MR STANDFAST ***
This etext was created by Jo Churcher, Scarborough, Ontario (jchurche@io.org)
MR STANDFAST
JOHN BUCHAN
TO THAT MOST GALLANT COMPANY THE OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE SOUTH AFRICAN INFANTRY BRIGADE on the Western Front
CONTENTS
PART I
1. The Wicket-Gate 2. 'The Village Named Morality' 3. The Reflections of a Cured Dyspeptic 4. Andrew Amos 5. Various Doings in the West 6. The Skirts of the Coolin 7. I Hear of the Wild Birds 8. The Adventures of a Bagman 9. I Take the Wings of a Dove 10. The Advantages of an Air Raid 11. The Valley of Humiliation
PART II
12. I Become a Combatant Once More 13. The Adventure of the Picardy Chateau 14. Mr Blenkiron Discourses on Love and War 15. St Anton 16. I Lie on a Hard Bed 17. The Col of the Swallows 18. The Underground Railway 19. The Cage of the Wild Birds 20. The Storm Breaks in the West 21. How an Exile Returned to His Own People 22. The Summons Comes for Mr Standfast
NOTE
The earlier adventures of Richard Hannay, to which occasional reference is made in this narrative, are recounted in _The Thirty-Nine Steps_ and _Greenmantle_. J.B.
PART I
CHAPTER ONE
The Wicket-Gate
I spent one-third of my journey looking out of the window of a first-class carriage, the next in a local motor-car following the course of a trout stream in a shallow valley, and the last tramping over a ridge of downland through great beech-woods to my quarters for the night. In the first part I was in an infamous temper; in the second I was worried and mystified; but the cool twilight of the third stage calmed and heartened me, and I reached the gates of Fosse Manor with a mighty appetite and a quiet mind.
As we slipped up the Thames valley on the smooth Great Western line I had reflected ruefully on the thorns in the path of duty. For more than a year I had never been out of khaki, except the months I spent in hospital. They gave me my battalion before the Somme, and I came out of that weary battle after the first big September fighting with a crack in my head and a D.S.O. I had received a C.B. for the Erzerum business, so what with these and my Matabele and South African medals and the Legion of Honour, I had a chest like the High Priest's breastplate. I rejoined in January, and got a brigade on the eve of Arras. There we had a star turn, and took about as many prisoners as we put infantry over the top. After that we were hauled out for a month, and subsequently planted in a bad bit on the Scarpe with a hint that we would soon be used for a big push. Then suddenly I was ordered home to report to the War Office, and passed on by them to Bullivant and his merry men. So here I was sitting in a railway carriage in a grey tweed suit, with a neat new suitcase on the rack labelled C.B. The initials stood for Cornelius Brand, for that was my name now. And an old boy in the corner was asking me questions and wondering audibly why I wasn't fighting, while a young blood of a second lieutenant with a wound stripe was eyeing me with scorn.
The old chap was one of the cross-examining type, and after he had borrowed my matches he set to work to find out all about me. He was a tremendous fire-eater, and a bit of a pessimist about our slow progress in the west. I told him I came from South Africa and was a mining engineer.
'Been fighting with Botha?' he asked.
'No,' I said. 'I'm not the fighting kind.'
The second lieutenant screwed up his nose.
'Is there no conscription in South Africa?'
'Thank God there isn't,' I said, and the old fellow begged permission to tell me a lot of unpalatable things. I knew his kind and didn't give much for it. He was the sort who, if he had been under fifty, would have crawled on his belly to his tribunal to get exempted, but being over age was able to pose as a patriot. But I didn't like the second lieutenant's grin, for he seemed a good class of lad. I looked steadily out of the window for the rest of the way, and wasn't sorry when I got to my station.
