A Minstrel In France | Page 5

in Australia they did not dream of danger; that they were far from understanding the meaning of the news the papers did print. They were so far away!
And then, you ken, it came upon us like a clap of thunder. One night it began. There was war in Europe--real war. Germany had attacked France and Russia. She was moving troops through Belgium. And every Briton knew what that must mean. Would Britain be drawn in? There was the question that was on every man's tongue.
"What do you think, son?" I asked John.
"I think we'll go in," he said. "And if we do, you know, Dad--they'll send for me to come home at once. I'm on leave from the summer training camp now to make this trip."
My boy, two years before, had joined the Territorial army. He was a second lieutenant in a Territorial battalion of the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders. It was much as if he had been an officer in a National Guard regiment in the United States. The territorial army was not bound to serve abroad--but who could doubt that it would, and gladly. As it did--to a man, to a man.
But it was a shock to me when John said that. I had not thought that war, even if it came, could come home to us so close--and so soon.
Yet so it was. The next day was the fourth of August--my birthday. And it was that day that Britain declared war upon Germany. We sat at lunch in the hotel at Melbourne when the newsboys began to cry the extras. And we were still at lunch when the hall porter came in from outside.
"Leftenant Lauder!" he called, over and over. John beckoned to him, and he handed my laddie a cablegram.
Just two words there were, that had come singing along the wires half way around the world.
"Mobilize. Return."
John's eyes were bright. They were shining. He was looking at us, but he was not seeing us. Those eyes of his were seeing distant things. My heart way sore within me, but I was proud and happy that it was such a son I had to give my country.
"What do you think, Dad?" he asked me, when I had read the order.
I think I was gruff because I dared not let him see how I felt. His mother was very pale.
"This is no time for thinking, son," I said. "It is the time for action. You know your duty."
He rose from the table, quickly.
"I'm off!" he said.
"Where?" I asked him.
"To the ticket office to see about changing my berth. There's a steamer this week--maybe I can still find room aboard her."
He was not long gone. He and his chum went down together and come back smiling triumphantly.
"It's all right, Dad," he told me. "I go to Adelaide by train and get the steamer there. I'll have time to see you and mother off--your steamer goes two hours before my train."
We were going to New Zealand. And my boy was was going home to fight for his country. They would call me too old, I knew--I was forty-four the day Britain declared war.
What a turmoil there was about us! So fast were things moving that there seemed no time for thought, John's mother and I could not realize the full meaning of all that was happening. But we knew that John was snatched away from us just after he had come, and it was hard--it was cruelly hard.
But such thoughts were drowned in the great surging excitement that was all about us. In Melbourne, and I believe it must have been much the same elsewhere in Australia, folks didn't know what they were to do, how they were to take this war that had come so suddenly upon them. And rumors and questions flew in all directions.
Suppose the Germans came to Australia? Was there a chance of that? They had islands, naval bases, not so far away. They were Australia's neighbors. What of the German navy? Was it out? Were there scattered ships, here and there, that might swoop down upon Australia's shores and bring death and destruction with them?
But even before we sailed, next day, I could see that order was coming out of that chaos. Everywhere recruiting offices were opening, and men were flocking to them. No one dreamed, really, of a long war--though John laughed, sadly, when someone said it would be over in four months. But these Australians took no chances; they would offer themselves first, and let it be decided later whether they were needed.
So we sailed away. And when I took John's hand, and kissed him good-by, I saw him for the last time in his civilian clothes.
"Well, son," I said, "you're going home to be a soldier, a fighting soldier. You will soon