XVI
A NAVAL VICTORY
October, 1917.
I went to Philadelphia the other day, and putting up at the hotel at once called up M——, who said that as she was a member of the Motor Messenger Corps it behooved her to show herself at a large meeting that Corps had decided to arrange for getting recruits for the Navy. She said that she had a box; so I suggested delicately that I might help her to occupy the said box. Nothing would give her greater pleasure, but as she had several girls with her, she suggested that I might feel awkward unless she got another man. Having assured her that, on the contrary, nothing would give me greater pleasure, I was then asked to accompany her, so at eight o'clock, dressed in a strange imitation of a badly turned out British officer, she dashed up in her Henry Ford and took me to the demonstration.
The box was well exposed and there I sat with two ladies, disguised as officers, in the front seats, and two more behind. There were several hundred blue jackets decorating the stage, all armed with instruments, and the programme stated that the said blue jackets were the band of Sousa.
Dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant in the U. S. Navy the great conductor marched on to the stage, bowed to the audience a little, mounted a stand, gave one beat, and Hey Presto! off went the band. Of course it was wonderful, made even more thrilling by the dress of the performers.
He played piece after piece and then a gentleman in evening dress walked on followed by a rather nervous looking Admiral of the British Navy. The gentleman promptly commenced to eulogize the Admiral, who must have felt rather terrible, but he stepped forward, Sousa meanwhile breaking into "God Save the King." The Admiral commenced. He was obviously nervous; however, his lack of power as an orator was very effective, and he spoke a little about destroyers, and then stopped. Sousa then played, rather too quickly and without much feeling, "Rule Britannia." I felt militantly British and was very proud of the Admiral's entire lack of oratorical power.
We had some more wonderful music from Sousa and after some flattering remarks from the gentleman in evening dress, General W—— stepped forward and said a few well chosen words. They were very effective and to the point. He looked every inch a soldier, and was faultlessly turned out: we all liked him. After that we had some more music and then the gentleman in evening dress with more complimentary remarks ushered in a man dressed as a British officer in "slacks" which did not fit well. He was a tall youth with a very good looking face, brown curly hair, and an engaging smile showing a set of good teeth. The gentleman in evening dress commenced, as we thought then, to torture him about his gallantry in action and all that sort of thing, and then the officer started.
He said some big things. He remarked that he had heard it said in America that the British were using Colonial troops to shield their own men. Incidentally I have often heard this said, but anxiously, as though the speaker could not believe it but wanted to be reassured. I have always laughed at this statement and remarked that to use one man to shield ten or twelve was too difficult a proposition for the "powers that be" in England. To deny it on my part, as a British officer, seemed too ridiculous; besides, the whole thing is so obviously German propaganda.
However, I was interested to hear how this Australian chap would deal with the thing, so I listened carefully. He went on to explain what he had heard and then said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, as an Australian officer, I want to tell you that it is a Damned Lie." He brought the thing out with much feeling. He then endeavoured to explain the Gallipoli campaign and denied its being a failure.
A little blood commenced to flow about the stage at this time and he was getting worked up. I have heard similar oratory in Sydney. Perhaps he was getting too eloquent, but he had the crowd with him, and I know that quite a number of young ladies felt cold shivers down their spinal columns.
He said in stirring phrases that Australia and the Australians were not in any way annoyed with the home government about the Gallipoli business. They ought to be a little, it seemed to me, but I was thrilled by his loyalty to the homeland. He then convinced us all of the wonderful discipline prevailing in the Australian army. I am sure that he helped us. The American people liked to hear about Australia, and were glad to hear that we British were not poltroons. The few of us there felt proud to have such a fellow standing up for us, and even we were a little thrilled by the gory stories that he told. He certainly dismissed from the minds of those present any idea of a breaking up of the British Empire.
So far he had spoken wonderfully, but after three-quarters of an hour he waxed very eloquent and, throwing out his arms, he commenced using just a little too often the words "Men and Women of America," smiling sadly the while and getting a little like a parson.
He now attacked the pacifists in that clever and abusive way which I have only heard once before, when the editor of a flamboyant Sydney paper gave a lecture in the old City Hall at Auckland. The said editor being rather a noted character, the mayor had refused to occupy the chair, and he was abused impersonally, but viciously and cleverly. In like manner, the pacificists in Philadelphia were called "pestiferous insects" a rather unpleasant sounding term and hardly descriptive. I wish that he hadn't used that phrase. Still he was effective and I am certain did a great deal of good.
I have one complaint to make, however. This Australian seemed to express a terrific hate for the Germans and spoke about their atrocities. He mentioned seeing men lying dead in No Man's Land until their eyes were eaten out and all that sort of thing. He grew furious with the Boche, and carried the audience with him. He spoke of women getting "desecrated." Groans and angry mutterings could be heard throughout the hall and I awoke to the strange fact that a British officer was sowing in America a feeling of savage hatred towards the Germans and succeeding. One thought of Punch's picture depicting a German family enjoying their morning hate. Perhaps you will say "And why not, the blighters." Perhaps he was waking up the country a little and was quite right, but the thing interested me and I wondered.
Isn't it true that we are fighting Germany because she is a hater? Isn't it true that Germany has been guilty of such filthiness that she is slowly but surely cutting her own throat? Isn't it a fact that we have always tried to fight clean, no matter what our enemy may be like? Isn't it true that Uncle Sam came into this war really because of the sinking of the Lusitania and the fact that the Germans were such blighters in Belgium? Isn't it true that in warfare, to be successful, you must be cool and calm and steady? Isn't it true that, in boxing, the chap who loses his temper runs some awful risks? In a word, don't you think the Germans are getting licked badly because of their futile and mad hatred?
I know you can't stop the men from seeing red in an attack. It helps them a little and makes them better fighters, but it is really a form of Dutch courage. I want to see America going into this war as the champion of manliness, decency, purity, goodness,—all that sort of thing. She is bound to hate a little. She'll catch that disease quick enough from the Boche, but if she learns to hate as the German's hate, she is beaten, licked to pieces, no matter what the issue of the war may be.
As you know, I spent the best part of a year in France and Belgium, and I can honestly say that during that time I never saw hate displayed, except towards the supply people who wouldn't believe in our "strafed" cycles. I have heard of Tommies getting furious and the officers who have told me have spoken about it as a little amusing, but they don't seem to have felt it themselves at all. I had a bedroom in a billet next to a kitchen where Mr. Thomas Atkins used to take his refreshment, and I have heard some wonderful stories, a little lurid; but quite often I have heard Fritz admired.
I remember one day during the battle of Loos chatting to the Major, while awaiting orders to fire, and regretting that our men should get atrocious, as I had heard they were. The Major, an old campaigner, out with the original expeditionary force, smiled a little, but merely observed that it was very natural.
Past our battery position there was passing a few prisoners and a procession of wounded—but mostly "blighties"; and I saw one sergeant with a German helmet. I wanted to buy it as a "prop" for lurid stories on leave, so went over to him. He had four bloody grooves down his face, and he told me that he had had a hand-to-hand fight. He seemed a nice chap, and he described the combat, in which he had evidently been getting the worst of it, for the four grooves were nail marks from the German. Fortunately he got his bayonet. "And you killed him," I broke in. "Oh no, sir," he replied; "I just gave him a dig and the Red Cross people have got him now. There he is, sir, I think,"—as a German prisoner, lying on a stretcher and smoking a woodbine went by. I returned without the helmet and told the story to the major, and he said, "Oh no; I shouldn't believe all you hear about Tommy Atkins."
Perhaps our men have got nasty and very furious with the Boche. One can hardly blame them. I am willing to believe that sometimes when the Germans have done dirty tricks with our prisoners revenge has been taken, but I just don't believe for a single instant that the chaps I knew and loved in France could behave in any way but as decent, hard fighting, hard swearing, good natured fellows. I don't believe either, and no one I knew in France during my year there believed, that the Boche were always dirty in their tricks, though I will admit that they show up badly as sportsmen.
Frankly, I want to see this country putting every ounce of power into the combat. I want them to realize fully that Germany requires a lot of beating. I want them to know that a victorious Germany would be a menace to the liberty of the world, and all the other things that the newspapers say.
But I dislike intensely this savage hate propaganda that is being affected here. It is stupid, useless and dangerous. Didn't some philosopher say that if he wanted to punish a man he would teach him how to hate. The Germans deserve it; of course they do, but we must be stronger than they. Also, you cannot exterminate them, unfortunately, so you have got to try to make them decent, by some means or other. A famous member of my clan, David Livingstone, went about amongst the most savage tribes of Africa, unharmed and unarmed. It was just because of the love that emanated from him. I fear it will be difficult to like the Germans very much after all they have done, but we Britons must not let Uncle Sam think for an instant that we have learnt from the Germans how to hate in their own commonplace savage way. Of course it is not true. We have a sense of humour and the Americans have a wonderful sense of fun, and these two things cannot walk together with that stupid, vulgar thing called hate.
The other night I had to speak at a club meeting. There was an infantry officer there, and I felt that for a gunner to talk of the discomforts of war in the presence of an infantry officer would be a little humorous. However, these fellows wanted thrills, so I tried to give them some, though, as you know, warfare is a commonplace amusement mostly, and if one is limited by facts, it is difficult to thrill an audience.
The infantry officer spoke afterwards. It was very thrilling. He told me seriously later on in my rooms that he was a godson of Nurse Cavill, that he had seen the Canadians crucified, that he had walked along the top of the parapet for half a mile with a machine-gun playing on him in the moonlight, that he enjoyed patrols and loved sticking Germans in the back in their listening posts, that he had discovered a German disguised as a gunner officer behind the lines, that he had remained with six wounds in his body for eight days in No Man's Land, that he had been wounded six times, that he had often been right behind the German lines at night, that he had overheard an interesting conversation between two German staff officers in a German dugout, that he was in the second battle of Ypres, Neuve Chappelle and Loos, that he had been a private in the Gunners years ago, and many other adventures——!
And the extraordinary thing to me is that intelligent Americans, big men, listen and believe these things. Later, when their own boys return they will know that the chap who has been through it will tell them—nothing. It is fine for us British here these days. We are heroes, wonderful heroes. But strange people seem to be arriving and I wonder if they are all taking the right line. I realise at once that it is very easy for me to talk like this. A gunner subaltern, with his comfortable billet to return to, even at the end of an unpleasant day, seldom comes face to face with the Boche. Still I can only repeat that during my service I saw nothing of common, vulgar hatred displayed by any infantry officers I have met. It is not worth while: they are too great for that.
Of course I may have missed it. But there was Taylor, for example, a horse gunner I believe, who was attached to the trench "Mortuaries." He was at Haylebury with Taggers. He used to come into the mess at times. Once during the battle of Loos while we were attacking he took several of his cannon over into the Boche trench which we had succeeded in capturing. Unfortunately something went wrong on our flank and Taylor with the wonderful Second Rifle Brigade was left in this trench surrounded by Boches in helmets with spikes in them. They were jammed tight in the narrow, well-formed German trench and only a bomber at each end could fight. We had plenty of bombs, however, and the Germans had little fancy for jumping over the barricade they had made in their own trench. Their officers attempted to lead their men and one by one were bombed or shot. Taylor could see the spikes on their helmets. There was a delay and then a German private with a cheery "Hoch!" jumped up on to the barricade trying to entice the others to follow. They did not, but the private received a bullet and lay there rather badly wounded. He gave a slight movement, perhaps he seemed to be stretching for his gun, so the bomber let him have one and ended all movement.
These men of ours were in a very awkward position, almost hopeless, and no chances could be taken, but Taylor was annoyed with the bomber for killing him, although there was nothing else to be done. He seemed too brave to die. Taylor also told me, when he was in our dugout at the battery position dead beat, that he saw a German badly wounded being attended by one of our R. A. M. C. men. The German was begging the Red Cross chap to let him die for his country.
I am merely telling you these things in order to let you see what impressions I got. I hope that you will not think that I am becoming a pacifist. But even if the Germans have taught our men to hate, I hope that we will not be responsible for teaching the fellows over here that sort of thing. Many of them will learn soon enough. Besides, I am not sure that it is advisable for us to do it.
The next day I met the Admiral and took him out to my friends at Chestnut Hill. M——'s mother, a hopeless Anglophile, fell for him at once. He amused us all at dinner, and then we asked him to go with us to the hotel to dance. He came and stayed with us until midnight. A—— liked him very much and spent the whole evening, or what was left of Saturday night, talking to him, ignoring the wonderful music that was enticing us all to dance. On Monday he came with me to Bethlehem. I took him home to tea, and my landlady, an English girl, was very thrilled, and was perfectly overcome when he bowed to her, and shook her warmly by the hand. She brought tea up, and stayed to gossip a little, and they commenced discussing Yarmouth or some other place that they both knew.
I discussed the "hate" business with the Admiral, but he seemed to think that it could not be helped and that perhaps the men made better fighters if they felt furious. So perhaps after another dose of France and "Flounders" I may feel the same.
At the moment in Bethlehem the people are preparing for a trying time. They are convinced that something is going on in France about which they know nothing. They are sure that the boys are in it. They are appreciating to the full the wonderful work being done at Ypres by our men. Having been ordered to wear uniform I am astonished at the number of people who greet me. As I walk along I am constantly greeted with "Good evening, Captain." What charming manners the American working man has when you are not employing him!
Yesterday I was going up the street in uniform when two small boys stopped making mud pies and, after looking at me with great pleasure, one said "Hello, Horn Blow Man!"
I hope that I am not entirely wrong about the hate business, but I always feel that in the same way that you hide love from the rest of the world because you are proud of it, so you hide hate because you are ashamed of it.
If a Frenchman developed hate for his theme in propaganda he'd get away with it. But American people know that we are merely like themselves, too lazy and good natured to develop a really efficient form of hatred.