The Rising of the Tide

ng she was obliged in honor to carry through, but Dick felt more and more that neither her heart was touched nor her spirit fired. He could not get over the chill that her recepti

"I'm for it." That would be all, and the

verything in-their sons, their money, their industries, were to be conscripted. They were to be asked to change all their ways of living, and to do it at once. How could it be that a town, seemingly so unstirred, would so completely strip itself

at gathered about him. They loudly declared in the Pro Bono Publico column of the Argus that we had been plunged into war against our will, that it was still possible to negotiate, that the American people wanted to negotiate, that the President was playing a hypocrite's part, that he was a puppet of Wall Street, whose only inter

mself the question a little anxiously.

epper had been declaring all day that it would be, but, by actual count, just two hundred people, of whom the Rev. Richard Ingraham was one, for ever since the begi

sport and at least half of its middle aged. They carried banners on which were written in bold letters, "Right is more precious than peace," "The world must be made safe for democracy," "Germany is a menace to mankind," "Germany wars against peace, we war against Germany." They not only

of the Government. There was the draft. As the day of registration approached, the Rev. Mr. Pepper and his friends prophesied riots; and, if not riots, at least a very general refusal to register-but every man appeared

right, they belong here. That's the way they feel. We can gauge what they say, answer back. I rather think they're good for us, but it's not Pepper that is making the stir now. There's somebody spreading rumors of discontent that

self, unhappy in her undertaking, but never did they turn her from her resolve to do her full part. Indeed, it seemed to Dick sometimes as if the direct result was to drive those of the town who felt the deepest foreboding, the gravest doubt, to work the har

the greatness of the enterprise to which she was pledged, Dick never quite decided, for what did happen was so largely shaped by the news that came to them in the end of June that, i

State in the last two or three decades in which neither Cowder nor Mulligan had had a hand. It was certain shrewd and powerful gent

port. The land was rolling, naturally drained, the river which flowed close by gave, by filtering, a splendid water supply. An important trunk

ustomed to building in a fairly large scale, gasped in amazement. Some jeered, others protes

ains were often crowded with workmen and their wives and sweethearts, and all they saw increased their skepticism. So far as they could make out, it was only a great confusion of lumber, ditches, turned-up earth, scattered skeleto

to do the proper thing when the boys went off. They were to leave on an afternoon train, and there was a luncheon given them and a little parade through the streets. But the pathetic thing was that these lads, who so often shambled, so many of whom were poorly dressed, all of whom were a little shamefaced at this effort to do them honor, did not look like soldiers. Sabinsport had had so little experience with armies that she could not vi

er. To Uncle Billy, all these boys were the boys of '61, and every train load side-tracked on the numerous switches that the main line had provided on the edge of Sabinsport in

d her as obsessed with the cause of Serbia as Patsy had always been with that of Belgium, as deaf to other calls, as impatient with Sabinsport's diffused interest

going through. She realized, even better than he, how utterly Sabinsport was cut off from all outward manifestation of war, how she saw and heard none of its martial sights and noise. She was obliged to re-create without the help of outward things. It made the girl extraordinarily s

it. Nancy, it will be remembered, had been in London when the war broke out. She had seen Kitchener's army grow. She had lived with soldiers, t

enty-five miles

ries full of girls, and the town wide open? With all their homesickn

id Dick. "Wha

"we women must have our canteen

g of what it would mean to have a camp of 50,000 men twenty-five miles away. The distance was prohibitive. What would they

numbers. And it was the City which from the start had accepted the responsibility of guarding the boys who came to her. The City had formed great committees of men and women. She had passed ordinances, she had opened canteens. Hundreds of her

s the older, she had never quite gotten over feeling that she should have been the City; she who was there so many years before, and who was responsible for the discovery and first development of this wealth which now the City handled and from which she so wonderfully profited. That is, Sabinsport was jealous of the City, her patronage, the fact that she

of all she had to offer in the way of pleasure and freedom. The boys had discovered two things in Sabinsport, the two that Nancy had predicted:

camp, but not to barracks-to the guard house. Irritation and disgust with the camp grew in the town, and then, late in November, sickness began. It ran rampant through the camp, still insufficiently equipped with hospitals and doctors and nurses to handle anything like an epidemic. Heartbreaking tales of deaths, from lack of care, it was charged, filled the town. Nancy who, from

start been received by officers and doctors as one of those rare civilians wh

es in the City and in the camp that her failure to deal resolutely with her saloons and with the strange women who were finding shelter within her limits, was a menace to the boys. Matters were not at all helped by the kind of agitation which had begun in the town, with the

ing, and that was Jake Mulligan, for Jake controlled the police, and Jake owned half or two-thirds of the property in Sabinsport on which liquor was sold. Mrs. Katcham went for him openly and viciously, hammer and tongs; and al

w growing in Sabinsport out of this cla

as blotted out." But what was to be done. He took it to the commanding officer

odrama,"

he work," sai

was to

ort's heart, was not easy, in the pressure and anxiety which the epidemic in the camp had brought, and its

t message-winced, wondered, and bowed his head at the sheer, cheerful bravery with which the boy took what he called faintly his "medicine." "Didn't take care like they told me," he said. "Tell Mother they've done the best they could." But Dick knew that while the loyal fellow might take upon himself the cause of his own death, blundering orders and unthinking friends were responsible. The boys had been told to bring as little as possible to camp-only a suit case which could be sent back with the clothes they wore. Peter, l

in those first days. He was shy and homesick. It was Dick, who was making a specialty of the homesick, who had discovered how serious his condition was and who had seen to it that he

d been laid upon it by some sorrowing "buddy," at its foot stood a cheap suitcase, containing all the boy's few belongings. At the head a soldier kept guar

e night before. Twenty boys, off for their Saturday holiday, had slipped into Sabinsport for what they called a "blow out." They had gone to Beefsteak John's, one of the cheap workmen's ho

welling in Sabinsport. Before morning the crowd was on the streets, rioting madly. The boys had been arrested and

their Christmas celebration. "You can see," the General had said, "how impossible it will be for me to do my part unless I know that every saloon in Sab

ave persuaded him long ago to close every house he owns in Sabinsport and willingly have stood his losses if it

ty boys. Let 'em live in the camp. Thinks I'm in league with the liquor interests because I refuse-told me so to my face. You ca

uation, and Christmas only two days away." He was sitting perplexed a

inutes, Reverend?" he ca

. "Come in." He helped him with his coat, stir

never done it, uniform or no uniform; but I never batted an eye at 'em. I've known all along they got stuff whenever they wanted it. I never tipped the police not to see things, but I never tipped 'em to see 'em, and that's what they was waitin' f

hey've got to follow suit. They're howling, but let 'em. I have told them I'd treat them square, pay them for six months. They know me. Let them sue if they want to. They know that I can prove that they've been selling

ess and calling attention to how good they are and rejoicing that we've got it in the neck, will sing another song. I'll show them. And what tickles me most is getting ahead of the Katcham woman. She's not going to spoil our Christmas by her mass meetin'. When the town gets up to-morrow morning, they will find that things are shut down. I have seen to it that it gets out. Everybody will know without waiting for the Argus, and

e done, and so you can stop worryin'. That's got me more than once-see you lookin' so anxious. And then there's Jack. I hate to have him know over there in France what happened Saturday

nd I'm counting on your being there. The General and his staff are coming, and we'll have a surprise which couldn't have been sprung if

. Thank the Katcham woman.

. He remembered a remark of Katie's, made months ago,

s. At six, almost every house in town had lighted candles in its windows. This year they were to have their Christmas tree as usual, but, in deference to Mr. Hoover, the candies and candles were to be saved. At nine o'clock

as well as High Town, had representatives. Every quarter knew that somebody from

it big-big enough for conventions and expositions-"a stage on which you could have a circus," was Jake's idea. The result was a great, gaudy barn with a stage which would have done for a h

t a hitch-swift, compelling, and, oh, so merry. In an hour after it began the house was a happy, cheering crowd, helped not a little in their joyfulness by the prese

een so interested, it would have noticed that up to this point there had been but the scantiest of reference to army or navy,

hrilled them beyond applause. The hush deepened when sudde

ERE IN

n, every brain fitting

ere, ove

word ov

re coming, the Y

um-tumming

re, say

, send the wo

er, we're c

back till it's o

aced houses, its red-tiled roofs, its quaint church with its simple, very simple statue of Joan of Arc; and behind, rising perpetually, mountains, along which ran a highway, climbing up and up. A company of boys in khaki swa

e a clear baritone. A boy, leaning out, his eyes on the little statue, began to sing a song ne

Arc, Jo

our

the

the

the drooping

ar the tears

Arc, Joa

irit guide

your France

y are calling yo

t well, I don't want to get well," set everybody to laughing. Then came "Christmas Night" and then-"Home, Sweet Home." It was almost too much for the singers themselves, for more than one lad on the stage dropped his head, unable to go on. As the song rose, so sweet, and familiar, so ladened with memories, the audience sat with quivering faces and eyes grown wet. If it

nly to reappear, mounting upward along the road in the background. And as they started upward, at the right and top of the height, a great luminous American flag was suddenly flung out. It waved and waved as if in salute

silence, sobbed, then cheered and cheered and cheered; and when the light gradually faded, the curtain slowly dropped, the music littl

oubt, or close her heart to the soldier. She was his. The General, waiting in his box for Dick, s

into the organized service that alone could restore her hurt pride and give her some rea

ings in the valley were blocked with long trains of cars filled with coal, with every conceivable kind of freight for the camp, as well as with materials needed for the shipyards and overseas. Although every effort was made to keep tracks c

anger of death by freezing. In a town which all its life had been accustomed to wait until the last minute and then call up and ask that a load of coal

eer stories of the tricks that men played in order to get coal, headed for their neighbors, were told. And as for the p

this-failure, sorrow, shame, suffering? Was she never to see anything orderly, sufficient, successful? Was there nothing in war that was brav

he saw at home; it was what he heard from his friends in Washington. Their letters, once hopeful, became despairing. "It looks to me to-day," one of them wrote him along in the middle of January, "as if the whole war machine had broken down. I have believed and believed, but the fact is we are not getting men over. It's all nonsense about our having 400,000

binsport properly to even take care of its own in a stress of weather, sickened by what he saw in the camp. Sabinsport was failing, the camp was f

t's the use? Why talk about democracy? Why talk about ideals?" And he? Why, he was an utter failure. To get into it, to have a turn in the trenches, to

stence. The over-fatigue which he had always conscientiously avoided he not only sought but coveted; the strains which he had been told might at any time be fatal to him, he took almost gladly. Finally his friends among the physicians at the camp warned him, "You will break down, Ing

ome unconscious. An almost superhuman effort of doctors and nurses brought him around, and a mont

ck to Sabinsport-Sabinsport, whose grief and anxiety over his illness had touched him to the heart? And he did his part.