CRIMSON TIDE
By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS



THE CRIMSON TIDE

A NOVEL

By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

Author of "The Moonlit Way," "The Laughing Girl," "The Restless Sex,"
etc.

WITH FRONTISPIECE BY A. I. KELLER

A. L. BURT COMPANY


To

MARGARET ILLINGTON BOWES

AND

EDWARD J. BOWES




I

I'd rather walk with Margaret,
I'd rather talk with Margaret,
And anchor in some sylvan nook
And fish Dream Lake with magic hook
Than sit indoors and write this book.

II

An author's such an ass, alas!
To watch the world through window glass
When out of doors the skies are fair
And pretty girls beyond compare--
Like Margaret--are strolling there.

III

I'd rather walk with E. J. Bowes,
I'd rather talk with E. J. Bowes,
In woodlands where the sunlight gleams
Across the golden Lake of Dreams
Than drive a quill across these reams.

IV

If I could have my proper wish
With these two friends I'd sit and fish
Where sheer cliffs wear their mossy hoods
And Dream Lake widens in the woods,
But Fate says "No! Produce your goods!"

ENVOI

Inspect my goods and choose a few
Dear Margaret, and Edward, too;
Then sink them in the Lake of Dreams
In dim, gold depths where sunshine streams
Down from the sky's unclouded blue,
And I'll be much obliged to you.

R. W. C.




FOREWORD


An American ambulance going south stopped on the snowy road; the
driver, an American named Estridge, got out; his companion, a young
woman in furs, remained in her seat.

Estridge, with the din of the barrage in his ears, went forward to
show his papers to the soldiers who had stopped him on the snowy
forest road.

His papers identified him and the young woman; and further they
revealed the fact that the ambulance contained only a trunk and some
hand luggage; and called upon all in authority to permit John Henry
Estridge and Miss Palla Dumont to continue without hindrance the
journey therein described.

The soldiers--Siberian riflemen--were satisfied and seemed friendly
enough and rather curious to obtain a better look at this American
girl, Miss Dumont, described in the papers submitted to them as
"American companion to Marie, third daughter of Nicholas Romanoff,
ex-Tzar."

An officer came up, examined the papers, shrugged.

"Very well," he said, "if authority is to be given this American lady
to join the Romanoff family, now under detention, it is not my
affair."

But he, also, appeared to be perfectly good natured about the matter,
accepting a cigarette from Estridge and glancing at the young woman in
the ambulance as he lighted it.

"You know," he remarked, "if it would interest you and the young
lady, the Battalion of Death is over yonder in the birch woods."

"The woman's battalion?" asked Estridge.

"Yes. They make their dйbut to-day. Would you like to see them?
They're going forward in a few minutes, I believe."

Estridge nodded and walked back to the ambulance.

"The woman's battalion is over in those birch woods, Miss Dumont.
Would you care to walk over and see them before they leave for the
front trenches?"

The girl in furs said very gravely:

"Yes, I wish to see women who are about to go into battle."

She rose from the seat, laid a fur-gloved hand on his offered arm, and
stepped down onto the snow.

"To serve," she said, as they started together through the silver
birches, following a trodden way, "is not alone the only happiness in
life: it is the only reason for living."

"I know you think so, Miss Dumont."

"You also must believe so, who are here as a volunteer in Russia."

"It's a little more selfish with me. I'm a medical student; it's a
liberal education for me even to drive an ambulance."

"There is only one profession nobler than that practised by the
physician, who serves his fellow men," she said in a low, dreamy
voice.

"Which profession do you place first?"

"The profession of those who serve God alone."

"The priesthood?"

"Yes. And the religious orders."

"Nuns, too?" he demanded with the slightest hint of impatience in his
pleasant voice.

The girl noticed it, looked up at him and smiled slightly.

"Had my dear Grand Duchess not asked for me, I should now he entering
upon my novitiate among the Russian nuns.... And she, too, I think,
had there been no revolution. She was quite ready a year ago. We
talked it over. But