Active Service - Stephen Crane (librera reader .TXT) 📗

Cheering for Greece And The King.

Officers Stood Upon The Little Iron Chairs In front Of The Cafes; All

The Urchins Came Running and Shouting; Ladies Waved their

Handkerchiefs From The Balconies; The Whole City Was Vivified

With A Leaping and Joyous Enthusiasm. The Athenians--As

Dragomen Or Otherwise-Had Preserved an Ardor For Their

Glorious Traditions,  And It Was As If That In the White Dust Which

Lifted from The Plaza And Floated across The Old-Ivory Face Of The

Palace,  There Were The Souls Of The Capable Soldiers Of The Past.

Coleman Was Almost Intoxicated with It. It Seemed to Celebrate

His Own Reasons,  His Reasons Of Love And Ambition To Conquer

In Love.

 

When The Carriage Arrived in front Of The Hotel D'Angleterre,

Coleman Found The Servants Of The Place With More Than One

Eye Upon The Scene In the Plaza,  But They Soon Paid Heed to The

Arrival Of A Gentleman With Such An Amount Of Beautiful Leather

Luggage,  All Marked boldly With The Initials "R. C." Coleman Let

Them Lead Him And Follow Him And Conduct Him And

Use Bad English Upon Him Without Noting either

Their Words,  Their Salaams Or Their Work. His Mind Had Quickly

Fixed upon The Fact That Here Was The Probable Headquarters Of

The Wainwright Party And,  With The Rush Of His Western Race

Fleeting through His Veins,  He Felt That He Would Choke And Die

If He Did Not Learn Of The Wainwrights In the First Two Minutes. It

Was A Tragic Venture To Attempt To Make The Levantine Mind

Understand Something off The Course,  That The New Arrival'S First

Thought Was To Establish A Knowlege Of The Whereabouts Of

Some Of His Friends Rather Than To Swarm Helter-Skelter Into That

Part Of The Hotel For Which He Was Willing to Pay Rent. In fact He

Failed to Thus Impress Them; Failed in dark Wrath,  But,

Nevertheless,  Failed. At Last He Was Simply Forced to Concede

The Travel Of Files Of Men Up The Broad,  Redcarpeted stair-Case,

Each Man Being loaded with Coleman'S Luggage. The Men In the

Hotel-Bureau Were Then Able To Comprehend That The Foreign

Gentleman Might Have Something else On His Mind. They Raised

Their Eye-Brows Languidly When He Spoke Of The Wainwright

Party In gentle Surprise That He Had Not Yet Learned that They

Were Gone Some Time. They Were Departed on Some Excursion.

Where? Oh,  Really-It Was Almost Laughable,  Indeed-They Didn'T

Know. Were They Sure? Why,  Yes-It Was Almost Laughable,

Indeed -They Were Quite Sure. Where Could The Gentleman Find

Out About Them ? Well,  They-As They Had Explained-Did

Not Know,  But-It Was Possible-The American

Minister Might Know. Where Was He To Be Found? Oh,  That Was

Very Simple. It Was Well Known That The American Minister Had

Apartments In the Hotel. Was He In? Ah,  That They Could Not

Say.

So Coleman,  Rejoicing at His Final Emancipation And With The

Grime Of Travel Still Upon Him,  Burst In somewhat Violently Upon

The Secretary Of The Hon. Thomas M. Gordner Of Nebraska,  The

United states Minister To Greece. From His Desk The Secretary

Arose From Behind An Accidental Bulwark Of Books And

Govermental Pamphets. " Yes,  Certainly. Mr. Gordner Is In. If

You Would Give Me Your Card-"

 

Directly. Coleman Was Introduced into Another Room Where A

Quiet Man Who Was Rolling a Cigarette Looked him Frankly But

Carefully In the Eye. "The Wainwrights " Said The Minister

Immediately After The Question. "Why,  I Myself Am Immensely

Concerned about Them At Present. I'M Afraid They'Ve Gotten

Themselves Into Trouble.'

 

" Really? " Said Coleman.

 

" Yes. That Little Professor Is Ratherer--Stubborn; Isn'T He ?

He Wanted to Make An Expedition To Nikopolis And I Explained

To Him All The Possibilities Of War And Begged him To At Least Not

Take His Wife And Daughter With Him."

 

" Daughter," Murmured coleman,  As If In his Sleep.

 

"But That Little Old Man Had A Head Like A Stone

And Only Laughed at Me. Of Course Those Villainous Young

Students Were Only Too Delighted at A Prospect Of War,  But It

Was A Stupid And Absurd. Thing for The Man To Take His Wife And

Daughter There. They Are Up There Now. I Can'T Get A Word From

Them Or Get A Word To Them."

 

Coleman Had Been Choking. "Where Is Nikopolis? " He Asked.

 

The Minister Gazed suddenly In comprehension Of The Man

Before Him. " Nikopolis Is In turkey," He Answered gently.

 

Turkey At That Time Was Believed to Be A Country Of Delay,

Corruption,  Turbulence And Massacre. It Meant Everything. More

Than A Half Of The Christians Of The World Shuddered at The Name

Of Turkey. Coleman'S Lips Tightened and Perhaps Blanched,  And

His Chin Moved out Strangely,  Once,  Twice,  Thrice. " How Can I

Get To Nikopolis? " He Said.

 

The Minister Smiled. " It Would Take You The Better Part Of

Four Days If You Could Get There,  But As A Matter Of Fact You

Can'T Get There At The Present Time. A Greek Army And A Turkish

Army Are Looking at Each Other From The Sides Of The River At

Arta-The River Is There The Frontier-And Nikopolis Happens To Be

On The Wrong Side. You Can'T Reach Them. The Forces At Arta Will

Fight Within Three Days. I Know It. Of Course I'Ve Notified our

Legation At Constantinople,  But,  With Turkish Methods Of

Communication,  Nikopolis Is About As Far From

Constantinople As New York Is From Pekin."

 

Coleman Arose. "They'Ve Run Themselves Into A Nice Mess,"

He Said Crossly. " Well,  I'M A Thousand Times Obliged to You,  I'M

Sure."

 

The Minister Opened his Eyes A Trifle. You Are Not Going to

Try To Reach Them,  Are You ? "

 

" Yes," Answered coleman,  Abstractedly. " I'M Going to Have A

Try At It. Friends Of Mine,  You Know-"

 

At The Bureau Of The Hotel,  The Correspondent Found Several

Cables Awaiting him From The Alert Office Of The New York Eclipse.

One Of Them Read: "State Department Gives Out Bad Plight Of

Wainwright Party Lost Somewhere; Find Them. Eclipse." When

Coleman Perused the Message He Began To Smile With Seraphic

Bliss. Could Fate Have Ever Been Less Perverse.

 

Whereupon He Whirled himself In athens. And It Was To The

Considerable Astonishment Of Some Athenians. He Discovered

And Instantly Subsidised a Young Englishman Who,  During his

Absence At The Front,  Would Act As Correspondent For The

Eclipse At The Capital. He Took Unto Himself A Dragoman And

Then Bought Three Horses And Hired a Groom At A Speed that

Caused a Little Crowd At The Horse Dealer'S Place To Come Out

Upon The Pavement And Watch This Surprising young Man Ride

Back Toward His Hotel. He Had Already Driven His Dragoman Into

A Curious State Of Oriental Bewilderment And Panic In which He

Could Only Lumber Hastily And Helplessly Here And There,  With

His Face In the Meantime Marked with Agony. Coleman'S Own Field

Equipment Had Been Ordered by Cable From New York To London,  But

It Was Necessary To Buy Much Tinned meats,  Chocolate,  Coffee,

Candles,  Patent Food,  Brandy,  Tobaccos,  Medicine And Other

Things.

 

He Went To Bed that Night Feeling more Placid. The Train Back

To Patras Was To Start In the Early Morning,  And He Felt The

Satisfaction Of A Man Who Is At Last About To Start On His Own

Great Quest. Before He Dropped off To Slumber,  He Heard Crowds

Cheering exultantly In the Streets,  And The Cheering moved him

As It Had Done In the Morning. He Felt That The Celebration Of The

People Was Really An Accompaniment To His Primal Reason,  A

Reason Of Love And Ambition To Conquer In love-Even As In the

Theatre,  The Music Accompanies The Heroin His Progress. He

Arose Once During the Night To Study A Map Of The Balkan

Peninsula And Get Nailed into His Mind The Exact Position Of

Nikopolis. It Was Important.

Chapter 8

Coleman'S Dragoman Aroused him In the Blue Before Dawn.

The Correspondent Arrayed himself In one Of His New Khaki Suits-

Riding breeches And A Tunic Well Marked with Buttoned pockets-

And Accompanied by Some Of His Beautiful Brown Luggage,  They

Departed for The Station.

 

The Ride To Patras Is A Terror Under Ordinary Circumstances. It

Begins In the Early Morning and Ends In the Twilight. To

Coleman,  Having just Come From Patras To Athens,  This Journey

From Athens To Patras Had All The Exasperating elements Of A

Forced recantation. Moreover,  He Had Not Come Prepared to

View With Awe The Ancient City Of Corinth Nor To View With

Admiration The Limpid Beauties Of The Gulf Of That Name With Its

Olive Grove Shore. He Was Not Stirred by Parnassus,  A Far-Away

Snow-Field High On The Black Shoulders Of The Mountains Across

The Gulf. No; He Wished to Go To Nikopolis. He Passed over The

Graves Of An Ancient Race The Gleam Of Whose Mighty Minds

Shot,  Hardly Dimmed,  Through The Clouding ages. No; He Wished

To Go To Nikopolis. The Train Went At A Snail'S Pace,  And If

Coleman Bad An Interest It Was In the People Who Lined the Route

And Cheered the Soldiers On The Train. In coleman S Compartment There Was A

Greasy Person Who Spoke A Little English. He Explained that He

Was A Poet,  A Poet Who Now Wrote Of Nothing but War. When A

Man Is In pursuit Of His Love And Success Is Known To Be At Least

Remote,  It Often Relieves His Strain If He Is Deeply Bored from Time

To Time.

 

The Train Was Really Obliged to Arrive Finally At Patras Even If It

Was A Tortoise,  And When This Happened,  A Hotel Runner

Appeared,  Who Lied for The Benefit Of The Hotel In saying that

There Was No Boat Over To Mesalonghi That Night. When,  All Too

Late,  Coleman Discovered the Truth Of The Matter His Wretched

Dragoman Came In for A Period Of Infamy And Suffering.

However,  While Strolling in the Plaza At Patras,  Amid Newsboys

From Every Side,  By Rumour And Truth,  Coleman Learned things To

His Advantage. A Greek Fleet Was Bombarding prevasa. Prevasa

Was Near Nikopolis. The Opposing armies At Arta Were

Engaged,  Principally In an Artillery Duel. Arta Was On The Road From

Nikopolis Into Greece. Hearing this News In the Sunlit Square

Made Him Betray No Weakness,  But In the Darkness Of His Room

At The Hotel,  He Seemed to Behold Marjory Encircled by

Insurmountable Walls Of Flame. He Could Look Out Of His Window

Into The Black Night Of The North And Feel Every Ounce Of A

Hideous Circumstance. It Appalled him; Here Was No Power Of

Calling up A Score Of Reporters And Sending them Scampering to

Accomplish Everything. He Even Might As Well Have Been Without

A Tongue As Far As It Could Serve Him In goodly Speech. He Was

Alone,  Confronting the Black Ominous Turkish North Behind Which

Were The Deadly Flames; Behind The Flames Was Marjory. It Worked

Upon Him Until He Felt Obliged to Call In his Dragoman,  And Then, 

Seated upon The Edge Of His Bed and Waving his Pipe Eloquently,  He

Described the Plight Of Some Very Dear Friends Who Were Cut Off At

Nikopolis In epirus. Some Of His Talk Was Almost Wistful In its Wish

For Sympathy From His Servant,  But At The End He Bade The Dragoman

Understand That Be,  Coleman,  Was Going to Their Rescue,  And He

Defiantly Asked the Hireling if He Was Prepared to Go With Him.

But He Did Not Know The Greek Nature. In two Minutes The

Dragoman Was Weeping tears Of Enthusiasm,  And,  For These Tears,

Coleman Was Over-Grateful,  Because He Had Not Been Told That

Any Of The More Crude Forms Of Sentiment Arouse The Common

Greek To The Highest Pitch,  But Sometimes,  When It Comes To

What The Americans Call A "Show Down," When He Gets Backed

Toward His Last Corner With A Solitary Privilege Of Dying for These

Sentiments,  Perhaps He Does Not Always Exhibit Those Talents

Which Are Supposed to Be Possessed by The Bulldog. He Often

Then,  Goes Into The Cafes And Take'S It Out In oration,  Like

Any Common Parisian.

 

In The Morning a Steamer Carried them Across The

Strait And Landed them Near Mesalonghi At The Foot Of The

Railroad That Leads To Agrinion. At Agrinion Coleman At Last

Began To Feel That He Was Nearing his Goal. There Were Plenty Of

Soldiers