LXV. The World War—Youthful Martyrs, continued
It was not the lot of all who gave up their lives for
their country and mankind, to die on the field of action,
or even in a foreign land, but the final sacrifice of those
who perished in the course of their training under their
native skies is not the less worthy of being eternally
cherished by their alma mater. Here too we have only
space to bring forward the names of a few who, in their
character and conduct, appear to us to have reflected
faithfully the spirit of all those youthful soldiers, who,
before passing away, did their full duty, but were not
destined to hear the guns roar beyond the Atlantic:
Victor Sharp Metcalf, son of Professor John Calvin
Metcalf, of the University of Virginia, was one of those
gallant Americans, who, although they failed, from no
fault of their own, to join the ranks in Flanders or the
Argonne, just as truly offered up their lives for their
country's benefit as if they too had been struck down
by bullet or shell. All the years of his pathetically short
career were passed in an academic atmosphere,—he was
born on a college campus, and resided within or near
college precincts almost to the close of his existence.
His heritage was a heritage of literary culture; he never
knew the time when he was not surrounded by books;
books even in his early youth were his most entertaining
friends; but this did not dull the edge of his taste for
sports in the open air. Aside from athletics, the form
of college activity which pleased him most keenly was
the amateur stage. Young as he was at the hour of his
death, he had had the opportunity to see and listen to the
most famous American and European actors in classic
and modern plays, and was familiar with all the masterpieces
of dramatic literature. In his own histrionic performances,
it was noticed that his preference leaned to
comedy; and his natural gayety, his sense of humor, and
his quick wit, enabled him to interpret, with peculiar
fidelity, the spirit of mirthful scenes in many rôles.
Dramatic composition, verse-making, and short story-writing
were the natural outlet for the principal bent
of his literary powers.
The World War altered the current of his thought
and purpose. From the hour that the United States
entered the conflict, his mind returned again and again,
with the force of an instinctive impulse, to the question
of his own duty; and he volunteered so soon as he had
finished the academic tasks which had been set for him.
"Into this new life," said one who had known him from
childhood, "he threw himself with his accustomed dash
and energy. Then, with tragic suddenness, came the
fateful darkened days of disease. There was a short,
brave struggle, and his bright dreams were ended. But
the fine spirit which animated him, and others like him,
in their country's service, does not perish with their
dreams. If his practical achievement was small, his
spiritual accomplishment was great. The fulfilment of
a worthy purpose, which death temporarily interrupts,
must be credited eternally to the aspiring soul. He lived
gladly, willed greatly, and aspired much. The promise
of the dawn was fulfilled in the crowning glory of his
brief day."
In the autumn of 1915, John Dunn, Jr. of Richmond,
entered the University of Virginia, and here, during his
first year, his hours were devoted equally to study and
outdoor pastimes. The shadow of the war fell more
heavily over his second session, diverting his thoughts,
and the thoughts of his comrades, with ever growing
seriousness, to the great conflagration that was then destroying
Europe. The following summer (1917), when
he was still a mere youth in years, found his mind in a
state of increasing uncertainty as to what course duty
called upon him to adopt,—he became more and more
abstracted in his bearing, more and more restless in his
movements. But by the time that the month of January,
1918, arrived, he had made up his mind to enter the
war just as soon as it was practical for him to do so. "I
wish to be over there when spring breaks, in the crush
of the last drive," he wrote his parents.
He was keen to be enrolled in the aviation service,
but the American branch was now overcrowded, and the
facilities for instruction and practice were limited. It
would be necessary to wait, during several months, for
the reception of an order to begin; and this fact
prompted him to solicit admission to the Royal Training
Corps stationed at Toronto, a city which he knew well
through his summer travels. "It is the same cause as
ours," he said, "and England needs men." "Canada
has been combed for fliers," he wrote after his enlistment,
"and is prepared to turn them out as rapidly as
they can be trained. I made no mistake when I came
here." The restless desire which had so harassed his
spirit seemed at last to be soothed. His longing was
gratified, now that the path was clear of all obstruction.
"Since the question has been settled for me in spite of
the chasing around that I have done," he wrote to his
parents, "a calm has fallen over my real self that has
not been mine for many a month." He was still within
two years of his majority,—a youth of nineteen only,—
when he entered the British service. There was nothing
now lacking to complete his happiness. "I sleep as
soundly in my pine board bunk as I ever did in the four
poster at home," he gayly tells his mother; "for the
first time in four years, I now feel properly attired."
The young soldier passed the first three weeks in an
intensive drill, and was then ordered to Camp Borden
for lessons in wireless and gunnery; and another week
there found him fully versed in the details of a course
which usually required a month to master. At the end
of a fortnight, he was registered in the University of
Toronto as a student of military aeronautics. By this
time, he had acquired so much knowledge of his new
vocation, and had shown the possession of so many fine
personal qualities, that, young as he was, he was put in
command of a squad of ten men. It was while he was
thus employed, and daily anticipating an order for his
transfer to active service in France, that he was stricken
with scarlet fever and died. Only a few weeks before
he had celebrated his twentieth birthday. He was
buried within the precincts of Old Blandford Church at
Petersburg, his body wrapped in the folds of the
American and British flags.
In the far Muskaka, on the soil of Canada,—where
he had passed so many summers, happy in the diversions
of canoeing, and fishing, and hunting,—the people of
the little community, who had watched him spring up to
manhood, placed a window in the village church in his
memory; and on its surface shone the countenance and
the figure of a youthful warrior.
Adair Pleasants Archer could trace his ancestry
directly back to Pocahontas, and also to General Adair,
one of the heroic pioneers of the dark and bloody ground
of Kentucky, and afterwards a governor and senator of
that State, and a distinguished officer in numerous wars.
Eager as young Archer was to adopt, as his permanent
vocation, some branch of the fine arts,—for which
and literature he had shown an extraordinary aptitude
from youth,—yet so soon as the black shadow of war
began to drift across his country, he enlisted in the
Officers' Reserve Corps. "Not to have done so," he
wrote at the time, "would have been to ally myself with
those hated pacifists." By the middle of August, 1917,
he was stationed at Camp Lee. Even here, under circumstances
apparently so hostile, his artistic and literary
bent came to the surface in a highly characteristic way,
—he was appointed the editor of the Trench and
Camp; and was detailed to establish a community theatre,
which he had been first to suggest. The play of
Henry the Fifth, substantially curtailed, was the first
one to be performed; and in the course of this, he was
not only the stage manager, but also the personifier of
the king. "Where can I find words fitly to describe
that gallant figure in the steel gray armor?" says one
who saw him on that occasion, "the brilliant face showing
in the open oval of his head of mail; the color and
pose as he went through the act; the ardent ringing voice,
so convincing you that this was Henry as the Master
might have dreamed him."
Temporarily relieved of his duties at Camp Lee, in
consequence of ill health, he returned to his home in
Richmond, and while there, delivered a series of
thoughtful lectures on the drama, and on the production
of plays; and he also formed a small theatre league composed
of the local artists, musicians, teachers, and
scholars. This was in the spring of 1918. "It was
a pleasure to attend those weekly meetings," says a member.
"Adair was the youngest person present, but he
dominated all,—not obtrusively or consciously, but
through the sheer force of individuality." "He not
only dominated the student group," said another, "but
he took the chief hand with the actors." While engaged
in the preparation of a play for a public performance
by the league, he had been writing a scenario and
musical arrangement for a ballet, which was afterwards
given in Boston.
Returning to Camp Lee, after an interval spent at
Camp Devens, he soon won the reputation of being
the most respected member of his company. His surviving
comrades have many moving stories to tell of
his gay temper, debonair bearing, and energetic spirit,
during these last crowded months. He was now serving
as a sergeant with a development battalion; his duties
were on a level with those of a second lieutenant
and consisted of drilling the men and lecturing to them;
but while faithfully engaged in these somewhat monotonous
tasks, he was put in charge of two organizations that
were to be employed in making experiments in recreation.
Before he could begin this new work, so congenial to his
tastes, or receive the promotion which his poor physical
health had deferred so long, he was carried off in the
terrible epidemic of influenza which was then prevailing.
Thus passed away a youthful genius, who, had he lived
to full maturity, would have reflected the distinction of
an accomplished writer and composer on his alma mater.
Artist, scholar, soldier,—he stands out as the most
poetical figure in the shining ranks of those alumni of the
University of Virginia who laid down their lives for the
benefit of mankind in the World War. Percy Mackaye
dedicated a poem to his memory, and Amelie Rives wrote
a threnody in his honor; and thus he died deeply lamented
by those who, by kindred sympathies and talents, were
best able to gauge the character and extent of his powers,
and estimate the loss inflicted upon art and literature by
his untimely death.
