"You can imagine how Biggs's soul revolted at these speeches. In vain did Sergeant-Major Fairbanks of the Guards deliver himself of his most bloodthirsty _repertoire_; Biggs's tender heart was horror-struck at the idea of bowels and brains exposed, and it was always owing to him that the most carefully-prepared charges were deprived of the warlike frenzy demanded by Major Macleod.

"'_As_ you were!' Sergeant-Major Fairbanks used to yell. '_As_ you were! Now then, Private Biggs.' And after twenty attempts had failed, he would conclude sadly, 'Well, boys, mark my words, come Judgment Day, when we're all p'radin' for the final review an' the Lord comes along, no sooner will the Archangel give the order, "'Tention!" than 'e'll 'ave to shout, "As you were! Now then, Private Biggs!"'

"When the period of training was over, Macleod a.s.sembled all our men in a large shed and gave 'em his celebrated lecture on 'hatred of the enemy.'

"I was really curious to hear him, because people at G.H.Q. were always talking about the extraordinary influence he had over the troops' _moral_. 'One of Macleod's speeches,' said the Chief of Staff, 'does the Huns as much harm as ten batteries of heavy howitzers.'

"The lecturer began with a ghastly description of the shooting of prisoners, and went on to a nauseating account of the effects of gas and a terrible story about the crucifixion of a Canadian sergeant; and then, when our flesh was creeping and our throats were dry, came a really eloquent hymn of hate, ending with an appeal to the avenging bayonet.

"Macleod was silent for a few minutes, enjoying the sight of our haggard faces; then, considering we were sufficiently worked up, he went on:

"'Now, if there is any one of you who wants anything explained, let him speak up; I'm ready to answer any questions.'

"Out of the silence came the still, small voice of Private Biggs.

"'Please, sir?'

"'Yes, my man,' said Major Macleod kindly.

"'Please, sir, can you tell me how I can transfer to the Army Service Corps?'

"That evening, in the kitchen, our orderlies discussed the incident, and discovered in course of conversation that Biggs had never killed a man. All the others were tough old warriors, and they were much astonished.

"Kemble, the general's orderly, a giant with a dozen or so to his account, was full of pity for the poor little c.o.c.kney. 'Mon, mon,'

he said, 'I can hardly believe ye. Why, never a single one? Not even wounded?'

"'No,' said Biggs, 'honest Injun. I run so slowly, I'm always the last to get there--I never get a chance.'

"Well, a few days later, the battalion was up in the line again, and was sent into a little stunt opposite Fleurbaix, to straighten out a salient. You remember, sir? It's one of the best things the Division has ever done.

"Artillery preparation, low barrage, cutting communications--everything came off like clockwork, and we caught the Boches in their holes like rabbits.

"While the men were busy with their rifles, grenades and bayonets, cleaning up the conquered trenches, suddenly a voice was heard shouting:

"'Harry, Harry, where are you?... Just send Biggs along here, will you?... Pa.s.s the word along to Private Biggs.'

"It was the voice of the Highlander, Kemble. Some giant grasped Biggs by the seat of his trousers and swung him and his rifle up to the parapet. Then two strong hands seized the little man, and he was swung in mid-air from man to man right up the file till he was finally handed over to Kemble, who seized him affectionately with his left hand, and, full of joy at the dainty treat he had in store for his friend, cried, 'Mon, mon, look in this wee hole: I've got twa of 'em at the end of my rifle, but I've kept 'em for you.'

"This is a true story," added Colonel Parker, "and it shows once more that the British soldier has a kind heart."

The Rev. Mr. Jeffries had turned very pale.

CHAPTER VI

AN AIR RAID

"I do not like seriousness. I think it is irreligious."--Chesterton.

"They'll be here soon," said Dr. O'Grady. "The moon is low, and the shadows are long, and these oblique lights will suit them very well."

The division was in rest on the hills overlooking Abbeville, and the doctor was walking to and fro with Colonel Parker and Aurelle along the lime-bordered terrace, from which they could see the town that was going to be attacked. From the wet gra.s.sy lawns near by groups of anxious women were scanning the horizon.

"Yesterday evening, in a suburb," said Aurelle, "they killed a baker's three children."

"I am sorry," put in the doctor, "they should be favoured with this fine weather. The law of the storm seems to be exactly the same for these barbarians as it is for innocent birds. It's absolutely contradictory to the notion of a just Divinity."

"Doctor," said Aurelle, "you are an unbeliever."

"No," replied the doctor, "I am an Irishman, and I respect the bitter wisdom of the Catholic faith. But this universe of ours, I confess, strikes me as completely non-moral. Sh.e.l.ls and decorations fall haphazard from above on the just and the unjust alike; M. Poincare's carburettor gets out of order just as often as the Kaiser's. The G.o.ds have thrown up their job, and handed it over to the Fates. It is true that Apollo, who is a well-behaved person, takes out his chariot every morning; that may satisfy the poets and the astronomers, but it distresses the moralist. How satisfactory it would be if the resistance of the air were relative to the virtues of the airman, and if Archimedes' principle did not apply to pirates!"

"O'Grady," observed Colonel Parker, "you know the words of the psalm: 'As for the unG.o.dly, it is not so with them; but they are like the chaff which the wind scattereth away from the face of the earth.'"

"Yes, colonel; but supposing you, a good man, and I, a sinner, were suddenly hit by a bomb----"

"But, doctor," Aurelle interrupted, "this science of yours is after all only an act of faith."

"How so, my boy? It is obvious that there are laws in this world. If I press the trigger of this revolver, the bullet will fly out, and if General Webb is given an Army Corps, General Bramble will have a bilious attack."

"Quite so, doctor; you observe a few series linked together, and you conclude that the world is governed by laws. But the most important facts--life, thought, love--elude your observations. You may perhaps be sure that the sun is going to rise to-morrow morning, but you don't know what Colonel Parker is going to say next minute. Yet you a.s.sert that the colonel is a machine; that is because your religion tells you to."

"So does every one else's religion," said the doctor. "Only yesterday I read in the Bishop of Broadfield's message: 'The prayers for rain cannot take place this week, as the barometer is too high.'"

Far away over the plain, in the direction of Amiens, the star-sprinkled sky began to flicker with tiny, flashing points of light.

"Here they come," said Aurelle.

"They'll be ten minutes yet," said the doctor. They resumed their walk.

"O'Grady," Colonel Parker put in, "you're getting more crazy every day. You claim, if I comprehend your foolish ideas aright, that a scientist can foretell rain better than an Anglican bishop. What a magnificent paradox! Meteorology and medicine are far less solid sciences than theology. _You_ say that the universe is governed by laws, don't you? Nothing is less certain. It is true that chance seems to have established a relative balance in the tiny corner of the universe which we inhabit, but there is nothing to show that this balance is going to last. If you were to press the trigger of this revolver to-morrow, it is just possible that it would not go off. It is also possible that the German aeroplanes will cease to fly, and that General Bramble will take a dislike to the gramophone. _I_ should not be surprised at any of these things; I should simply recognize that supernatural forces had come into our lives."

"Doctor," said Aurelle, "you know the clock which my orderly Brommit winds up every evening? Let us suppose that on one of the molecules that go to make up the minute-hand of that clock there live a race of beings who are infinitely small, and yet as intelligent as we are.

These little creatures have measured their world, and have noticed that the speed of its motion is constant; they have discovered that their planet covers a fixed distance in a fixed period of time, which for us is a minute and for them a century. Amongst their people there are two schools of thought. The scientists claim that the laws of the universe are immutable, and that no supernatural power can intervene to change them. The believers admit the existence of these laws, but they also a.s.sert that there is a divine being who can interfere with their course; and to that being they address prayers. In that tiny world, which of them is right? The believers, of course; for there is such a being as Private Brommit, and if he forgets one evening to wind up the clock, the scientists and all their proud theories will vanish away like smoke in a cataclysm which will bring whole worlds to their doom."

"That's so," said the doctor; "but if they had prayed----"

"Listen," interrupted Aurelle.

The park had become strangely silent; and though there was no wind, they could hear the gentle rustling of the leaves, the barking of a dog in the valley, the crackling of a twig under a bird's weight. Up above, in the clear sky, there was a feeling of some hostile presence, and a disagreeable little buzzing sound, as though there were some invisible mosquito up among the stars.

"They're here now," said the doctor.

The noise increased: a buzzing swarm of giant bees seemed to be approaching the hill.

Suddenly there was a long hiss, and a ray of light leaped forth from the valley and began to search the sky with a sort of superhuman thoroughness. The women on the lawn ran away to the shelter of the trees. The short, sharp barking of the guns, the deeper rumble of the bombs that were beginning to fall on the town, and the earth-shaking explosions terrified them beyond endurance.