to hold up the coontry same road? It's what A've always said," the engineer continued, joyously aggressive. "The officers of the British Army aren't to be trusted except when their own party's in power."
The Colonel walked on to the club.
There he found young Stanley Bessemere, just back from Ireland, sitting in a halo of cigar-smoke, the hero of an amused and admiring circle, recording his latest military exploits.
"We've got the swine beat," he was saying confidently between puffs. "The Army won't fight. And the Government can do nothing."
The Colonel turned a vengeful eye upon him.
"Young man," he said, "are you aware that Labour's watching you? Labour's learning from you?"
"Labour be damned!" retorted the other with jovial brutality. "We'll deal with Labour all right when we've got this lot of traitors out of office."
"Traitors!" called Mr. Trupp, harshly from his chair. "You talk of traitors!--you Tories!--I voted for you at the last General Election for the first time in my life on the sole ground of national defence. D'you think I or any self-respecting man would have done so if we'd known the jackanape tricks you'd be up to?"
The two elderly men retired in dudgeon to the card-room.
"There's only one thing the matter with Ireland," grumbled the old surgeon. "And its always been the same thing."
"What's that?" asked the Colonel.
"The English politician," replied the other--"Ireland's curse."
Hard on the heels of the Curragh affair came the landing of arms from Krupp's, with the connivance, if not with the secret co-operation of the German Government, at Larne under the cover of the rebel Army, mobilised for the purpose. The Government wept a few patient tears over the outrage and did nothing.
The Colonel was irritated; Mr. Trupp almost vituperative.
"Geddes may say what he likes," remarked the former. "But I can't acquit the Government. They're encouraging the beggars to play it up."
"Acquit them!" fulminated the old surgeon. "I'd impeach them on the spot. The law in abeyance! British ports seized under the guns of the British fleet! Gangs of terrorists patrolling the roads and openly boasting they'll assassinate any officer of the Crown who does his duty; and the Episcopalian Church blessing the lot! And the Government does nothing. It's a national disgrace!"
"It's all very well, Mr. Trupp," said Mr. Glynde, the senior member for the Borough, who was present. "But Ulster has a case, and we must consider it."
"Of course Ulster has a case," the other answered sharply. "Nobody but a fool denies it. I'm attacking the Government, not Ulster. Let them restore law and order in Ireland. That's their first job. When they've done that it'll be time enough to consider Ulster's grievances. Where's all this going to lead us?"
"Hell," said the Colonel gloomily.
He was, indeed, more miserable than he had ever been in his life.
Other old Service men he met, who loathed the Government, looked on with amused or spiteful complacency at the part the Army was playing in the huge conspiracy against the Crown. The Colonel saw nothing but the shame of it, its possible consequences, and effect on opinion, domestic, imperial and European.
He walked about as one in a maze: he could not understand.
Then Mr. Geddes came to see him.
The tall minister was very grave; and there was no question what he came about--the Army Conspiracy.
The Colonel looked out of the window and twisted his long legs as he heard the other out.
"Dear little Gough-y!" he murmured at the end. "The straightest thing that walks the earth."
He felt curiously helpless, as he had felt throughout the Campaign; unable to meet his adversaries except by the evasion and casuistical tricks his spirit loathed.
Mr. Geddes rose.
"Well, Colonel," he said. "I see no alternative but to resign my membership of the League. It's perfectly clear that if your scheme goes through it must be run by officers at the War Office. And I'm afraid I must add that it seems equally clear now that it will be run for political purposes by men who put their party before their country."
The Colonel turned slowly round.
"You've very kindly lent us St. Andrew's Hall for a meeting of the League next Friday. Do you cancel that?" he asked.
"Certainly not, Colonel," answered the minister. "By all means hold your meeting. I shall be present, and I shall speak." ...
It was not a happy meeting at St. Andrew's Hall, but it was a crowded one: for the vultures had sniffed the battle from afar. The Liberals came in force, headed by Mr. Pigott; while Joe Burt led his wolves from the East-end. Ernie was there, very quiet now as always, with Ruth; and Bobby Chislehurst, seeing them, took his seat alongside.
Fighting with his back to the wall, and well aware of it, the Colonel was at his very best: witty, persuasive, reasonable. What the National Service League advocated was not aggression in any shape, but insurance.
He sat down amid considerable and well-earned applause.
Then Mr. Geddes rose.
He had joined the League after Agadir, he said, after much perturbation and questioning of spirit, because he had been reluctantly convinced at last that the German menace was a reality. Yet what was the position to-day? The Conservative Party, which had preached this menace for years, had been devoting the whole of its energies now for some time past to fomenting a civil war in Ireland. They had gone so far as to arm a huge force that was in open rebellion against the Crown with rifles and machine-guns from the very country which they affirmed was about to attack us. And more remarkable still certain Generals at the War Office--he wouldn't mention names--
"Why not?" shouted Mr. Pigott.
It was not expedient; but he had in his pocket a letter from Mr. Redmond giving the name of the General who was primarily responsible for the sedition among the officers of the Army--a very highly placed officer indeed.
"Shame!" cried someone.
He thought so too. And this General, who was in the somewhat anomalous position of being both technical military adviser to the rebel army in Ulster and the trusted servant of the Government at the War Office, was a man who for years past, so he understood, had preached the doctrine that war with Germany was inevitable, and had been for many years largely responsible for the preparation of our forces against attack from that quarter. To suggest that this officer and his colleagues were traitors was downright silly. What, then, was the only deduction a reasonable man could draw? The minister paused: Why, that the German peril was not a reality.
The conclusion was greeted with a howl of triumph from the wolves at the back.
"Hear! hear!" roared Mr. Pigott.
Joe Burt had jumped up.
"A'll tell you the whole truth about the German Bogey!" he bawled. "It's a put-up game by the militarists to force conscription on the coontry for their own purposes. Now you've got it straight!"
As he sat down amid tumultuous applause at one end of the hall a figure on the platform bobbed up as it were automatically. It was Alf.
"Am I not right in thinking that the gentleman at the back of the hall is about to pay a visit to Germany?" he asked urbanely.
"Yes, you are!" shouted Joe. "And A wish all the workin-men in England were comin too. That'd put the lid on the nonsense pretty sharp."
Then ensued something of a scene; the hub-bub pierced by Alf's shrill scream,
"Who's payin for your visit?"
The Archdeacon, a most capable chairman, restored order; and Mr. Geddes concluded his speech on a note of quiet strength. When he finally sat down man after man got up and announced his intention of resigning his membership of the League.
Outside the hall the Colonel stood out of the moon in the shadow of one of those trees which make the streets of Beachbourne singular and lovely at all times of the year. His work of the last six years had been undone, and it was clear that he knew it.
Ruth, emerging from the hall, looked across at the forlorn old man standing like a dilapidated pillar amid the drift of the dissipating crowd. She had herself no understanding of the rights and wrongs of the controversy to which she had just listened; her sympathies were not enlisted by either side. Only the human element, and the clash of personalities which had made itself apparent at the meeting, had interested her. But she realised that the tall figure across the road was the vanquished in the conflict; and her heart went out to him.
"They aren't worth the worrit he takes over them," she said discontentedly. "Let them have their war if they want it, I says. And when they've got it let those join in as likes it, and those as don't stay out. That's what I say.... A nice man like that, too--so gentle with it.... Ought to be ashamed of emselves; some of em."
Then she saw Mr. Chislehurst cross the road to his cousin, and she was comforted.
"He'll walk home with him.--Come on, Ernie."
It was striking ten o'clock. Ruth, who was in a hurry to get back to her babes, left in the charge of a neighbour, walked a-head. Ernie, on the other hand, wished to saunter, enjoying the delicious freshness of the spring night.
"Steady on then!" he said. "That's the Archdeacon in front, and Mr. Trupp and all."
"I knaw that then," replied Ruth with the asperity she kept for Ernie alone.
"Well, you don't want to catch them up."
They entered Saffrons Croft, which lay black or silver-blanched before them, peopled now only with tall trees. The groups of elms, thickening with blossoms, gathered the stars to their bosoms, and laid their shadows like patterns along the smooth sward. Beyond the threadbare tapestry of trees rose the solid earth-work of the Downs, upholding the brilliant night, encircling them as in a cup, and keeping off the hostile world. Ernie felt their strength, their friendship, the immense and unfailing comfort of them. A great quiet was everywhere, brooding, blessed. The earth lay still as the happy dead, caressed by the moon. But behind the stillness the thrust and stir and aspiration of new life quickening in the darkness, seeking expression, made itself manifest. Ernie was deliciously aware of that secret urge. He opened his senses to the rumour of it, and filled his being with the breath of this mysterious renaissance.
He stopped and sniffed.
"It's coming," he said. "I can smell it."
"It's come more like," answered Ruth. "The lilacs are out in the Manor-garden, and the brown birds singing in the ellums fit to choke theirsalves."
They walked on slowly across the turf. The lights of the Manor-house twinkled at them friendly across the ha-ha. Ernie's heart, which had been hardening of late to meet Ruth's hardness, thawed at the touch of spring. The doors of his being opened and his love leapt forth in billows to surround her. The woman in front paused as if responding to that profound sub-conscious appeal. Ern did not hurry his pace; but she stayed for him in a pool of darkness made by the elms. Quietly he came up alongside.
"Ruth," he began, shy and stealthy as a boy-lover.
She did not answer him, but the moon lay on her face, firm-set.
"Anything for me to-night?"
He came in upon her with a quiet movement as of wings. She elbowed him off fiercely.
"A-done!" she said. "You're not half-way through yet--nor near it."
He pleaded, coaxing.
"I am a man, Ruth."
She was adamant.
"It's just what you are not," she retorted. He knew she was breathing deep; he did not know how near to tears she was. "You was one time o day--and you might be yet.--You got to work your ticket, my lad."
He drew back.
She walked on swiftly now, passing out of Saffrons Croft into the road. He followed at some distance down the hill past the Greys to the Star corner. A man standing there pointed. He turned round to see Joe pounding after him.
"The tickets and badges coom to-night," the engineer explained. "A meant to have given you yours, as A did Mr. Geddes, at the meeting. But you got away. Good night! Friday! Three o'clock sharp! Don't forget."
Ruth had turned and was coming swiftly back towards them.
"Ain't you coming along then, Joe?" she called after him.
"Not to-night, thank-you, Ruth. A got to square up afore we go."
"I am disappointed," said Ruth disconsolately, and turned away down Borough Lane.
Ernie came up beside her quietly.
"That night!" he said. "Almost a pity you didn't stay where you was in bed and let Joe take my place alongside you."
"Hap it's what I've thart myself times," Ruth answered sentimentally.
"Only thing," continued Ernie in that same strangely quiet voice, "Joe wouldn't do it. D'is no fault of his'n. He is a man Joe is; even if so be you're no'hun of a woman."
The two turned into the house that once had been their home.
