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Chapter 9

 

The Same Afternoon Coleman And The Dragoman Rode Up To

Arta On Their Borrowed troop Horses. The Correspondent First

Went To The Telegraph Office And Found There The Usual Number

Of Despairing clerks. They Were Outraged when They Found He

Was Going to Send Messages And Thought It Preposterous That

He Insisted upon Learning if There Were Any In the Office For Him.

They Had Trouble Enough With Endless Official Communications

Without Being hounded about Private Affairs By A Confident

Young Man In khaki. But Coleman At Last Unearthed six

Cablegrams Which Collective Said That The Eclipse Wondered why

They Did Not Hear From Him,  That Walkley Had Been Relieved from

Duty In london And Sent To Join The Army Of The

Crown Prince,  That Young Point,  The Artist,  Had Been

Shipped to Greece,  That If He,  Coleman,  Succeeded in

Finding the Wainwright Party The Paper Was Prepared

To Make A Tremendous Uproar Of A Celebration Over It

And,  Finally,  The Paper Wondered twice More Why They

Did Not Hear From Him.

 

When Coleman Went Forth To Enquire If Anybody Knew Of The

Whereabouts Of The Wainwright Party He Thought First Of His

Fellow Correspondents. He Found

Most Of Them In a Cafe Where Was To Be Had About The Only Food

In The Soldier-Laden Town. It Was A Slothful Den Where Even An

Ordinary Boiled egg Could Be Made Unpalatable. Such A Common

Matter As The Salt Men Watched with Greed and Suspicion As If

They Were Always About To Grab It From Each Other. The

Proprietor,  In a Dirty Shirt,  Could Always Be Heard Whining,

Evidently Telling the World That He Was Being abused,  But He Had

Spirit Enough Remaining to Charge Three Prices For Everything

With An Almost Jewish Fluency.

 

The Correspondents Consoled themselves Largely Upon Black -

Bread And The Native Wines. Also There Were Certain Little Oiled

Fishes,  And Some Green Odds And Ends For Salads. The

Correspondents Were Practically All Englishmen. Some Of Them

Were Veterans Of Journalism In the Sudan,  In india,  In south

Africa; And There Were Others Who Knew As Much Of War As They

Could Learn By Sitting at A Desk And Editing the London Stock

Reports. Some Were On Their Own Hook; Some Had Horses And

Dragomen And Some Had Neither The One Nor The Other; Many

Knew How To Write And A Few Had It Yet To Learn. The Thing in

Common Was A Spirit Of Adventure Which Found Pleasure In the

Extraordinary Business Of Seeing how Men Kill Each Other.

 

They Were Talking of An Artillery Duel Which Had Been Fought

The Previous Day Between The Greek Batteries Above The Town

And The Turkish Batteries Across The River. Coleman

Took Seat At One Of The Long Tables,  And The

Astute Dragoman Got Somebody In the Street To Hold The Horses

In Order That He Might Be Present At Any Feasting.

 

One Of The Experienced correspondents Was Remarking that

The Fire Of The Greek Batteries In the Engagement Had Been The

Finest Artillery Practice Of The Century. He Spoke A Little Loudly,

Perhaps,  In the Wistful Hope That Some Of The Greek Officers

Would Understand Enough English To Follow His Meaning,  For It

Is Always Good For A Correspondent To Admire The Prowess On

His Own Side Of The Battlefield. After A Time Coleman Spoke In a

Lull,  And Describing the Supposed misfortunes Of The

Wainwright Party,  Asked if Anyone Had News Of Them. The

Correspondents Were Surprised; They Had None Of Them Heard

Even Of The Existence Of A Wainwright Party. Also None Of Them

Seemed to Care Exceedingly. The Conversation Soon Changed to

A Discussion Of The Probable Result Of The General Greek

Advance Announced for The Morrow.

 

Coleman Silently Commented that This Remarkable Appearance

Of Indifference To The Mishap Of The Wainwrights,  A Little Party,  A

Single Group,  Was A Better Definition Of A Real Condition Of War

Than That Bit Of Long-Range Musketry Of The Morning. He Took A

Certain Despatch Out Of His Pocket And Again Read It. " Find

Wainwright Party At All Hazards; Much Talk Here; Success

Means Red fire By Ton. Eclipse." It

Was An Important Matter. He Could Imagine How The American

People,  Vibrating for Years To Stories Of The Cruelty Of The Turk,

Would Tremble-Indeed,  Was Now Trembling-While The

Newspapers Howled out The Dire Possibilities. He Saw All The

Kinds Of People,  From Those Who Would Read The Wainwright

Chapters From Day To Day As A Sort Of Sensational Novel,  To

Those Who Would Work Up A Gentle Sympathy For The Woe Of

Others Around The Table In the Evenings. He Saw Bar Keepers

And Policemen Taking a High Gallery Thrill Out Of This Kind Of

Romance. He Saw Even The Emotion Among American Colleges

Over The Tragedy Of A Professor And Some Students. It

Certainly Was A Big Affair. Marjory Of Course Was Everything in

One Way,  But That,  To The World,  Was Not A Big Affair. It Was The

Romance Of The Wainwright Party In its Simplicity That To The

American World Was Arousing great Sensation; One That In the

Old Days Would Have Made His Heart Leap Like A Colt.

 

Still,  When Batteries Had Fought Each Other Savagely,  And

Horse,  Foot And Guns Were Now About To Make A General

Advance,  It Was Difficult,  He Could See,  To Stir Men To Think And

Feel Out Of The Present Zone Of Action; To Adopt For A Time In fact

The Thoughts And Feelings Of The Other Side Of The World. It Made

Coleman Dejected as He Saw Clearly That The Task Was Wholly On

His Own Shoulders.

 

Of Course They Were Men Who When At Home

Manifested the Most Gentle And Wide-Reaching feelings; Most Of

Them Could Not By Any Possibility Have Slapped a Kitten Merely

For The Prank And Yet All Of Them Who Had Seen An Unknown

Man Shot Through The Head In battle Had Little More To Think Of It

Than If The Man Had Been A Rag-Baby. Tender They Might Be;

Poets They Might Be; But They Were All Horned with A

Provisional,  Temporary,  But Absolutely Essential Callouse Which

Was Formed by Their Existence Amid War With Its Quality Of

Making them Always Think Of The Sights And Sounds Concealed

In Their Own Direct Future.

 

They Had Been Simply Polite. " Yes ? " Said One To Coleman.

"How Many People In the Party? Are They All Americans? Oh,  I

Suppose It Will Be Quite Right. Your Minister In constantinople

Will Arrange That Easily. Where Did You Say? At Nikopolis?

Well,  We Conclude That The Turks Will Make No Stand Between

Here And Pentepigadia. In that Case Your Nikopolis Will Be

Uncovered unless The Garrison At Prevasa Intervenes. That

Garrison At Prevasa,  By The Way,  May Make A Deal Of Trouble.

Remember Plevna."

 

" Exactly How Far Is It To Nikopolis? " Asked coleman.

 

" Oh,  I Think It Is About Thirty Kilometers," Replied the

Others. " There Is A Good Miltary Road As Soon As You Cross The

Louros River. I'Ve Got The Map Of The Austrian General Staff.

Would You Like To Look At It?"

 

Coleman Studied the Map,  Speeding with His Eye Rapidly To

And Fro Between Arta And Nikopolis. To Him It Was Merely A

Brown Lithograph Of Mystery,  But He Could Study The Distances.

 

He Had Received a Cordial Invitation From The Com-

Mander Of The Cavalry To Go With Him For Another Ride

Into Turkey,  And He Inclined to Believe That His Project

Would Be Furthered if He Stuck Close To The Cavalry. So

He Rode Back To The Cavalry Camp And Went

Peacefully To Sleep On The Sod. He Awoke In the

Morning with Chattering teeth To Find His Dragoman

Saying that The Major Had Unaccountably Withdrawn

His Loan Of The Two Troop Horses. Coleman Of Course

Immediately Said To Himself That The Dragoman Was

Lying a-Gain In order To Prevent Another Expedition

Into Ominous Turkey,  But After All If The Commander, 

Of The Cavalry Had Suddenly Turned the Light Of His

Favour From The Correspondent It Was Only A Proceeding

Consistent With The Nature Which Coleman Now

Thought He Was Beginning to Discern,  A Nature Which

Can Never Think Twice In the Same Place,  A Gageous

Mind Which Drifts,  Dissolves,  Combines,  Vanishes With

The Ability Of An Aerial Thing until The Man Of The

North Feels That When He Clutches It With Full Knowledge Of His

Senses He Is Only The Victim Of His Ardent

Imagination. It Is The Difference In standards,  In

Creeds,  Which Is The More Luminous When Men Call Out That

They Are All Alike.

 

So Coleman And His Dragoman Loaded their Traps And Moved

Out To Again Invade Turkey. It Was Not Yet Clear Daylight,  But

They Felt That They Might Well Start Early Since They Were No

Longer Mounted men.

 

On The Way To The Bridge,  The Dragoman,  Although He Was

Curiously In love With His Forty Francs A Day And His

Opportunities,  Ventured a Stout Protest,  Based apparently Upon

The Fact That After All This Foreigner,  Four Days Out From Athens

Was Somewhat At His Mercy. " Meester Coleman," He Said,

Stopping suddenly,  " I Think We Make No Good If We Go There.

Much Better We Wait Arta For Our Horse. Much Better. I Think

This No Good. There Is Coming one Big Fight And I Think Much

Better We Go Stay Arta. Much Better."

 

" Oh,  Come Off," Said Coleman. And In clear Language He

Began To Labour With The Man. " Look Here,  Now,  If You Think

You Are Engaged in steering a Bunch Of Wooden-Headed guys

About The Acropolis,  My Dear Partner Of My Joys And Sorrows,

You Are Extremely Mistaken. As A Matter Of Fact You Are Now The

Dragoman Of A War Correspondent And You Were Engaged and

Are Paid To Be One. It Becomes Necessary That You Make Good.

Make Good,  Do You Understand? I'M Not Out Here To Be Buncoed

By This Sort Of Game."  He Continued indefinitely In this Strain

And At Intervals He Asked sharply Do You Understand ?

 

Perhaps The Dragoman Was Dumbfounded that The Laconic

Coleman Could On Occasion Talk So Much,  Or Perhaps He

Understood Everything and Was Impressed by The

Argumentative Power. At Any Rate He Suddenly Wilted. He Made

A Gesture Which Was A Protestation Of Martyrdom And Picking up

His Burden Proceeded on His Way.

 

When They Reached the Bridge,  They Saw Strong Columns Of

Greek Infantry,  Dead Black In the Dim Light,  Crossing the Stream

And Slowly Deploying on The Other Shore. It Was A Bracing sight

To The Dragoman,  Who Then Went Into One Of His Absurd

Babbling moods,  In which He Would Have Talked the Head Off

Any Man Who Was Not Born In a Country Laved by The Childish

Mediterranean. Coleman Could Not Understand What He Said To

The Soldiers As They Passed,  But It Was Evidently All Grandiose

Nonsense.

 

Two Light Batteries Had Precariously Crossed the Rickety

Bridge During the Night,  And Now This Force Of Several Thousand

Infantry,  With The Two Batteries,  Was Moving out Over The

Territory Which The Cavalry Had Reconnoitered on The Previous

Day. The Ground Being familiar To Coleman,  He No Longer Knew A

Tremour,  And,  Regarding his Dragoman,  He Saw That That

Invaluable Servitor Was Also In better Form. They Marched until

They Found One Of The Light Batteries Unlimbered and Aligned on

The Lake Of Grass About A Mile From Where Parts Of The White

House Appeared above The Tree-Tops. Here The Dragoman Talked

With The Captain Of Artillery,  A Tiny Man On An Immense Horse,

Who For Some Unknown Reason Told Him That This Force Was Going

To Raid Into Turkey And Try To Swing around The Opposing army'S

Right Flank. He Announced,  As He Showed his Teeth In a Smile,

That It Would Be Very,  Very Dangerous Work. The Dragoman

Precipitated himself Upon Coleman.

 

" This Is Much Danger. The Copten He Tell Me The Trups Go

Now In back Of The Turks. It Will Be Much Danger. I Think Much

Better We Go Arta Wait For Horse. Much Better." Coleman,

Although Be Believed he Despised the Dragoman,  Could Not Help

But Be Influenced by His Fears. They Were,  So To Speak,  In a

Room With One Window,  And Only The Dragoman Looked forth

From The Window,  So If He Said That What He Saw Outside

Frightened him,  Coleman