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The Pomp of Yesterday

The Pomp of Yesterday

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The Project Gutenberg eBook, "The Pomp of Yesterday", by Joseph Hocking

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Title: "The Pomp of Yesterday"

Author: Joseph Hocking

Release Date: April 22, 2008 [eBook #25136]

Language: English

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "THE POMP OF YESTERDAY"***

E-text prepared by Al Haines

'THE POMP OF YESTERDAY'

by

JOSEPH HOCKING

Author of 'All for a Scrap of Paper,' 'Dearer than Life,'
  'The Curtain of Fire,' etc.

  "Far famed our Navies melt away,
  On dune and headland sinks the fire,
  Lo, all the pomp of yesterday
  Is one with Nineveh and Tyre.
    God of the Nations, spare us yet!
    Lest we forget, lest we forget."
            RUDYARD KIPLING.

Hodder and Stoughton
London —— New York —— Toronto

JOSEPH HOCKING'S GREAT WAR STORIES

ALL FOR A SCRAP OF PAPER THE CURTAIN OF FIRE DEARER THAN LIFE THE PRICE OF A THRONE THE PATH OF GLORY 'THE POMP OF YESTERDAY' TOMMY TOMMY AND THE MAID OF ATHENS

OTHER STORIES BY JOSEPH HOCKING

  Facing Fearful Odds
  O'er Moor and Fen
  The Wilderness
  Rosaleen O'Hara
  The Soul of Dominic Wildthorne
  Follow the Gleam
  David Baring
  The Trampled Cross

"Let us never forget in all that we do, that the measure of our ultimate success will be governed, largely if not mainly, by the strength with which we put our religious convictions into our action and hold fast firmly and fearlessly to the faith of our forefathers."

Extract of speech by General Sir William Robertson.

March 2, 1918.

CONTENTS

CHAP.

       I THE MAN WITHOUT A PAST
      II SIR ROGER GRANVILLE'S SUGGESTION
     III THE STRANGE BBHAVIOUR OF GEORGE ST. MABYN
      IV I MEET CAPTAIN SPRINGFIELD
       V HOW A MAN WORKED A MIRACLE
      VI PAUL EDGECUMBE'S MEMORY
     VII A CAUSE OF FAILURE
    VIII I BECOME AN EAVESDROPPER
      IX EDGECUMBE is MISSING
       X THE STRUGGLE IN THE TRENCHES
      XI EDGECUMBE'S STORY
     XII THE STRUGGLE ON THE SOMME
    XIII EDGECUMBE'S MADNESS
     XIV EDGECUMBE'S LOGIC
      XV DEVONSHIRE
     XVI LORNA BOLIVICK'S HOME
    XVII A NEW DEVELOPMENT
   XVIII A TRAGIC HAPPINESS
     XIX A MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS
      XX A STRANGE NIGHT
     XXI COLONEL MCCLURE'S VERDICT
    XXII EDGECUMBE'S RESOLVE
   XXIII SPRINGFIELD'S PROGRESS
    XXIV A STRANGE LOVE-MAKING
     XXV 'WHY IS VICTORY DELAYED?'
    XXVI 'WHERE DOES GOD COME IN?'
   XXVII SEEING LONDON
  XXVIII SUNSHINE AND SHADOW
    XXIX CROSS CURRENTS
     XXX THE MARCH OF EVENTS
    XXXI EDGECUMBE'S RETURN
   XXXII THE GREAT MEETING
  XXXIII THE LIFTED CURTAIN
   XXXIV MEMORY
    XXXV AFTERWARDS
   XXXVI EDGECUMBE'S RESOLUTION
  XXXVII MAURICE ST. MABYN
 XXXVIII A BOMBSHELL
   XXXIX SPRINGFIELD AT BAY
      XL MAURICE ST. MABYN'S GENEROSITY
     XLI THE NEW HOPE
    XLII AN UNFINISHED STORY

FOREWORD

It is now fast approaching four years since our country at the call of duty, and for the world's welfare entered the great struggle which is still convulsing the nations of the earth. What this has cost us, and what it has meant to us, and to other countries, it is impossible to describe. Imagination reels before the thought. Still the ghastly struggle continues, daily comes the story of carnage, and suffering, and loss; and still the enemy who stands for all that is basest, and most degraded in life, stands firm, and proudly vaunts his prowess.

Why is Victory delayed?

That is the question which has haunted me for many months, and I have asked myself whether we, and our Allies, have failed in those things which are essential, not only to Victory, but to a righteous and, therefore, lasting peace.

In this story, while not attempting a full and complete answer to the question, I have made certain suggestions which I am sure the Nation, the Empire, ought to consider; for on our attitude towards them depends much that is most vital to our welfare.

Let it not be imagined, however, that The Pomp of Yesterday is anything in the nature of a polemic, or a treatise. It is first and foremost a story—a romance if you like—of incident, and adventure. But it is more than a story. It deals with vital things, and it deals with them—however inadequately—sincerely and earnestly. The statements, moreover, which will probably arouse a great deal of antagonism in certain quarters, are not inventions of the Author, but were related to him by those in a position to know.

Neither are the descriptions of the Battle of the Somme the result of the Author's imagination, but transcripts from the experiences of some who passed through it. Added to this, I have, since first writing the story, paid a Second Visit to the Front, during which I traversed the country on which Thiepval, Goomecourt, La Boiselle, Contalmaison; and a score of other towns and villages once stood. Because of this, while doubtless a military authority could point out technical errors in my descriptions, I have been able to visualize the scenes of the battle, and correct such mistakes as I made at the time of writing.

One other word. More than once, the chief character in the narrative anticipates what has taken place in Russia. While I do not claim to be a prophet, it is only fair to say that I finished writing the story in August, 1917, when very few dreamt of the terrible chaos which now exists in the once Great Empire on which we so largely depended.

JOSEPH HOCKING.

March, 1918.

CHAPTER I

THE MAN WITHOUT A PAST

My first meeting with the man whose story I have set out to relate was in Plymouth. I had been standing in the harbour, hoping that the friends I had come to meet might yet appear, even although the chances of their doing so had become very small. Perhaps a hundred passengers had landed at the historic quay, and practically all of them had rushed away to catch the London train. I had scrutinized each face eagerly, but when the last passenger had crossed the gangway I had been reluctantly compelled to assume that my friends, for some reason or other, had not come.

I was about to turn away, and go back to the town, when some one touched my arm. 'This is Plymouth, isn't it?'

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