. . The old
country is up against it." It was that last thought which worked in
the brain of England's manhood. That was his real call, which
whispered to men at the plow--quiet, ruminating lads, the peasant
type, the yeoman--and excited undergraduates in their rooms at Oxford
and Cambridge, and the masters of public schools, and all manner of
young men, and some, as I know, old in years but young in heart. "The
old country is in danger!" The shadow of a menace was creeping over
some little patch of England--or of Scotland.
"I's best be going," said the village boy.
"'Dulce et decorum est -'" said the undergraduate.
"I hate the idea, but it's got to be done," said the city--bred man.
So they disappeared from their familiar haunts--more and more of them
as the months passed. They were put into training-camps, "pigged" it
on dirty straw in dirty barns, were ill-fed and ill-equipped, and
trained by hard--mouthed sergeants--tyrants and bullies in a good
cause--until they became automata at the word of command, lost their
souls, as it seemed, in that grinding-machine of military training,
and cursed their fate.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140