Tommy Part 4

During the next day Brunford was excited beyond measure. The story was told in a hundred mills by thousands of operatives; it was discussed in the public places, in every inn and tavern, and throughout the whole district. It did more to enlighten the minds of the people as to the real hopes and aims of the Germans than all the newspaper articles which had appeared. It revealed to the people, too, the real character of the Germans. Here was one of the best of them who had acted like a cad, and who in the face of good-fellows.h.i.+p had haughtily flaunted the superiority of the German people. The incident also gave point to the story of the ghastly atrocities which were taking place in Belgium.

People were excited beyond measure; the War was becoming real to them.

All this had its effect upon Tom. Not that even yet he realised the full significance of what was taking place. Hundreds of young fellows were enlisting, but Tom held back. September, October, November pa.s.sed away, and still Tom failed to respond to his country's call. He quite agreed with his friends, and said that of course England must lick the Germans; but he never admitted that the War had anything to do with him.

"I am earning good bra.s.s," said Tom, "and if I hold on I shall make more still. Let those as wants to fight the Germans fight 'em, I'm noan going to get killed." This he said to Polly Powell one night as he sat in the private sitting-room of the Thorn and Thistle.

"And quite right too, Tom," said Polly--"tha'rt too good a lad to be killed by the Germans. Besides, enough'll go without thee. If th'

other chaps like to be fools, let 'em."

Still Tom did not feel altogether comfortable. At the back of his mind was the vague thought that he ought to do his bit, but his natural selfishness, added to Polly Powell's influence, kept him at home.

Besides, by this time winter had laid its icy grip upon the earth.

News came of soldiers being crippled for life by frost-bite; stories were told of men standing up to the waist in icy slush; wounded men came back from the front telling stories about the terrible power of the Germans; newspapers were obliged to admit that we seemed to be powerless in the face of the enemy.

All this made Tom somewhat afraid; he was not cast in an heroic mould; the spirit of adventure was not strong within him.

"I say, Tom," said a man whose three sons were in the army, "are you going to stay home like a coward?"

"I'm noan a coward," replied Tom.

"Then what do you mean by not doing your duty?"

"I have my own views," replied Tom. "Look here, Elijah, I'm not such a fool as to go over there and get killed; th' other chaps'll lick the Germans all right."

"That's the answer of a coward," replied Elijah b.u.t.terworth; "if everybody said that, the country would be robbed from us, and we should have those German devils ruling over us."

"No fear of that," laughed Tom, and yet he felt uncomfortable.

"Aren't you an Englishman?" cried Elijah, "and don't you care for the old country?"

"Ay, I don't know," replied Tom, "the Germans are just as well off as we are."

Meanwhile the real facts of the situation became more apparent. The Germans were not to be beaten easily. Russia, in spite of all that had been said about her power as a great steam-roller, could make no real headway; while France and England combined could not drive the Huns from the line they occupied. People tried to explain the situation, but the dreadful logic still remained: the country we had sworn to protect and save was in the hands of the enemy. The industrial part of France was held in a grip of iron; while Russia was powerless against the hosts of Germany.

First there were talks about the war being over by Christmas, but that delusion quickly vanished, and when a member of the Cabinet came to Manchester, and said that it might take years to drive the enemy from his position, people stared in bewilderment. More and more men were asked for, while some of the newspapers began to talk about conscription.

As Christmas drew near, Tom became more and more uncomfortable, even although the blandishments of Polly Powell grew more powerful. He had attended two recruiting meetings, but they seemed to him half-hearted and unconvincing. He still saw no reason why he should "do his bit."

When he was asked why he didn't join, he mentioned the names of several young fellows who also held back.

"Why should I go," he would say, "when so-and-so and so-and-so stay at home? They are manufacturers' sons, and they are no better nor me.

Let them enlist as privates, and then I'll see about it."

When the New Year came a big recruiting meeting was announced at the great hall of the Mechanics' Inst.i.tute. It was advertised that a man who had been to Belgium, and had witnessed what had taken place, was to be the chief speaker. At first Polly Powell tried to persuade Tom not to go, and would probably have been successful had there not been a dance that night to which Polly had been invited. Tom, not being a dancer, was not eligible for the occasion, so he made his way to the meeting.

That meeting marked an era in Tom's life. Little by little the speaker gripped the attention of the audience until the interest became intense and almost painful. He described what he had seen, he gave terrible proofs of the ghastly butchery, and worse than butchery, that had taken place. He made it clear to the audience what the war really meant. He showed that not only was the power of England at stake, but the welfare of humanity trembled in the balance. He related authenticated stories of what the Germans said they would do when they came to England. As Tom listened he heard the sound of the advancing Huns, saw towns and villages laid waste, saw the women of England debauched and outraged, saw the reign of devilry.

"By G.o.d!" he exclaimed aloud, "I can't stand this!"

His words reached the speaker, who made the most of them.

"Yes," he cried, "if the young men of England hang back, if they fail to love their country, if they care nothing about the honour or sacredness of womanhood, if they prefer their own ease, their own paltry pleasures, before duty; if they would rather go to cinema shows, or hang around public-house doors than play the game like Englishmen, this, and more than this, will take place. The England that we own and love will be lost for ever. Liberty will be gone, we shall be a nation in chains, while our women will be the playthings of inhuman devils.

That is the problem which every man has to consider.

"What are you going to do? Let me put it another way. If we win this war, if the glory of England is maintained, and if she remains as she has always been--

"The home of the brave and free, The land of liberty,

to whom shall we owe it? Who will have been our saviours? It will be the lads who have sacrificed everything to do their duty."

A great cheer arose from the audience, and Tom, scarcely realising what he was doing, shouted and cheered with the rest.

"But if we lose," continued the speaker, "if the Germans break our lines and come to England, if we are beaten, to whom shall we owe it?

Who will be responsible? It will be the s.h.i.+rkers, the cowards! Look, you young men!" he cried pa.s.sionately. "Thousands and tens of thousands of our brave fellows are at this time in the trenches; fighting, suffering, dying. What for? For England, for England's honour, for the safety of her women, for the sacredness of our lives, for you: while you, you skulk at home smoking your cigarettes, go to your places of amus.e.m.e.nt, and drink your beer. Don't you realise that you are playing the coward?"

Then the speaker made his last appeal, clear, impa.s.sioned, convincing.

"What are you going to do, young men?" he cried. "We don't want conscripts, but free men who come out cheerfully, willingly, gladly to do their duty to their King, Country, and G.o.d. Who will be the first?"

He stood on the platform waiting amidst breathless silence.

"Will you wait until you are forced?"

"No! By G.o.d, no!" said Tom, and starting to his feet he walked to the platform and gave his name.

Thus Tom became a soldier.

"Tha doesn't say so?" said Tom's mother when, that night, he told her what he had done.

"Ay, I have."

"Then thou'st goin' for a sodger."

"Ay."

Mrs. Martha Pollard looked at him for a few seconds without speaking.

Evidently she found it difficult to find words to express her thoughts.

"Weel, Tom," she said presently, "I thought thee't got low eno' when thee got drinkin' and picked up wi' that peac.o.c.k-bedecked Polly Powell; but I ne'er thought a bairn o' mine would sink as low as that. Wer't'a baan now?"

"I'm goin' to tell Polly," said Tom.

"Ay, tha mun be sent to Lancaster asylum," said Mrs. Pollard.

[1] The above incident actually took place in a Lancas.h.i.+re city at the beginning of the War.