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Perhaps no incident of the great world war will be more indelibly imprinted on the British mind than this. Many thousands of young Englishmen who had hitherto held back rushed to join the colors. "Edith Cavell Recruiting Meetings" were held all over the United Kingdom. A great national memorial service was held in St.
Nursing in Brussels had been conducted hitherto by Roman Catholic Sisters of Mercy, and at first they were inclined to look upon Miss Cavell as an untrained outsider, but her tact, efficiency and skill soon won the hearts of these good women, who afforded her every courtesy and entered into cordial cooperation with her.
Awe-struck, adoring her, and scarcely daring to breathe lest she vanish, he got slowly to his feet. "Edith Cavell!" he whispered. "Edith Cavell!" echoed Father Pat. "'Twas her dyin' that helped manny " "It's time to go," she said softly. "Tell the Father good-by." Dutifully he turned to take that last farewell.
A good Englishman honour for ever to his name! jumped into the water, swam a quarter of a mile, and, by heaven's grace, escaped the wicked sea-tigers and saved the unhappy distraught woman. That man's name is Cavell: and I think of "nobility" in connection with him, and not in connection with the manikins who rush over Epsom Downs.
Eight batteries searching for something they can't find, along a trench in which you have to be, leaves the elephant hunter's most desperate tale a little dull and insipid. Not that Fritz Groedenschasser knew anything about elephant hunting: he hated all things sporting, and cordially approved of the execution of Nurse Cavell. And there was thermite too.
"And there was somethin' else wonderful happened," the boy declared. And told about Edith Cavell. "She was jus' like she was alive! All in white. And white hair. Only I couldn't see where she'd been hit by the bullets." "No, dear old fellow," returned Mr. Perkins. "That wasn't Edith Cavell. That was the trained nurse, or maybe a Sister of Mercy anyhow, some one who was waiting on the Father."
It has recoiled in disgust from the invasion of Belgium, the sinking of the Lusitania, the shooting of Edith Cavell, from the wanton destruction of monuments. All these barbarities are indisputable facts, which may be explained and extenuated, but cannot be denied.
He asked me why public opinion in America was against Germany, and I answered that matters like the Cavell case had made a bad impression in America and that I knew personally that even the Kaiser did not approve of the torpedoing of the Lusitania. The Chancellor said, "How about the Baralong?"
And this, not the glorious death of a martyr which makes thousands of converts and shines all over the world, not the death of Nurse Cavell, but the anonymous death of X.Y.Z., the death of hundreds and hundreds of unknown heroes who will die under the whip or in the darkness of their cells in the German prison camps.
"Knowed a feller oncet Jim Smith a snake! a bald-haided buzzard! a pole-cat!" Johnnie was staring at the floor. "John Blake!" he said under his breath. "O' course! Me! 'Cause it sounds all right, some way, and Smith never did! Not John Smith, but John Blake!" "Johnnie," went on the Father, "I told the dear two o' ye the story o' Edith Cavell. And ye thought that story grand, which it is.
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