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Updated: May 8, 2025
"Not yet, thank God. We must steer clear of camp, if the thing can be done. But the fever's bad enough. They're dropping like flies in the city, poor devils. Our hospital's crammed; and two 'subs' on the sick-list at well as Wyndham. He's going on all right now; but goodness knows when he'll be fit for duty." "I want to see Mackay about getting him over here as soon as possible.
The Presbyterian Church of Canada had never yet sent out a missionary to a foreign land, and some of the good old men bade George Mackay stay at home and preach the gospel there. But as usual he conquered. Every one saw he would be a great missionary if he were only given a chance.
Shaking with chills and then burning with fever, he was placed in a sedan-chair and carried the remainder of the way, three days' journey, to the coast, where the medical attendants on board his ship cured him. Mackay was feeling desperately ill all the way across the plain, but with his usual determination he refused to give in until he almost staggered across the threshold of his home.
Let us put it so. But these resignations are sometimes very trying. At length, after having delighted us for hours, he took himself away from the companion; and I could ask Mackay who and what he was. "That?" said Mackay. "Why, that's one of the stowaways." "No man," said the same authority, "who has had anything to do with the sea, would ever think of paying for a passage."
"Here is my revolver," said Captain Mackay, "let the contents of it be put through me if one of them should be injured." Well did Mr. Heron in his able speech, referring to these facts, say, "Though they were rebels who acted that heroic part, who could say their hearts, were not animated with the courage of Leonidas, and the chivalry of Bayard."
And in all that chaotic hurry of preparation, three other things only, but those with clear distinctness now, I remember. The first and chief is that tempest of words which I heard at Kensington from that big-mouthed Mackay on the Sunday night. What was it that led me, busy as I was, to that chapel that night? Well, perhaps I know.
"Last night," he volunteered, "we made everything up and she was as affectionate as she ever had been. This morning she was cool, but I could tell it was pretense and so I let her alone." "There has been no real trouble between you?" The leading man met Kennedy's gaze squarely. "Not a bit!" Kennedy turned to Mackay. "Mr. Shirley," he ordered.
Mackay was invited to bring his family and his valuables and come on board the vessel to be the guest of the captain until the disturbance was over. It was a most kindly invitation and Dr. Mackay shook his visitor's hand warmly as he thanked him. He turned and translated the message to his students, and their hearts stood still with dismay.
But all thoughts of him and his intentions were quickly banished from my mind the moment I looked around me, and saw and heard all the bustle going on in the ship; for, men were racing here and there, and ropes were being thrown down with heavy bangs, the captain and Mr Mackay both on the poop were yelling out queer orders that I couldn't understand, and Mr Saunders and the boatswain on the forecastle were also shouting back equally strange answers, while, to add to the effect, blocks were creaking and canvas flapping aloft, and groups of sailors everywhere were hauling and pulling as if their lives depended on every tug they gave.
And traveling in this army that seemed to march before Lane's eyes were the slackers, like Mackay and Swann, representative of that horde of cowards who in one way or another had avoided the service the young men who put comfort, ease, safety, pleasure before all else who had no ideal of womanhood who could not have protected women who would not fight to save women from the apish Huns who remained behind to fall in the wreck of the war's degeneration, and to dance, to drink, to smoke, to ride the women to their debasement.
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