Peace Manoeuvres | Page 3

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Prepared by Don Lainson

PEACE MANOEUVRES
The scout stood where three roads cut three green tunnels in the pine
woods, and met at his feet. Above his head an aged sign-post pointed
impartially to East Carver, South Carver, and Carver Centre, and left
the choice to him.
The scout scowled and bit nervously at his gauntlet. The choice was
difficult, and there was no one with whom he could take counsel. The
three sun-shot roads lay empty, and the other scouts, who, with him,
had left the main column at sunrise, he had ordered back. They were to
report that on the right flank, so far, at least, as Middleboro, there was
no sign of the enemy. What lay beyond, it now was his duty to discover.
The three empty roads spread before him like a picture puzzle, smiling
at his predicament. Whichever one he followed left two unguarded.
Should he creep upon for choice Carver Centre, the enemy, masked by
a mile of fir trees, might advance from Carver or South Carver, and
obviously he could not follow three roads at the same time. He
considered the better strategy would be to wait where he was, where the
three roads met, and allow the enemy himself to disclose his position.
To the scout this course was most distasteful. He assured himself that
this was so because, while it were the safer course, it wasted time and
lacked initiative. But in his heart he knew that was not the reason, and
to his heart his head answered that when one's country is at war, when
fields and fire-sides are trampled by the iron heels of the invader, a
scout should act not according to the dictates of his heart, but in the
service of his native land. In the case of this particular patriot, the man
and scout were at odds. As one of the Bicycle Squad of the Boston
Corps of Cadets, the scout knew what, at this momentous crisis in her
history, the commonwealth of Massachusetts demanded of him. It was
that he sit tight and wait for the hated foreigners from New York City,
New Jersey, and Connecticut to show themselves. But the man knew,
and had known for several years, that on the road to Carver was the
summer home of one Beatrice Farrar. As Private Lathrop it was no part
of his duty to know that. As a man and a lover, and a rejected lover at
that, he could not think of anything else. Struggling between love and
duty the scout basely decided to leave the momentous question to

chance. In the front tire of his bicycle was a puncture, temporarily
effaced by a plug. Laying the bicycle on the ground, Lathrop spun the
front wheel swiftly.
"If," he decided, "the wheel stops with the puncture pointing at Carver
Centre, I'll advance upon Carver Centre. Should it point to either of