The Washington herald., 1916-07-10

Far from the sound of guns and artil-
lery and far behind the trenches there S
long, quiet fight going on. It's a fight
with loneliness and anxiety, with stern
economy and the overwhelming sorrow
that comes to those whose loved ones are
/ lying on some nameless battlefield.
/ have watched this unrecorded strug-
gle waging in the hills and gIens OF bon
ME Scotland. in the lonely islands of the
western Hebrides and in the moorland
tracts Of Ireland. l have seen IL stirring
in the Yorkshire dales and in the sweet,
fiower-scented lanes of Devon. I have
heard 1t in the sound of Celtic voices
that only speak the Gaelic and in the
curious patois of French tongues.
I The spirit and the meaning were the
same, though sometimes the expression
varied. 1t was like the music of vio.
I loncello, with courage for the main
\ theme and pain the undercurrent For
so. says the poet, "as in all sweetest
music, a tinge of sadness was In every
note"
Over in Flanders, / saw delightful lit
| tie orchard laden with a foam of pink
and white. Their scent was wonderful
The birds were iuttering among the bios.
SONS, singing their little hearts out in ar
ecstasy But the cottages stood empty
| And when l saw the ruined hearthstones
and the desolation that the German guns
had made it seemed as though the birds
| song was chant of death.
| Spring clambered riotously over the
| battlefield of the Marne. too. where Won
| Kluck made his memorable retreat. But
| there were dreadful spots where not a
single flower would grow and, drawing
| nearer. I saw the reason why. These
great white circles were the German fu.
neral pyres. where the assembled dead
I LaI 49, La 81
soaked in paraffin, had blazed up till the
very sky grew red. Among the ashes
and the lime one even yet could sec
| fragments of bone.
! 1t was in a big French hospital that
the tragedy OF those who wait was shown
me clearly. A Scottish Highlander had
been brought in. very badly wounded. He
was delirious and babbled half in Gaelic
half in English. His talk was all OF
green pastures and heathery hillsides, oi
certain misty island where the sea
whirled into deep. quiet pools among
/ the rocks. There was a solitary shiel.
ing" too, that he was homesick fol
and that he talked about necessarily
90 'Tis lonely that I am, whateffer, and
me so far from home" he would mur.
muir reproachfully to the doctors during
his few moments OF coherent speech
and It's my mother all by herself ir
/ the llllt SlltlltlB On the tIlOOTS lIldI VIII
! be missing me so ferry badly"
| On a wonderful spring evening. wher
the air was heavy with the scent Of
! flowers, well-known French surgeon
stopped beside the HighIander's bed. He
! looked compassionately at the boyisf
face. at the fine. dark eyes so brilliant
with fever, and the thin, worn hands
that gripped the bedclothes restlessly. Il
| did not need his professional eye to see
/ hot ha 81 % ,g,,rr
low. rs there anything I can do to ease
the pain. my boy?" he asked. But the
| Highlander did not hear the words. Ht
had drifted to the borders of that
! shadowy land where human sounds art
dulled, and human. voices only echc
family and with little meaning.
What's this" said the doctor. "What
talk is this of pools and rocks and misty
islands. or rivers where the young sprina
salmon are leaping up the falls? I'm
fisherman myself, and want to hear abou
lit"
But he is delirious, lie pauvre garcon,
said the little French nurse quickly
and 'tis OF his so-distant home ant
madame. his good mother, that h.
speaks"
Send for her at once. then" whisper
ed the doctor. She'll surely come if she
wants to see her son before he dies"
/
folk, and poor
The doctor frowned. The moneys Z
mere trife-we can cable it across to.
night. The boy wants her. She must
come"
She came-a queer. oId-fashioned. start.
! led little figure straight from her sea.
| girt island in the western Hebrides II
was the first time she had ever left the
island. She knew no word Of English
! N0r - hV,N
| ports were in order and her destination
was written on a label round her neck
Kind friends had helped her on the Jour.
ney.
/ She had no eyes for any one but the
dying Highlander She held him in her
! thin little arms. grading his head against
/ her shoulder as though he were a baby
once again and grooming gentle terms OF
I endearment over him. 1t was a most
pathetic sight. He made no sign of rec
ognition, though a contented look stole
over his patn-wOrn face
| Then suddenly a curious thing oc-
CURED. The dying Highlander opened his
eyes, and his glance lighted on a great
! bunch of bluebells that his mother had
| carried all the way from Scotland
'Tis the flowers OF the forest" he said.
| They will be reminding me OF the old
! song" And in weak. yet clear, fine
( NDlNCs llS sang llit uESl verse or that
finest OF all Highland laments written
/ so long ago for soldiers fallen in battle
until its end:
Now there's mosning
On ilka green loarinr.
/ The Flowers O. the Forest are all wede
away"
But it's taking them with that I am
ne said clutching the bluebells tightly,
! land It's wishing could take you on the
/ journey, too, mother"
| Then he leaned back on her shoulder
/ sighed, and very peacefully fell asleep -
! Was it the sweet spring air that stirred
| the bluebells drosy heads. or the pass
! ing of that weary spirit to Valhalla? We
who were watching wondered
! They buried HIM, with his bluebells
near Versailles And the little Highland
mother wended her lonely way back to
the solitary shieling and the misty ISL
and where the sea foams in the rocks
! The long, quiet fight lay all before her
| but her heart she left behind in France
and near Versailles.
Everywhere one goes there's a. long,
| long list of those who are waiting for the
men that never will return. They plod
| along the old routine. but all the glad