Dancing in the street followed at
6 p.m., and was kept up with spirit for some hours, during which
a large quantity of beer was given away."
The Major lay in the next room--the casualty ward--and stared up at
the whitewashed ceiling.
His whole being ached as though, mind and body, he had been set
upon and beaten senseless with bladders. And this was the second
time! Yes--good heavens, how had he deserved it?--the second time!
He remembered, after the disaster off Boulogne--many days after--
awaking to consciousness in his prison bed in the fortress of Givet.
Then, as now, he had lain staring, his whole soul sickened by the
cruel jar of the jest. Hand of fate, was it? Nay, a jocose and
blundering finger, rather, that had flipped him, as a man might flip
a beetle, into the night. Then, as now, his soul had welled up in
sullen indignation. He blamed no one; for in all the stupid chapter
of accidents there was no one to blame. But when the Protestant
chaplain in Givet came to his bed he turned his face to the wall.
He refused to give his name. He did not understand this blind
malevolence of fate, but he would make no terms with it. He--Solomon
Hymen--had a will of his own and a proper pride. If the world chose
to use him so, after all his services to mankind, let it go and be
damned to it. I tell you, the man had courage.
If his friends at home valued him, let them seek him out.
Pages:
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257