Magyar Cserkész, 1929 (10. évfolyam, 14. szám)
1929-07-15 / 14. szám
MAGYAR CSERKÉSZ No. 14. 286 DANNY FIELD’S FATHER. Novel, by S. M. K: Radványi. I was the S. M. in charge of the night at Headquarters of the National Jamboree Camp in Hungary. From the valley of the campfires, long files of troops marched in all directions. Lamps glimmered through the dark night. The brass-band finished filling the tired, lonely silence with merry rythms and dance-tunes. Slowly, the camp fell asleep. The night guards started with their noiseless task. All lights were extinguished; the tents closed their tiny eyes; the big fires of the kitchens were buried by warm ashes. Only the dim lights on the cross of the camp shone on the far horizon. I lit my lamp and opened the diary of the camp to write about my experiences of the day. Hundreds and hundred of moths and insects were swarming in a mad whirl around my lonely light. The sweet melancholy of the sleeping camp creeps into my soul. Seven thousand hearts are beating round me ; seven thousand dreams, seven thousand hopes, warm love, goodwill and self-sacrifice. These seven thousand souls wander now towards home, the sweet family nest. Suddenly the telephone awakens me from my dreams. This shrill voice breaks the silence mercilessly: — Hallo ! Headquarters tent ? .. . Is it. .. Yes ; the leader of the night guard speaking. — Well, go on. — I beg to report: in the third district we caught a man! — What sort of man ? — His certificate says he is Dick Field. He came from the South of Hungary. — Let us see him ! After a quarter of an hour and under the guidance of two camp policemen, Dick Field stood before me. He was a middle sized gentleman of about forty; some sort of a better clerk. From his kind face, two sad eyes looked into mine. — Who are you and what have you got to do here, at night time ? The last boat left at 11 p. m. If you missed the boat, you ought to have reported it to the camp chief. Dick Field stood alert fort a few seconds. Then, ha said; — Excuse me, Sir. I came instead of my son Danny. It is he who ought to have been here instead of me. — I don’t quite understand. Will you speak more clearly. Where is your son Danny ? — Well you see ; he is dead. Lying dead in the cemetery of Tolcsva. With his Fleur-de-Lys on his heart, the scout belt round his waist and beside his head, — in his coffin, his scout hat. There he is standing, in stiff reverence. His contours are sharply lit by the lamp. Heavy tears fall from his eyes. I looked inquiringly at the policemen. One of them said: — Yes, Sir that is what be told us. I must confess, we did not like his funny sort of talk. Dick Field turned towards me with his sad eyes. — They think I am mad, don’t they. Yes ; it is true. Great suffering has something reminding madness. One does not quite know what one does. I gave a sign to the policemen to part. — You can go ! We were left alone. I took the arm of the unusual late visitor. — Let us sit down. The night is so mild. — And now my dear Mr. Field, tell me really what brought you here. I understand you had a son, a boy scout and that he is dead. He sighed. — Oh and what a boy scout! My Danny! This little one of twelve years ... but his heart was a golden heart,.. He was a scout — yes, a complete scout! — When he got his badge, he turned to me with sparkling eyes ; — Father, the one who wears the Fleur-de-Lys, is a perfect knight ! You will see what a different boy I become ! — Though, believe me, Sir, the boy was an angel before and after. Still, he changed. He understood every item of the scout law and he impressed the family. You know very well, that you can change this world by the scout law, if we live up to its standards and if we act accordingly. — But you see, I am not here to explain the scout law to you. When my boy was all dressed up in his scout kit, I had to exlaim: „Look at the little soldier of God ! —- Because that he was ! A voluntary little soldier, who admired every detail of scout life ! — Oh, I can easily imagine. I can also imagine how terrible his death must have been to you. When did he die, the poor boy ? — Please, let me tell you the story as it is. — It was half a year ago when the troop started preparation for this Jamboree. From one of their meetings, my boy ran home enthusiastically. — Oh father, let me go with them ! It will be our first great camp ! You will see, I come back as a real man.
