Kabanata Kabanata 43 · THE BATTLE OF THE SAND BELT

THE BATTLE OF THE SAND BELT

In Merlin's Cave--Clarence and I and fifty-two fresh, bright,

well-educated, clean-minded young British boys. At dawn I sent

an order to the factories and to all our great works to stop

operations and remove all life to a safe distance, as everything

was going to be blown up by secret mines, “_and no telling at what

moment--therefore, vacate at once_.” These people knew me, and

had confidence in my word. They would clear out without waiting

to part their hair, and I could take my own time about dating the

explosion. You couldn't hire one of them to go back during the

century, if the explosion was still impending.

We had a week of waiting. It was not dull for me, because I was

writing all the time. During the first three days, I finished

turning my old diary into this narrative form; it only required

a chapter or so to bring it down to date. The rest of the week

I took up in writing letters to my wife. It was always my habit

to write to Sandy every day, whenever we were separate, and now

I kept up the habit for love of it, and of her, though I couldn't

do anything with the letters, of course, after I had written them.

But it put in the time, you see, and was almost like talking;

it was almost as if I was saying, “Sandy, if you and Hello-Central

were here in the cave, instead of only your photographs, what

good times we could have!” And then, you know, I could imagine

the baby goo-gooing something out in reply, with its fists in its

mouth and itself stretched across its mother's lap on its back,

and she a-laughing and admiring and worshipping, and now and then

tickling under the baby's chin to set it cackling, and then maybe

throwing in a word of answer to me herself--and so on and so on

--well, don't you know, I could sit there in the cave with my pen,

and keep it up, that way, by the hour with them. Why, it was

almost like having us all together again.

I had spies out every night, of course, to get news. Every report

made things look more and more impressive. The hosts were gathering,

gathering; down all the roads and paths of England the knights were

riding, and priests rode with them, to hearten these original

Crusaders, this being the Church's war. All the nobilities, big

and little, were on their way, and all the gentry. This was all

as was expected. We should thin out this sort of folk to such

a degree that the people would have nothing to do but just step

to the front with their republic and--

Ah, what a donkey I was! Toward the end of the week I began to get

this large and disenchanting fact through my head: that the mass

of the nation had swung their caps and shouted for the republic for

about one day, and there an end! The Church, the nobles, and

the gentry then turned one grand, all-disapproving frown upon them

and shriveled them into sheep! From that moment the sheep had

begun to gather to the fold--that is to say, the camps--and offer

their valueless lives and their valuable wool to the “righteous

cause.” Why, even the very men who had lately been slaves were

in the “righteous cause,” and glorifying it, praying for it,

sentimentally slabbering over it, just like all the other commoners.

Imagine such human muck as this; conceive of this folly!

Yes, it was now “Death to the Republic!” everywhere--not a dissenting

voice. All England was marching against us! Truly, this was more

than I had bargained for.

I watched my fifty-two boys narrowly; watched their faces, their

walk, their unconscious attitudes: for all these are a language

--a language given us purposely that it may betray us in times of

emergency, when we have secrets which we want to keep. I knew

that that thought would keep saying itself over and over again

in their minds and hearts, _All England is marching against us!_

and ever more strenuously imploring attention with each repetition,

ever more sharply realizing itself to their imaginations, until

even in their sleep they would find no rest from it, but hear

the vague and flitting creatures of the dreams say, _All England_

--ALL ENGLAND!--_is marching against you_! I knew all this would

happen; I knew that ultimately the pressure would become so great

that it would compel utterance; therefore, I must be ready with an

answer at that time--an answer well chosen and tranquilizing.

I was right. The time came. They HAD to speak. Poor lads, it

was pitiful to see, they were so pale, so worn, so troubled. At

first their spokesman could hardly find voice or words; but he

presently got both. This is what he said--and he put it in the

neat modern English taught him in my schools:

“We have tried to forget what we are--English boys! We have tried

to put reason before sentiment, duty before love; our minds

approve, but our hearts reproach us. While apparently it was

only the nobility, only the gentry, only the twenty-five or thirty

thousand knights left alive out of the late wars, we were of one

mind, and undisturbed by any troubling doubt; each and every one

of these fifty-two lads who stand here before you, said, 'They

have chosen--it is their affair.' But think!--the matter is

altered--_All England is marching against us_! Oh, sir, consider!

--reflect!--these people are our people, they are bone of our bone,

flesh of our flesh, we love them--do not ask us to destroy our nation!”

Well, it shows the value of looking ahead, and being ready for

a thing when it happens. If I hadn't foreseen this thing and been

fixed, that boy would have had me!--I couldn't have said a word.

But I was fixed. I said:

“My boys, your hearts are in the right place, you have thought the

worthy thought, you have done the worthy thing. You are English

boys, you will remain English boys, and you will keep that name

unsmirched. Give yourselves no further concern, let your minds be

at peace. Consider this: while all England is marching against

us, who is in the van? Who, by the commonest rules of war, will

march in the front? Answer me.”

“The mounted host of mailed knights.”

“True. They are thirty thousand strong. Acres deep they will march.

Now, observe: none but _they_ will ever strike the sand-belt! Then

there will be an episode! Immediately after, the civilian multitude

in the rear will retire, to meet business engagements elsewhere.

None but nobles and gentry are knights, and _none but these_ will

remain to dance to our music after that episode. It is absolutely

true that we shall have to fight nobody but these thirty thousand

knights. Now speak, and it shall be as you decide. Shall we

avoid the battle, retire from the field?”

“NO!!!”

The shout was unanimous and hearty.

“Are you--are you--well, afraid of these thirty thousand knights?”

That joke brought out a good laugh, the boys' troubles vanished

away, and they went gaily to their posts. Ah, they were a darling

fifty-two! As pretty as girls, too.

I was ready for the enemy now. Let the approaching big day come

along--it would find us on deck.

The big day arrived on time. At dawn the sentry on watch in the

corral came into the cave and reported a moving black mass under

the horizon, and a faint sound which he thought to be military

music. Breakfast was just ready; we sat down and ate it.

This over, I made the boys a little speech, and then sent out

a detail to man the battery, with Clarence in command of it.

The sun rose presently and sent its unobstructed splendors over

the land, and we saw a prodigious host moving slowly toward us,

with the steady drift and aligned front of a wave of the sea.

Nearer and nearer it came, and more and more sublimely imposing

became its aspect; yes, all England was there, apparently. Soon

we could see the innumerable banners fluttering, and then the sun

struck the sea of armor and set it all aflash. Yes, it was a fine

sight; I hadn't ever seen anything to beat it.

At last we could make out details. All the front ranks, no telling

how many acres deep, were horsemen--plumed knights in armor.

Suddenly we heard the blare of trumpets; the slow walk burst into

a gallop, and then--well, it was wonderful to see! Down swept

that vast horse-shoe wave--it approached the sand-belt--my breath

stood still; nearer, nearer--the strip of green turf beyond the

yellow belt grew narrow--narrower still--became a mere ribbon in

front of the horses--then disappeared under their hoofs. Great

Scott! Why, the whole front of that host shot into the sky with

a thunder-crash, and became a whirling tempest of rags and fragments;

and along the ground lay a thick wall of smoke that hid what was

left of the multitude from our sight.

Time for the second step in the plan of campaign! I touched

a button, and shook the bones of England loose from her spine!

In that explosion all our noble civilization-factories went up in

the air and disappeared from the earth. It was a pity, but it

was necessary. We could not afford to let the enemy turn our own

weapons against us.

Now ensued one of the dullest quarter-hours I had ever endured.

We waited in a silent solitude enclosed by our circles of wire,

and by a circle of heavy smoke outside of these. We couldn't

see over the wall of smoke, and we couldn't see through it. But

at last it began to shred away lazily, and by the end of another

quarter-hour the land was clear and our curiosity was enabled

to satisfy itself. No living creature was in sight! We now

perceived that additions had been made to our defenses. The

dynamite had dug a ditch more than a hundred feet wide, all around

us, and cast up an embankment some twenty-five feet high on both

borders of it. As to destruction of life, it was amazing. Moreover,

it was beyond estimate. Of course, we could not _count_ the dead,

because they did not exist as individuals, but merely as homogeneous

protoplasm, with alloys of iron and buttons.

No life was in sight, but necessarily there must have been some

wounded in the rear ranks, who were carried off the field under

cover of the wall of smoke; there would be sickness among the

others--there always is, after an episode like that. But there

would be no reinforcements; this was the last stand of the chivalry

of England; it was all that was left of the order, after the recent

annihilating wars. So I felt quite safe in believing that the

utmost force that could for the future be brought against us

would be but small; that is, of knights. I therefore issued a

congratulatory proclamation to my army in these words:

SOLDIERS, CHAMPIONS OF HUMAN LIBERTY AND EQUALITY: Your General

congratulates you! In the pride of his strength and the vanity of

his renown, an arrogant enemy came against you. You were ready. The

conflict was brief; on your side, glorious. This mighty victory,

having been achieved utterly without loss, stands without example

in history. So long as the planets shall continue to move in their

orbits, the _Battle Of The Sand-Belt_ will not perish out of the

memories of men.

THE BOSS.

I read it well, and the applause I got was very gratifying to me.

I then wound up with these remarks:

“The war with the English nation, as a nation, is at an end.

The nation has retired from the field and the war. Before it can

be persuaded to return, war will have ceased. This campaign is

the only one that is going to be fought. It will be brief

--the briefest in history. Also the most destructive to life,

considered from the standpoint of proportion of casualties to

numbers engaged. We are done with the nation; henceforth we deal

only with the knights. English knights can be killed, but they

cannot be conquered. We know what is before us. While one of

these men remains alive, our task is not finished, the war is not

ended. We will kill them all.” [Loud and long continued applause.]

I picketed the great embankments thrown up around our lines by

the dynamite explosion--merely a lookout of a couple of boys

to announce the enemy when he should appear again.

Next, I sent an engineer and forty men to a point just beyond

our lines on the south, to turn a mountain brook that was there,

and bring it within our lines and under our command, arranging

it in such a way that I could make instant use of it in an emergency.

The forty men were divided into two shifts of twenty each, and

were to relieve each other every two hours. In ten hours the

work was accomplished.

It was nightfall now, and I withdrew my pickets. The one who

had had the northern outlook reported a camp in sight, but visible

with the glass only. He also reported that a few knights had been

feeling their way toward us, and had driven some cattle across our

lines, but that the knights themselves had not come very near.

That was what I had been expecting. They were feeling us, you

see; they wanted to know if we were going to play that red terror

on them again. They would grow bolder in the night, perhaps.

I believed I knew what project they would attempt, because it was

plainly the thing I would attempt myself if I were in their places

and as ignorant as they were. I mentioned it to Clarence.

“I think you are right,” said he; “it is the obvious thing for

them to try.”

“Well, then,” I said, “if they do it they are doomed.”

“Certainly.”

“They won't have the slightest show in the world.”

“Of course they won't.”

“It's dreadful, Clarence. It seems an awful pity.”

The thing disturbed me so that I couldn't get any peace of mind

for thinking of it and worrying over it. So, at last, to quiet

my conscience, I framed this message to the knights:

TO THE HONORABLE THE COMMANDER OF THE INSURGENT CHIVALRY OF

ENGLAND: You fight in vain. We know your strength—if one may call

it by that name. We know that at the utmost you cannot bring

against us above five and twenty thousand knights. Therefore, you

have no chance—none whatever. Reflect: we are well equipped, well

fortified, we number 54. Fifty-four what? Men? No, _minds_—the

capablest in the world; a force against which mere animal might may

no more hope to prevail than may the idle waves of the sea hope to

prevail against the granite barriers of England. Be advised. We

offer you your lives; for the sake of your families, do not reject

the gift. We offer you this chance, and it is the last: throw down

your arms; surrender unconditionally to the Republic, and all will

be forgiven.

(Signed) THE BOSS.

I read it to Clarence, and said I proposed to send it by a flag

of truce. He laughed the sarcastic laugh he was born with, and said:

“Somehow it seems impossible for you to ever fully realize what

these nobilities are. Now let us save a little time and trouble.

Consider me the commander of the knights yonder. Now, then,

you are the flag of truce; approach and deliver me your message,

and I will give you your answer.”

I humored the idea. I came forward under an imaginary guard of

the enemy's soldiers, produced my paper, and read it through.

For answer, Clarence struck the paper out of my hand, pursed up

a scornful lip and said with lofty disdain:

“Dismember me this animal, and return him in a basket to the

base-born knave who sent him; other answer have I none!”

How empty is theory in presence of fact! And this was just fact,

and nothing else. It was the thing that would have happened,

there was no getting around that. I tore up the paper and granted

my mistimed sentimentalities a permanent rest.

Then, to business. I tested the electric signals from the gatling

platform to the cave, and made sure that they were all right;

I tested and retested those which commanded the fences--these

were signals whereby I could break and renew the electric current

in each fence independently of the others at will. I placed the

brook-connection under the guard and authority of three of my

best boys, who would alternate in two-hour watches all night and

promptly obey my signal, if I should have occasion to give it

--three revolver-shots in quick succession. Sentry-duty was discarded

for the night, and the corral left empty of life; I ordered that

quiet be maintained in the cave, and the electric lights turned

down to a glimmer.

As soon as it was good and dark, I shut off the current from all

the fences, and then groped my way out to the embankment bordering

our side of the great dynamite ditch. I crept to the top of it

and lay there on the slant of the muck to watch. But it was

too dark to see anything. As for sounds, there were none. The

stillness was deathlike. True, there were the usual night-sounds

of the country--the whir of night-birds, the buzzing of insects,

the barking of distant dogs, the mellow lowing of far-off kine

--but these didn't seem to break the stillness, they only intensified

it, and added a grewsome melancholy to it into the bargain.

I presently gave up looking, the night shut down so black, but

I kept my ears strained to catch the least suspicious sound, for

I judged I had only to wait, and I shouldn't be disappointed.

However, I had to wait a long time. At last I caught what you

may call indistinct glimpses of sound--dulled metallic sound.

I pricked up my ears, then, and held my breath, for this was the

sort of thing I had been waiting for. This sound thickened, and

approached--from toward the north. Presently, I heard it at my

own level--the ridge-top of the opposite embankment, a hundred

feet or more away. Then I seemed to see a row of black dots appear

along that ridge--human heads? I couldn't tell; it mightn't be

anything at all; you can't depend on your eyes when your imagination

is out of focus. However, the question was soon settled. I heard

that metallic noise descending into the great ditch. It augmented

fast, it spread all along, and it unmistakably furnished me this

fact: an armed host was taking up its quarters in the ditch. Yes,

these people were arranging a little surprise party for us. We

could expect entertainment about dawn, possibly earlier.

I groped my way back to the corral now; I had seen enough. I went

to the platform and signaled to turn the current on to the two

inner fences. Then I went into the cave, and found everything

satisfactory there--nobody awake but the working-watch. I woke

Clarence and told him the great ditch was filling up with men,

and that I believed all the knights were coming for us in a body.

It was my notion that as soon as dawn approached we could expect

the ditch's ambuscaded thousands to swarm up over the embankment

and make an assault, and be followed immediately by the rest

of their army.

Clarence said:

“They will be wanting to send a scout or two in the dark to make

preliminary observations. Why not take the lightning off the

outer fences, and give them a chance?”

“I've already done it, Clarence. Did you ever know me to be

inhospitable?”

“No, you are a good heart. I want to go and--”

“Be a reception committee? I will go, too.”

We crossed the corral and lay down together between the two inside

fences. Even the dim light of the cave had disordered our eyesight

somewhat, but the focus straightway began to regulate itself and

soon it was adjusted for present circumstances. We had had to feel

our way before, but we could make out to see the fence posts now.

We started a whispered conversation, but suddenly Clarence broke

off and said:

“What is that?”

“What is what?”

“That thing yonder.”

“What thing--where?”

“There beyond you a little piece--dark something--a dull shape

of some kind--against the second fence.”

I gazed and he gazed. I said:

“Could it be a man, Clarence?”

“No, I think not. If you notice, it looks a lit--why, it _is_

a man!--leaning on the fence.”

“I certainly believe it is; let us go and see.”

We crept along on our hands and knees until we were pretty close,

and then looked up. Yes, it was a man--a dim great figure in armor,

standing erect, with both hands on the upper wire--and, of course,

there was a smell of burning flesh. Poor fellow, dead as a

door-nail, and never knew what hurt him. He stood there like a

statue--no motion about him, except that his plumes swished about

a little in the night wind. We rose up and looked in through

the bars of his visor, but couldn't make out whether we knew him

or not--features too dim and shadowed.

We heard muffled sounds approaching, and we sank down to the ground

where we were. We made out another knight vaguely; he was coming

very stealthily, and feeling his way. He was near enough now for

us to see him put out a hand, find an upper wire, then bend and

step under it and over the lower one. Now he arrived at the

first knight--and started slightly when he discovered him. He

stood a moment--no doubt wondering why the other one didn't move

on; then he said, in a low voice, “Why dreamest thou here, good

Sir Mar--” then he laid his hand on the corpse's shoulder--and just

uttered a little soft moan and sunk down dead. Killed by a dead

man, you see--killed by a dead friend, in fact. There was something

awful about it.

These early birds came scattering along after each other, about

one every five minutes in our vicinity, during half an hour.

They brought no armor of offense but their swords; as a rule,

they carried the sword ready in the hand, and put it forward and

found the wires with it. We would now and then see a blue spark

when the knight that caused it was so far away as to be invisible

to us; but we knew what had happened, all the same; poor fellow,

he had touched a charged wire with his sword and been electrocuted.

We had brief intervals of grim stillness, interrupted with piteous

regularity by the clash made by the falling of an iron-clad; and

this sort of thing was going on, right along, and was very creepy

there in the dark and lonesomeness.

We concluded to make a tour between the inner fences. We elected

to walk upright, for convenience's sake; we argued that if discerned,

we should be taken for friends rather than enemies, and in any case

we should be out of reach of swords, and these gentry did not seem

to have any spears along. Well, it was a curious trip. Everywhere

dead men were lying outside the second fence--not plainly visible,

but still visible; and we counted fifteen of those pathetic

statues--dead knights standing with their hands on the upper wire.

One thing seemed to be sufficiently demonstrated: our current

was so tremendous that it killed before the victim could cry out.

Pretty soon we detected a muffled and heavy sound, and next moment

we guessed what it was. It was a surprise in force coming! I whispered

Clarence to go and wake the army, and notify it to wait in silence

in the cave for further orders. He was soon back, and we stood

by the inner fence and watched the silent lightning do its awful

work upon that swarming host. One could make out but little of

detail; but he could note that a black mass was piling itself up

beyond the second fence. That swelling bulk was dead men! Our

camp was enclosed with a solid wall of the dead--a bulwark,

a breastwork, of corpses, you may say. One terrible thing about

this thing was the absence of human voices; there were no cheers,

no war cries; being intent upon a surprise, these men moved as

noiselessly as they could; and always when the front rank was near

enough to their goal to make it proper for them to begin to get

a shout ready, of course they struck the fatal line and went down

without testifying.

I sent a current through the third fence now; and almost immediately

through the fourth and fifth, so quickly were the gaps filled up.

I believed the time was come now for my climax; I believed that

that whole army was in our trap. Anyway, it was high time to find

out. So I touched a button and set fifty electric suns aflame

on the top of our precipice.

Land, what a sight! We were enclosed in three walls of dead men!

All the other fences were pretty nearly filled with the living,

who were stealthily working their way forward through the wires.

The sudden glare paralyzed this host, petrified them, you may say,

with astonishment; there was just one instant for me to utilize

their immobility in, and I didn't lose the chance. You see, in

another instant they would have recovered their faculties, then

they'd have burst into a cheer and made a rush, and my wires

would have gone down before it; but that lost instant lost them

their opportunity forever; while even that slight fragment of time

was still unspent, I shot the current through all the fences and

struck the whole host dead in their tracks! _There_ was a groan

you could _hear_! It voiced the death-pang of eleven thousand men.

It swelled out on the night with awful pathos.

A glance showed that the rest of the enemy--perhaps ten thousand

strong--were between us and the encircling ditch, and pressing

forward to the assault. Consequently we had them _all!_ and had

them past help. Time for the last act of the tragedy. I fired

the three appointed revolver shots--which meant:

“Turn on the water!”

There was a sudden rush and roar, and in a minute the mountain

brook was raging through the big ditch and creating a river a

hundred feet wide and twenty-five deep.

“Stand to your guns, men! Open fire!”

The thirteen gatlings began to vomit death into the fated ten

thousand. They halted, they stood their ground a moment against

that withering deluge of fire, then they broke, faced about and

swept toward the ditch like chaff before a gale. A full fourth

part of their force never reached the top of the lofty embankment;

the three-fourths reached it and plunged over--to death by drowning.

Within ten short minutes after we had opened fire, armed resistance

was totally annihilated, the campaign was ended, we fifty-four were

masters of England. Twenty-five thousand men lay dead around us.

But how treacherous is fortune! In a little while--say an hour

--happened a thing, by my own fault, which--but I have no heart

to write that. Let the record end here.