Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1918-03-12
CONTINUED Prom last Issue)

- WAS awakened suddenly out of a
sound sleep by a light, apollo
getic and yet insistent knock at
my door. 1t was clock on Satur-
day, the 1st of August. | got up,
opened the door and there stood
Omer in uniform, the rough blue
tunic, the linen pantaloons and the
little bonnet de police. He stood at
attention, his hand at the salute.
"C'est la guerre, excellence!" CIT
is war, your eXcellency!"D
The words, of course, were super
fiuous. Omer, standing there ready to
depart, was the first living symbol of
the things we had feared for a week.
He was in a hurry; he had to get to
town, report, and go to Liege at once.
| fumbled through my clothes, gave
him all the money l had, while he
told me the latest news the Germans
had invaded the Grand Duchy of Lux
embourg and were throwing down
the bridges. l told him l might have
him excused, but no.
"Je ferai non devoir,' he said. CT
will do my duty.")
| shook his hand, he smiled in the
tender, gentle way he had, and went
down stairs and was gone.
l dressed, had my tea, and gave
the order to move back to town. All
day the servants were packing up
and late in the afternoon we were
ready to leave the lovely spot where
We had spent two such happy months.
l gathered together my papers, the
MS. of my novel, beginning to attain
a respectable size. / put it in a dis
patch box and went across the hall
to see if had left anything-to have
that last look with which we will
stab ourselves in moments of de-
parture.
l found Nell in the great open win
dow looking over the trees toward
Tervueren, it's little red roofs warm
in the sun. She was in tears.
my poor little Tervueren!" she
said.
We drove into town, the two moth
ers and l, the motor piled with bags,
little silk American flag that Eu-
gene had fastened there futtered
from the car. We passed some
moutned troops in the Avenue Ter
vueren. Mobilization was we'll under
way then! At the Cinquantenaire
there was such movement and hustle;
the authorities were already requisi-
tioning motors, and parking them
there. We made a detour around
into the Rue Belliard and so on to
the legation.
A Significant Incident
Among the things l had hurriedly
swept off my writing table into the
dispatch box-it is an insignificant
incident, but there are those who will
understand it-were two little books
that l do not like ever to have far
from the reach of my hand; they re-
spond to two widely differing moods.
One of them was copy of "A Shrop-
shire Lad" the other small volume
bound in red leather, of Marcus Azure
Illus. l opened it, at hazard, and my
eyes lighted on these words:
Like soldier and a Roman, hav-
ing taken his post"
1 speak of this, not to inmate that
there was anything of the Roman,
then or ever, in me, but because these
words in the moment were a tonic
for human weakness, facing a task
of which the only thing 1 knew was
that it would be hard, and that was
unprepared for it. l kept repeating
them to myself as we drove through
the noble forest, that wore that aft
ernoon the mysterious beauty. of
loved things beheld for the last time
so it seemed to us in that moment.
looked at those two sweet old wom-
en- in the motor with me; they had
lived through one war in their youth
and they faced this latest war with
the serenity of those advanced years
which gave them the exemption of a
detachment. / could envy them.
Like a soldier and a Roman, hav-
ing taken his post"-those words
came down to me out of the old
Pagan world, were in my mind when
| saw those cavalrymen trotting
westward under the trees along the
Avenue Tervueren; they were asso-
ciated, too, with the thought of
Omer, who had refused the privilege
that his attachment at a neutral
legation might have gained him.
Brave, gentle Omer! His example
was not without it's force and effect
Americans In Panic
At the legation there were
crowds of Americans in panic. What
to do? Well, one thing at a time,
doucement, as the French say. And
try to comfort, to reassure. How
many days, how many nights, it
was to be my lot to do that when
my own heart was sinkingi
1t was late before the others
came in from the country; too late
to dine at the legation, and we
went down to the restaurant de la
Monnaie. The dim familiar streets
seemed strangely deserted, and yet,
almost palpably panic fear stalked
through them. There were not many
in the restaurant; near us at a lit
tie table sat a man with his bottle
of burgundy beside his plate, scowl-
ing at his newspaper, with dark looks
of preoccupation and concern. Be-
side him, his wife, a buxom Bruxel-
loise, glancing about, waiting until
her lord should finish reading the
dispatches, one of these calm scenes
of Brussels domesticity, somewhat
reassuring by its mere normality. l
remember, too, that we were CRATE
fully surprised when our money
was taken without question, for the