Chapter Nineteen
There had been much said, after the four years’ conflict which had partially exhausted Europe, of the horrors and folly of war, and they are subjects on which overstatement is not easily to be achieved. But it is a confusing fact, which we may observe without basing any contention upon it, that there is no other impulse which unites our race, or arouses its energy, as does the shadow or the call of war.
The canal-bed ran north and south, continuing northward for about three miles, where it broke off abruptly above the ocean into which it had poured its waters. The railway line ran parallel with it for half a mile north of the camp, and then turned north-eastward, striking the sea at a somewhat shorter distance, for there was not more than a mile of land to eastward above the water.
The initial problem which must be faced in deciding the plan of defence of such a position against an equal or superior force is the extent of ground which it is necessary or possible to hold.
Tom Aldworth considered this problem without the benefit of any previous military experience, or knowledge of the art of war, and was confronted by a difficulty that has troubled many commanders of greater ability and experience—the line which appeared to offer the greatest natural advantages was more extensive than could be easily held by the small company that the camp contained.
The main population of the camp, including most of the women, and its most important stores, were located in the shallow railway cutting in which the accident had occurred. Here five coaches, each consisting of from six to eight compartments, and a goods-van, which had been uncoupled from the rear of the second train in time to escape the fire which had consumed the remaining portion, were occupied as living-rooms, and storehouses for the more valuable or perishable goods that had been collected.
Other goods were piled, and some huts were being erected, at the sides and farther back along the line.
The sides of the cutting were of a considerable height at the place of the fallen bridge, but declined from it until the line became level with the surrounding country about three hundred yards to the south.
Tom considered the fact that the camp was situated in such a hollow to be a military disadvantage, which was not as absolutely true as he supposed it to be—especially where the question of artillery did not arise—but there were other considerations which would have embarrassed the occupation of so limited a position. There was, for instance, no water-supply in the cutting; and other questions would have arisen, which must be avoided lest this narrative should be mistaken for military disquisition.
Not unnaturally, Tom thought of the canal-ditch as the strongest line of defence, and it was for this that he had bargained for the barbed wire which Butcher had delivered so promptly.
As Muriel’s little party came along the outer bank toward the bridge which they must cross to gain the security of the camp, they could observe about three-quarters of the garrison, including most of the women, engaged in the laborious erection of an efficient fence, under the impulse mentioned at the commencement of the present chapter.
Tom saw them coming, and met them on the bridge, where he had previously encountered the discomfited Bellamy.
He lost no time in the formalities of introduction, for he was not a student of etiquette, and his mind was distracted by a score of contending questions which were brought to him for solution, or which he knew would be neglected unless he should assume the responsibility of decision. He was without any properly constituted authority. If he wished anything done he had to ask, not order. Argument followed more often than a prompt obedience. But there was a general disposition to come to him for advice or guidance, and there was no doubt that the popular opinion of the camp would hold him responsible for any disaster which might fall upon it.
He told Muriel briefly that Ted Wrench, who was standing near, would show her where she could sleep and could put any personal belongings which she wished to retain. He observed the sacks of flour with some satisfaction. If there should be anything in the nature of a siege.… He looked doubtfully at Datchett’s cow—a tired and thirsty animal, hanging a disconsolate head.… He began to talk to Jack Tolley and Ellis Roberts about the impossibility of extending his defences to the lines which they had agreed upon on the previous day—an impossibility which was conclusively demonstrated by the rate of progress which the day had shown, quite apart from the question of how they could have been manned efficiently afterward.
“That little rat Reddy Teller’s been here with a note from Cooper this morning,” he went on; “he seems to be the general messenger. Cooper wants us to meet him tomorrow afternoon in Larkshill Road, outside the Plasterer’s Arms. He asks that there shall not be more than four a side. (I suppose ‘four’ means he’s got Butcher to join him.) We’re to undertake that, if we don’t come to terms, nothing’s to happen on either side till the next morning. All the others can come, as we may have to consult them, but they’re to stand back. That’s how I understand it.”
“I wouldn’t trust Rattray’s gang, or Bellamy’s,” said Jack.
“I wouldn’t trust any of them. But I can’t think of a better plan. You see, we’ve got to meet somewhere, or there’s no chance of a settlement. We don’t want a row, and we don’t know how it would end. We can’t make them come to us. If we go to them, just ourselves, they may try some tricks, whatever they promise. If we take a lot of the boys with us, we leave the women here unprotected, and we don’t know what might be happening.
“This plan meets them halfway. I propose that we all go—every one in the camp that isn’t too ill, even the children. They’ll go armed, all except us, and stand back, and be there to know what’s arranged. I’ve got a plan to propose, and we may get them to agree.
“If they try to fight us there—well, it’s got to come some time. It’ll be over all the sooner.”
Jack said: “I don’t like it. I don’t think I’ll come.” He stood thoughtful and hesitant. “But I don’t think they’ll try any tricks. It wouldn’t be Cooper’s way. Not that he’d mind. But he believes in talk. He wouldn’t risk a mistake. The others might…. But we could deal with them. We might tell half a dozen of the boys to have their rifles ready. They could cover the four of them, and they’d be done for before us, if they tried any mischief.”
Tom Aldworth nodded, and then grinned as he said, “If Harry Swain’s one of them, I hope he’ll aim at me. I should feel safer than if he tried for the others.”
Jack said: “What’s the plan you’ve got?”
“It’s this. You mayn’t think it’s much good, but we’ve got to look at the facts. It’s true that there are half a dozen men left alive for every woman, and we were mostly strangers to one another a month ago. Getting the boys out of the mine made it worse, but it would have been bad enough without that. I suppose it would have made trouble anyway, but like we are with no law, and a few rotters among us, it was sure to make more than a bit.
“Well, we’ve had rows enough, and we look like having some more if we can’t get something that every one will agree to. You know we’ve tried to get every one together before to get someone chosen to boss these things, and most of them wouldn’t come, and those who did quarrelled as to who should vote, and what for, and we got no further. Most of us are too busy looking after ourselves, and some like things to go on as they are.
“But this plan of Cooper’s will get most of the folk together, and if we agree to anything it may be some use.
“Now we’ve got to look at this. We have got most of the women here, and it isn’t only Rattray’s lot and the toughs with Bellamy that don’t like it. The boys at Cowley Thorn must feel just about the same. That’s what Cooper’s building on. I think he means to make us all run when he whistles, and we mayn’t always like the tune.
“But there’s the fact. There’s one thing that I don’t like, and it shows how the feeling goes. I’ve sent to all the men who are scattered about Larkshill, and beyond, and asked them to help us. They know wha
t’s been happening, and there isn’t one that’s come. You know there’s some decent ones among them. I don’t say they’ll help Cooper. I don’t know. But there it is.
“Now I’m out of this. You all think I’ve got a woman at Hallowby Lodge, and, however that is, I’m not asking for two. I am going to say, why not let the women choose for themselves? Tell them they’ve got to chum up to someone, and give them a fair time, and if they don’t, it’s their look-out.
“They can make their own choice, and we’ll stand by them, and settle with anyone who interferes….”
“You don’t think Bellamy’ll agree to that?” said Jack sceptically.
“No, I don’t; nor Rattray; and we don’t want either of them here at any price. It may be just as well if they don’t. But it’s fair for all, and it gives us something to fight for. We might get it agreed, and, if not, we shall know where we are.”
There was a moment’s silence from the two men he addressed. As all the rest would do in turn, they paused to consider the personal results that would be likely to follow.
Tom knew what was in their minds. Here were two of the best characters in the camp—if even they couldn’t….
Ellis Roberts looked at his younger rival, “That goes with Madge?” he asked doubtfully.
“Yes,” said Jack Tolley, and the two men joined hands on the bargain.
Tom saw that his plan would, at least, be assured of some support, and a hearing.
“I suppose it’s us three,” he went on, “but who’s the fourth?”
That was a difficult question. The three of them were becoming informally recognized as a self-constituted committee of management. There were several others who might have claims, but the preference of any one would mean jealousy from the others.
“We’d better let them choose,” said Jack.
“It’s waste of time to call them off the work,” Tom answered. He knew how much talk it would mean, and how probable that a row would end it.
“Why not have Miss Temple?” said Roberts.
Tom stared. It seemed absurd to suggest a woman, and one who had only joined them half an hour ago.
But Jack nodded. “Yes, that’s a good idea,” he said definitely.
“Well, you know her better than I do,” Tom answered. “I suppose there ought to be a woman among us. It’s their racket as much as ours. What sort is she?”
“She’s been an African missionary,” said Jack. “She knows her own mind, and how to make other people’s up for them. She’ll probably start with prayer.”
Tom frowned. “We don’t want any more of that now…. I suppose you know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t agree there, Tom,” said Ellis, “it’s just what we do want. A lot more than we’ve got.”
He had been a silent but liberal supporter of a little dissenting chapel in the Corris valley. It was possibly the ugliest edifice of its kind in Wales (a pre-eminence for which the competition was extremely keen), and its front elevation was ornamented with a scroll text. “It is the Lord’s doing: it is marvellous in our eyes.” There was no intention of levity.
Ellis Roberts considered that, if religion had been swept away by the flood, its disappearance had conferred no very evident benefit.
“Well,” said Tom, “have it your own way.” He reflected that she had got round the two of them very successfully—or why on earth had they brought the cow!
Chapter Twenty
Muriel followed her belongings till they came to the mouth of the cutting, where the line was level with the surrounding hills, and here, when her escort had tied the cow to a broken gate, they turned inward, and retraced a short distance along the line, the side ditch of which had been filled in and levelled to allow of such traffic, till they came to the rearmost of the coaches. The cutting, which was usually a scene of much coming and going, and disorderly activity, was now comparatively quiet, as the bulk of its population was working at the fortification of the canal-bank.
Ted showed her a compartment which he told her she would share with another occupant, whose belongings had already been moved to one side, to make room for her own possessions.
The lady was absent, and Muriel expressed a hope that she was prepared for, and would not mind, the intrusion.
“She don’t count,” said Ted easily. “She’s crazed. That’s why no one’s been in with her before.”
Muriel made no comment upon this information. She recognized that first-class compartments were not likely to have vacant accommodation without sufficient reason under the prevailing conditions. The craziness need not be of an aggressive character. She was used to facing difficulties as they came. She addressed her mind to the selection of such articles as she would require for her own use, and which could be accommodated under the seat or on the rack of the half-compartment which had been allocated to her. It appeared, by implication, that the remainder of her acquisitions would pass into communal storage, and that she would cease to have any special interest in them. She questioned Ted upon the organization of her new associates, and gained an impression of what may be described as an almost systematized confusion of communal and individual ownership, growing out of the accumulation of promiscuous stores which were often collectively acquired, and were otherwise in excess of any single requirement. A chaos out of which order might be resolved, but hardly without some intervening discords.
She found Ted Wrench to be a somewhat lazy youth—a condition which was the immediate cause of his present occupation, Tom having observed his shirking of the harder work at the barrier. He became sulky at the amount of unloading and rearranging that was incidental to the elimination of Muriel’s retentions before the cart and packhorse could be taken to their further destination. He reminded her that the cow had still to be properly deposited. That meant half a mile’s walk. Muriel placated him with Brazil nuts, of which she forthwith decided to retain as many as possible in her own possession. She recognized that needed goods were the only money of this community. Was it then reasonable to part with so much that she had laboriously accumulated? Well, they were offering her their protection, and they had carted her goods. Certainly, she would not be one to raise difficulty over such an issue. But she made a bargain with Ted (for some more nuts), that he should help her to enclose the space below the compartment for her hen and chickens—still in the basket of which we have heard before—when the cow should have been disposed of; and she got him to fetch some immediate water for that long-suffering quadruped.
Later she accompanied Ted to see where her cow was to be pastured, and, by doing this, she was able to understand why its coming had been received so coolly.
The land east of the railway fell away toward the new coast, and a stream, which flowed under the line about a quarter of a mile farther south, turned north-east, so that it crossed the narrow land between the line and the sea at a somewhat acute angle. The cattle which had been captured for the common use were confined within the area bounded by this stream, the sea, and the railway, but unfortunately, though its area was considerable, it was not fertile land. It contained the pit-heads of two abandoned collieries, and the slag-strewn ground was covered with a coarse and patchy growth, which, even in June, was unappetizing to cattle that could observe more verdant pastures on the other side of the stream.
It was also unfortunate that the stream was badly fenced, and was fordable in many places, so that it had become a continual occupation to watch these cattle, and to fetch back those which outwitted the irregular patrol, which was a general duty rather than particular to any individual.
The cattle were valued for the milk they gave, but they were already so numerous that they were grazing off the coarse grasses faster than their summer growth could adjust the balance, and several which had failed to maintain their milk-supply had been expelled during the previous week.
Under such circumstances, it was not surprising that an addition to the herd was regarded as a doubtful blessing, and the disfavour with whic
h the cow of the departed Datchett surveyed the barren prospect around her made it quite evident that she was equally critical of the decision which had removed her from familiar fields.
Chapter Twenty-One
The summer evening was still light when Muriel went to rest, with a tired dog that had followed her all the day lying across her feet, on a more luxurious couch than she had known since the night when the roof of Wilkes’s cottage had collapsed upon her.
It was true that three of the windows had been broken, either in the collision or by a subsequent violence, and that she did not feel free to close the door till her companion, whom she had not yet seen, should appear; for the coaches stood high above the line, and though rough steps had been contrived for most of them, to make ascent easier, the approach to this one, as to some of the others, was by no more than an upturned box, and it might not be easy for the “crazy” woman to open it from such a position.
But the evening was warm, the cushions soft and thick, and Muriel was conscious of that degree of physical exhaustion which makes a luxury of rest. She was not sleepy, and the thought came to her, with some wonder, of how much less fatigue she had felt than would have followed a day of such exertions only a month ago. Could it be possible…? If so, it must surely be that there was some work for her to do here, which must be better done than had been that of the previous years.
Her mind wandered to speculate on the real character of the woman with whom she was to live in such an intimacy. Her possessions, whatever they might be, must be contained in the two suitcases which had been pushed under the seat, and in the cardboard boxes on the rack. A little travelling-clock, pinned to the side-cushion, was ticking regularly. There was nothing of the squalid disorders of food and clothing and utensils, inside and out, which Muriel had observed of some of the neighbouring compartments. There was no evidence of insanity here.
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