The War After the War

by Isaac Frederick Marcosson

Hence it came about that the Chancellor of the Exchequer stood in the Mansion House on a certain momentous day and hurled the defi at the War Lord. It called the Teuton bluff for a while at least. In the light of later events this speech became historic. Not only did Lloyd George declare that "national honour is no party question," but he affirmed that "the peace of the world is much more likely to be secured if all the nations realise fairly what the conditions of peace must be."

Persistent pacifist propagandists to-day may well take warning from that utterance. He still believes it.

The spark that flashed at Agadir now burst into flame. The Great War broke and half the world saw red. What Lloyd George believed impossible now became bitter and wrathful reality. Though he did not know it at the moment, the supreme opportunity of his life lay on the lap of the god of Battles.

The Lloyd George who sat in council in Downing Street was no dreaming pacifist. He who had tried to stop the irresistible flood of the Boer War now rode the full swell of the storm that threatened for the moment to engulf all Britain.

As Chancellor of the Exchequer he was called upon to shape the fiscal policies that would be the determining factor in the War of Wars. "The last £100,000,000 will win," he said. Only one other man in England—Lord Kitchener—approached him in immense responsibility of office in the confidence of the people. It was a proud but equally terrifying moment.

Then indeed the little Welshman became England's Handy Man. As custodian of the British Pocketbook he had a full-sized job. But that was only part of the larger demand now made on his service. Popular faith regarded him as the Nation's First Aid, infallible remedy for every crisis.

If a compromise with Labor or Capital had to be effected it was Lloyd George who sat at the head of the table: if an Ally needed counsel or inspiration it was the Chancellor who sped across the water and laid down the law at Paris or Petrograd: if the Cause of Empire clamoured for expression from Government Seat or animated rostrum, he stood forth as the Herald of Freedom. So it went all through those dark closing months of 1914 as reverse after reverse shook the British arms and brought home the realisation that the war would be long and costly.

The year 1915 dawned full of gloom for England but pointing a fresh star for the career of Lloyd George. Although the first wave of Kitchener's new army had dashed against the German lines in France and established another tradition for British valour, the air of England became charged with an ominous feeling that something was wrong at the front. The German advance in the west had been well nigh triumphant. Reckless bravery alone could not prevail against the avalanche of Teutonic steel.

All the while the imperturbable Kitchener sat at his desk in the War Office—another man of Blood and Iron. He ran the war as he thought it should be run despite the criticism that began to beat about his head. To the average Englander he was a king who could do no wrong. But the conduct of war had changed mightily since Kitchener last led his troops. Like Business it had become a new Science, fought with new weapons and demanding an elastic intelligence that kept pace with the swift march of military events. The Germans were using every invention that marvellous efficiency and preparedness could devise. They met ancient England shrapnel with modern deadly and devastating high-explosives. If the war was to be won this condition had to be changed—and at once.

Two men in England—Lloyd George and Lord Northcliffe—understood this situation. Fortunately they are both men of courageous mould and unwavering purpose. One day Northcliffe sent the military expert of the Times (which he owns) to France to investigate conditions. He found that the greatest need of the English Army was for high-explosives. They were as necessary as bread. Into less than a quarter of a column he compressed this news. Instead of submitting it to the Censor who would have denied it publication, Northcliffe published the despatch and with it the revelation of Kitchener's long and serious omission. He not only risked suspension and possible suppression of his newspapers, but also hazarded his life because a great wave of indignation arose over what seemed to be an unwarranted attack upon an idol of the people. But it was the truth nevertheless.