The idea preyed upon his mind that he was no soldier
and could never be one, and he felt that the resulting depression had a
great deal to do with his protracted illness. Cleary was assiduous in
his attentions, but, intimate as they were, Sam could never bring
himself to confess his culpable weakness to him. As he became
convalescent he had other visitors, and among them Mr. Cope, the
inventor of explosives and artillery.
"I am at work at a great invention which I shall owe partly to you and
partly to the Emperor," said he on one occasion. "Do you remember that
at that execution the Emperor said that the perfect soldier has no
conscience or reason?" Sam winced. "And then you called my attention to
the fact that the men performed their part like machines. That set me
thinking. I am always on the lookout for suggestions, and there was one
ready-made. Do you see? Why shouldn't a machine be made to take the
place of a soldier? A great idea, isn't it? Now you see we've already
done something in that line. A torpedo is simply an iron soldier that
swims under water and needs no breath, and does as he is told. Think
how absurd it is in battle to have a field-battery come up under fire
at a gallop! They swing round, unlimber, load, and fire, then harness
again, swing round again, and off they are. Meanwhile perhaps half the
men and horses have been killed.
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