For some hours his mind was filled
with unmixed admiration for the Emperor and his army. He felt like an
artist who had just seen a new masterpiece that surpassed all the
achievements of the ages, or a musician who had listened to a new
symphony that summed up and transcended all that had ever gone before.
Again and again he pictured to himself the great war-lord in his helmet
and white plume, explaining so eloquently and admirably the duties of a
soldier, and then his soldiers obeying his orders as if their service
were a religion to them, as indeed it was. It grew dark, but Sam did
not heed the darkness. Dinner-time came and went, but he was in a
region far above such vulgar bodily needs.
"Oh, if we only had an emperor," he thought,--"and such an emperor! Why
was I not born a Tutonian?"
This was an unpatriotic thought, and Sam was ashamed of it. Yet it was
true, he would gladly have found himself one of His Majesty's subjects
and a member of his incomparable army. Then he recalled his memorable
interview with the Emperor, and rejoiced in the remembrance that he had
deserved and received his commendation. He tried to imagine how it
would feel to be one of his officers, or even one of his privates. If
he had been selected as one of the squad to show the perfection of
their discipline, how gladly he would have taken his place in line with
the rest! He would have obeyed without flinching, he was sure of it.
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