Nicky-Nan, Reservist Part 6

"As 'listed on Abaddon's side, They mangle their own flesh and slay, Tophet is moved and opens wide Its mouth for its enormous prey; And myriads sink beneath the grave And plunge into the flaming wave."

"O might the universal Friend This havoc of his creatures see!" . . .

They sang it l.u.s.tily to the end. With a gesture of the hand Mr Hambly bade all to kneel, opened the Book of Common Prayer again, and instead of "putting up" an _extempore_ prayer, recited that old one prescribed for use "_In the Time of War and Tumults_":--

"O Almighty G.o.d, King of all kings, and Governour of all things, whose power no creature is able to resist, . . . Save and deliver us, we humbly beseech thee, from the hands of our enemies; abate their pride, a.s.swage their malice, and confound their devices; that we, being armed with thy defence, may be preserved evermore from all perils, to glorify thee, who art the only giver of all victory;" . . .

The voice, though creaking in tone and uttering borrowed words, impressed many among its audience with its accent of personal sincerity. Mrs Polsue knelt and listened with a gathering choler.

This Hambly had no unction. He could never improve an occasion: the more opportunity it gave the more helplessly he fell back upon old formulae composed by Anglicans long ago. She had often enough resented the Minister's dependence on these out-of-date phrases, written (as like as not) by men in secret sympathy with the Ma.s.s.

Mr Hambly arose from his knees, opened the Book, and said: "The portion of Scripture I have chosen for this morning is taken from Paul's Letter to the Ephesians, vi. 10:--"

'My brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. Put on the whole armour of G.o.d, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against princ.i.p.alities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of G.o.d, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.'

He paused here, and for a moment seemed about to continue his reading; but, as if on a sudden compulsion, closed the book, and went on:

"My Brethren,--choose any of those words. They shall be my text; they and those I read to you just now: 'If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.'

"In entering upon this War we may easily tell ourselves that we have no sin: for in fact not a man or a woman in this congregation--so far as I know--harbours, or has harboured a single thought of evil disposition against the people who, from to-morrow, are to be our enemies, in whose distress we shall have to exult. In a few days this will seem very strange to you; but it is a fact.

"So it might plausibly be said that not we, but our Government, make this war upon a people with whom you and I have no quarrel.

"But that will not do; for in a nation ruled as ours is, no Ministry can make war unless having the people behind it. That is certain.

The whole people--not only of Great Britain, but of Ireland too-- seems to be silently aware that a War has been fastened upon it, not to be s.h.i.+rked or avoided, and is arming; but still without hate.

So far as, in this little corner of the world, I can read your hearts, they answer to my own in this--that they have harboured no hate against Germany, and indeed, even now, can hardly teach themselves to hate.

"None the less, the German Emperor protests, calling on G.o.d for witness, that the sword has been thrust into his hand: and, if he honestly believes this, there must be some great confusion of mind in this business. One party or the other must be walking under some terrible hallucination.

"The aged Austrian Emperor calls on _his_ G.o.d to justify him.

So does the German; while we in turn call on _our_ G.o.d to justify _us_.

"Now, there cannot be two G.o.ds--two real G.o.ds--president over the actions of men. That were unthinkable. Of two claimants to that sceptre, one must be a pretender, an Anti-Christ.

"Therefore our first duty in this dreadful business is to clear our minds, to make sure that ours is truly the right G.o.d. Let us not trouble--for it is too late--about any German's mind. Our business is to clear our own vision.

"I confess to you that, however we clear it, I antic.i.p.ate that what we see in the end is likely to be damaging to what I will call 'official' Christianity. However you put it, the Churches of Europe (established or free) have been allowing at least one _simulacrum_ of Christ to walk the earth, claiming holiness while devising evil.

However you put it, the slaughter of man by man is horrible, and-- more than that--our Churches exist to prevent it, by persuasion teaching peace on earth, good-will towards men.

"Disquieted, unable to sleep for this thought, I arose and dressed early this morning, and sat for a while on the wall opposite, gazing at this homely house of G.o.d across the roadway. It looked strange and unreal to me, there in the dawn; and (for Heaven knows I can never afford to slight the place it holds in my affection) I even dared in my fondness to reckon it with great and famous temples such as in our Westminster, in Paris, in Rheims--aye, and in Cologne--men have reared to the glory of G.o.d. I asked myself if these, too, looked impertinent as this day's sun took their towers, dawning so eventfully over Europe; if these, too, suffered in men's minds such a loss of significance by comparison with the eternal hills and the river that rushed at my feet refres.h.i.+ng this valley as night-long, day-long, it has run refres.h.i.+ng and sung unheeded for thousands upon thousands of years.

"Then it seemed to me, as the day cleared, that whatever of impertinence showed in this building was due to _us_--and to me, more than any--who in these few years past have believed ourselves to be working for good, when all the while we have never cleared our vision to see things in their right proportions.

"We are probably willing to accept this curse of War as a visitation on our sins. But for _what_ sins? O, beware of taking the prohibitions of the Decalogue in a lump, its named sins as _equivalent!_ In every one of you must live an inward witness that these sins do not rank equally in G.o.d's eye; that to murder, for instance, is wickeder than to misuse the Lord's name in a hasty oath; that to bear false witness against a neighbour is tenfold worse than to break the Sabbath. Yet we for ever in our Churches put these out of their right order; count ourselves righteous if we slander our neighbour, so it be on the way to wors.h.i.+p; and in petty cruelties practice the l.u.s.t of murder, interrupting it to shudder at a profane oath uttered by some good fellow outside in the street. To love G.o.d and your neighbour, summed up, for Christ, all the Law and the Prophets: and his love was for the harlot and the publican, as his worst word always for the self-deceiver who thanked G.o.d that he was not as other men.

"I verily believe that in this struggle we war with princ.i.p.alities and powers, with the rulers of darkness in this world, with spiritual wickedness in high places. But make no mistake: the men who are actually going out from England to brave the first brunt for us are men whom _we_ have not taught to die like heroes, who have little interest in Church or Chapel or their differences, who view sins in an altogether different perspective from ours; whom we enlisted to do this work because they were hungry and at the moment saw no better job in prospect: whom we have taught to despise us while they protect us.

"The sins of our enemy are evident. But if _We_ say we have no sin, we shall deceive ourselves and the truth will not be in us."

"Did you ever hear a feebler or a more idiotic sermon?" demanded Mrs Polsue of Miss Oliver on their way home down the valley.

"If ever a man had his chance to improve an occasion--"

"Tut! I say nothing of his incapacity. There are some men that can't rise even when 'tis a question of all Europe at war. But did you hear the light he made, or tried to make, of Sabbath-breaking?"

"I didn't hear all that," Miss Oliver confessed: "or not to notice.

It seemed so funny his getting up at that hour and dangling his legs on a wall."

"We will press to have a married man planned to us next time," said Mrs Polsue. "A wife wouldn't allow it."

"Do you suppose he _smoked?_" asked Miss Oliver.

"I shouldn't wonder. . . . He certainly does it at home, for I took the trouble to smell his window-curtains; and at an hour like that, with n.o.body about--"

"There's an All-seeing Eye, however early you choose to dangle your legs," said Miss Oliver.

CHAPTER V.

THE ANONYMOUS LETTER.

Just about seven o'clock next morning Nicky-Nan, who had breakfasted early and taken post early in the porchway to watch against any possible _ruse_ of the foe--for, Bank Holiday or no Bank Holiday, he was taking no risks--spied Lippity-Libby the postman coming over the bridge towards him with his dot-and-go-one gait.

Lippity-Libby, drawing near, held out a letter in his hand and flourished it.

"Now don't excite yourself," he warned Nicky-Nan. "When first I seed your name 'pon the address I said to myself 'What a good job if that poor fella's luck should be here at last, and this a fortun' arrived from his rich relatives in Canada!' That's the very words I said to myself."

"As it happens, I han't got no rich relatives, neither here nor in Canada," answered Nicky-Nan. "Is that letter for me? Or are you playin' me some trick?"

"A man of your descent," said Lippity-Libby, "can't help havin'

relatives in great quant.i.ties dispersed about the world. I've figured it out, and the sum works like that old 'un we used to do on our slates about a horse-shoe. Your great-grandfather married your great-grandmother, and that set the ball rollin'--to go no farther back than the head will carry. Six sons an' daughters they had, for the sake of argyment, and each married and had six again.

Why, damme, by that time there's not a quarter in Europe where a rich chap deceased mayn't be croppin' up and leavin' you his money, for no better reason than that you're a Nanjivell. That always seemed to me one of the advantages of good birth. For my part," the postman continued, "my father and mother never spoke of such matters, though she was a Collins and married in Lanteglos parish, where I daresay the whole pedigary could be looked up, if one wasn't a postman and could spare the time. But in the long evenings since my poor wife's death I often find time to think of you, Mr Nanjivell; bein' both of us lame of the right leg as it happens. Hows'ever 'tisn' no news o'

riches for 'ee to-day, sorry as I be to say it: for the postmark's 'Polpier.'"

He tendered the letter. Nicky-Nan stretched out a hand, but drew it back on a sudden suspicion.

"No," he said. "You may take an' keep it. 'Tis a trick, I doubt."

"You can't mean that, surely?" Lippity-Libby eyed the letter almost greedily, holding it between finger and thumb. "Of course, if I thought you meant it--I don't remember gettin' more 'n three letters in all my life; that's if you don't count the trade they send me at election times, tellin' me where to put my cross. Three letters all told, and one o' they was after my poor Sarah died, threatenin' me about the rates, that had slipped out o' my head, she bein' in the habit of payin' them when alive. The amount o' fault she'd find in 'em, too, an' the pleasure she'd take in it, you'd never believe.

I've often thought how funny she must be feelin' it up there--the good soul--with everything of the best in lighting an' water, an' no rates at all--or that's how _I_ read the last chapter o' Revelations.

. . . Yes, only three letters of my own, that have handed so many to other people, with births, marriages, an' deaths, s.h.i.+pwrecks an'

legacies an' lovin' letters from every port in the world.

Telegrams too--I'd dearly like to get a telegram of my own. . . .

But Government be a terrible stickler. You may call it red tape, if you will: but if Mrs Pengelly caught me holdin' back any person's letter, even though I knowed it held trouble for 'en, she'd be bound to report me, poor soul, an' then like enough I'd lose place an'

livelihood. So I thank 'ee, naybour, for bein' so forward to give me a bit o' pleasure; but 'twon't do--no, by the Powers Above it won't."

He shook his head sadly. Then of a sudden his eye brightened.