EDITORIAL
THE PROFESSOR AND THE FINGER BOWL
To tell a new Lincoln story is something of an achievement. Colonel Tom Brown, a former citizen of Badgerdom, who now resides in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, has achieved this distinction, we believe, in relating the following incident. In view of the nature of our leading article, and of the local interest which attaches to Mr. Brown’s tale, we gladly give it such additional currency as lies within our power.
In some sections of southwestern Wisconsin during the Civil War, so the story runs, certain copperhead organizations, particularly the Knights of the Golden Circle, became decidedly outspoken in the expression of their sentiments—so much so that a group of loyal citizens decided to send a spokesman to Washington to acquaint the President with the threatening proceedings. The delegate chosen for this mission was a certain Professor Kilgore of Evansville Seminary. On his arrival at Washington he was invited to take lunch at the White House, where he was seated next to President Lincoln himself. At this time finger bowls were coming into fashion, but their advent had not as yet come within the ken of the simple western professor. Accordingly he was greatly perplexed by the little dish, containing a slice of lemon and some liquid, apparently lemonade, which appeared near the close of the meal. Observing his embarrassment, President Lincoln, leaning toward him, whispered, “Professor, don’t sip out of that bowl, watch me.”
Following this kindly instruction the pedagogue concluded the meal without disgracing himself. When, later, they found themselves alone together, President Lincoln confided to the visitor that he himself needed a servant to keep him informed about “those little things.”
We cannot vouch for the truth of the story, although it rests on better authority than most of the tales that are told about Lincoln. However authentic its details, it presents a trait of homely kindness, the possession of which constitutes one of the most attractive aspects of Lincoln’s personality.
THE PRINTING OF HISTORICAL PUBLICATIONS
The last day of the year brings to hand the January, 1917, number of the quarterly Journal of a neighboring state historical society. What the local conditions may be which render it necessary to be a year behind with the publication of this periodical, we are unaware. Reference is made to it by way of calling attention to a practice which is all too common with respect to the issuance of historical periodicals and other publications. If a quarterly must appear six months or a year late it would seem to be a fair question whether its appearance at all is worth while. If such delays are due to the slackness or incompetency of the editor, the proper authorities should apply a much needed stimulant. If they are due to conditions beyond the editor’s control, reform (in the quarter responsible for the delay) is still desirable. We suspect that commonly such delays are caused by the state printers, by whom, at least in the Middle West, historical publications are generally issued. We speak the more feelingly on the subject because our own Society is not immune from the criticism under discussion. The printer dallied for a year over our most recently issued volume, while it required six months to get a forty-page bulletin printed. It avails little for editors to be punctual and businesslike in turning out their work, if it may then be hung up indefinitely by the printer, with the editor deprived of any means of amending the situation. Quite possibly state printers are themselves the victims of a system the amendment of which is beyond their control. Of this we have no particular knowledge. Wherever the responsibility may justly be placed, the
manner in which most public printing is done in this country offers a severe commentary upon our boasted American efficiency.
IS WAR BECOMING MORE HORRIBLE?
There is an ancient story concerning a grave debate indulged in by a group of English philosophers during the Stuart period over the question why a fish does not weigh anything when in the water. At length it occurred to one of them to weigh a vessel of water with a fish in it, and again with the fish removed. As a result of this simple test the philosophers were forced to seek a new subject upon which to exercise their wits. At the present time it seems to be generally assumed that with the invention of new implements of warfare and of improvements upon old ones the horrors of war have steadily increased; in particular, that the present war is far more horrible to those who participate in it than any of its predecessors in the history of the human race have been. Such a belief as this entails obvious consequences affecting not only the peace of mind of our people but, in the last analysis, the success of the cause to which our nation is committed. For if it is indeed true that our young manhood is going to certain death under circumstances more awful than the pages of military history have hitherto ever recorded, our willingness as individuals to send our loved ones to meet such a fate must be seriously shaken by the prospect; while, collectively, the will of the nation to persist in the war upon which we have embarked will be similarly affected. In a word, such an impression gravely threatens the morale of the nation, including both those who go to war and those who send them forth. That our Teutonic foemen have not been unmindful of this is amply evidenced by the new and hellish connotation which in recent years they have succeeded in attaching to the word shrecklichkeit. To German shrecklichkeit we will pay our respects presently. Meanwhile we
desire to deal with the question whether under the influence of modern science and invention the conduct of warfare has in fact become increasingly horrible.
SOME LEAVES FROM THE PAST
We believe it can be shown, on the contrary, that the direct opposite is true; that the warfare waged by primitive peoples and in ancient times was a far more horrible procedure than is that waged by civilized nations today. It may be taken as axiomatic that the horrors of battle, like the transports of love, increase as the distance between the parties concerned diminishes. All savage warfare, and all civilized warfare as well, until a very recent date, was waged at close range. In ancient and in medieval times men battled hand to hand with spear and sword and ax. The vanquished found slight opportunity to escape and the hand of the conqueror was stayed by no considerations of twentieth century humanity. The chronicles of the Hebrews, the Lord’s anointed, and the narratives of Alexander the Great and Julius Cæsar tell alike the same general tale of slaughter of the opposing warriors and the slaughter, rapine, or enslavement, as the case might be, of their dependents. In medieval times, it is true, under the influence of the institution of knighthood, certain rules foreshadowing the modern rules of war were developed. But these more humane rules applied only to the aristocracy, the commoner being excluded from their operation and benefits.
With the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries came two developments of much importance for their bearing upon our subject. The one was the application of gunpowder to the art of war, as the result of which war was democratized; the business of knighthood soon became as dead as Cæsar’s ghost, and as firearms improved, the distances at which opposing armies fought slowly widened. The other was an indirect result of the Dutch war for independence. Meditating upon the terrible brutalities to which his people were
subjected by it, Hugo Grotius evolved the treatise on the laws of war and peace which by common consent has ever since been regarded as the foundation of modern international law. Grotius sought, in a word, to humanize warfare by securing the establishment by common agreement of rules calculated to prohibit its more debasing and awful manifestations. In the three hundred years ending with August, 1914, much progress was made, both along the lines laid down by Grotius and in other ways, looking to the minimizing of the horrors of war. At the same time, ever more ingenious and powerful death-dealing appliances were being devised for the waging of such combat as the rules of international law still rendered permissible.
THE DEVELOPMENT OF HUMANITARIANISM
Notable progress, too, was being made along another line. Humanitarianism in its modern connotation is the child of the nineteenth century. To feel distress over the knowledge that famine or other ill afflicts a distant people is a purely modern accomplishment of which our forefathers of two or three centuries ago were wholly innocent. As applied to armies, the humanitarian impulse has worked a startling revolution. Organizations designed to care for the sick and the wounded have developed on an elaborate scale. The Red Cross was called into being only half a century ago as an indirect result of the horrors of the battlefield of Solferino. It was born too late to have any share in alleviating the miseries of our own Civil War but since that time it has constituted an ever increasing agency for the relief of human suffering, whether in peace or in war. Even the “unspeakable Turk” has been infected by the virus of humanitarianism and the Red Crescent plays for the Mohammedan world the rôle fulfilled by the Red Cross among the nations of Christendom.
The progress made in recent years in the fields of medicine and surgery has been no less striking than in that of humanitarianism; while the development of a new social consciousness (a concomitant, of course, of the humanitarian movement) has resulted in throwing about the soldier who wars for America in 1918 a set of safeguards, and in providing him with a degree of comfort such as no other warriors in the history of the world ever enjoyed. Against drunkenness and vice, twin plagues of army life since the beginning of the world, he is at least as well protected as is the civilian at home. Libraries and clubhouses and games and lectures are provided with unstinted generosity for his recreation and instruction. That his mind may be free from incidental worry, a system of life insurance on a scale hitherto undreamed of has been evolved; while the wife or other dependents at home are insured by the largess of a parental government against coming to actual want during his absence.
SOME FACTS AND FIGURES
All these things will avail little to comfort the soldier or his loved ones if it is in fact true that he is being sent to a certain and awful death—if his span of life, after reaching France, is limited to a few weeks, and after reaching the front line trenches to a few hours or minutes. Let us proceed, then, to weigh this particular fish. We can do it only approximately, for it is inherent in the nature of warfare that accurate, dependable statistics are commonly lacking, or extremely difficult to obtain. The testimony of such as we have, however, is all in support of the view that never before in civilized warfare has the individual soldier had so good a prospect of surviving the term of his enlistment and returning once more to the homeland as now. It is not contended, of course, that modern war is simply a pleasant pastime from which all will return unscathed, but merely that the current impression concerning its having become
more awful and more fatal than in times past is incorrect. According to respectable authority the casualties in the entire French army in proportion to mobilized strength amounted, for the first six months of 1915, to 2.39 per cent. Since then the ratio has steadily decreased, the figure for the last six months of 1916 being 1.28 per cent. At the beginning of the war, for the battles of Charleroi and the Marne, when the French suffered more heavily than at any time since, the casualties were 5.41 per cent of the mobilized strength of the army. In other words during the period of greatest danger in the entire war but five men in every hundred received wounds, while, of these five, it is a safe generalization to say that only one died as a result thereof.
In view of the enormous numbers of men in the present war, the absolute figures of losses are appalling enough. Relatively, however, the losses are lower than in many previous wars. In no great battle of the war, probably, has the individual soldier stood so good a chance of being wounded or killed as did those—to mention a few cases only—who fought at Fredericksburg or Gettysburg, at Stone River or Chickamauga, at Waterloo, at Aspern, at Borodino, or Leipsic. At Fredericksburg, Burnside lost, in a few hours, one-tenth of his army, the loss in that portion actively engaged amounting to 16 per cent; at Gettysburg, in three days, one-fifth of the Union army and almost one-third of the Confederate army were killed or wounded; at Chickamauga and at Stone River over one-fourth of the Confederate forces engaged were lost, while the casualties sustained by Grant’s army in the seven-days’ wilderness battles amounted to the same appalling proportion. As to the Napoleonic wars, at Waterloo 40 per cent of the French army—30,000 out of 74,000—were lost in a few hours’ time; at Austerlitz, the French, although overwhelmingly victorious, lost almost one-ninth of the army in one day’s fighting, while the allies lost nearly half of theirs; at Borodino, in a single day, the victorious French suffered casualties of 22½ per cent, the defeated Russians casualties
of 50 per cent of the armies engaged; at Aspern, a drawn battle, both French and Austrians lost, in killed and wounded, over one-fourth of the total armies engaged; at Albuera over one-fourth of the French and one-fifth of the allied armies were lost, but the British force, which bore the brunt of the allied fighting, lost 4,100 men out of a total of 8,000 engaged. In the present war, because of an unrescinded order, we are told, a Canadian detachment of 800 left 600 men on the field. But this is more than matched on both sides at Gettysburg, where with no mistake in orders one Confederate regiment lost 720 men out of 800, while a Union regiment lost 82 per cent of the men engaged. Sixty-two Union regiments in this war sustained losses in some single battle in excess of 50 per cent, a record equalled on the southern side by forty-three regiments. Those killed in action today are as irrevocably dead as those killed in any former war; but of those merely wounded (about four-fifths of all battle casualties) the prospect of recovering is incomparably better than in any previous war, while the prospect of death from disease incurred in service is likewise vastly diminished.
BRAVERY THEN AND NOW
It is a foible of most peoples in all generations fondly to picture themselves as braver and hardier than those of other races and times. So, in the present war, it is commonly assumed that greater demands upon the soldier’s fortitude and courage are made than in times gone by. In fact, however, bravery has been throughout the ages probably the commonest attribute of mankind. Soldiers are as brave today as in former times, but no more so. To contemplate a modern bayonet charge or a fight at close grips with gun-butt and knife is far from pleasant. But whereas such fighting is the occasional or exceptional thing today, of old it was the normal mode of fighting. The idea that combat should be waged at a distance was born only with the development of smokeless powder and high-power rifles. As late as Cromwell’s time
the pike was the main reliance of infantry in battle. The favorite tactics of Napoleon were based on the idea of overwhelming the opposing army by the shock of mass formations. At Waterloo, for hours his splendid cavalry broke against the British squares, riding round and round at bayonet’s length, seeking to break their outer line. From fighting in the open in mass formation, armies have now largely taken to cover, even as the American Indian did; partly because of this, partly for the other reasons noted, the dangers and the horrors of war today have greatly diminished as compared with former times. Our people should be made acquainted with this fact, and both those who go to war and those who send them forth are entitled to such comfort as may legitimately be derived from it.
SCHRECKLICHKEIT
One general exception, however, must be taken to the comforting conclusions which have been reached. Broadly speaking, warfare among savages knows no rules and recognizes no limitations of action or honor. Prisoners of war may be slaughtered at once or reserved for the refinements of torture. No distinction of treatment is made between warriors and noncombatants. The lives, the liberty, and the possessions of the conquered social group are subjected to such disposition as the caprice or self-interest of the conquerors may dictate. Following in the path marked out by Grotius, slowly and painfully yet none the less surely, civilized nations have humanized warfare to a marked degree. The rules of civilized war distinguish between soldiers and noncombatants. The rights of the latter, both of person and of property, have been clearly established; even as between contending armies numerous rules have been established, all based on the general idea of regulating and refining war in ways calculated to eliminate its most horrible and debasing manifestations. In this work our own nation has played a leading part and the rules for the guidance of the Union
armies adopted by President Lincoln half a century ago, still largely guide the conduct of nations in the waging of war.
With one awful exception, however. Moved by what atavistic influence we know not, in striking contrast to the trend of world development during the last three hundred years, the German government and people in the last half century have evolved the doctrine and subscribed to the principles of shrecklichkeit. As briefly characterized by Bismarck, this policy, or principle of conduct, aims to leave to the enemy nothing except their eyes with which to weep. It lays the ax to the very foundation of the structure of international law, slowly reared through three hundred years of effort. For the rule of right and justice it substitutes the jungle law of tooth and fang. Under its malign influence the whole circuit of the earth is filled with spying and treason, with fraud and strife. On the foul results of this policy, as applied to the conduct of armies, it is superfluous to dwell when addressing readers of the present generation. No sharper commentary upon the sad reversion of modern Germany to the customs and practices of savagery can be afforded than the fact that the rules promulgated by Lincoln for the guidance of the Union armies were drafted by Francis Lieber, one of the most notable men ever driven from reactionary Prussia to seek refuge in the United States. Shrecklichkeit, like revolutionary France in 1792, throws down the gage of battle to the remainder of the civilized world. In 1792, however, revolutionary France voiced the aspirations of the future against the dead weight of the past. Today imperial Germany challenges the civilization of the present and the hopes of the future in the interest of resurgent savagery. The world is too small to contain two such antagonistic sets of ideals and of conduct. Either Prussian shrecklichkeit or the American ideal of order based on reason and justice must prevail.
May we acquit ourselves like men and carry the fight to the finish.