CHAPTER II
TO THE COLORS
In those days late in July, France, less than almost any country inEurope, certainly far less than either England or America, was able torealize the possibilities of trouble. As a matter of fact, not for yearshad the peace of Europe been so assured, apparently. President Poincareof France had gone to visit the Czar of Russia, and the two rulers hadexchanged compliments. The alliance of France and Russia, they told oneanother, made war impossible, or nearly so. The Emperor of Germany wason a yachting cruise; even the old Austrian Kaiser, though required towatch affairs because of the death of his heir, the Archduke FranzFerdinand, murdered by a Serb fanatic at Sarajeve, had left Vienna.
Even when the storm cloud began to gather the French government did allit could to suppress the news. The readiness of France was not inquestion. France was always ready, as Henri Martin had said. Since thegrim and terrible lesson of 1870 she had made up her mind never again togive the traditional enemy beyond the Rhine--and, alas, now on this sideof the Rhine as well!--a chance to catch her unprepared.
What the government wanted was to prevent the possibility that anexcited populace, especially in Paris, might force its hand. If war cameit meant that Germany should provoke it--if possible, begin it. It waswilling to sacrifice some things for that. And this was because, in theyears of peace, France had won a great diplomatic victory, the fruits ofwhich the country must preserve. In 1870 France had had to face Germanyalone. She had counted upon help from Austria, now Germany's firm friendand ally, but then still smarting under the blow of the defeat fouryears before. She had hoped for help, perhaps, from Roumania and fromRussia.
But all that Germany, by skillful trickery, had rendered vain. She hadmade France seem to be the aggressor, and France had forfeited thesympathy of England and of Austria as a result. Alone she had been nomatch for Germany. And alone she would be as little a match for Germanyin 1914 as in 1870. But she had prepared herself. Now Russia, no matterwhat the reason for war, would be with her. And, if France was attacked,England was almost sure to join her. Everything would depend on that.With the great English navy to bottle up the German fleet, to blockadethe German coasts, France felt that she was secure. And so thegovernment was resolved that nothing should happen to make possible theloss of England's friendship; nothing that should give England even theshadow of an excuse for remaining neutral.
So what the newspapers printed of the threats that Austria was makingagainst Servia was carefully censored. There was nothing to show thatAustria was assuming a warlike attitude, and that Russia, the friend ofthe little Slav countries in the Balkans, was getting ready to take thepart of Servia. There was nothing to show what the French governmentand every newspaper editor in Paris knew must be a fact--that Austriamust have had assurance of German support, since she could not hope tomake a winning fight, unaided, against the huge might of Russia.
That was why all over France life proceeded in the regular way, calm,peaceful, without event. Some there were who knew that Europe was closerto a general war than since the end of Napoleon's dream of conquest. Butthe masses of the people did not know it. All over France the soldierswere active; the new recruits, reporting for the beginning of theirthree years of military service, were pouring into the depots, theheadquarters of the army corps, to be assigned to their regiments. Butthat was something that happened every year. In a country where everyman, if he is not a cripple or diseased, has to be a soldier for threeyears, the sight of a uniform, even of a long column of marching troops,means nothing.
And then, with the most startling abruptness, there came a change.Nothing official, as yet. But suddenly the government allowed the realnews, or most of it, to be printed. Austria had made demands of Serviathat no country could meet! Russia had protested! Russia and Austriawere mobilizing! Germany had sent an ultimatum to Russia, demanding thatshe stop massing her troops in Poland and on the borders of EastPrussia.
"It means war," said Henri Martin to Frank. Gone was the exultation ofhis voice. Frank had noticed that, since the first appearance of thereally ominous news, the excitability of his French schoolmates haddisappeared. They were quiet; far quieter than American boys would havebeen in the same case, he thought.
"But this is not France's quarrel," said Frank. "She cares nothing forServia."
"Servia? Bah! No one cares for Servia--except Austria and Russia! Serviais only an excuse. Austria wants to get some ports and Russia wantsthem, too, or wants a friendly country to have them. But I will tellyou why it means war, Frank, my friend. It is because Guillaume, theirKaiser, thinks it is the chance to crush France!"
"Why now more than at any other time, Harry?"
"Lieutenant Marcel told me what he thinks. It is that England is havingmuch trouble. In Ireland there is rebellion, almost, over the home rule.The Germans think England will be afraid to fight, that she will have tothink of her own troubles. He does not know those English, that Kaiser!They have their quarrels among themselves. But if anyone elseinterferes--pouf! The quarrel is over--until the one who interferes isbeaten."
"Yes, I believe that. We're like that in America, too. Why, right afterthe Civil War, we nearly had to fight about Mexico. And the men in theSouth, who had just been fighting the northern army, were all ready tovolunteer and fight for the country."
"Well, that is one reason, then. And, for another, France is gettingstronger, and Russia too. For a few years after the war with theJapanese, Russia was weak. But now she is getting strong again, andAustria is getting weaker. If Germany and Austria can ever win it isnow--that is what the Kaiser believes. And why must France fight? Evenif she is not attacked she must help Russia because of the treaty."
"But she didn't fight with Russia against Japan."
"Because only one country was at war against her. If England had joinedJapan, we should have had to fight with Russia against her," Henriexplained.
It was during the morning recess that they held this conversation. Nowthe bell called them back to school. The class to which they went wasone that was being taught by M. Donnet himself, the head master. He wasat his place by his desk, and the boys had taken their seats. Suddenly,just as the master was about to speak, a servant appeared with atelegram in his hand. He took it to the master. M. Donnet tore it openand read it, while a serious, grave look came into his eyes. Then hestood up.
"Mes enfants," he said, his whole manner somehow changed from the onethey knew, "I am called away from you." He stood very straight now;Frank had no difficulty, as he had had before, in imagining theschoolmaster as a soldier. "France needs me--our France. I go toLuneville, to be prepared to receive the brave men who will fight undermy command if--"
He stopped.
"If war shall come!" he finished the interrupted sentence. "I leave you.No man knows what the next few hours may bring forth. The order of'mobilisation generale' has not yet been issued. Only superior officersare called for as yet. Perhaps I may return. If not, I shall exhort allof you who are sons of La Patrie to do your duty. You are too young tofight, but you are none of you too young to be brave and loyal, to helpyour parents, and your mothers if your fathers are needed by thefatherland for active service.
"You are not too young to show courage, no matter what may come. You arenot too young to keep alive the spirit of the sons of France--the spiritthat won at Austerlitz and Jena, that rose, like the phoenix from itsashes, after Gravelotte and Sedan, when the foe believed that France laycrushed for evermore! Perhaps you, like all who are French, may becalled upon to make sacrifices, sometimes to go hungry. But rememberalways that it is not only those who face the foe on the battle line whocan serve the fatherland!"
He drew himself up again.
"Farewell, then, mes enfants!" he said. "I go to meet again those otherchildren I am to lead! Vive la France!"
For a moment, as he moved to the door, there was silence.
And it was Frank Barnes, only half French, who jumped to the top of adesk and raised his voice in the most s
tirring of all patrioticairs--the Marseillaise.
With a will they joined him, English, American and French, for all werethere. Slowly, still singing, they followed the master from theclass-room, and gathered outside in the open air of the school yard. Andfrom other rooms, from all over the school, masters and boys poured outto join them and to swell the chorus. Outside, in the street, a passingbattalion of the infantry of the line, made up of smiling youngsoldiers, heard and took up the chorus, singing as they marched.
There was no need of questions from those who heard the singing. In amoment the discipline of the school went by the board. And, when thesong was done, they still remained together, waiting. In ten minutes, M.Donnet appeared from the door of his own house. But now he wastransformed. He was in the uniform of his rank, his sword was by hisside; a servant carried his bags. He strode through the ranks ofcheering boys to the gate, saluting right and left as he did so.