His last letter from the White Nile, March 14, 1910, has in it the foreboding of what was to come. “Ugh!” he writes, “tell Douglas that I hate the prospect of being dragged into politics at home. I don’t like the political outlook.” Even then, although regretting the probability, he realized the imminence of being “dragged into politics at home.”
His wonderful reception in Egypt and the admiring recognition shown him by kings and potentates when he emerged from his year of seclusion in the jungle are well known to the world. Emperors and monarchs and presidents vied with each other to do him honor, and never was there a more triumphant progress than that of Citizen Theodore Roosevelt through the great countries that had known him as President of the United States. His tales later of the various potentates were amusing to the last degree; everything he recounted was told in the most good-natured, although humorous, spirit, and in many cases he spoke with warm regard and even affection for the rulers who welcomed him so warmly to their homes and lives. He referred to the King of Italy as “a very intelligent and really good man.” He had never felt that the Emperor of Germany was a great man, nor did he change his opinion, in spite of the many courtesies shown him by the Kaiser, although he enjoyed his experiences in Germany and was much interested when asked to review the great German army by the Emperor. Of all the reigning monarchs, he seemed to think with the most affection of the King of Norway, to whom he paid the characteristic compliment of saying that he “would enjoy having him settle down quietly near him at Oyster Bay,” and he also spoke with regard of Alfonso of Spain. He gave an especially interesting account of the funeral ceremonies of King Edward VII, to which ceremonies he was appointed special envoy; but most of all he wrote with keen delight of his “bird walk” through the New Forest and over the adjacent lowlands and uplands with that fellow bird-lover, the secretary for foreign affairs, then Sir Edward, now Earl, Grey. Nothing could have been more characteristic of Theodore Roosevelt than the way in which that walk had been arranged.
Before he left America to plunge into the African jungle, he wrote to Lord Bryce in England to the effect that on his return, practically a year and a quarter from the date on which he wrote, he would like some one versed in the bird-songs of England to walk with him for a day at least to acquaint him with the notes of the British feathered singers. He knew, he said, the appearance and habits of every English bird, but had never had the chance to match the bird to the song, and he was very anxious to do so. Lord Bryce happened to meet Sir Edward Grey, the secretary for foreign affairs, and laughingly mentioned the desire on the part of President Roosevelt to make this somewhat premature engagement, and expressed uncertainty as to whom he could choose for the President’s companion. Sir Edward immediately offered himself, saying that the knowledge of bird song and lore happened to be one of his assets, but even Sir Edward felt that the experiences with the mighty creatures of the jungle, the excitement of the political furor aroused by a certain speech of Theodore Roosevelt’s in Cairo, and the triumphal procession through other parts of Europe might, perhaps, have effaced from his memory his desire for a walk in English woodlands. But not at all. Sir Edward Grey himself told me, not long ago, that on the 1st of May, 1910, several weeks before he was expected in England, there came a note reminding the British secretary for foreign affairs that the ex-President of the United States wished to be his companion for twenty-four hours at least of remote enchantment “far from the madding crowd,” and so when the time came they started together and tramped through the New Forest, and later over lush meadows inundated by spring rains. Earl Grey told me that although he had often taken this particular walk, he had never encountered the slightest difficulty during the transit, but to be with Theodore Roosevelt was synonymous with adventure of some kind. While traversing a usually innocuous meadow, they suddenly came upon a piece of flooded lowland, in this particular case so flooded that unless they deflected or retraced their steps, it would mean walking breast-high in water for some distance. The secretary for foreign affairs referred the decision about the situation to the ex-President of the United States, and, needless to say, the man who was accustomed to swim the Potomac River in his stride, did not deflect his course because of the flooded English meadow. Later, as they stood under a tree drying themselves in the afternoon sunshine, a very sweet, delicate song was heard. My brother’s keen ears caught the trickling notes, and turning with vivid interest to his companion, he said: “Of all the songs we have heard to-day, that is the only one which resembles in any degree an American-bird song,” and he listened eagerly as the obliging bird repeated its dainty music. “That,” said Earl Grey, “is the crested wren.” “It is a wren also that sings like that in America,” said my brother. Earl Grey was very much interested in this, and a few days afterward, meeting a great bird expert in the British Museum, he repeated the remark of my brother in connection with the fact that the crested wren’s song was the only one of any English bird resembling the song of an American bird, and the expert confirmed what my brother had said.
Mr. John Burroughs used to say, although he had given his whole life to ornithology, that Theodore Roosevelt, to whom in later years it became only a recreation, was almost as well informed on the subject as he was.
In June, 1910, he returned from Europe, and never in the annals of American history has such a reception been accorded to a private citizen. Frankly, I do not think that Theodore Roosevelt was ever regarded as a private citizen; he was always a public possession! What a day it was! We went to meet him in a special launch, and from the moment of his landing until he finally reached his beloved home at Oyster Bay there was nothing but one great call of delight from his fellow citizens to the man who still stood to them for the whole of America. His triumphs, the adulation which he had received from foreign countries, epitomized to them the regard and respect poured out to the United States by those other countries of the world. The great crowds of his waving, cheering fellow citizens lined the avenue of his triumphant progress, but when he finally joined us at the house at which the family were assembled as a vantage-point, he seemed just the same sweet, simple, joyous, and unostentatious comrade as of yore.
That very first day he gave us the most amusing accounts of some of his European experiences, humorously describing informal lunches in Buckingham Palace, when the children of King George and Queen Mary behaved very much as “young America” is accustomed to behave. He also gave us what our family has always been pleased to term a “personal charade” of certain events, especially one moment when the Kaiser behaved rather like an arrogant schoolboy to one of the other royalties. He laughingly referred to a message from the Kaiser during his stay in London, when the above potentate sent him word that he, William, would be glad to give him (ex-President Roosevelt) three-quarters of an hour the next day of his precious time! And ex-President Roosevelt in return sent him a rapid message saying that he would be delighted to see William, but he regretted that he could only give him twenty-five minutes! He regaled us for a long while with many such amusing stories, and then went home to his beloved Sagamore Hill.
The following day an incident occurred which had a certain prophetic quality about it. A great dinner was to be given to him by Robert Collier, and as usual with his loving thought of me (I had just returned from a trip around the world and was in very ill health) he wished to come to my house to spend the night so as to see me. He arranged to be with me at five o’clock in the afternoon, thus to have a long, quiet talk before the dinner. I came in from the country and had afternoon tea waiting for him in my library. A half-hour passed, and then another half-hour, and I began to get distinctly nervous, because he was the most prompt of individuals. At a little after six he arrived looking jaded and worried, and as he took his cup of tea, he turned to me and said: “A very unpleasant thing happened which made me late. As you see, I am dressed perfectly inconspicuously, and I slipped into Scribners [his publishers] a little before five to say a word or two about my ‘African Game Trails.’ [Scribners at that time was situated at 22d Street and Fifth Avenue.] When I went in there was no crowd at all, but somebody must have seen me enter the bookstore, and when I came out a short while afterward, a huge crowd had assembled, and literally would not let me pass. They wanted to carry me on their shoulders; they wanted to do utterly impossible and objectionable things; and I realized at once that this was not the friendly reception of yesterday, but that it represented a certain hysterical quality which boded ill for my future. That type of crowd, feeling that kind of way, means that within a very short time they will be throwing rotten eggs at me. I may be on the crest of the wave now, but mark my words, the attitude of that crowd means that they will soon try to help me into the trough of the wave.” He was so impressed by this incident that that night at the Collier dinner he repeated and enlarged upon the theme of the crest and the trough of the wave.
Yet, in looking back over my brother’s life, I do not think it can be said that in the true sense of the word he ever experienced the trough of the wave. The great movement which resulted in the Progressive party, instigated by internal dissensions in the Republican party, brought Democratic rule into our country, but, although he was defeated for public office, it did not throw him into the trough of the wave, for in reality he emerged from that great movement the leader of the majority of the Republican party, as was shown on Election day in November, 1912, when the vote for Theodore Roosevelt was infinitely larger than that cast for the “regular” Republican candidate, William Howard Taft.