The Passion for Life

by Joseph Hocking

  XXIV

  PREPARATION

  How I got back to my little hut that night I do not know. I have not adistinct remembrance of any incident on the journey, or of any spot thatI passed. I was unconscious of all my surroundings; I must have walkedtwo or three miles, being utterly oblivious all the time of where I was.

  I felt no sense of weariness, being still upheld by the unnaturalstrength caused by my excitement. A part of my journey led me to afootpath which skirted the cliff, and for hundreds of yards I walked onthe edge of a precipice. But I knew nothing of it.

  What I had seen and heard told their own story. My life, which hadpromised to be so uneventful, proved to be exciting beyond words. I hadby some curious chance happened to come upon a spot which was, in somerespects, the centre of German operations. What had been a mystery hadnow become plain to me. The scrap of paper I had found in the littlecave had made all sorts of things possible. It had led me to JohnLiddicoat's house; it had enabled me to understand actions which wouldhave otherwise been enshrouded in mystery. Who John Liddicoat and thewoman who called herself his sister were was plain--they were Germanspies. Whether they were English or German I could not tell. Certainlythey spoke the English language as though they had been born and rearedon the British Isles; but that they were paid agents of the Kaiser therecould be no doubt.

  I little thought at the time I had paid my visit to the wireless stationat M---- that it would have been fraught with such vital import. Itseemed to me as though the hand of Providence had guided me there, andhad led me to form an acquaintance with the young fellow who hadinsisted upon teaching me the secrets of wireless telegraphy. What I hadlearnt offered me boundless opportunities. The little apparatus, whichnot long before I had regarded as an interesting plaything, became ofvital importance. Vast avenues of action opened themselves up before me;by means of this little apparatus which I had found such interest inconstructing, I might do very great things. The man Liddicoat, by meansof the two stunted trees in his garden, and the apparatus which he hadfixed there, had been enabled to receive messages from the enemy. He hadbeen able to learn when new supplies of petrol were to be brought, andwhen consignments of this same commodity had to be taken to the Germansubmarines.

  Nothing could be more cunningly contrived; the little cove was hidden byhuge promontories, which rose up almost perpendicularly on therock-bound coast. The spot was far away from all centres of population,and was such an unlikely place that no suspicion would be attached toit. Liddicoat was an English name, and a name closely associated withCornwall. St. Eia was a little town where visitors often came, and thushe would be able to do his work unhindered and unsuspected. Evidentlythe Germans in their vast preparations had learned of this cave longbefore the war and had seen its possibilities; what I had discovered wasthe outcome of a carefully prepared plan. Of course there was muchmystery which I had not yet been able to solve. The part which FatherAbraham had played was not yet clear to me, and I found myself hazardingall sorts of conjectures, as to why he had built the hut there and whyhe had left it. But everything resolved itself into oneinterpretation--the Germans had foreseen this war, they had conjecturedthe course it would take. They understood the means which would have tobe used, and they had made their preparations carefully, scientifically,and with vast forethought.

  But what could I do? Evidently I was suspected. Even now, my house wasbeing watched night and day; Father Abraham knew this, and had warned meto leave it. Unseen enemies might strike me down at any moment. Andworse than all, although at that time I was buoyed up by an unnaturalstrength, I was little better than a dead man. I realized that I wasopposed to those who were entirely unscrupulous, and who would allownothing to stand in the way of the accomplishment of their schemes.

  Doubtless, my wise course would be to write an exact description of allI had seen and heard and send it to the Government authorities withoutdelay. If, as I suspected, Liddicoat was associated with an unscrupulousset of people, he would not hesitate to end my earthly career. In thatcase, unless I communicated with the authorities at once, my discoverieswould be valueless; and yet with a strange obstinacy I determined that Iwould not do this. As I have said repeatedly, I was at that time buoyedup by an unnatural strength, and my mind was abnormally active. That ishow I account for a determination which, in the light of after events,seems insane. Government authorities would be in an infinitely betterposition to deal with this combination of circumstances than I. Not onlywould they have every facility at their disposal, but they would have avast knowledge of German methods. I, on the other hand, had but fewfacilities. I was almost entirely ignorant of the means they wereconstantly using, and I was alone!

  Yet I adhered to my determination with that strange obstinacy whichcharacterizes a man who is in an unnatural condition of mind and body. Ivowed that I would see this thing through myself; that I would puttogether all the pieces of this intricate mosaic and bring the guiltypersons to justice; then, when I had done my work, I would present it tothe Government.

  This and a thousand other thoughts flashed through my mind during mymidnight journey from John Liddicoat's house to my little hut. I wasconscious of no danger, and I am afraid I was heedless as to who mightbe watching me. I found myself in my little room without realizing thatI had opened the door and entered. Almost like a man in a dream I lit mylamp and threw myself in an armchair. I had no thought of sleep, and mymind was still preternaturally active. Then a sense of my utterhelplessness possessed me and a great fear filled my heart. I went tothe door, opened it slightly, and listened. It was a wonderful night;the moon sailed in a cloudless sky, and I could see the shimmer of thesea far out from land. No sound reached me save the roll of the waves onthe sandy beach; not a breath of wind stirred, not a leaf rustled.

  Locking and bolting the door, I drew some paper from a drawer andcommenced writing. How long I wrote I do not know, but I did not stopuntil I had penned a fairly comprehensive precis of what I had seen andheard. Why I did this I cannot tell; I only know that I was driven to itby some force which, to me, was inexplicable. This done, I signed thepaper, giving the hour and date when I had written it.

  I heard Simpson turning in his bed in the little room close by.

  "Simpson," I said, going to him, "are you awake?" He yawned drowsily.

  "Simpson, are you awake?" I repeated.

  "Yes, sir," he said, starting up. "Is anything the matter, sir? Are youwell?"

  "Quite well, Simpson."

  "Is it time to get up, sir?"

  "I--I--what time it is I don't know, Simpson, but it is not time to getup."

  He looked at me like one afraid.

  "Can I do anything for you, sir?"

  "Simpson," I said, "I want you to take this paper and put it away in aplace of safety. You must not open it unless something happens to me."

  "Happens to you, sir? What can happen to you?"

  "I don't know--nothing, most likely. But I am giving this to you in casethere should. Don't be alarmed. If nothing happens to me, let it lie ina place of safety, and give it to me when I ask for it, but if anythingshould happen...."

  "Yes, sir," he said eagerly, as I hesitated. "If anything should happen,sir?"

  "Then--then you will take this to Mr. Josiah Lethbridge!"

  "Mr. Josiah Lethbridge, sir?"

  "Yes, take it to him immediately. You must not delay a second."

  "But what can happen to you, sir?"

  "I know of nothing," I replied. "I am only taking a precaution. That isall, Simpson. Good-night."

  I held the lamp in my hand as I spoke, while Simpson sat up in his bedstaring at me.

  "Excuse me, sir," he said, "but--but----" and then he put his hand underthe pillow and took out his watch. "It is half-past three, sir, it won'tbe long before daylight; and--and haven't you been to bed, sir?"

  "Good-night, Simpson," I said, and then found my way into my littleroom. Five minutes later, I had got into bed, and blown out the lamp. Iwas still strangely awake, an
d was again living over my experiences ofthe night. I heard Simpson groping cautiously around the house, and Iknew he was looking at the fastenings of windows and doors.

  "I shall have a busy day to-morrow," I said to myself. "I must see thatmy little wireless apparatus is in good order. I must be careful, too,that I arouse no suspicion in placing it on the spot I have prepared."After this I began to arrange my plans concerning the work I had to do.Then, little by little, things became hazy and indistinct to me. "I amfalling asleep," I said to myself. "This is wonderful; I never thought Ishould sleep to-night."

  I seemed to be passing through one world into another, from the world ofrealities to the world of dreams, and yet the latter was as real to meas the former had been. I had a kind of consciousness that I was asleep,and yet the stuff of which my dreams were made was just as vivid as myexperiences of that night.

  I was far out at sea, but it was not such a sea as I had ever known. Ifelt the movement of the waters, and heard the roar of the machinery.But I could see nothing. A great weight seemed to weigh me down. I felt,too, as though I were moving amidst great sea-monsters, the like ofwhich I had never imagined before. I had a difficulty in breathing; itseemed to me as though the air which passed through my lungs wasartificial. I had the use of my senses, but those senses seemed torespond to new conditions. I heard, but my hearing was confused; I felt,but with a kind of numb consciousness. I heard sounds of voices, but thevoices might have been hundreds of miles away. It was as though I werespeaking to some one through a telephone, a long way off. I was in akind of a room, but it was such a room as I had never seen before. Ithad neither shape nor dimension. Little by little, that which had beenshadowy and unreal became more definite. I saw a table, with three mensitting beside it; in front of them was a chart.

  "She will be there on Thursday," said one, placing his hand on a certainspot on the chart. "It's a long distance from here and we shall wantmore petrol."

  "It will be easy for us to get it," said another; "we have everything intraining. We must let him know."

  As I said, the voices seemed to be hundreds of miles away, as thoughthey were speaking through a long-distance telephone. Yet every word wasplain.

  I realized at that moment that they were speaking in German, and saw,too, that the men had German faces, and wore German clothes.

  I was not in the least surprised or disturbed. It seemed to me as thoughit were all a part of a prearranged plan. The sense of wonder hadaltogether departed from me.

  "There will be a greater yell than ever about German atrocities,"laughed one of the men. "After all, it does seem a devilish thing toattack passenger vessels."

  "What has that to do with us? We must obey orders."

  "But what good will it do?"

  "God in heaven knows, I don't. I suppose the idea is to frighten thepeople, so that they will sue for peace."

  "The English are not to be frightened that way; besides, it won't eventouch the British Navy. They are masters on the sea, whatever we maydo."

  Their voices seemed to become dimmer and dimmer; they still went ontalking, but I heard nothing distinctly after that. Indeed, the thingsby which I was surrounded, which had at first been comparatively clear,now became indistinct and unreal. I felt as though I were losingconsciousness, and then everything became dark.

  The next thing I can remember was opening my eyes to see Simpsonstanding by my bed.

  "Anything the matter, Simpson?" I inquired.

  "No, sir, except that it is ten o'clock, and I didn't know what time youmeant to get up, sir."

  "Not for a long time yet, Simpson; I am very sleepy and very tired."

  Indeed, at that time an unutterable languor possessed me, and I felt asweak as a child. Simpson did not move, but looked at me intently, and Ithought I saw fear in his eyes. But I was too tired to care. Then slowlylife and vitality came back to me. While I was in a state of languor Iremembered nothing of what I had seen in my dream, but little by littleeverything came back to me, until all was as vivid and as plain as Ihave tried to set it down here on paper. When I again opened my eyes, Isaw Simpson still standing by my bed.

  "I am going to get up, Simpson."

  "You are sure you are well enough, sir?"

  "Well enough! I feel perfectly well."

  And I spoke the truth. It seemed to me as though a great black shadowwhich had paralyzed me, rolled away from my life.

  "Prepare breakfast at once, Simpson; I shall be ready in half an hour."

  Simpson took a last look at me, and then left the room, with his oldformula: "Yes, sir; thank you, sir."

  I got up and looked towards the sea. The sun was shining brightly, andthe waves were glistening in the sunlight. It was a day to rejoice in.The air was clear and pure.

  I moved briskly around the room, feeling no sense of weariness. My longsleep had restored me; my mind, too, was as active as it had been on theprevious night. I fell to thinking about my experiences, andphilosophizing on what I had seen in my dreams. "The real I," Ireflected, "was not lying at all on that bed all last night. My spirit,my thinking self, my understanding self, was hundreds of miles away,where I don't know, but I was not here. I saw what I saw, and heard whatI heard, without my body. I had other eyes, other senses. My real selfwas not a part of my body at all during that time. Therefore I have aself distinct from the body, independent of it. My body is only amachine whereby my real self does its work, therefore the death of thebody would not be the death of me."

  I took pleasure in ruminating in this way, even although there were atthe back of my mind many doubts. The wish was only the father to thethought, and the thought did not carry conviction to my consciousness.It seemed to me that I had intellectually realized something which wentto prove the immortality of the soul, but which really proved nothing. Icould only be certain of that through some deeper process, somethingwhich went down to the very depths of life.

  All the same, I found pleasure in it, and I remember humming a tune as Idressed.

  Directly after breakfast, Simpson put the morning paper before me.Mechanically I opened it, and turned to the list of casualties. My heartsank as I read, for I found the names of three men who had gone from St.Issey among the list of killed.

  "Are you going out, sir?" And Simpson looked at me anxiously.

  "Yes," I replied, "I am going to the village. I see that Mrs. Searle'sboy is killed."

  "You are sure you are well enough, sir?"

  "Quite," I replied. "By the way, Simpson, you have that paper I gave youlast night?"

  "Yes, sir; I locked it away carefully, and I understand what you said,but I don't understand what you mean, sir. Are you afraid that----"

  "That's all right, Simpson; be sure not to forget my instructions."

  A little later, I found myself at Mrs. Searle's door, and on finding itopen, I entered. A second later, I blamed myself for the liberty I hadtaken. It is not uncommon for these simple folk to enter each other'shouses without giving notice in any way, and I had fallen in with thehabit of the people. But I should have known better. Mr. and Mrs. Searlewere both on their knees praying, and there was an expression on each oftheir faces which I shall not try to describe. Sorrow, pain, evenanguish, were expressed there, but beyond all this was an unutterablepeace. I suppose I must have made a slight noise, for they opened theireyes at my approach and rose to their feet.

  "Have 'ee 'eerd the news, Mr. Erskine?" It was Mr. Searle who spoke.

  "Yes," I replied; "I have just read it in the newspaper. I came to tellyou how deeply I sympathize with you."

  The man held out his hand and grasped mine, and I saw the tears trickledown his cheeks.

  "Mr. Erskine," he said, "the Loard's ways seem very hard, but He doethall things well. I'd bin gittin' cold; the Loard 'ad bin prosperin' me,and some'ow I was forgittin' God. Then, three weeks ago, we 'ad a letterfrom Jim, tellin' us that 'e was right up in the firing line and thatthe danger was ter'ble. Some'ow that brought us back to God; we felt theneed of God,
Mr. Erskine, as we 'adn't felt it for years. And we prayedas we 'adn't prayed for years."

  He still held my hand, looking at me through the mist of his tears allthe time.

  "When the news came yesterday," he went on, "we felt as though the'eavens were black, as though nothing mattered. But that is over now.God alone knows what we 'ave suffered at the loss of our boy. But it isonly good-bye for a little while; he isn't dead, sir. Now we can say,'Bless the Loard, O my soul, and all that is within me bless and praiseHis Holy Name.'"

  "What would I give," I said to myself, as presently I walked from thehouse, "if I knew their secret?"

  Evidently the news had affected the life of the village greatly, for Ifound groups of people standing together talking about it. I joined anumber of miners, who were working "afternoon core" and as a consequencehad their morning at liberty.

  "Ter'ble, sir, edn't it?" said one man to me. "John Searle and hismissis took it all right, because they've got their faith to sustainthem; but there's Harry Bray, 'e's going about like a man maazed; 'edon't believe in anything, sir, and as a consequence there's no light inhis darkness."

  "No light in his darkness?" I repeated.

  "No, sir; he became a backslider and gave up God! This is what we wastalking about when you comed by. What comfort have the world to offer ata time like this? Here be thousands and tens of thousands of people, allover the world, grieving because their dear ones will never come backagain. Mothers grieving about their sons, wives grieving about theirhusbands, maidens grieving about their sweethearts. You now, sir, you bea scholar and a learned man. Do you know of anythin', anythin', sir,'cept faith in an Almighty God, that will 'elp people at a time likethis? What can science do? What can philosophy do? What can money do?"

  "Nothing," I said almost involuntarily.

  "No, nothing. Tell 'ee what, sir, this war is bringing us all back toour senses; we've thought that we could do without Almighty God, sir,but we ca'ant. A man who was preachin' at the Chapel on Sunday nightcalled this war 'The World's great tragedy.' He was right, sir; but Godis overruling it. He is answering men out of the whirlwind and the fire,as He did Job of olden times. Forty boys have gone out from St. Issey,sir; how many of 'em will come back again?"

  I shook my head.

  "Exactly, sir. Here is a wisht story in the newspaper. A poor woman,sir, who 'ad lost her husband and three sons in the war, wrote to theeditor and asked him to give her some explanation of it all, to offersome word of comfort. So the editor wrote to a lot of clever men,sending them copies of the woman's letter, and asking them what they 'adto say. Here are their answers, sir. They are from a scientist, apolitician, a philosopher, and a literary man, and that's what they 'adto say by way of comfort. She asked for bread, and they gave 'er stone."

  I took the paper, and saw that the man had spoken truly. The answerswhich our leading scientists, politicians, philosophers, and scholarshad to give were utterly in the negative. They could say nothing thatwould help to heal the poor woman's bleeding, broken heart. All theirscholarship, all their learning, all their philosophy was Dead Seafruit. Only the man of faith, the man of vision, could give her comfort.

  I left the village wondering: I realized as I never realized before theimpotence of mere intellectualism, of material success, of theadvancement of physical science, in the face of life's great tragedies.

  Then suddenly my thoughts were diverted into another channel, for comingtowards me I saw Isabella Lethbridge.