In the Track of the Troops, Robert Michael Ballantyne [i read a book .txt] 📗
- Author: Robert Michael Ballantyne
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my joys, the light of my life behind me! No, Mrs Naranovitsch, Blue-eyes is necessary to my existence; she inspires my pen and corrects my spelling; she lifts my soul, when required, above the petty cares of life, and enables me to take flights of genius, which, without her, were impossible, and you know that flights of genius are required, occasionally, of the correspondent of a weekly--at least of an Irish weekly. Yes, Blue-eyes goes with me. We shall levant together."
"Are bad puns allowed in the _Evergreen_?" I asked.
"Not unless excessively bad," returned my friend; "they won't tolerate anything lukewarm."
"Well, now, Biquitous," said I, "sit down and give Nicholas, who is hard to convince, your opinion as to the mode in which this and other countries ought to prepare for self-defence."
"In earnest, do you mean?"
"In earnest," said I.
"Well, then," said my friend, "if I were in power I would make every man in Great Britain a trained soldier."
"Humph!" said Nicholas, "that has been tried by other nations without giving satisfaction."
"But," continued U. Biquitous, impressively, "I would do so without taking a single man away from his home, or interfering with his duties as a civilian. I would have all the males of the land trained to arms in boyhood--during school-days--at that period of life when boys are best fitted to receive such instruction, when they would `go in' for military drill, as they now go in for foot-ball, cricket, or gymnastics--at that period when they have a good deal of leisure time, when they would regard the thing more as play than work--when their memories are strong and powerfully retentive, and when the principles and practice of military drill would be as thoroughly implanted in them as the power to swim or skate, so that, once acquired, they'd never quite lose it. I speak from experience, for I learned to skate and swim when a boy, and I feel that nothing--no amount of disuse--can ever rob me of these attainments. Still further, in early manhood I joined the great volunteer movement, and, though I have now been out of the force for many years, I know that I could `fall in' and behave tolerably well at a moment's notice, while a week's drill would brush me up into as good a soldier as I ever was or am likely to be. Remember, I speak only of rank and file, and the power to carry arms and use them intelligently. I would compel boys to undergo this training, but would make it easy, on doctor's certificate, or otherwise, for anxious parents to get off the duty, feeling assured that the fraction of trained men thus lost to the nation would be quite insignificant. Afterwards, a few days of drill each year would keep men well up to the mark; and even in regard to this brushing-up drill I would make things very easy, and would readily accept every reasonable excuse for absence, in the firm belief that the willing men would be amply sufficient to maintain our `reserve force.' As to the volunteers, I would encourage them as heretofore, and give them more honour and privileges than they possess at present. Thus would an army be ever ready to spring into being at a day's notice, and be _thoroughly_ capable of defending hearths and homes in a few weeks.
"For our colonies and our authority at home, I would have a very small, _well-paid_, and thoroughly efficient standing army, which would form a perfect model in military matters, and a splendid skeleton on which the muscle and sinew of the land might wind itself if invasion threatened. For the rest, I would keep my bayonets and artillery in serviceable condition, and my `powder dry.' If all Europe acted thus, she would be not less ready for war than she is now, and would have all her vigorous men turned into producers instead of consumers, to the immense advantage of the States' coffers, to the great comfort of the women and children, to the lessening of crime and poverty, and to the general well-being of the world at large."
"My dear sir," said Nicholas, with a laugh, "you were born before your time."
"It may be so," returned the other, lightly, "nevertheless I will live in the hope of seeing the interests of peace more intelligently advanced than they have been of late; and if the system which I suggest is not found to be the best, I will rejoice to hear of a better, and will do my best to advocate it in the _Evergreen Isle_. But now I must go; Blue-eyes and Cyprus await me. Farewell."
U. Biquitous shook hands heartily, and walked rapidly away down the avenue, where he was eventually hidden from our view by a bush of laurel.
To return from this digression.
It is not difficult in these days to "put a girdle round the world." Ivanka and I soon reached the village of Venilik.
It was a sad spectacle of ruin and desolation, but we found Dobri Petroff and Marika in the old home, which had been partially rebuilt. The blacksmith's anvil was ringing as merrily as ever when we approached, and his blows appeared to fall as heavily as in days gone by, but I noticed, when he looked up, that his countenance was lined and very sad, while his raven locks were prematurely tinged with grey.
Shall I describe the meeting of Ivanka with her parents? I think not. The imagination is more correct and powerful than the pen in such cases. New life seemed from that moment to be infused into the much-tried pair. Marika had never lost her trust in God through all her woes, and even in her darkest hours had refused to murmur. She had kissed the rod that smote her, and now she praised Him with a strong and joyful heart.
Alas! there were many others in that village, and thousands of others throughout that blood-soaked land, who had no such gleam of sunshine sent into the dark recesses of their woe-worn hearts--poor innocent souls these, who had lost their joy, their possessions, their hope, their all in this life, because of the mad, unreasonable superstition that it is necessary for men at times to arrange their differences by war!
War! what is it? A monster which periodically crushes the energies, desolates the homes, swallows thousands of the young lives, and sweeps away millions of the money of mankind. It bids Christianity stand aside for a time. It legalises wholesale murder and robbery. It affords a safe opportunity to villainy to work its diabolic will, so that some of the fairest scenes of earth are converted into human shambles. It destroys the labour of busy generations, past and present, and saddles heavy national debt on those that are yet unborn. It has been estimated that the national debts of Europe now amount to nearly 3000 millions sterling, more than three-fourths of which have been required for war and warlike preparations, and that about 600 millions are annually taken from the capital and industry of nations for the expense of past, and the preparation for future wars. War tramples gallantry in the dust, leaves women at the mercy of a brutal soldiery, slaughters old men, and tosses babes on bayonet-points. All this it does, and a great deal more, in the way of mischief; what does it accomplish in the way of good? What has mankind gained by the wars of Napoleon the First, which cost, it is said, two million of lives, to say nothing of the maimed-for-life and the bereaved? Will the gain or the loss of Alsace and Lorraine mitigate or increase in any appreciable degree the woe of French and Prussian widows? Will the revenues of these provinces pay for the loss consequent on the stagnation of trade and industry? What has been gained by the Crimean war, which cost us thousands of lives and millions in money? Nothing whatever! The treaties which were to secure what had been gained have been violated, and the empire for which we fought has been finally crushed.
When waged in self-defence war is a sad, a horrible necessity. When entered into with a view to national aggrandisement, or for an _idea_, it is the greatest of crimes. The man who creeps into your house at night, and cuts your throat while you are asleep in bed, is a sneaking monster, but the man who sits "at home at ease," safe from the tremendous "dogs" which he is about to let loose, and, with diplomatic pen, signs away the peace of society and the lives of multitudes without serious cause, is a callous monster. Of the two the sneak is the less objectionable, because less destructive.
During this visit to Venilik, I spent some time in renewing my inquiries as to the fate of my yacht's crew, but without success, and I was forced to the sad conclusion that they must either have been drowned or captured, and, it may be, killed after reaching the land. Long afterwards, however, I heard it rumoured that Mr Whitlaw had escaped and returned to his native country. There is, therefore, some reason to hope that that sturdy and true-hearted American still lives to relate, among his other stirring narratives, an account of that memorable night when he was torpedoed on the Danube.
Before finally bidding adieu to the Petroff family, I had many a talk with Dobri on the subject of war as we wandered sadly about the ruined village. The signs of the fearful hurricane by which it had been swept were still fresh upon it, and when I looked on the burnt homesteads, the trampled crops, and neglected fields, the crowds of new-made graves, the curs that quarrelled over unburied human bones, the blood-stained walls and door-posts, the wan, almost bloodless, faces of the few who had escaped the wrath of man, and reflected that all this had been brought about by a "Christian" nation, fighting in the interests of the Prince of Peace, I could not help the fervent utterance of the prayer: "O God, scatter thou the people that delight in war!"
THE END.
Imprint
"Are bad puns allowed in the _Evergreen_?" I asked.
"Not unless excessively bad," returned my friend; "they won't tolerate anything lukewarm."
"Well, now, Biquitous," said I, "sit down and give Nicholas, who is hard to convince, your opinion as to the mode in which this and other countries ought to prepare for self-defence."
"In earnest, do you mean?"
"In earnest," said I.
"Well, then," said my friend, "if I were in power I would make every man in Great Britain a trained soldier."
"Humph!" said Nicholas, "that has been tried by other nations without giving satisfaction."
"But," continued U. Biquitous, impressively, "I would do so without taking a single man away from his home, or interfering with his duties as a civilian. I would have all the males of the land trained to arms in boyhood--during school-days--at that period of life when boys are best fitted to receive such instruction, when they would `go in' for military drill, as they now go in for foot-ball, cricket, or gymnastics--at that period when they have a good deal of leisure time, when they would regard the thing more as play than work--when their memories are strong and powerfully retentive, and when the principles and practice of military drill would be as thoroughly implanted in them as the power to swim or skate, so that, once acquired, they'd never quite lose it. I speak from experience, for I learned to skate and swim when a boy, and I feel that nothing--no amount of disuse--can ever rob me of these attainments. Still further, in early manhood I joined the great volunteer movement, and, though I have now been out of the force for many years, I know that I could `fall in' and behave tolerably well at a moment's notice, while a week's drill would brush me up into as good a soldier as I ever was or am likely to be. Remember, I speak only of rank and file, and the power to carry arms and use them intelligently. I would compel boys to undergo this training, but would make it easy, on doctor's certificate, or otherwise, for anxious parents to get off the duty, feeling assured that the fraction of trained men thus lost to the nation would be quite insignificant. Afterwards, a few days of drill each year would keep men well up to the mark; and even in regard to this brushing-up drill I would make things very easy, and would readily accept every reasonable excuse for absence, in the firm belief that the willing men would be amply sufficient to maintain our `reserve force.' As to the volunteers, I would encourage them as heretofore, and give them more honour and privileges than they possess at present. Thus would an army be ever ready to spring into being at a day's notice, and be _thoroughly_ capable of defending hearths and homes in a few weeks.
"For our colonies and our authority at home, I would have a very small, _well-paid_, and thoroughly efficient standing army, which would form a perfect model in military matters, and a splendid skeleton on which the muscle and sinew of the land might wind itself if invasion threatened. For the rest, I would keep my bayonets and artillery in serviceable condition, and my `powder dry.' If all Europe acted thus, she would be not less ready for war than she is now, and would have all her vigorous men turned into producers instead of consumers, to the immense advantage of the States' coffers, to the great comfort of the women and children, to the lessening of crime and poverty, and to the general well-being of the world at large."
"My dear sir," said Nicholas, with a laugh, "you were born before your time."
"It may be so," returned the other, lightly, "nevertheless I will live in the hope of seeing the interests of peace more intelligently advanced than they have been of late; and if the system which I suggest is not found to be the best, I will rejoice to hear of a better, and will do my best to advocate it in the _Evergreen Isle_. But now I must go; Blue-eyes and Cyprus await me. Farewell."
U. Biquitous shook hands heartily, and walked rapidly away down the avenue, where he was eventually hidden from our view by a bush of laurel.
To return from this digression.
It is not difficult in these days to "put a girdle round the world." Ivanka and I soon reached the village of Venilik.
It was a sad spectacle of ruin and desolation, but we found Dobri Petroff and Marika in the old home, which had been partially rebuilt. The blacksmith's anvil was ringing as merrily as ever when we approached, and his blows appeared to fall as heavily as in days gone by, but I noticed, when he looked up, that his countenance was lined and very sad, while his raven locks were prematurely tinged with grey.
Shall I describe the meeting of Ivanka with her parents? I think not. The imagination is more correct and powerful than the pen in such cases. New life seemed from that moment to be infused into the much-tried pair. Marika had never lost her trust in God through all her woes, and even in her darkest hours had refused to murmur. She had kissed the rod that smote her, and now she praised Him with a strong and joyful heart.
Alas! there were many others in that village, and thousands of others throughout that blood-soaked land, who had no such gleam of sunshine sent into the dark recesses of their woe-worn hearts--poor innocent souls these, who had lost their joy, their possessions, their hope, their all in this life, because of the mad, unreasonable superstition that it is necessary for men at times to arrange their differences by war!
War! what is it? A monster which periodically crushes the energies, desolates the homes, swallows thousands of the young lives, and sweeps away millions of the money of mankind. It bids Christianity stand aside for a time. It legalises wholesale murder and robbery. It affords a safe opportunity to villainy to work its diabolic will, so that some of the fairest scenes of earth are converted into human shambles. It destroys the labour of busy generations, past and present, and saddles heavy national debt on those that are yet unborn. It has been estimated that the national debts of Europe now amount to nearly 3000 millions sterling, more than three-fourths of which have been required for war and warlike preparations, and that about 600 millions are annually taken from the capital and industry of nations for the expense of past, and the preparation for future wars. War tramples gallantry in the dust, leaves women at the mercy of a brutal soldiery, slaughters old men, and tosses babes on bayonet-points. All this it does, and a great deal more, in the way of mischief; what does it accomplish in the way of good? What has mankind gained by the wars of Napoleon the First, which cost, it is said, two million of lives, to say nothing of the maimed-for-life and the bereaved? Will the gain or the loss of Alsace and Lorraine mitigate or increase in any appreciable degree the woe of French and Prussian widows? Will the revenues of these provinces pay for the loss consequent on the stagnation of trade and industry? What has been gained by the Crimean war, which cost us thousands of lives and millions in money? Nothing whatever! The treaties which were to secure what had been gained have been violated, and the empire for which we fought has been finally crushed.
When waged in self-defence war is a sad, a horrible necessity. When entered into with a view to national aggrandisement, or for an _idea_, it is the greatest of crimes. The man who creeps into your house at night, and cuts your throat while you are asleep in bed, is a sneaking monster, but the man who sits "at home at ease," safe from the tremendous "dogs" which he is about to let loose, and, with diplomatic pen, signs away the peace of society and the lives of multitudes without serious cause, is a callous monster. Of the two the sneak is the less objectionable, because less destructive.
During this visit to Venilik, I spent some time in renewing my inquiries as to the fate of my yacht's crew, but without success, and I was forced to the sad conclusion that they must either have been drowned or captured, and, it may be, killed after reaching the land. Long afterwards, however, I heard it rumoured that Mr Whitlaw had escaped and returned to his native country. There is, therefore, some reason to hope that that sturdy and true-hearted American still lives to relate, among his other stirring narratives, an account of that memorable night when he was torpedoed on the Danube.
Before finally bidding adieu to the Petroff family, I had many a talk with Dobri on the subject of war as we wandered sadly about the ruined village. The signs of the fearful hurricane by which it had been swept were still fresh upon it, and when I looked on the burnt homesteads, the trampled crops, and neglected fields, the crowds of new-made graves, the curs that quarrelled over unburied human bones, the blood-stained walls and door-posts, the wan, almost bloodless, faces of the few who had escaped the wrath of man, and reflected that all this had been brought about by a "Christian" nation, fighting in the interests of the Prince of Peace, I could not help the fervent utterance of the prayer: "O God, scatter thou the people that delight in war!"
THE END.
Imprint
Publication Date: 07-07-2010
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