« AnkstesnisTęsti »
many into Ireland. I said I could. we found ourselves standing out in
Then armed with forged passports and letters to German sympathizers, I set out for Berlin.
I had no trouble in getting a shipload of guns which I sent to Hamburg and placed in the hold of a sailingsloop. Everything went fine until some over-officious customs' officers at Hamburg got inquisitive. They searched the vessel, found the guns and placed me and my crew under arrest. I took all responsibility and they let the crew go. I was tried, thought best to confess, and asked the mercy of the Court. This I got to full measure. The judge gave me a nominal fine, shook hands with me, wished me luck and told me to be more careful in my next venture. But my guns were confiscated so I had to go back to Berlin for another shipment.
Meanwhile the boys in Ireland were suffering for want of guns. I decided to get a steam-vessel and bought the Frieda. Now my crew was made up of Germans, Russian Reds and exiled Irishmen. I knew that I had enough of the last to keep the rest in order, and we were prepared to deal quickly and efficiently with any sign of rebellion. Every Irishman on board was a stanch patriot and ready to die if need be. In the hold of the vessel we had a quantity of dynamite, and this was connected with a storage battery and could be fired at any moment. Three Irishmen had taken the job and sworn to blow up the vessel if we were seriously threatened with capture.
Suddenly the fog, which had been the cause of our collision, lifted; and
the rays of Eddystone Light. Off our starboard bow rolled a destroyer and immediately its search-light was on us. She was hauled to but we were cutting ahead at full speed. They signaled us to stop and, just before we dove into another fogbank, they sent a shot in front of us.
All night I had been praying for the fog to clear. Now I prayed for it to hold and grow thicker. Around us the lyddite burst. They were searching in the fog-bank and probably hoping to scare us into surrender. The destroyer was giving long and short blasts of her siren and these were being answered by other destroyers and coast-guard cutters. We already had a hole in our side just above the water-line which didn't make any difference as long as we were in fairly smooth water, but the slightest rough sea would mean our shipping water into the hold.
The Eddystone had given me a bearing and I made for the open sea. If the ship went down we would take to the boats and make for the French coast. Soon I realized that the destroyers were gaining on us. There were several in the chase now and they were sending a regular barrage of fire into the friendly mist that surrounded us. Something had to be done and done quickly, if we hoped to save the cargo. Generally in a tight place the most daring thing to do is the best thing to do. To attempt to dodge them by steaming in a circle was too obvious; so I took a desperate chance and ordered the engines to slow, stop and then astern, hoping that in the darkness and fog the enemy would race past us.
The ruse worked, and the line of
THE BOGY OF SEX
Life Is a Conclusive Denial That Sex Is a Central Interest
HE days of romance have passed. Love no longer hides in a tower room, wooed by music from afar. Love drives down Main Street in chummy roadsters and sits crosslegged on tea-room verandas. Neither is it blind nor shy nor tongue-tied. But in this realistic age the quest is limited. Young love shuns sentiment, it turns its eyes from beauty, singing few songs. The generation has but a single motto, "Male and female created He them."
The new emotionalism is not one of place or social level. It pursues us wherever we turn. Nor is the change confined to the less cultured classes or to the adolescent generation. Even as elderly women have bobbed their hair and given their knees the freedom of the city, so have they at the same time joined the ranks of the unblushing. Many a grandfather these days reads wistfully of glandular therapy. He has sympathy with Faust. The subject of sex has certainly stepped out of the boudoir, thrown off the hushed intimacy of the afternoon knitting, forgotten the privacy of marriage and taken its place at bridge table and club lounge. From three to three score and ten any aspect of it serves for casual reference or minute dissection.
Picture a parlor-grown Victorian with her mind, like her neck, wrists and ankles swathed in the tight conventions of modesty, overhearing two flappers discussing Freud. Their free use of ideas once hardly whispered, would be as horrifying to that ancient lady as their swinging pink legs or the cigarette ashes falling over their alleged dresses. Ladies of bygone days would have blushed deep maroon even to think the thoughts the present generation banter about as nonchalantly as it mentions shoe-strings or the latest dance. And each year conversation takes off another garment, as it We are in an age when the word "sacred" has gone back to the altar and there is nothing hid that shall not be revealed.
sex became a subject for medical and legal discussion, it was carefully disguised under the name eugenics. The Malthusian question of birthcontrol was referred to chiefly in terms of over-population and the strain of large families upon the poor. Everything was stilted and in comparison with the present, as proper as a platitude.
To-day sex is spoken of casually either as a right or a joy; a release from crushing inhibition or a necessity for health. Yes, even more than this, many believe it to be the single motive of the human being, the dynamic of life. Its eugenic aspect is out of date in drawing-room conversation. Its use for posterity has been submerged beneath its value for the present generation.
When a once forbidden subject takes such possession of people's minds, it behooves us to discover whether we are thinking rightly about it. Is sex so all important? Is it the central motive of our lives? Can it be possible that thousands of apparently modest thoughts and feelings are really sexual and we know it not? Can we be induced to read books, see plays or buy new clothes only by an appeal to sex impulses? If so the truth would have come out some day and the sooner we get the thing over with the more quickly can we turn to making life worth while in other
motive, is contemporary with this age of passionalism, it cannot be said to have caused it. The analyst is one who merely records what he finds in the human being. He draws his conclusions by adding up his statistics. It is his misfortune, not his fault, that his subject having intimately to do with human beings, has become a lay science. In its first wave of popularity it has been appropriated by the just and the unjust alike and used as if it were a patent medicine ready to take after self-diagnosis. Much, however, that is labeled Freudian and used as synonymous with sex, has little relation to Freud's discoveries. It is probable that he hardly recognizes his own theories as they come back to him, not as the children of his research but as cousins several times removed.
If, however, we should admit that men and women are often secretly as hyper-sexual as some believe them to be, it would not prove that many were born so or that extreme sexuality is normal. It would neither disprove personal variation nor social stimulation. An examination of the feet of Chinese women any time during the nineteenth century would have revealed them as dwarfed, while South Sea Island head-binders have higher skulls than our own. If we did not know that each had been confined from infancy, we might easily draw a mistaken conclusion regarding them. It is just as possible that psychoanalysis has merely revealed the abnormal sexualities in human nature caused by pressure of so-called civilization and accentuated distortions of the mind which were being created in every
feriority had been lulled for a time into lethargy and his ego had a real outlet. Expression itself was
at all necessary. In both men and women this element of vanity and pride intensifies sex desire. In some lives the moment sex is legalized by marriage and made a commonplace, it looses its power to bring balm to the individual whose feelings have a neurotic taint of inferiority.
Although it is sometimes assumed that loneliness is sexual, actually it belongs to the herd instinct. We We were born to be with our fellows and normal men are as gregarious as a school of herring. Loneliness is an ache which comes to the human spirit when the herd instinct is not satisfied. It is sexual only when the desire intimately to solace loneliness enters as a motivating attribute. There is perhaps nothing that more completely brings balm to the urging herd instinct than the complete companionship which sex implies.
A third aspect which affects what has too long been thought a single consuming emotion, is the urge for adventure. Without this primary incentive there might have been little for history to rehearse. Primitive men and women might still be sitting in the doorway of their caves, going out only for necessary food. Adventure is one of the greatest channels through which the human spirit realizes itself. To be the first to fly far above the earth and water gives a lift to the mind. To map out some tangled jungle, hazard some new form of drama, discover a distant planet or invent a visionphone; these are but a few of the currents of the dynamic urge that is in man. Only the timorous and
pigeon-hearted would contradict the statement that the experience of sex may also be a great adventure. Indeed the romances of history would be deprived of half their charm if the element of adventure were taken out of the sex impulse.
Even more than the impetus for adventure and the impulses for excitement and play, is a deep rebellion in the heart of man against limitation, dullness and pressure. We love this life only because we have no better one of which we are sure, but there are thousands of aspects of it which are almost abhorrent to the human spirit. Thus sex may serve as an anesthetic, a solace for all the dissatisfactions which life. brings, serving only as a negative charm. A narcotic for the troubles of life is not a drive which motivates human action. It is possibly one of the great means of retreat from the world but inversely it cannot be at the same time the most compelling of human activities.
That the unconscious urge for parentalism is even stronger than any of the other motives that enter into sex, there will be few to deny. But true parentalism is non-sexual. The impulse is here for the child and the building up of the family, for the making of a home and the generations that will carry on one's heritage and identity. There is an enormous sense of self-importance in thinking of all the little Smiths and Joneses who will carry on the traits and qualities which Mr. Smith or Mrs. Jones failed satisfactorily to achieve. Indeed this drive of parentalism has motivated much in human history. It is one of the elements of sex, but only one, and in its essential