Perceval Gibbon

“ They were nearing the straw-yard in which their wagons of shell and powder were parked. Von Marx slowed his pace in order to speak his thought before the challenge of the sentry on guard over them could interrupt him.
"It isn't every man," he said, "who lives in such a way that he is ready at any instant to be a hero. Some of us are like violins; we need to be tuned before we can be played on. You're like a bugle, Schmidt; you can't make music, but you can make a useful noise, and you're always ready." ”

“ Lieutenant von Marx uttered a vague sound of agreement. He was sheltering in his cupped hands the flame of a match, whose light escaped between his fingers as from the crevices of a leaky dark-lantern. He lifted it toward his face and became visible in his turn. He was perhaps twenty-six years of age, tall and thin, the right shape of man for a tunic and sword-belt. The light of the match glanced upon his rather long, serious countenance, concentrated frowningly upon the business of accurately kindling the cigar. ”

“ Von Marx bade him, perfunctorily, as he moved on. "Curious," he remarked to Schmidt, when they had passed from the man's hearing to the single street of the village between the silent, lighted houses. "That man positively quakes at the sight of an officer, but he isn't a coward. He'll fight all right."
"Oh, he'll fight all right," agreed Schmidt, cheerfully. "That kind always does. Give him an order—fire, charge, retire, or whatever it is—and he carries it out like a sort of clumsy machine. I fancy a man's got to have a certain amount of imagination in order to be a coward." ”

“ Von Marx turned on him. He made no attempt to draw his useless sword. He knew whence the fire came. It was from the straw-yard where the wagons were parked, with their freight of shells and powder. Schmidt had not run for nothing: he had saved the ammunition from capture.
"Shoot, then," he cried. "Shoot and be done with it. You've failed, you fool! You're beaten, you're beaten, you're—"
The earth and the air and the sky detonated into red chaos as the twelve wagon-loads of high explosives blew up. ”

“ Von Marx lay still, watching him, bewildered and daunted. The general gave him a slow glare and half turned toward his staff officers so as to include them in his audience. He began to speak deliberately, pausing to choose words, so that his little speech gave to the affair the air of a ceremony. The tall, uniformed men, spruce and comely, drew themselves up formally to hear him; he made of the little, plain chamber a council-room.
"Gentlemen," he said, "a man owes to his country what he has—the brave their courage, the strong their strength—and those who have most owe the largest debt. ”

“ The general, watching him with pursed lips, nodded to himself.
"Well," he said. "You want to tell me what you were doing when the straw-yard was fired, eh? Isn't that it? By the way"—he cocked his bright and secret eye inquisitively,—"who did set the straw on fire?"
Von Marx gaped helplessly.
"Schmidt, I suppose?" went on the general. "Poor Schmidt! I saw him shot in our first action. A mere bulldog of a man; no soldier at all. However, he's been some use at last."
"Then," cried Yon Marx, "you know! You know everything?"
The general nodded. "I know everything," he said, steadily. ”

“ Von Marx gazed at him dumbly, unable so quickly to take the measure of the situation.
"I shouldn't wonder if he gave you the star himself," the colonel said, nodding to give emphasis to his words. "I know he's thinking about it."
It was all that was needed to complete the bizarre quality of the affair. The Iron Star is not among those decorations which kings give to kings, like the Black Eagle or the Golden Fleece; it has to be earned. Courage and prowess alone have no claim to it; the man who would wear it must have found the occasion to do more than his duty and venture more than his life. ”

“ His upturned face, thin and drawn, snatched at the feelings like a cry for help; this man had died at his post. His rifle, with its bayonet fixed, lay just beyond his right hand; it had not fallen till he fell.
"Go on," commanded the man with the revolver. "Go straight on. But—what's that?"
There rose, across a cape of orchard, first a glare of fiery light, then a peak of flame itself—a soaring, extravagant uprush of fire toward the vacant sky.
"They've—damn them!" cried his captor—"they've fired a house, the fools. Get on, you! ”

“ The most heavily indebted of all are those who owe to their fatherland not merely service in the field, but service, devotion, sacrifice, at all hours, while life remains in them. Such men are few; we know them first by some such deed as this which Lieutenant von Marx has accomplished ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1926, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 96 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”