Captain Jinks, Hero - Ernest Howard Crosby (e reading malayalam books .txt) 📗

so many proverbs do, the fundamental truth. When a story is incredible you say ‘Tell that to the marines,’ signifying that only a marine would be stupid enough to believe it. Now what is a marine? As the Anglian poet says, he is ‘soldier and sailor too,’ in other words, he epitomizes the army and navy. It is the military man who is foolish enough to believe anything and who keeps alive the most absurd superstitions and customs. The ancient Greeks cast a sidelight on this truth, for their word for private soldier was ‘idiot.’ And on account of this strange stupidity of soldiers, things that would be disgraceful in private life become glorious in war. Their one virtue is obedience, unqualified by any of the balancing virtues, and they wear liveries to show that they are servile. And then the foolish things they try to do! You are familiar with the Peace Conference⁠—generals and admirals spending weeks in uniform with swords at their sides to determine how to stop fighting, as if there were anything to do but to stop! I believe they had the grace to turn the war pictures in the conference room to the wall. But fancy sending butchers to a conference in the interests of vegetarianism! Of course nothing was done or could be done there. And the Emperor in his uniform, drunk with militarism, wanted us⁠—all our nation⁠—wanted me⁠—to kowtow before him as if he were a god! But he did not get what he wanted from us. His own people may grovel before him, but we will not. Oh, these soldiers, these soldiers! You look down on your hangmen and butchers. We look down on our men-butchers, the soldiers, in the same way. We have soldiers just as you have police, but it is a low calling with us, and most people would be ashamed to have a soldier in the family. Pardon me, my dear sirs. Perhaps I have spoken too plainly. I mean nothing personal, but when I think of these wars, I can not control my tongue. Good night.”

So saying, the attaché gathered up his robes and went below.

“Queer chap,” said Sam. “He must be crazy.”

“We’ve treated them rather badly, though,” said Cleary. “I’m glad Taffy hasn’t had any executions, but our minister and all the rest have been insisting on executions of their big people, and no one talks of executing any of ours, although they have suffered ten times as much as we have.”

“You forget how the affair began,” said Sam. “Suppose the Porsslanese had sent us missionaries to teach us their religion, and these missionaries had gradually got possession of land and also some local power of governing, and then we had ruthlessly murdered some of them and they had seized all our ports for the purpose of benefiting us, do you suppose that we would have risen like those miserable Fencers and massacred anybody? It is inconceivable. They have the strangest aversion to foreigners too.”

“Some of them haven’t,” said Cleary. “Chung Tu is a friendly old soul, if he is cracked. He says he believes the Powers have been turned loose on his country to punish them for having invented gunpowder. He laughs at Cope’s inventions. He says his people set the fashion, and then wisely stopped when they found that such inventions did more harm than good. I think they have a right to complain of us. Why, there’s one of our soldiers in the steerage with seventeen of their pigtails with the scalps still fastened to them as trophies! Old Chung says our ribbons and decorations are the equivalent of the scalps dangling at a savage’s belt. I didn’t tell him we had the genuine article. But, come, you had better turn in. You’ll have a hard day tomorrow. I’ve advertised your coming for all I was worth, and if they don’t give you a send-off at St. Kisco, it isn’t my fault. I’m glad you’re well enough to stand it.”

“I’m not as well as I look,” said Sam. “I’ve lost all my nerve. I’m even worrying a little about all my loot in those cases in the hold. It sometimes seems that I oughtn’t to have taken it.”

“What!” cried Cleary. “Well, you are getting squeamish! After all the fellows you’ve killed or had killed, I shouldn’t mind an ornament or two.”

“Killing is a soldier’s main business,” said Sam. “Oh, well, I suppose looting is, too. I won’t think anything more about it. Good night.”

While Sam and his friend were conversing on deck, another conversation which was to have a portentous effect upon the former’s destiny was taking place in the upper corridor of the Peckham Young Ladies’ Seminary at St. Kisco.

“He’s perfectly lovely,” said a young lady, standing barefoot before her door in her nightdress to a group of young ladies similarly attired. “I’ve got his photograph. And I’m not just going to stand still and see him pass. It’s all very well to have the school drawn up in line on the wharf⁠—that’s better than nothing⁠—but I want something more, and I’m going to have it.”

“What will you do, Sally?” they all cried.

“I’m going to kiss him⁠—there!” said she.

“Oh, Sally!”

“Yes, I will too.”

“I believe she will if she says so,” said one of the girls. “She won’t stop at anything. Well, Sally Watson, if you kiss him, I will too.”

“And I!” “And I!” exclaimed the others; but at that moment a step was heard on the stairs, and the Peckham young ladies sought their beds and pretended very hard to be asleep, although their hearts were thumping against their ribs at the mere thought of their daring resolution.

It was at ten o’clock the next morning that the steamer came alongside the wharf. The city was in gala dress and flags waved everywhere. The day was observed almost as a holiday, and many schools permitted their pupils to take part in the procession which awaited the arrival of Captain Jinks, as Sam was now commonly