Captain Jim

by Mary Grant Bruce

  CHAPTER XII

  OF LABOUR AND PROMOTION

  The months went by quickly enough, as David Linton and his daughtersettled down to their work at the Home for Tired People. As the placebecame more widely known they had rarely an empty room. The boys'regiment sent them many a wearied officer, too fagged in mind and bodyto enjoy his leave: the hospitals kept up a constant supply ofconvalescent and maimed patients; and there was a steady stream ofAustralians of all ranks, who came, homesick for their own land, andfound a little corner of it planted in the heart of Surrey.Gradually, as the Lintons realized the full extent of the homesicknessof the lads from overseas, Homewood became more and more Australian indetails. Pictures from every State appeared on the walls: aboriginalweapons and curiosities, woven grass mats from the natives ofQueensland, Australian books and magazines and papers--all werescattered about the house. They filled vases with blue-gum leaves andgolden wattle-blossom from the South of France: Norah even discovereda flowering boronia in a Kew nurseryman's greenhouse and carried itoff in triumph, to scent the house with the unforgettable delight ofits perfume. She never afterwards saw a boronia without recalling thebewilderment of her fellow-travellers in the railway carriage at herexquisitely-scented burden.

  "You should have seen their wondering noses, Dad!" said Norah,chuckling.

  No one, of course, stayed very long at Homewood, unless he werehopelessly unfit. From ten days to three weeks was the average stay:then, like ships that pass in the night, the "Once-Tireds," driftedaway. But very few forgot them. Little notes came from the Fronts,in green Active Service envelopes: postcards from Mediterranean ports;letters from East and West Africa; grateful letters from wives ingarrison stations and training camps throughout the British Isles.They accumulated an extraordinary collection of photographs inuniform; and Norah had an autograph book with scrawled signatures,peculiar drawings and an occasional scrap of very bad verse.

  Major Hunt, his hand fully recovered, returned to the Front inFebruary, and his wife prepared to seek another home. But the Lintonsflatly refused to let her go.

  "We couldn't do it," said David Linton. "Doesn't the place agree withthe babies?"

  "Oh, you know it does," said Mrs. Hunt. "But we have already kept thecottage far too long--there are other people."

  "Not for that cottage," Norah said.

  "It really isn't fair," protested their guest. "Douglas never dreamedof our staying: if he had not been sent out in such a hurry at thelast he would have moved us himself."

  David Linton looked at her for a moment.

  "Go and play with the babies, Norah," he said. "I want to talk tothis obstinate person."

  "Now look, Mrs. Hunt," he said, as Norah went off, ratherrelieved--Norah hated arguments. "You know we run this place for anideal--a dead man's ideal. _He_ wanted more than anything in theworld to help the war; we're merely carrying on for him. We can onlydo it by helping individuals."

  "But you have done that for us. Look at Douglas--strong and fit, withone hand as good as the other. Think of what he was when he camehere!"

  "He may not always be fit. And if you stay here you ease his worriesby benefiting his children--and saving for their future. Then, if hehas the bad luck to be wounded again, his house is all ready for him."

  "I know," she said. "And I would stay, but that there are others whoneed it more."

  "Well, we haven't heard of them. Look at it another way. I amgetting an old man; it worries me a good deal to think that Norah hasno woman to mother her. I used to think," he said with a sigh, "thatit was worse for them to lose their own mother when they were weethings; now, I am not sure that Norah's loss is not just beginning.It's no small thing for her to have an influence like yours; and Norahloves you."

  Mrs. Hunt flushed.

  "Indeed, I love her," she said.

  "Then stay and mother her. There are ever so many things you canteach her that I can't: that Miss de Lisle can't, good soul as she is.They're not things I can put into words--but you'll understand. Iknow she's clean and wholesome right through, but you can help tomould her for womanhood. Of course, she left school far too early,but there seemed no help for it. And if--if bad news comes to us fromthe Front--for any of us--we can all help each other."

  Mrs. Hunt thought deeply.

  "If you really think I can be of use I will stay," she said. "I'm notgoing to speak of gratitude--I tried to say all that long ago. Butindeed I will do what I can."

  "That's all right: I'm very glad," said David Linton.

  "And if you really want her taught more," Mrs. Hunt said--"well, I wasa governess with fairly high certificates before I was married. Shecould come to me for literature and French; I was brought up in Paris.Her music, too: she really should practise, with her talent."

  "I'd like it above all things," exclaimed Mr. Linton. "Norah'sneglected education has been worrying me badly."

  "We'll plan it out," Mrs. Hunt said. "Now I feel much happier."

  Norah did not need much persuasion; after the first moment of dismayat the idea of renewed lessons she saw the advantages of theplan--helped by the fact that she was always a little afraid offailing to come up to Jim's standard. A fear which would considerablyhave amazed Jim, had he but guessed it! It was easy enough to fithours of study into her day. She rose early to practise, before theTired People were awake; and most mornings saw her reading with Mrs.Hunt or chattering French, while Eva sang shrilly in the kitchen, andthe babies slept in their white bunks; and Geoffrey followed Mr.Linton's heels, either on Brecon or afoot. The big Australiansquatter and the little English boy had become great friends: therewas something in the tiny lad that recalled the Jim of long ago, withhis well-knit figure and steady eyes.

  One man alone, out of all Tired People, had never left Homewood.

  For a time after his arrival Philip Hardress had gained steadily instrength and energy; then a chill had thrown him back, and for monthshe sagged downwards; never very ill, but always losing vitality. Theold depression seemed to come back to him tenfold. He could seenothing good in life: a cripple, a useless cripple. His parents weredead; save for a brother in Salonica, he was alone in the world. Hewas always courteous, always gentle; but a wall of misery seemed tocut him off from the household.

  Then the magnificent physique of the boy asserted itself, andgradually he grew stronger, and the hacking cough left him. Again itbecame possible to tempt him to try to ride. He spent hours in thekeen wintry air, jogging round the fields and lanes with Mr. Lintonand Geoffrey, returning with something of the light in his eyes thathad encouraged Norah in his first morning, long ago.

  "I believe all he wants is to get interested in something," Norahsaid, watching him, one day, as he sat on the stone wall of theterrace, looking across the park. "He was at Oxford before he joinedthe Army, wasn't he, Dad?"

  Mr. Linton assented. "His people arranged when he was little that heshould be a barrister. But he hated the idea. His own wish was to goout to Canada."

  Norah pondered.

  "Couldn't you give him a job on the farm, Dad?"

  "I don't know," said her father. "I never thought of it. I suppose Imight find him something to do; Hawkins and I will be busy enoughpresently."

  "He's beginning to worry at being here so long," Norah said. "Ofcourse, we couldn't possibly let him go: he isn't fit for his ownsociety. I think if you could find him some work he would be morecontent."

  So David Linton, after thinking the matter over, took Hardress intohis plans for the farm which was to be the main source of supply forHomewood. He found him a quick and intelligent helper. The work wasafter the boy's own heart: he surrounded himself with agriculturalbooks and treaties on fertilizers, made a study of soils, and tooksamples of earth from different parts of the farm--to the profounddisgust of Hawkins. War had not done away with all expertagricultural science in England: Hardress sent his little packets ofsoil away, and received them back with advice as to treatment which,late
r on, resulted in the yield of the land being doubled--whichHawkins attributed solely to his own skill as a cultivator. But thecure was worked in Philip Hardress. The ring of hope came back intohis voice: the "shop-leg" dragged ever so little, as he walked acrossthe park daily to where the ploughs were turning the grass of the farmfields into stretches of brown, dotted with white gulls that followedthe horses' slow plodding up and down. The other guests took up agood deal of Mr. Linton's time: he was not sorry to have an overseer,since Hawkins, while honest and painstaking, was not afflicted withany undue allowance of brains. Together, in the study at night, theyplanned out the farm into little crops. Already much of the land wasready for the planting, and a model poultry-run built near the housewas stocked with birds; while a flock of sheep grazed in the park, andto the tiny herd of cows had been added half a dozen pure-bredJerseys. David Linton had taken Hardress with him on the trip to buythe stock, and both had enjoyed it thoroughly.

  Meanwhile the boys at the Front sent long and cheery letters almostdaily. Astonishment had come to them almost as soon as they rejoined,in finding themselves promoted; they gazed at their second stars inbewilderment which was scarcely lessened by the fact that theirfriends in the regiment were not at all surprised.

  "Why, didn't you have a war on your own account in Ireland?" queriedAnstruther. "You got a Boche submarine sunk and caught half the crew,didn't you?"

  "Well, but that was only a lark!" said Wally.

  "You were wounded, anyhow, young Meadows. Of course _we_ know jollywell you don't deserve anything, but you can't expect the War Officeto have our intimate sources of information." He patted Wally on theback painfully. "Just be jolly thankful you get more screw, and don'tgrumble. No one'll ever teach sense to the War Office!"

  There was no lack of occupation in their part of the line. They saw agood deal of fighting, and achieved some reputation as leaders ofsmall raids: Jim, in particular, having a power of seeing and hearingat night that had been developed in long years in the Bush--but whichseemed to the Englishmen almost uncanny. There was reason to believethat the enemy felt even more strongly about it--there was seldom restfor the weary Boche in the trenches opposite Jim Linton's section.Some of his raids were authorized: others were not. It is probablethat the latter variety was more discouraging to the enemy.

  Behind the fighting line they were in fairly comfortable billets. Theofficers were hardworked: the daily programme of drill and parades washeavy, and in addition there was the task of keeping the meninterested and fit: no easy matter in the bitter cold of a NorthFrance winter. Jim proved a tower of strength to his companycommander, as he had been to his school. He organized football teams,and taught them the Australian game: he appealed to his father foraid, and in prompt response out came cases of boxing-gloves, hockeyand lacrosse sets, and footballs enough to keep every man going.Norah sent a special gift--a big case of indoor games for wet weather,with a splendid bagatelle board that made the battalion deeply enviedby less fortunate neighbours: until a German shell disobligingly burstjust above it, and reduced it to fragments. However, Norah's disgustat the news was so deep that the Tired People in residence at Homewoodat the moment conspired together, and supplied the battalion with anew board in her name; and this time it managed to escape destruction.

  The battalion had some stiff fighting towards the end of the winter,and earned a pat on the back from high quarters for its work incapturing some enemy trenches. But they lost heavily, especially inofficers. Jim's company commander was killed at his side: the boywent out at night into No-Man's Land and brought his body insingle-handed, in grim defiance of the Boche machine-guns. Jim hadliked Anstruther: it was not to be thought of that his body should bedishonoured by the touch of a Hun. Next day he had a far harder task,for Anstruther had asked him to write to his mother if he failed tocome back. Jim bit his pen for two hours over that letter, and in hisown mind stigmatized it as "a rotten effort," after it was finished.But the woman to whom it carried whatever of comfort was left in theworld for her saw no fault in it. It was worn and frayed with readingwhen she locked it away with her dead son's letters.

  Jim found himself a company commander after that day's fighting--doingcaptain's work without captain's rank. Wally was his subaltern, anarrangement rather doubted at first by the Colonel, until he saw thatthe chums played the game strictly, and maintained in working hours adiscipline as firm as was their friendship. The men adored them: theyknew their officers shirked neither work nor play, and that they knewtheir own limitations--neither Jim nor Wally ever deluded themselveswith the idea that they knew as much as their hard-bittennon-commissioned officers. But they learned their men by heart,knowing each one's nickname and something of his private affairs;losing no opportunity of talking to them and gaining their confidence,and sizing them up, as they talked, just as in old days, as captainsof the team, they had learned to size up boys at football. "If I'vegot to go over the top I want to know what Joe Wilkins and Tiny Juddare doing behind me," said Jim.

  They had hoped for leave before the spring offensive, but it wasimpossible: the battalion was too shorthanded, and the enemy wasendeavouring to be the four-times-armed man who "gets his fist infust." In that early fighting it became necessary to deal with a nestof machine-guns that had got the range of their trenches to a nicety.Shells had failed to find them, and the list of casualties to theirdiscredit mounted daily higher. Jim got the chance. He shook handswith Wally--a vision of miserable disappointment--in the small hoursof a starlit night, and led a picked body of his men out of the fronttrench: making a long _detour_ and finally working nearer and nearerto the spot he had studied through his periscope for hours during theday. Then he planted his men in a shell-hole, and wriggled forwardalone.

  The men lay waiting, inwardly chafing at being left. Presently theirofficer came crawling back to them.

  "We've got 'em cold," he whispered. "Come along--and don't fire ashot."

  It was long after daylight before the German guards in the maintrenches suspected anything wrong with that particular nest ofmachine-guns, and marvelled at its silence. For there was no one leftto tell them anything--of the fierce, silent onslaught from the rear;of men who dropped as it were from the clouds and fought with clubbedrifles, led by a boy who seemed in the starlight as tall as a youngpine-tree. The gun-crews were sleeping, and most of them never wokeagain: the guards, drowsy in the quiet stillness, heard nothing untilthat swift, wordless avalanche was upon them.

  In the British trench there was impatience and anxiety. The menwaiting to go forward, if necessary, to support the raiders, crouchedat the fire-step, muttering. Wally, sick with suspense, peeredforward beside the Colonel, who had come in person to see the resultof the raid.

  "I believe they've missed their way altogether," muttered the Colonelangrily. "There should hove been shots long ago. It isn't likeLinton. Dawn will be here soon, and the whole lot will be scuppered."He wheeled at a sudden commotion beyond him in the trench. "Silencethere! What's that?"

  "That" was Jim Linton and his warriors, very muddy, but otherwiseundamaged. They dropped into the trench quietly, those who came firstturning to receive heavy objects from those yet on top. Last of allJim hopped down.

  "Hullo, Wal!" he whispered. "Got 'em."

  "Got 'em!" said the Colonel sternly. "What? Where have you been,sir?"

  "I beg your pardon, sir--I didn't know you were there," Jim said,rather horrified. It is not given to every subaltern to call hiscommanding officer "Wal," when that is not his name. "I have theguns, sir."

  "You have--_what_?"

  "The Boche--I mean, the enemy, machine-guns. We brought them back,sir."

  "You brought them back!" The Colonel leaned against the wall of thetrench and began to laugh helplessly. "And your men?"

  "All here, sir. We brought the ammunition, too," said Jim mildly."It seemed a pity to waste it!"

  Which things, being told in high places, brought Jim a mention indespatch
es, and, shortly afterwards, confirmation of his acting rank.It would be difficult to find fitting words to tell of the effect ofthis matter upon a certain grizzled gentleman and a very young ladywho, when the information reached them were studying patent manures ina morning-room in a house in Surrey.

  "He's--why," gasped Norah incredulously--"he's actually CaptainLinton!"

  "I suppose he is," said her father. "Doesn't it sound ridiculous!"

  "I don't think it's ridiculous at all," said Norah warmly. "Hedeserved it. I think it sounds simply beautiful!"

  "Do you know," said her father, somewhat embarrassed--"I reallybelieve I agree with you!" He laughed. "Captain Linton!"

  "Captain Linton!" reiterated Norah. "Our old Jimmy!" She swept thetable clear. "Oh, Daddy, bother the fertilizers for to-night--I'mgoing to write to Billabong!"

  "But it isn't mail-day to-morrow," protested her father mildly.

  "No," said Norah. "But I'll explode if I don't tell Brownie!"

  "And will the Captain be coming 'ome soon, Miss Norah?" inquiredAllenby, a little later. The household had waxed ecstatic over thenews.

  "The Captain?" Norah echoed. "Oh, how nice of you, Allenby! It doessound jolly!"

  "Miss de Lisle wishes to know, miss. The news 'as induced 'er toinvent a special cake."

  "We'll have to send it to the poor Captain, I'm afraid," said Norah,dimpling. "Dear me, I haven't told Mrs. Hunt! I must fly!" Shedropped her pen, and fled to the cottage--to find her father therebefore her.

  "I might have known you couldn't wait to tell," said Norah, laughing."And he pretends he isn't proud, Mrs. Hunt!"

  "I've given up even pretending," said her father, laughing. "I foundmyself shaking hands with Allenby in the most affectionate manner. Yousee, Mrs. Hunt, this sort of thing hasn't happened in the familybefore."

  "Oh, but those boys couldn't help doing well," Mrs. Hunt said, lookingalmost as pleased as the two beaming faces before her. "They're sokeen. I don't know if I should, but shall I read you what Douglassays about them?" They gathered eagerly together over the curt wordsof praise Major Hunt had written. "Quite ordinary boys, and not a bitbrainy," he finished. "But I wish I had a regiment full of them!"

  Out in Australia, two months later, a huge old woman and a leanIrishman talked over the letter Norah had at length managed to finish.

  "And it's a Captin he is!" said Murty O'Toole, head stockman.

  "A Captain!" Brownie echoed. "Don't it seem only yesterday he wastearing about in his first little trousis, and the little mistresswatching him!"

  "And riding his first pony. She put him over her head, and I med surehe was kilt. 'Howld her, will ye, Murty,' says he, stamping hislittle fut, and blood trickling down his face. 'Give me a leg upagain,' he says, 'till we see who's boss!' And I put him up, and offhe went down the paddock, digging his little heels into her. And he'sa Captin! Little Masther Jim!"

  "I don't know why you're surprised," said Brownie loftily. "The onlywonder to _me_ is he wasn't one six months ago!"