THE MESSAGE

[Illustration: "I SAW THAT QUEEN OF ANCIENT BRITONS AT THE HEAD OF HERWILD, SHAGGY LEGIONS" (_See page 233_)]

 The Message

 _By_ A. J. DAWSON

 _Author of_ "Hidden Manna, " "African Nights Entertainments, " "Daniel Whyte, " "God's Foundling, " "Ronald Kestrel, " etc. 

 _Illustrated from Color Sketches_ _By_ H. M. BROCK

 [Device]

 DANA ESTES & COMPANY, BOSTON E. GRANT RICHARDS, LONDON

 _Copyright, April 17, 1907_ BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY

 _All rights reserved_

 _Entered at Stationers' Hall_

 COLONIAL PRESS ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS & CO. BOSTON, U. S. A. 

CONTENTS

 PART I. --THE DESCENT

 CHAPTER PAGE I. IN THE MAKING 3 II. AT THE WATER'S EDGE 12 III. AN INTERLUDE 17 IV. THE LAUNCHING 29 V. A JOURNALIST'S EQUIPMENT 41 VI. A JOURNALIST'S SURROUNDINGS 53 VII. A GIRL AND HER FAITH 66 VIII. A STIRRING WEEK 78 IX. A STEP DOWN 90 X. FACILIS DESCENSUS AVERNI 101 XI. MORNING CALLERS 111 XII. SATURDAY NIGHT IN LONDON 121 XIII. THE DEMONSTRATION IN HYDE PARK 131 XIV. THE NEWS 143 XV. SUNDAY NIGHT IN LONDON 153 XVI. A PERSONAL REVELATION 163 XVII. ONE STEP FORWARD 168 XVIII. THE DEAR LOAF 177 XIX. THE TRAGIC WEEK 188 XX. BLACK SATURDAY 198 XXI. ENGLAND ASLEEP 208

 PART II. --THE AWAKENING

 I. THE FIRST DAYS 221 II. ANCIENT LIGHTS 228 III. THE RETURN TO LONDON 237 IV. THE CONFERENCE 243 V. MY OWN PART 257 VI. PREPARATIONS 262 VII. THE SWORD OF THE LORD 271 VIII. THE PREACHERS 291 IX. THE CITIZENS 301 X. SMALL FIGURES ON A GREAT STAGE 312 XI. THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE 317 XII. BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER 330 XIII. ONE SUMMER MORNING 338 XIV. "FOR GOD, OUR RACE, AND DUTY" 343 XV. "SINGLE HEART AND SINGLE SWORD" 352 XVI. HANDS ACROSS THE SEA 360 XVII. THE PENALTY 366 XVIII. THE PEACE 374 XIX. THE GREAT ALLIANCE 383 XX. PEACE HATH HER VICTORIES 389

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

 PAGE "I SAW THAT QUEEN OF ANCIENT BRITONS AT THE HEAD OF HER WILD, SHAGGY LEGIONS" _Frontispiece_

 THE ROARING CITY 40

 "RIVERS USHERED IN MISS CONSTANCE GREY" 114

 "I WAS ON MY KNEES AND KISSING THE NERVELESS HAND" 212

PART I

THE DESCENT

Non his juventus orta parentibus infecit aequor sanguinePunico. --HORACE. 

THE MESSAGE

I

IN THE MAKING

 "Such as I am, sir--no great subject for a boaster, I admit--you see in me a product of my time, sir, and of very worthy parents, I assure you. "--EZEKIEL JOY. 

As a very small lad, at home in Tarn Regis, I had but one close chum, George Stairs, and he went off with his father to Canada, while I wasaway for my first term at Elstree School. Then came Rugby, where I hadseveral friends, but the chief of them was Leslie Wheeler. Just why weshould have been close friends I cannot say, but I fancy it was mainlybecause Leslie was such a handsome fellow, and always seemed to cut agood figure in everything he did; while I, on the other hand, excelledin nothing, and was not brilliant even in the expression of mydiscontent, which was tolerably comprehensive. Withal, in other mattersbeside discontent, I was a good deal of an extremist, and by no meanslacking in enthusiasm. 

My father, too, was an enthusiast in his quiet way. His was theenthusiasm of the student, and his work as historian and archæologistabsorbed, I must suppose, a great deal more of his interest and energythan was ever given to his cure of souls. He was rector of Tarn Regis, in Dorset, before I was born, and at the time of his death, to bepresent at which I was called away in the middle of the last term of mythird year at Cambridge. I was to have spent four years at theUniversity; but, as the event proved, I never returned there after myhurried departure, three days prior to my father's death. 

The personal tie between my father and those among whom he lived andworked was not a very close or intimate bond. His contribution to theCambridge History was greatly appreciated by scholars, and hisarchæological research won him the respect and esteem of his peers inthat branch of study. But I cannot pretend that his loss was keenly feltby his parishioners, with most of whom his relations had been strictlyprofessional rather than personal. A good man and true, without a traceof anything sordid or self-seeking in his nature, my father was yetsingularly indifferent to everything connected with the daily lives andwelfare of his fellow creatures. 

In this he was typical of a considerable section of the country clergyof the time. I knew colleagues of his who were more pronounced examplesof the type. One in particular I call to mind (whose living was in thegift of a Cambridge college, like my father's), who, though a goodfellow and a clean-lived gentleman, was no more a Christian than he wasa Buddhist--less, upon the whole. Among scholarly folk he made not theslightest pretence of regarding the fundamental tenets of the Christianfaith in the light of anything more serious than interesting historicalmyths, notable sections in the mosaic of folk-lore, which it was hispride and delight to study and understand. 

Such men as A---- R---- and my father (and there were many like them, and more who shared their aloofness while lacking half their virtues)lived hard-working, studious lives, in which the common kinds ofself-indulgence played but a very small part. Honourable, kindly atheart, gentle, rarely consciously selfish, these worthy men never gave athought to the current affairs of their country, to their own part ascitizens, or to the daily lives of their fellow countrymen. Indeed, theyexhibited a kind of gentle intolerance and contempt in all topicalconcerns; and though they preached religion and drew stipends asexpounders of Christianity, they no more thought of "prying" or"interfering, " as they would have said, into the actual lives and heartsand minds of those about them, than of thrusting their hands into theirparishioners' pockets. 

Stated in this bald way the thing may sound incredible, but those whoserecollections carry them back to the opening years of the century willbear me out in saying that this was far from being either the mostdistressing or the most remarkable among the outworkings of what wasthen extolled as a broad spirit of tolerance. Our "tolerance, " ourvaunted "cosmopolitanism, " were far more dangerous factors of ournational life, had we but known it, than either the insularity of oursturdy forbears or the strength of our enemies had ever been. 

Even my dear mother did not, I think, feel the shock of her bereavementso much as might have been supposed. One may say, without disrespect, that the loss of my father gave point and justification to my mother'sattitude toward life. Kind, gentle soul that she was, my mother wasafflicted with what might be called the worrying temperament; adisposition characteristic of that troublous time. My memory seems tofasten upon the matter of domestic labour as representing the crux andcentre of my dear mother's grievances and topics of lament prior to myfather's death. The subject may seem to border upon the ridiculous, asan influence upon one's general point of view; but at that time it wasreally more tragic than farcical, and I know that what was called "theservant question"--as such it was gravely treated in books and papers, and even by leader-writers and lecturers--formed the basis of a greatdeal of my mother's conversation, just as I am sure that it coloured heroutlook upon life, and strengthened her tendency to worry overeverything, from the wear-and-tear of house-linen to the morality of thepeople. All this was incomprehensible and absurd to my father, though, had he but thought of it, it was really more human than his ownattitude; for certainly my mother was interested and concerned in thedaily lives of her fellow creatures, though not in a cheering orilluminating manner perhaps. 

But, as I say, the deprecatory, worrying attitude had become secondnature with my mother long years before her widowhood, and had lined andseamed her poor forehead and silvered her hair before my Rugby dayswere over. Bereavement merely gave point to a mood already wellestablished. 

That I should not return to Cambridge was decided as a matter of coursewithin the week of my father's funeral, when we learned that the littlehe had left behind him would not even pay for the dilapidations of therectory. There was practically nothing, when my father's affairs wereput in order, beyond my mother's little property, a recent legacy, theinvestment of which in Canadian railway stocks brought in about ahundred and fifty a year. 

Thus I found myself confronted with a sufficiently serious situation fora young man whose training so far had no more fitted him for taking partin any particular division of the battle of life, where the prize soughtis an income, than for the administration of the planet Mars. Rugby wasbetter than some of the great public schools in this respect, for a ladwith definite purposes and ambitions, but its curriculum had far lessbearing upon the working life of the age than it had upon its games andpastimes and the affairs of nations and peoples long since passed away. Yet Rugby belonged to a group of schools that were admittedly the best, and certainly the most outrageously costly, of the educationalestablishments of the period. 

I think my sister Lucy was more shocked than any one else by the deathof our father. I say shocked, because I am not certain whether or notthe word grieved would apply accurately. For one thing, Lucy had neverbefore seen any dead person. Neither had I, for that matter; but Lucywas more affected by the actual presence in the house of Death, than Iwas. Twice a day for years she had kissed our father's forehead. Now andagain she had sat upon the arm of his chair and stroked his thin hair. These demonstrations were connected, I believe, with the quest offavours--permission, money, and so forth; but doubtless affection playeda part in them. 

As for Lucy's home life, a little conversation I recall on the occasionof her driving me to the station when I was leaving for what proved mylast term at Cambridge, seems to me to throw some light. I had butrecently learned of Lucy's engagement to marry Doctor Woodthrop, ofDavenham Minster, our nearest market-town. I had found Woodthrop adecent fellow enough, but thirty-four as against Lucy's twenty-one, inclining ominously to corpulence, and as flatly prosaic andunadventurous a spirit as a small country town could produce. Now, asLucy seemed to me to have hankerings in the direction of socialpleasures and the like, with a penchant for brilliancy and daring, I wasa little puzzled about her engagement, for Woodthrop was one who kept afew conversational pleasantries on hand, as a man keeps old pipes on arack, for periodical use at suitable times. 

"So you are actually going to be married, Loo?" I said. 

"Oh, well, engaged, Dick, " she replied, with a little blush. 

"With a view, I presume. Then I suppose it follows that you are inlove--h'm?"

"Why, Dick, what a cross-examiner you are!" The blush increased. 

"Well, my dear girl, surely it's a natural assumption, is it not?"

"Oh, I suppose so. But----"

"Yes?"

"Well, I don't think in real life it's the same thing that you readabout in novels, do you, Dick?"

"What? Being in love?"

"Yes. "

"Well, perhaps not; but I imagine it ought to be something prettypronounced, you know, even in such a pale reflection of the novels asreal life. I gather that it ought to be; seriously, Loo, I think itought to be. I suppose you do love Woodthrop, don't you?"

My sister looked a little distressed, and I half-regretted having put sodirect a question. I was sufficiently the product of my day to beterribly afraid of any kind of interference with my fellow creatures. Our apotheosis of individual liberty had made any such action anathema, "bad form, " a sin more resented in the sinner than cowardice ordishonesty, or than any kind of wickedness which was strictly personaland, as you might say, self-contained. Our one object of universalreverence and respect was the personal equation. 

"There, Loo, " I said, "I didn't mean to tease you. " Thus, in accordancewith my traditions, I brushed aside and apologized for my naturalinterest in her well-being in the same way that my poor father and hislike brushed away all matters of topical import, and the average man ofthe period brushed aside all concern with his fellow men, allresponsibility for the common weal. 

"No, " she said, "I know you didn't. And, indeed, Dick, I suppose I don'tlove Herbert as well as I ought; but--but, Dick, you don't know what itis to be a girl. You can go off to Cambridge, and presently you will goout into the world and live your own life in your own way. But it'sdifferent for me, Dick. A girl is not supposed to want to live her ownlife; she is just part of the home, and the home----. Well, Dick, youknow father's life, and mother--poor mother----"

"Yes, " I said, "that's so. "

"Well, Dick, I'm afraid it seems pretty selfish, but I do want to livemy own way, and I do get terribly tired of--of----"

"Of the 'servant question, ' for instance. "

"Exactly. "

"And you think you can live your own life with Woodthrop?"

"Why, I think he is very kind and good, Dick, and he says there's noreason why I shouldn't hunt, if I can manage with one mount, and we canhave friends of mine to stay, and--and so on. "

"Yes, I see. You will be mistress of a house. "

"And, of course, I like him very much, Dick; he really is good. "

"Yes. "

That was how Lucy felt about her marriage. There seemed to me to be agood deal lacking; but then I was rather given to concentrating myattention upon flaws and gaps. And when I was next at home, at the timeof my father's death, I could not help feeling that the engagement wassomething to be thankful for. A hundred and fifty a year would mean agood deal of pinching for my mother alone, as things went then; but formother and Lucy together it would have been painfully short commons. Life, even in the country, was an expensive business at that timedespite the current worship of cheapness and of "free" trade, as ourQuixotic fiscal policy was called. The sum total of our wants andfancied wants had been climbing steadily, while our individualcapability in domestic and other simple matters had been on the declinefor a long while. 

In the end we decided that my mother and Lucy should establishthemselves in apartments on the outskirts of Davenham Minster, whichapartments would serve my mother permanently, with the relinquishment ofa single room after Lucy's marriage. I saw them both established, gathered my few personal belongings in a trunk and a couple of bags, andstarted for London on a brilliantly fine morning toward the end of June. 

At that time a young man went to London as a matter of course, whenlaunching out for himself. It was not that folk liked living in the hugecity (though, curiously enough, many did), but they gravitated toward itbecause the great aim, always, and in those conditions necessarily, wasto make money. There was more money "knocking about, " so people said, inLondon than anywhere else; so that was the place for which one made. 

I started for London with a capital of precisely eleven guineas over andabove my railway fare--and left it again on the same day. 

II

AT THE WATER'S EDGE

 "Now a little before them, there was on the left-hand of the Road, a Meadow, and a Stile to go over into it, and that Meadow is called By-Path-Meadow. "--_The Pilgrim's Progress. _

My friend, Leslie Wheeler, had left Cambridge a few months before mysummons home, in order to enter his father's office in Moorgate Street. His father was of the mysteriously named tribe of "financial agents, "and had evidently found it a profitable calling. 

As I never understood anything of even the nomenclature of finance, Iwill not attempt to describe the business into which my friend had beenabsorbed; but I remember that it afforded occupation for dozens ofgentlemanly young fellows, the correctness of whose _coiffure_ andgeneral appearance was beyond praise. These beautifully groomed younggentlemen sat upon high stools at desks of great brilliancy. They usedan ingenious arrangement of foolscap paper to protect their shirt-cuffsfrom contact with baser things, and one of the reasons for the evidentcare lavished upon the disposition of their hair may have been the factthat they made it a point of honour to go hatless when taking the air orout upon business during the day. Their general appearance anddeportment in the office and outside always conveyed to me thesuggestion that they were persons of some wealth and infinite leisure;but I have been assured that they were hard-working clerks, whosesalaries, even in these simpler days, would not be deemed extravagant. These salaries, I have been told, worked out at an average of perhaps£120 or £130 a year. 

Now London meant no more to me at that time than a place where, uponrare occasions, one dined in splendour, went to a huge and gildedmusic-hall, cultivated a bad headache, and presently sought to ease itby eating a nightmarish supper, and eating it against time. My allowanceat Cambridge had, no doubt fortunately for my digestion, allowed of butfew excursions to the capital; but my friend Wheeler lived within twentymiles of it, and I figured him already burgeoning as a magnate ofMoorgate Street. Therefore I had of course written to him of my proposeddescent upon the metropolis, and had been very kindly invited to spend aweek at his father's house in Weybridge before doing anything else. Accordingly then, having reached Waterloo by a fast train, I left mostof my effects in the cloak-room there, and taking only one bag, journeyed down to Weybridge. 

My friend welcomed me in person in the hall of his father's big andrather showy house, he having returned from the City earlier than usualfor that express purpose. I had already met his mother and two sistersupon four separate occasions at Cambridge. Indeed, I may say that I hadalmost corresponded with Leslie's second sister, Sylvia. At all events, we had exchanged half a dozen letters, and I had even begged, andobtained, a photograph. At Cambridge I thought I had detected in thisdelicately pretty, soft-spoken girl, some sympathy and fellow-feeling inthe matter of my own crude gropings toward a philosophy of life. You maybe sure I did not phrase it in that way then. The theories upon which mydiscontent with the prevailing order of things was based, seemed to methen both strong and practical; a little ahead of my time perhaps, butfar from crude or unformed. As I see it now, my creed was rather aprotest against indifference, a demand for some measure of activity insocial economy. That my muse was socialistic seems to me now to havebeen mainly accidental, but so it was, and its nutriment had been drawnlargely from such sources as Carpenter's _Civilization: its Cause andCure_, in addition to the standard works of the Socialist leaders. 

It is quite possible that one of the reasons of my continued friendshipwith Leslie Wheeler was the fact that, in his agreeable manner, herepresented in person much of the butterfly indifference to what Iconsidered the serious problems of life, against which my fulminationswere apt to be directed. I may have clung to him instinctively as awholesome corrective. At all events, he submitted, in the maingood-humouredly, to my frequently personal diatribes, and, by his verycomplaisance and merry indifference, supplied me again and again withpoint and illustration for my sermons. 

Leslie's elder sister, Marjory, was his counterpart in petticoats;merry, frivolous, irresponsible, devoted to the chase of pleasure, andobdurately bent upon sparing neither thought nor energy over otherinterests; denying their very existence indeed, or good-humouredlyridiculing them when they were forced upon her. She was a very handsomegirl; I was conscious of that; but, perhaps because I could notchallenge her as I did her brother, her character made no appeal to me. But Sylvia, on the other hand, with her big, spiritual-looking eyes, transparently fair skin, and earnest, even rapt expression; Sylviastirred my adolescence pretty deeply, and was assiduously draped by mein that cloth of gold and rose-leaves which every young man is apt toweave from out of his own inner consciousness for the persons of thoserepresentatives of the opposite sex in whom he detects sympathy andresponsiveness. 

Mrs. Wheeler spoke in a kind and motherly way of my bereavement, and thegenerosity of youth somehow prevented my appreciation of this beingdulled by the fact that, until reminded, she had forgotten whether I hadlost a father or a mother. Indeed, though not greatly interested inother folk's affairs, I believe that while the good soul's eyes restedupon the supposed sufferer, or his story, she was sincerely sorry aboutany kind of trouble, from her pug's asthma to the annihilation of amultitude in warfare or disaster. She had the kindest heart, and nodoubt it was rather her misfortune than her fault that she could notclearly realize any circumstance or situation which did not impinge insome way upon her own small circle. 

I met Leslie's father for the first time at dinner that evening. Onecould hardly have imagined him sparing time for visits to Cambridge. Hewas a fine, soldierly-looking man, with no trace of City pallor in hiswell-shaven, purple cheeks. Purple is hardly the word. The ground wascrimson, I think, and over that there was spread a delicate tracery, asort of netted film, of some kind of blue. The eyes had a glaze overthem, but were bright and searching. The nose was a salient feature, having about it a strong predatory suggestion. The forehead was low, surmounted by exquisitely smooth iron-gray hair. Mr. Wheeler wasscrupulously fine in dress, and used a single eye-glass. He gave mehearty welcome, and I prefer to think that the apparent chilling of hisattitude to me after he had learned of my financial circumstances wasmerely the creation of some morbid vein of hyper-sensitiveness inmyself. 

At all events, we were all very jolly together that evening, and I wenthappily to bed, after what I thought a hint of responsive pressure in myhandshake with Sylvia, and several entertaining anecdotes from Mr. Wheeler as to the manner in which fortunes had been made in the purlieusof Throgmorton Street. Launching oneself upon a prosperous career inLondon seemed an agreeably easy process at the end of that first eveningin the Wheeler's home, and the butterfly attitude toward life appearedupon the whole less wholly blameworthy than before. What a gracefulfellow Leslie was, and how suave and genial the father when he sat atthe head of his table toying with a glass of port! And these werecapable men, too, men of affairs. Doubtless their earnestness was strongenough below the surface, I thought--for that night. 

III

AN INTERLUDE

 "To observations which ourselves we make, We grow more partial for th' observer's sake. "

 POPE. 

Though in no sense unfriendly or lacking in sympathy, I noticed thatLeslie Wheeler showed no inclination to be drawn into intimatediscussion of my prospects. I was not inclined to blame my friend forthis, but told myself that he probably acted upon paternal instructions. For me, however, it was impossible to lay aside for long, thoughtsregarding my immediate future. I was aware that a nest-egg of eleven ortwelve pounds was not a very substantial barrier between oneself andwant. Mr. Wheeler told no more stories of fortunes built out of nothingin the City, but he did take occasion to refer casually to the fact thatCity men did not greatly care for the products of public schools anduniversities, as employees. 

I was more than half-inclined to ask why, in this case, Leslie had beensent to Rugby and Cambridge, but decided to avoid the personalapplication of his remark. It was, after all, no more than theexpression of a commonly accepted view, striking though it seems as acomment upon the educational system of the period, when one remembersthe huge proportion of the middle and upper-class populace which wasabsorbed by commercial callings of one kind or another. 

There was practically no demand for physical prowess or aptitude, outside the field of sport and games, nor even for those qualities whichare best served by a good physical training. One need not, therefore, begreatly surprised that the public schools should have given no physicaltraining outside games, and that even of the most perfunctory character, the majority qualifying as interested spectators merely, of the prowessof the minority. But it certainly is remarkable, that no practicalbusiness training, nor studies of a sort calculated to be of use inlater business training, should have been given in the schools mostfavoured by those for whom business was a life's calling. In this, as inso many other matters, I suppose we were guided and directed entirely byhabit and tradition; the line of least resistance. 

When I talked of my prospects with handsome Leslie Wheeler--his was hisfather's face, unblemished and unworn--our conversation was always threeparts jocular, at all events upon his side. I was to recast society andmould our social system anew by means of my pen, and of journalism. Iwas to provide "the poor blessed poor" with hot-buttered rolls anddevilled kidneys for breakfast, said Leslie, and introduce old-agepensions for every British workman who survived his twenty-firstbirthday. 

I would not be understood to suggest that this sort of facetiousnessindicated the average attitude of the period with regard to the horriblefact that the country contained millions of people permanently in astate of want and privation. But it was a quite possible attitude then. Such people as my friend could never have mocked the sufferings of anindividual. But with regard to the state of affairs, the pitifulmillions, as an abstract proposition, indifference was the rule, a toneof light cynicism was customary, and "the poor we have always with us, "quoted with a deprecatory shrug, was an accepted conversational refuge, even among such people as the clergy and charitable workers. 

And this, if one comes to think of it, was inevitable. The life andhabits and general attitude of the period would have been absolutelyimpossible, in conjunction with any serious face-to-face considerationof a situation which embraced, for example, such preposterouslycontradictory elements as these:

The existence of huge and growing armies of absolutely unemployed men;the insistence of the populace, and particularly the business people, upon the disbandment of regiments, and upon great naval and militaryreductions, involving further unemployment; the voting of considerablesums for distribution among the unemployed; violent opposition to themere suggestion of State aid to enable the unemployed of England tomigrate to those parts of the Empire which actually needed their labour;the increasing difficulty of the problem which was wrapped up in thequestion of "What to do with our sons"; the absolute refusal of thenation to admit of universal military service; the successive closing bytariff of one foreign market after another against British manufactures, and the hysterical refusal of the people to protect their own marketsfrom what was graphically called the "dumping" into them of the surplusproducts of other peoples. 

It is a queer catalogue, with a ring of insanity about it; but thesewere the merest commonplaces of life at that time, and the man whorebelled against them was a crank. My friend Leslie's attitude wasnatural enough, therefore; and, with a few exceptions, it was my own, for, curiously enough, the political school I favoured was, root andbranch, opposed to the only possible remedies for this situation. Liberals, Radicals, Socialists, and the majority of those who arrogatedto themselves the title of Social Reformers; these were the people whoinsisted, if not upon the actual evils and sufferings indicated in thisillustrative note of social contradictions, then upon violent oppositionto their complements in the way of mitigation and relief. And I waskeenly of their number. 

Many of these matters I discussed, or perhaps I should say, dilatedupon, in conversation with Sylvia, while her brother and father were inLondon. We would begin with racquets in the tennis-court, and end latefor some meal, after long wanderings among the pines. And in Sylvia, asit seemed to me, I found the most delightfully intelligentresponsiveness, as well as sympathy. My knowledge of feminine nature, its extraordinary gifts of emotional and personal intuition, was of thescantiest, if it had any existence at all. But my own emotional side wasactive, and my mind an inchoate mass of ideals and more or lesssentimental longings for social betterment. And so, with Sylvia'sgentle acquiescence, I rearranged the world. 

Much I have forgotten, and am thus spared the humiliation of recounting. But, as an example of what I recall, I remember a conversation whicharose from our passing a miniature rifle-range which some localresident--"Some pompous Jingo of retrogressive tendencies, " I calledhim--had erected with a view to tempting young Weybridge intomarksmanship; a tolerably forlorn prospect at that time. 

"Is it not pathetic, " I said, "in twentieth-century England, to see suchblatant attacks upon progress as that?"

Sylvia nodded gravely; sweetly sympathetic understanding, as I saw it. And, after all, why not? Understanding of my poor bubbling mind, anyhow, and--Nature's furnishing of young women's minds is a mighty subtlebusiness, not very much more clearly understood to-day than in the eraof knight-errantry. 

Sylvia nodded gravely, as I spurned the turf by the range. 

"Here we are surrounded by quagmires of poverty, injustice, socialanomalies, and human distress, and this poor soul--a rich pork-butcher, angling for the favours of a moribund political party, I daresay--lavishes heaven knows how many pounds over an arrangement by whichyoung men are to be taught how to kill each other with neatness anddespatch at a distance of half a mile! It is more tragical thanfarcical. It is enough to make one despair of one's fellow countrymen, with their silly bombast about 'Empire, ' and their childish waving offlags. 'Empire, ' indeed; God save the mark! And our own little countrygroaning, women and children wailing, for some measure of common-senseinternal reform!"

"It is dreadful, dreadful, " said Sylvia. My heart leapt out to meet thegentle goodness of her. "But still, I suppose there must be soldiers, "she added. Of course, this touched me off as a spark applied to tinder. 

"But that is just the whole crux of the absurdity, and as long as sounreal a notion is cherished we can never be freed from the slavery ofthese huge armaments. Soldiers are only necessary if war is necessary, and war can only be necessary while men are savages. The differencesbetween masters and men are far more vital and personal than thedifferences between nations; yet they have long passed the crude stageof thirsting for each other's destruction as a means of settlingquarrels. War is a relic of barbarous days. So long as armies aremaintained, unscrupulous politicians will wage war. If we, who callourselves the greatest nation in Christendom, would even deserve thecredit of plain honesty, we must put away savagery, and substituteboards of arbitration for armies and navies. "

"Yes, I see, " said Sylvia, her face alight with interest, "I feel thatmust be the true, the Christian view. But suppose the other nationswould not agree to arbitration?"

"But there is not a doubt they would. Can you suppose that any peopleare so insensate as really to like war, carnage, slaughter, for theirown sake, when peaceful alternatives are offered?"

"No, I suppose not; and, indeed, I feel that all you say is true, Mr. Mordan. "

"Please don't say 'Mr. Mordan, ' Sylvia. Even your mother and sister callme Dick. No, no, the other nations would be only too glad to follow ourlead, and we, as the greatest Power, should take that lead. What couldtheir soldiers do to a soldierless people, anyhow; and even if we lostat the beginning, why, 'What shall it profit a man if he gain the wholeworld and lose his own soul?' Of what use is the dominion of a huge, unwieldy empire when even a tiny country like this is so administeredthat a quarter of its population live always on the verge of starvation?Let the Empire go, let Army and Navy go, let us concentrate our energiesupon the arts of peace, science, education, the betterment of theconditions of life among the poor, the right division of the land amongthose that will till it. Let us do that, and the world would havesomething to thank us for, and we should soon hear the last of thesenoisy, ranting idiots who are eternally waving flags like lunatics andmouthing absurd phrases about imperialism and patriotism, nationaldestiny, and rubbish of that sort. Our duty is to humanity, and not toany decayed symbols of feudalism. The talk of patriotism and imperialismis a gigantic fraud, and the tyranny of it makes our names hatedthroughout the world. We have no right to enforce our sway upon thepeace-loving farmers and the ignorant blacks of South Africa. Theyrightly hate us for it, and so do the millions of India, upon whom ouryoke is held by armies of soldiers who have to be maintained by theirvictims. It casts one down to think of it, just as the sight of thoseridiculous rifle-butts and the thought of the diseased sentiment behindthem depresses one. "

"It all seems very mad and wrong, but--but I wish you would not take itso much to heart, " said Sylvia. 

"That is very sweet of you, " I told her; "and, indeed, there is not somuch real cause to be downhearted. The last elections showed clearlyenough that the majority of our people are alive to all this. The leavenof enlightenment is working strongly among the people, and the oldtyranny of Jingoism is dying fast. One sees it in a hundred ways. Boerindependence has as warm friends in our Parliament as on the veld. Therising movements of internationalism, of Pan-Islam, the Swadeshimovement, the rising toward freedom in India; all these are largelydirected from Westminster. The Jingo sentiment toward Germany, a reallyprogressive nation, full of natural and healthy ambitions, is beingswept away by our own statesmen; by their courteous and friendlyattitude toward the Kaiser, who delights to honour our present Ministerof War. Also, the work of disarmament has begun. The naval estimates arebeing steadily pruned, and whole regiments have been finally disbanded. And all this comes from within. So you see we have some grounds forhopefulness. It is a great step forward, for our own elected leaders toshow the enthusiastic and determined opposition they are showing to theold brutal pretensions of England to sway the world by brute strength. But, forgive me! Perhaps I tire you with all this--Sylvia. "

"No, no, indeed you don't--Dick, I--I think it is beautiful. It--itseems to make everything bigger, more kind and good. It interests me, immensely. "

And I knew perfectly well that I had not tired her--wearisome though therecital of it all may be now. For I knew instinctively how the personalnote told in the whole matter. I had been really heated, and perfectlysincere, but a kind of subconscious cunning had led me to utilize theheat of the moment in introducing between us, for example, the use offirst names. Well I knew that I was not wearying Sylvia. But coldlyrecited now, I admit the rhodomontade to be exceedingly tiresome. Myexcuse for it is that it serves to indicate the sort of ideas that wereabroad at the time, the sort of sentiments which were shaping ourdestiny. 

After all, I was an educated youth. Many of my hot statements, too, wereof fact, and not merely of opinion and feeling. It is a fact that thesentiment called anti-British had come to be served more slavishly inEngland than in any foreign land. The duration of our disastrous war inSouth Africa was positively doubled, as the result of British influence, by Boer hopes pinned upon the deliberate utterances of Britishpoliticians. In Egypt, South Africa, India, and other parts of theEmpire, all opposition to British rule, all risings, attacks upon ourprestige, and the like, were aided, and in many cases fomented, steered, and brought to a successful issue--not by Germans or other foreigners, but by Englishmen, and by Englishmen who had sworn allegiance at St. Stephens. It is no more than a bare statement of fact to say that, inthe very year of my arrival in London, the party which ruled the Statewas a party whose members openly avowed and boasted of their oppositionto British dominion, and that in terms, not less, but far more sweepingthan mine in talking to Sylvia among the pines at Weybridge. 

But if Sylvia appreciated and sympathized in the matter of mysermonizing, the rest of the family neither approved the sermons norSylvia's interest in them. I was made to feel in various ways that noimport must be attached to my attentions to Sylvia. Marjory began toshadow her sister in the daytime, and, as she was frankly rather boredby me, I could not but detect the parental will in this. 

Then with regard to my social and political views, Mr. Wheeler joinedwith his son in openly deriding them. In Leslie's case the thing neverwent beyond friendly banter. Leslie had no political opinions; helaughed joyously at the mere notion of bothering his head about suchmatters for a moment. And, in his way, he represented an enormoussection of the younger generation of Englishmen in this. The father, onthe other hand, was equally typical of his class and generation. Thiswas how he talked to me over his port:--

"I tell you what it is, you know, Mordan: you're a regular firebrand, you know; by Jove, you are; an out-and-out Socialistic Radical: that'swhat you are. By gad, sir, I don't mince my words. I considerthat--er--opinions like yours are a danger to the country; I do, indeed; a danger to the country, and--er--to the--to the Empire. I do, by gad. And as for your notions about disarmament and that, why, even ifour army reductions are justifiable, which, upon my word, I very muchdoubt, it's ridiculous to suppose we can afford to cut down our Navy. No, sir, the British Navy is Britain's safeguard, and it ought not to betampered with. I'm an out-and-out Imperialist myself, and--er--I cantell you I have no patience with your Little Englandism. "

I am not at all sure whether the class Mr. Wheeler belonged to was notalmost the most dangerous class of all. The recent elections showed thisclass to be a minority. Of course, this section had its strong men, butthat it also included a large number of men like Leslie's father was afact--a fact which yielded pitiful evidence of its weakness. These mencalled themselves "out-and-out Imperialists, " and had not a notion ofeven the meaning of the word they used. Still less had they any notionof accepting any rôle which involved the bearing of responsibilities, the discharge of civic and national duties. 

Mr. Wheeler's aim in life was to make money and to enjoy himself. Hewould never have exercised his right to vote if voting had involvedpostponing dinner. He liked to talk of the British Empire, but he didnot even know precisely of what countries it consisted, and I think hewould cheerfully have handed Canada to France, Australia to Germany, India to Russia, and South Africa to the Boers, if by so doing he couldhave escaped the paying of income-tax. 

On Sunday night, my last night at Weybridge, I walked home from churchalone with Sylvia. Marjory was in bed with a sore throat, and whatevertheir notions as to my undesirability, neither Mr. Nor Mrs. Wheeler wereinclined to attend evening service. Leslie was not home from golf atByfleet. We were late for dinner, Sylvia and I, and during our walk shepromised to write to me regularly, and I promised many things, andsuggested many things, and was only deterred from actual declaration bythe thought of the poor little sum which stood between me and actualwant. 

Next morning I went up to town with Leslie and his father to open mycampaign in London. As a first step toward procuring work, I was topresent a letter of introduction from a Cambridge friend to the editorof the _Daily Gazette_. After that, as Leslie said, I was to "reformEngland inside out. "

IV

THE LAUNCHING

 "O Friend! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest To think that now our life is only drest For show; mean handi-work of craftsman, cook, Or groom!--We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest; The wealthiest man among us is the best; No grandeur now in Nature or in book Delight us.... "

 WORDSWORTH. 

Looking back now upon that lonely launch of mine in London, I see a verycurious and sombre picture. In the living I am sure there must have beenmitigations, and light as well as shade. In the retrospect it seems onelong disillusion. I see myself, and the few folk with whom my relationswere intimate, struggling like ants across a grimy stage, in the midstof an inferno of noise, confusion, pointless turmoil, squalor, andultimate cataclysm. The whole picture is lurid, superhuman in itschaotic gloom; but in the living, I know there were gleams of sunlight. The tragic muddle of that period was so monstrous, that even we wholived through it are apt in retrospect to see only the gloom andconfusion. It is natural, therefore, that those who did not live throughit should be utterly unable to discern any glimpse of relief in thepicture. And that leads to misconception. 

As a fact, I found very much to admire in London when I sallied forthfrom the obscure lodging I had chosen in a Bloomsbury back street, onthe morning which brought an end to my stay with the Wheelers atWeybridge. Also, it was not given to me at that time to recognize assuch one tithe of the madness and badness of the state of affairs. Somewholly bad features were quite good in my eyes then. 

London still clung to its "season, " as it was called, though motor-carsand railway facilities had entirely robbed this of its sharply definednineteenth-century limits. Very many people, even among the wealthy, lived entirely in London, spending their week-ends in this or thatcountry or seaside resort, and devoting the last months of summer with, in many cases, the first months of autumn, to holiday-making on theContinent, or in Scotland, or on the English moors or coasts. 

The London season was not over when I reached town, and in the westernresidential quarters the sun shone brightly upon many-coloured awningsand beautiful decorative plants and flowers. The annual rents paid bypeople who lived behind these flowers and awnings frequently ran intothousands of pounds, with ten shillings in each pound additional by wayof rates and taxes. To live at all, in this strata, would cost a man andhis wife perhaps eighty to a hundred pounds a week, without anythingwhich would have been called extravagance. 

Hundreds of people who lived in this way had neighbours within ahundred yards of their front doors who never had enough to eat. Evensuch people as these had to pay preposterous rents for the privilege ofhuddling together in a single wretched room. But many of their wealthyneighbours spent hundreds, and even thousands of pounds a year oversecuring comfort and happiness for such domestic animals as horses, dogs, cats, and the like. Amiable, kindly gentlefolk they were, withtender hearts and ready sympathies. Most of them were interested in someform of charity. Many of them specialized, and these would devote muchenergy to opposing the work of other charitable specialists. LadySo-and-so, who advocated this panacea, found herself bitterly opposed bySir So-and-so, who wanted all sufferers to be made to take his nostrumin his special way. Then sometimes poor Lady So-and-so would throw upher panacea in a huff, and concentrate her energies upon the work ofsome society for converting Jews, who did not want to be converted, orfor supplying red flannel petticoats for South Sea Island girls, whoinfinitely preferred cotton shifts and floral wreaths. Even these futilecharities were permitted to overlap one another to a bewilderinglywasteful extent. 

But the two saddest aspects of the whole gigantic muddle so far ascharitable work went, were undoubtedly these: The fact that much of itwent to produce a class of men and women who would not do any kind ofwork because they found that by judicious sponging they could live andobtain alcohol and tobacco in idleness; and the fact that wherecharitable endeavour infringed upon vested interests, licit or illicit, it was savagely opposed by the persons interested. 

The discipline of the national schools was slack, intermittent, and ofshort reach. There was positively no duty to the State which a youth wasbound to observe. Broadly, it might be said that at that time disciplinesimply did not enter at all into the life of the poor of the towns, andcharity of every conceivable and inconceivable kind did enter into it atevery turn. 

The police service was excellent and crime exceedingly difficult ofaccomplishment. The inevitable result was the evolution in the towns ofa class of men and women, but more especially of men, who, thoughcompact of criminal instincts of every kind, yet committed no offenceagainst criminal law. They committed nothing. They simply lived, drinking to excess when possible, determined upon one point only: thatthey never would do anything which could possibly be called work. It isobvious that among such people the sense of duty either to themselves, to each other, or to the State, was merely non-existent. 

London had long since earned the reputation of being the most charitablecity in the world. Its share in the production of an immense loaferclass formed one sad aspect of London's charity when I first came toknow the city. Another was the opposition of vested interests--theopposition of the individual to the welfare of the mass. One found iteverywhere. An instance I call to mind (it happened to be broughtsharply home to me) struck at the root of the terribly rapid productionof degenerates, by virtue of its relation to pauper children--that is, the children to whom the State, through its boards of guardians, stoodin the light of parents, because their natural parents were dead, or inprison, or in lunatic asylums, or hopelessly far gone in the state ofcriminal inactivity which qualified so many for all three estates. 

Huge institutions were built at great expense for the accommodation ofthese little unfortunates. Here they were housed in the most costlymanner, the whole work of the establishment being carried on by a highlypaid staff of servants and officials. The children were not allowed todo anything at all, beyond the learning by rote of various theorieswhich there was no likelihood of their ever being able to apply to anyreality of life with which they would come in contact. 

They listened to lectures on the making of dainty dishes in the beststyle of French cookery, and in many cases they never saw a box ofmatches. They learned to repeat poetry as parrots might, but did notknow the difference between shavings and raw coffee. They learned vaguesmatterings of Roman history, but did not know how to clean their bootsor brush their hair. It was as though experts had been called upon todevise a scheme whereby children might be reared into their teenswithout knowing that they were alive or where they lived, and this withthe greatest possible outlay of money per child. Then, at a given age, these children were put outside the massive gates of the institutionsand told to run away and become good citizens. 

It followed as a matter of course that most of them fell steadily andrapidly into the pit; the place occupied by the criminally inactive, the"public-house props. " So they returned poor, heavy-laden creatures, byway of charity, to the institutions of the "rates, " thus completing thevicious circle of life forced upon them by an incredibly wrong-headed, topsyturvy administration. 

For the maintenance of this vicious circle enormous sums of public moneywere required. Failing such vast expenditure, Nature unaided would haverighted matters to some extent, and the Poor Law guardians would havebecome by so much the less wielders of power and influence, dispensersof public money. Some of these Poor Law guardians gave up more or lesshonest trades to take to Poor Law guardianship as a business; and theywaxed fat upon it. 

Every now and again came disclosures. Guardians were shown to have paidten shillings a score for such and such a commodity this year, and nextyear to have refused a tender for the supply of the same article at 9s. 8d. A score, in favour of the tender of a relative or protégé of one oftheir number at 109s. 8d. A score. I remember the newspapers showing upsuch cases as these during the week of my arrival in London. The publicread and shrugged shoulders. 

"Rascally thieves, these guardians, " said the Public; and straightwayforgot the whole business in the rush of its own crazy race for money. 

"But, " cried the Reformer to the Public, "this is really your business. It is your duty as citizens to stop this infamous traffic. Don't you seehow you yourselves are being robbed?"

You must picture our British Public of the day as a flushed, excitedman, hurrying wildly along in pursuit of two phantoms--money andpleasure. These he desired to grasp for himself, and he was beingfuriously jostled by millions of his fellows, each one of whom desiredjust the same thing, and nothing else. Faintly, amidst the franticturmoil, came the warning voices in the wilderness:

"This is your business. It is your duty as citizens, " etc. 

Over his shoulder, our poor possessed Public would fling his answer:

"Leave me alone. I haven't time to attend to it. I'm too busy. Youmustn't interrupt me. Why the deuce don't the Government see to it? Lotof rascals! Don't bother me. I represent commerce, and, whatever you do, you must not in any way interfere with the Freedom of Trade. "

The band of the reformers was considerable, embracing as it did thebetter, braver sort of statesmen, soldiers, sailors, clergy, authors, journalists, sociologists, and the whole brotherhood of earnestthinkers. But the din and confusion was frightful, the pace at which themillion lived was terrific; and, after all, the cries of the reformersall meant the same thing, the one thing the great, sweating public wasdetermined not to hear, and not to act on. They all meant:

"Step out from your race a moment. Your duties are here. You are passingthem all by. Come to your duties. "

It was like a Moslem call to prayer; but, alas! it was directed at apeople who had sloughed all pretensions to be ranked among those whorespond to such calls, to any calls which would distract them from theirobjective in the pelting pursuit of money and pleasure. 

But I am digressing--the one vice which, unfortunately for us, we neverindulged or condoned at the time of my arrival in London. I wanted togive an instance of that aspect of charity and attempted social reformwhich aroused the opposition of vested interests and chartered brigandsin the great money hunt. It was this: A certain charitable lady gavesome years of her life to the study of those conditions in which, as Ihave said, the criminally inactive, the hopelessly useless, wereproduced by authorized routine, at a ruinous cost in money anddegeneracy, and to the great profit of an unscrupulous few. 

This lady then gave some further years, not to mention money, influence, and energy, to the evolution of a scheme by which these pauper childrencould really be made good and independent citizens, and that at anall-round cost of about one-fifth of the price of the guardians' methodfor converting them into human wrecks and permanent charges upon theState. The wise practicability of this lady's system was admitted byindependent experts, and denied by nobody. But it was swept aside andcrushed, beaten down with vicious, angry thoroughness, in onequarter--the quarter of vested interest and authority; quietly, passively discouraged in various other quarters; and generally ignored, as another interrupting duty call, by the rushing public. 

Here, then, were three kinds of opposition--the first active anddeadly, the other two passive and fatal, because they withheld neededsupport. The reason of the first, the guardians' opposition, was franklyand shamelessly admitted in London at the time of my arrival there. Theguardians said:

"This scheme would reduce the rates. We want more rates. It would reducethe amount of money at our disposal. We aim at increasing that. It woulddivert certain streams of cash from our own channel into other channelsin other parts of the Empire. We won't have it. " But their words werefar less civil and more heated than these, though the sense of them wasas I have said. 

The quiet, passive opposition was that of other workers in charity andreform. They said in effect:

"Yes, the scheme is all right--an excellent scheme. But why do you takeit upon yourself to bring it forward in this direct manner? Are you notaware of the existence of our B---- nostrum for pauper children, or ourC---- specific for juvenile emigration? Your scheme, admirable as it is, ignores both these, and therefore you must really excuse us if we----Quite so! But, of course, as co-workers in the good cause, we wish youwell----", and so forth. 

The opposition of the general public I have explained. It was not reallyopposition. It was simply a part of the disease of the period; thedropsical, fatty degeneration of a people. But the mere fact that thereformers sent forth their cries and still laboured beside the public'scrowded race-course; that such people as the lady I have mentionedexisted--and there were many like her--should show that London as Ifound it was not all shadow and gloom, as it seems when one looks backupon it from the clear light of better days. 

The darkness, the confusion, and the din, were not easy to see and hearthrough then. From this distance they are more impenetrable; but I knowthe light did break through continually in places, and good men andwomen held wide the windows of their consciousness to welcome it, striving their utmost to carry it into the thick of the fight. Manybroke their hearts in the effort; but there were others, and those whofell had successors. The heart of our race never was of the stuff thatcan be broken. It was the strongest thing in all that tumultuous worldof my youth, and I recall now the outstanding figures of men alreadygray and bowed by long lives of strenuous endeavour, who yet foughtwithout pause at this time on the side of those who strove to check themad, blind flight of the people. 

London, as I entered it, was a battle-field; the perverse waste of humanenergy and life was frightful; but it was not quite the unredeemed chaoswhich it seems as we look back upon it. 

Even in the red centre of the stampede (Fleet Street is within the Cityboundaries) men in the race took time for the exercise of humankindliness, when opportunity was brought close enough to them. Theletter I took to the editor of the _Daily Gazette_ was from an oldfriend of his who knew, and told him, of my exact circumstances. Thisgentleman received me kindly and courteously. He and his like wereamong the most furiously hurried in the race, but their handling ofgreat masses of diffuse information gave them, in many cases, a wideoutlook, and where, as often happened, they were well balanced as wellas honest, I think they served their age as truly as any of theircontemporaries, and with more effect than most. 

This gentleman talked to me for ten minutes, during which time helearned most of all there was to know about my little journalistic anddebating experience at Cambridge, and the general trend of my views andpurposes. I do not think he particularly desired my services; but, onthe other hand, I was not an absolute ignoramus. I had written forpublication; I had enthusiasm; and there was my Cambridge friend'sletter. 

"Well, Mr. Mordan, " he said, turning toward a table littered deep withpapers, and cumbered with telephones and bells, "I cannot offer youanything very brilliant at the moment; but I see no reason why youshould not make a niche for yourself. We all have to do that, youknow--or drop out to make way for others. You probably know that inFleet Street, more perhaps than elsewhere, the race is to the swift. There are no reserved seats. The best I can do for you now is to enteryou on the reporting staff. It is stretching a point somewhat to makethe pay fifty shillings a week for a beginning. That is the best I cando. Would you care to take that?"

"Certainly, " I told him; "and I'm very much obliged to you for thechance. "

"Right. Then you might come in to-morrow. I will arrange with thenews-editor. And now----" He looked up, and I took my hat. Then helooked down again, as though seeking something on the floor. "Well, Ithink that's all. Of course, it rests with you to make your own place, or--or lose it. I sympathize with what you have told me of yourviews--of course. You know the policy of the paper. But you mustremember that running a newspaper is a complex business. One's methodscannot always be direct. Life is made up of compromises, and--er--attimes a turn to the left is the shortest way to the right--er--Goodnight!"

Thus I was given my chance within a few hours of my descent upon thegreat roaring City. I was spared much. Even then I knew by hearsay, as Isubsequently learned for myself, that hundreds of men of far widerexperience and greater ability than mine were wearily tramping London'spavements at that moment, longing, questing bitterly for work that wouldbring them half the small salary I was to earn. 

I wrote to Sylvia that night, from my little room among the cat-infestedchimney-pots of Bloomsbury; and I am sure my letter did not suggest thatLondon was a very gloomy place. My hopes ran high. 

[Illustration: THE ROARING CITY]

V

A JOURNALIST'S EQUIPMENT

 "... Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore: Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws. "

 WORDSWORTH. 

Acting on the instructions I had received overnight, I presented myselfat the office of the _Daily Gazette_ in good time on the morning aftermy interview with the editor. A pert boy showed me into thenews-editor's room, after an interval of waiting, and I found myselfconfronting the man who controlled my immediate destiny. He wasdictating telegrams to a shorthand writer, and, for the moment, took nonotice whatever of me. I stood at the end of his table, hat in hand, wondering how so young-looking a man came to be occupying his chair. 

He looked about my age, but was a few years older. His face was assmooth as the head of a new axe, and had something else chopper-likeabout it. He reminded me of pictures I had seen in the advertisementpages of American magazines; pictures showing a wedge-like human face, from the lips of which some such an assertion as "It's _you_ I want!"was supposed to be issuing. I subsequently learned that this Mr. Charles N. Pierce had spent several years in New York, and that he wascredited with having largely increased the circulation of the _DailyGazette_ since taking over his present position. He suddenly raised theeven, mechanical tone in which he dictated, and snapped out the words:

"Right. Get on with those now, and come back in five minutes. "

Then he switched his gaze on to me, like a searchlight. 

"Mr. Mordan, I believe?"

I admitted the charge with my best smile. Mr. Pierce ignored the smile, and said:

"University man?"

Accepting his cue as to brevity, I said: "Yes. Corpus Christi, Cambridge. "

He pursed his thin lips. "Ah well, " he said, "you'll get over that. "

In his way he was perfectly right; but his way was as coldly offensiveas any I had ever met with. 

"Well, Mr. Mordan, I've only three things to say. Reports for this papermust be sound English; they must be live stories; they must be short. You might ask a boy to show you the reporters' room. You'll get yourassignment presently. As a day man, you'll be here from ten to six. That's all. "

And his blade of a face descended into the heart of a sheaf of papers. As I reached the door the blade rose again, to emit a kind of thin bark:

"Ah!"

I turned on my heel, waiting. 

"Do you know anything about spelling?"

I tried to look pleasant, as I said I thought I was to be relied on inthis. 

"Well, ask my secretary for tickets for the meeting at Memorial Hallto-day; something to do with spelling. Don't do more than thirty orforty lines. Right. "

And the blade fell once more, leaving me free to make my escape, which Idid with a considerable sense of relief. I found the secretary a meeklittle clerk, with a curious hidden vein of timid facetiousness. Hesupplied me with the necessary ticket and a hand-bill of particulars. Then he said:

"Mr. Pierce is quite bright and pleasant this morning. "

"Oh, is he?" I said. 

"Yes, very--for him. He's all right, you know, when you get into hisway. Of course, he's a real hustler--cleverest journalist in London, they say. "

"Really!" I think I introduced the right note of admiration. At allevents, it seemed to please this little pale-eyed rabbit of a man, who, as I found later, was reverentially devoted to his bullying chief, andpositively took a kind of fearful joy in being more savagely browbeatenby Pierce than any other man in the building. A queer taste, but afortunate one for a man in his particular position. 

For myself, I was at once repelled and gagged by Pierce's manner. Ibelieve the man had ability, though I think this was a good dealoverrated by himself, and by others, at his dictation; and I dare say hewas a good enough fellow at heart. His manner was aggressive andfeverish enough to be called a symptom of the disease of the period. Ifthe blood in his veins sang any song at all to Mr. Pierce, the refrainof that song must have been, "Hurry, hurry, hurry!" He and his likenever stopped to ask "Whither?" or "Why?" They had not time. Andfurther, if pressed for reasons, destination, and so forth, they wouldhave admitted, to themselves at all events, that there could be no othergoal than success; and that success could mean no other thing than theacquisition of money; and that the man who thought otherwise must be afool--a fool who would soon drop out altogether, to go under, amongthose who were broken by the way. 

My general aim and purpose in journalistic work, at the outset, was theserving of social reform in everything that I did. As I saw it, societywas in a parlous state indeed, and needed awaking to recognition of thefact, to the crying need for reforms in every direction. That attitudewas justifiable enough in all conscience. The trouble was that I was atfault, first, in my diagnosis; second, in my notions as to what kind ofremedies were required; and third, as to the application of thoseremedies. 

Like the rest of the minority whose thoughts were not entirely occupiedby the pursuit of pleasure and personal gain, I saw that the greatestobstacle in the path of the reformer was public indifference. But withregard to the causes of that indifference, I was entirely astray. Iclung still to the nineteenth-century attitude, which had beenjustifiable enough during a good portion of that century, but hadabsolutely ceased to be justifiable before its end came. This was theattitude of demanding the introduction of reforms from above, from theState. 

Though I fancied myself in advance of my time in thought, when I joinedthe staff of the _Daily Gazette_, I really was essentially of it. Evenmy obscure work as reporter very soon brought me into close contact withsome of the dreadful sores which disfigured the body social and politicat that time. But do you think they taught me anything? No more thanthey taught the blindest racer after money in all London. They moved me, moved me deeply; they stirred the very foundations of my being; for Iwas far from being insensitive. But not even in the most glaringlyobvious detail did they move me in the right direction. They merelyfilled me with resentment, and a passionate desire to bring improvement, aid, betterment; a desire to force the authorities into some action. Never once did it occur to me that the movement must come from thepeople themselves. 

Poverty, though frequently a dreadful complication, was far from beingat the root of all the sores. The average respectable working-classwage-earner with a wife and family, who earned from 25s. To 35s. Or 40s. A week, would spend a quarter of that wage upon his own drinking;thereby not alone making saving for a rainy day impossible, but dockinghis family of some of the real necessities of life. But this wasaccepted as a matter of course. The man wanted the beer; he must haveit. The State made absolutely no demand whatever upon such a man. But itdid for him and his, more than he did for himself and his family. And, giving positively nothing to the State, he complainingly demanded yetmore from it. 

These were respectable men. A large number of men spent a half, and eventhree-quarters of their earnings in drink. The middle class spentproportionately far less on liquor, and far more upon display of onekind and another; they seldom denied themselves anything which theycould possibly obtain. The rich, as a class, lived in and forindulgence, in some cases refined and subtle, in others gross; butalways indulgence. The sense of duty to the State simply did not existas an attribute of any class, but only here and there in individuals. 

I believe I am strictly correct in saying that in half a century, whilethe population increased by seventy-five per cent. , lunacy had increasedby two hundred and fifty per cent. 

Yet the majority rushed blindly on, paying no heed to any other thing onearth than their own gratification, their own pursuit of the money forthe purchase of pleasure. One of the tragic fallacies of the period wasthis crazy notion that not alone pleasure, but happiness, could bebought with money, and in no other way. And the few who were stung bythe prevailing suffering and wretchedness into recognition of ourparlous state, we, for the most part, cherished my wild delusion, andinsisted that the trouble could be remedied if the State would contractand discharge new obligations. We clamoured for more rights, more help, more liberty, more freedom from this and that; never seeing that ourtrouble was our incomplete comprehension of the rights and privilegeswe had, with their corresponding obligations. 

Though I knew them not, and as a _Daily Gazette_ reporter was littlelikely to meet them, there were men who strove to open the eyes of thepeople to the truth, and strove most valiantly. I call to mind a greatstatesman and a great general, both old men, a great pro-consul, a greatpoet and writer, a great editor, and here and there politicians withelements of greatness in them, who fought hard for the right. But thesemen were lonely figures as yet, and I am bound to say of the people'sleaders generally, at the time of my journalistic enterprise, that theywere a poor, truckling, uninspired lot of sheep, with a few cleverwolves among them, who saw the people's madness and folly and preyedupon it masterfully by every trick within the scope of their ingenuity. 

Even those who were honourable, disinterested, and, for such a period, unselfish, were for the most part the disciples of tradition and theslaves of that life-sapping curse of British politics: the party spirit, which led otherwise honourable men to oppose with all their strength themeasures of their party opponents, even in the face of their country'sdire need. 

Then there was the anti-British faction, a party which spreadfast-growing shoots from out the then Government's very heart and root. The Government's half-hearted supporters were not anti-British, but theywere not readers of the _Daily Gazette_; they were not, in short, whole-hearted Government supporters. They were Whigs, as the sayingwent. My party, the readers of the _Gazette_, the out-and-outGovernment party, to whom I looked for real progress, real socialreform; they were unquestionably riddled through and through with thisextraordinary sentiment which I call anti-British, a difficult thing toexplain nowadays. 

With the newly and too easily acquired rights and liberties of thenineteenth century, with its universal spread of education, cheapliterature, and the like, there came, of course, increased knowledge, awider outlook. No discipline came with it, and one of its earliestproducts was a nervous dread of being thought behind the time, of beingcalled ignorant, narrow-minded, insular. People would do anything toavoid this. They went to the length of interlarding their speech andwritings with foreign words often in ignorance of the meaning of thosewords. Broad-minded, catholic, tolerant, cosmopolitan--those were thedescriptive adjectives which all desired to earn for themselves. Itbecame a perfect mania, particularly with the young and clever, thehalf-educated, the would-be "smart" folk. 

But it was also the honest ambition of many very worthy people, whotruly desired broad-minded understanding and the avoidance of prejudice. This sapped the bulldog qualities of British pluck and persistenceterribly. You can see at a glance how it would shut out a budding Nelsonor a Wellington. But its most notable effect was to be seen amongpoliticians, who were able to claim Fox for a precedent. 

To believe in the superiority of the British became vulgar, a proof ofnarrow-mindedness. But, by that token, to enlarge upon the inferiorityof the British indicated a broad, tolerant spirit, and a wide outlookupon mankind and affairs. From that to the sentiment I have calledanti-British was no more than a step. Many thoroughly good, honourable, benevolent people took that step unwittingly, and all unconsciouslybecame permeated with the vicious, suicidal sentiment, while reallyseeking only good. Such people were saved by their natural goodness andsense from becoming actual and purposeful enemies of their country. Butas "Little Englanders"--so they were called--they managed, with the bestintentions, to do their country infinite harm. 

But there were others, the naturally vicious and unscrupulous, themorbid, the craven, the ignorant, the self-seeking; these were thedangerous exponents of the sentiment. With them, Little Englandismprogressed in this wise: "There are plenty of foreigners just as good asthe British; their rule abroad is just as good as ours. " Then: "Thereare plenty of foreigners far better than the British; their rule abroadis better than ours. " Then: "Let the people of our Empire fend forthemselves among other peoples; our business is to look afterourselves. " Then: "We oppose the people of the Empire; we oppose Britishrule; we oppose the British. " From that to "We befriend the enemies ofthe British" was less than a step. It was the position openly occupiedby many, in and out of Parliament. 

"We are for you, for the people; and devil take Flag, Empire, andCrown!" said these ranters; drunken upon liberties they neverunderstood, freedom they never earned, privileges they were notqualified to hold. 

There were persons among them who spat upon the Flag that protectedtheir worthless lives, and cut it down; sworn servants of the State whoopenly proclaimed their sympathy with the State's enemies; carefullyprotected, highly privileged subjects of the Crown, who impishly slashedat England's robes, to show her nakedness to England's foes. 

And these were supporters, members, protégés of the Government, andreaders of the _Daily Gazette_, upheld in all things by that organ. AndI, the son of an English gentleman and clergyman, graduate of an Englishuniversity, I looked to this party, the Liberal Government of England, as the leaders of reform, of progress, of social betterment. And so didthe country; the British public. Errors of taste and judgment weregretted. That was how we described the most ribald outbursts of theanti-British sentiment. 

It is hard to find excuse or palliation. Instinct must have told us thatthe demands, the programme, of such diseased creatures, could onlyaggravate the national ills instead of healing them. Yes, it would seemso. I can only say that comparatively few among us did see it. Perhapsdisease was too general among us for the recognition of symptoms. 

This then was the mental attitude with which I approached my duties as areporter on the staff of a London daily newspaper of old standing andgood progressive traditions. And my notion was that in every linewritten for publication, the end of social reform should be served, directly or indirectly. My idea of attaining social reformation wasthat the people must be taught, urged, spurred into extracting furthergifts from the State; that the public must be shown how to make theirlives easier by getting the State to do more for them. That was as muchas my education and my expansive theorizing had done for me. Assuredly Iwas a product of my age. 

I had forgotten one thing, however, and that was the thing which Mr. Charles N. Pierce began now to drill into me, by analogy, and with agood deal more precision and directness than I had ever seen used atRugby or Cambridge. This one thing was that the _Daily Gazette_ was nota philanthropic organ, but a people's paper; and that the people did notwant instructing but interesting. 

"But, " I pleaded, "surely, for their own sakes, in their owninterests----"

"Damn their own sakes!"

"Well, but----"

"There's no 'but' about it. The public is an aggregation of individuals. This paper must interest the individual. The individual doesn't care adamn about the people. He cares about himself. He is very busy makingmoney, and when he opens his paper he wants to be amused and interested;and he is not either interested or amused by any instruction as to howthe people may be served. He doesn't want 'em served. He wants himselfserved and amused. That's your job. "

I believe I had faint inclinations just then to wonder whether, afterall, there might not be something to be said for the bloated Tories:the opponents of progress, as I always considered them. My thoughts ranon parties, in the old-fashioned style, you see. Also I was thinking, asa journalist, of the characteristics which distinguished differentnewspapers. 

I cordially hated Mr. Charles N. Pierce, but he really had morediscernment than I had, for he said:

"Don't you worry about teaching the people to grab more from the State. They'll take fast enough; they'll take quite as much as is good for 'em, without your assistance. But, for giving, the angel Gabriel and twoadvertisement canvassers wouldn't make 'em give a cent more than they'reobliged. "

VI

A JOURNALIST'S SURROUNDINGS

 "Religion crowns the statesman and the man, Sole source of public and of private peace. "

 YOUNG. 

I am bound to suppose that I must have been a tolerably tiring person tohave to do with during my first year in London. The reason of this wasthat I could never concentrate my thoughts upon intimate, personalinterests, either my own or those of the people I met. My thoughts werenever of persons, but always of the people; never of affairs, but alwaysof tendencies, movements, issues, ultimate ends. Probably my crudeunrest would have made me tiresome to any people. It must have beenpeculiarly irritating to my contemporaries at that period, who, whateverthey may have lacked, assuredly possessed in a remarkable degree thefaculty of concentration upon their own individual affairs, theirpersonal part in the race for personal gain. 

I remember that I talked, even to the poor, overworked servant at mylodging, rather of the prospects of her class and order than of anythingmore intimate or within her narrow scope. Poor Bessie! She was of thecallously named tribe of lodging-house "slaveys"; and what gave me someinterest in her personality, apart from the type she represented, wasthe fact that she had come from the Vale of Blackmore, a part of Dorsetwhich I knew very well. I even remembered, for its exceptionalpicturesqueness and beauty of situation, the cottage in which Bessie hadpassed her life until one year before my arrival at the fourth-rateBloomsbury "apartments" house in which she now toiled for a living. There was little enough of the sap of her native valley left in Bessie'scheeks now. She had acquired the London muddiness of complexion quickly, poor child, in the semi-subterranean life she led. 

I was moved to inquire as to what had led her to come to London, andgathered that she had been anxious to "see a bit o' life. " Certainly shesaw life, of a kind, when she entered her horrible underground kitchenof a morning, for, as a chance errand once showed me, its floor was amoving carpet of black-beetles until after the gas was lighted. InBloomsbury, Bessie's daily work began about six o'clock--there were fourstories in the house, and coals and food and water required upon everyfloor--and ended some seventeen hours later. Occasionally, an exactinglodger would make it eighteen hours--the number of Bessie's years in theworld--but seventeen was the normal. 

The trains which every day came rushing in from the country to thevarious railway termini of London were almost past counting. The "ruralexodus, " as it was called, was a sadly real movement then. Every one ofthem brought at least one Bessie, and one of her male counterparts, withruddy cheeks, a tin box, and bright eyes straining to "see life. "Insatiable London drew them all into its maw, and, while sapping theroses from their cheeks, enslaved many of them under one of the greatestcurses of that day: the fascination of the streets. 

So terrible a power was exercised by this unwholesome passion that menand women became paralyzed by it, and incapable of plucking up courageenough to enable them to leave the streets. I talked with men--poor, sodden creatures, whose greasy black coats were buttoned to theirstubbly chins to hide the absence of collar and waistcoat--who supporteda wretched existence in the streets, between begging, stealing, openingcab-doors, and the like, in constant dread of police attention. Amongthese I found many who had refused again and again offers of help tolead an honest, self-dependent life, for the sole reason that theseoffers involved quitting the streets. 

The same creeping paralysis of the streets kept men from emigration toparts of the Empire in which independent prosperity was assured for thewilling worker. They would not leave the hiving streets, with theirchances, their flaunting vice, their incessant bustle, and theirinnumerable drinking bars. 

The disease did not stop at endowing the streets with fascination forthese poor, undisciplined, unmanned creatures; it implanted in them alively fear, hard to comprehend, but very real to them, of all placesoutside the streets, with their familiar, pent noises and enclosedstrife. 

I met one old gentleman, the head of an important firm of printers, who, being impressed with the squalid wretchedness of the surroundings inwhich his work-people lived, decided to shift his works into thecountry. He chose the outskirts of a charmingly situated garden city, then in course of formation. He gave his people a holiday andentertained them at a picnic party upon the site of his proposed newworks. He set before them plans and details of pleasant cottages hemeant to build for them, with good gardens, and scores of convenienceswhich they could never know in the dingy, grimy tenements for which theypaid extortionate rents in London. 

There were four hundred and thirty-eight of these work-people. Twenty-seven of them, with some hesitation, expressed their willingnessto enter into the new scheme for their benefit. The remaining fourhundred and eleven refused positively to leave their warrens in Londonfor this garden city, situated within an hour's run of the metropolis. 

Figure to yourself the attitude of such people, where the great openuplands of the Empire were concerned: the prairie, the veld, the bush. Consider their relation to the elements, or to things elemental. We wentfarther than "Little Englandism" in those days; we produced littlestreet and alley men by the hundred thousand; and then we bade themexercise their rights, their imperial heritage, and rule an Empire. Asfor me, I was busy in my newspaper work trying to secure more rights forthem; for men whose present freedom from all discipline and control wastheir curse. 

The reporters' room at the office of the _Daily Gazette_ was the workingheadquarters of five other men besides myself. One was a Cambridge man, one had been at Oxford, one came from Cork, and the other two wereproducts of Scotch schools. Two of the five would have been calledgentlemen; four of them were good fellows; the fifth had his goodpoints, but perhaps he had been soured by a hard upbringing. One feltthat the desire for money--advancement, success, or whatever you choseto call it; it all meant the one thing to Dunbar--mastered everyfeeling, every instinct even, in this young man, and made him about assafe and agreeable a neighbour as a wolf might be for a kennel of dogs. 

A certain part of our time was devoted to waiting in the reporters' roomfor what Mr. Pierce called our "assignments, " to this or that reportingtask. Also, we did our writing here, and a prodigious amount of talking. The talk was largely of Fleet Street, the ruffianism of Mr. Pierce, thefortunes of our own and other journals, the poorness of our pay, thearduousness of our labours, the affairs of other newspaper offices, andthe like. But at other times we turned to politics, and over our pipesand copy paper would readjust the concert of Europe and the balance ofworld power. More often we dealt with local politics, party intrigue, and scandals of Parliament; and sometimes--more frequently since myadvent, it may be--we entered gaily upon large abstractions, andventilated our little philosophies and views of the eternal verities. 

By my recollection of those queer confused days, my colleagues werecynically anarchical in their political views, unconvinced andunconvincing Socialists, and indifferent Agnostics. I am not quite surethat we believed in anything very thoroughly--except that things were ina pretty bad way. Earnest belief in anything was not a feature of theperiod. I recall one occasion when consideration of some tyrannical actof our immediate chief, the news-editor, led our talk by way ofcharacter and morality to questions of religion. The _Daily Gazette_, Ishould mention, was a favourite organ with the most powerful religiouscommunity--the Nonconformists. Campbell, one of the two Scotchreporters, hazarded the first remark about religion, if I rememberaright: something it was to the effect that men like Pierce had neitherreligion nor manners. Brown, the Cambridge man, took this up. 

"Well now, " he said, "that's a queer thing about religion. I'd like youto tell me what anybody's religion is in London. "

"It's the capital of a Christian country, isn't it?" said Dunbar. 

"Yes, " admitted Brown. "That's just it. We're officially and politicallyChristian. It's a national affair. We're a Christian people; but whoknows a Christian individual? Ours is a Christian newspaper, Christiancity, Christian country, and all the rest of it. There's no doubt aboutit. All England believes; but no single man I ever meet admits that hebelieves. I suppose it's different up your way, Campbell. One gathersthe Scotch are religious?"

"H'm! I won't answer for that, " growled Campbell. "As a people, yes, asyou say; but as individuals--well, I don't know. But my father's abeliever; I could swear to it. "

"Ah, yes; so's mine. But I'm not talking of fathers. I mean ourgeneration. "

"Well, " I began, "for my part, I'm not so sure of the fathers. "

"Oh, we can count you out, " said Kelly, the Irishman. "All parsons' sonsare atheists, as a matter of course; and bad hats at that. "

"Rather a severe blow at our Christianity, isn't it?" said Brown. 

I had no more to say on this point, not wishing to discuss my father. But I knew perfectly well that that good, kind man had cherished nobelief whatever in many of what were judged to be the vital dogmas ofChristianity. 

"Well, I've just been thinking, " said Campbell, "and upon my soul, Brown--if I've got one--I believe you're right. I don't know any one ofour generation who believes. Every one thinks every one else believes, and everybody is most careful not to be disrespectful about the beliefeverybody else is supposed to hold. But, begad, nobody believes himself. We all wink at each other about it; accepting the certainty of every oneelse's belief, and only recognizing as a matter of course that you andme--we've got beyond that sort of thing. "

"Well, I've often thought of it, " said Brown. "I'll write an articleabout it one of these days. "

"Who'll you get to publish it?"

"H'm! Yes, that's a fact. And yet, hang it, you know, how absurd! Whois there in this office that believes?"

"Echo answers, 'who?'"

"I happen to know that both Rainham and Baddeley go to church, " saidDunbar, naming a proprietor and a manager. 

"I don't see the connection, " said Brown. 

"Because there isn't any, " said Campbell. "But Dunbar sees it, and sodoes the British public, begad. That's the kernel of the whole thing. That's why every one thinks every one else, except himself, believes. Rainham and Baddeley think their wives, and sons, and servants, andcircle generally believe, and therefore would be shocked if Rainham andBaddeley didn't go to church. And every one else thinks the same. Sothey all go. "

"But, my dear chap, they don't all go. The parsons are alwayscomplaining about it. The women do, but the men don't--not as a rule, Imean; particularly when they've got motors, and golf, and things. Youknow they don't. Here's six of us here. Does any one of us ever go tochurch?"

Dunbar, looking straight down over his nose, said: "I do--often. "

"You're a fine fellow, Dunbar, sure enough, " said Campbell; "and Ibelieve you'll be a newspaper proprietor in five years. You've got yourfinger on the pulse. Can you look me in the face and say you believe?"

Dunbar smiled in his knowing way and wobbled. "I certainly believe it'sa good thing to go to church occasionally, " he said. 

"And I believe you'll make a fortune in Fleet Street, my son. "

"Well, in my humble opinion, " said Kelly, "the trouble with you peoplein England is not so much that you don't believe; a good many believe, in a kind of a way, like they believe in ventilation, without troublingto act on it. They believe, but they don't think about it; they don'tcare, it isn't real. The poor beggars 'ld go crazy with fear ofhell-fire, if the sort of armchair belief they have was real to 'em. Itisn't real to 'em, like business, and money, and that, or likepatriotism is in Japan. "

"Well, it really is a rum thing, " said Brown, with an affectation ofpathos, "that in all this Christian country I shouldn't know a singlebeliever of my generation. "

"It's a devilish bad thing for the country, " said Campbell. And eventhen, with all my fundamentally rotten sociological nostrums, I had avague feeling that the Scotchman was right there. 

"Well, then, that's why it's good to go to church, " said Dunbar, with anair of finality. 

"I still don't see the connection, " murmured Brown. 

"Because it still isn't there. But, of course, it's perfectly obvious. That's why Dunbar sees it, and why he'll presently run a paper. " ThenCampbell turned to Dunbar, and added slowly, as though speaking to alittle child: "You see, my dear, it's not their not going to churchthat's bad; it's their not believing. "

If I remember rightly, Mr. Pierce ended the conversation, through histelephone, by assigning to Brown the task of reporting a clericalgathering at Exeter Hall. Brown was credited with having a particularlyhappy touch in the reporting of religious meetings. He certainly had anopen mind, for I remember his saying that day that he thoughtChristianity was perhaps better adapted to a skittish climate like oursthan Buddhism, and that Ju-Ju worship in London would be sure to causefriction with the County Council. 

As I see it now, there was a terribly large amount of truth in the viewtaken by Brown and Campbell and Kelly about belief in England, and moreparticularly in London. But there were devout men of all ages who didnot happen to come within their circle of acquaintance. I met SalvationArmy officers occasionally, who were both intelligent, self-denying, andhard-working; and I suppose that with them belief must have been atleast as powerful a motive as devotion to their Army, their General, andthe work of reclamation among the very poor. Also, there were HighChurch clergymen, who toiled unceasingly among the poor. Symbolism was agreat force with them; but there must have been real belief there. Also, there were some fine Nonconformist missions. I recall one in WestLondon, the work of which was a great power for good in such infectedwarrens as Soho. But it certainly was not an age of faith or of earnestbeliefs. The vast majority took their Christianity, with the nationalsafety and integrity, for granted--a thing long since established by anearlier generation; a matter about which no modern could spare time forthought or effort. 

I believe it was on the day following this particular conversation inthe reporters' room that I met Leslie Wheeler by appointment atWaterloo, and went down to Weybridge with him for the week-end. Myfriend was in even gayer spirits than usual, and laughingly told me thatI must "Work up a better Saturday face than that" before we got toWeybridge. 

I had known Leslie Wheeler since our school-days; and I remember lyingawake in the room next his own at Weybridge that night, and wonderingwhy in the world it was I felt so out of touch with my high-spiritedfriend. During that Saturday afternoon and evening I had been prettymuch preoccupied in securing as much as possible of Sylvia's attention. But the journey down had been made with Leslie alone, and when hisfather had gone to bed, we two had spent another half-hour together inthe billiard-room, smoking and sipping whiskey and soda. Leslie was inthe vein most usual with him, of "turning to mirth all things on earth";and I was conscious, upon my side, of a notable absence of reciprocalfeeling, of friendly rapport. And I could find no explanation for this, as I lay thinking of it in bed. 

Looking backward, I see many causes which probably contributed to myfeeling of lost touch. I had only been about a month in London, but ithad been a busy month, and full of new experiences, of intimate touchwith realities of London life, sordid and otherwise. It was all veryunlike Rugby and Cambridge; very unlike the life of the big luxuriousWeybridge house, and even more unlike lichen-covered Tarn Regis. Inthose days I took little stock of such mundane details as bed and board. But these things count; I had been made to take note of them of late. 

I paid 12s. 6d. A week for my garret, and 7s. A week for my breakfast, 1s. For lighting, and 1s. For my bath. That left me with 28s. 6d. A weekfor daily lunch and dinner, clothes, boots, tobacco, and the eternalpenny outgoings of London life. The purchase of such a trifle as a boxof sweets for Sylvia made a week's margin look very small. Already I hadbegun to note the expensiveness of stamps, laundry work, omnibus fares, and such matters. My training had not been a hopeful one, so far assmall economies went. Leslie twitted me with neglecting golf, andfailing to attend the Inter-'Varsity cricket match. He found economy, like all other things under heaven, and in heaven for that matter, suitable subjects for the exercise of his tireless humour. But Iwondered greatly that his incessant banter should jar upon me; that Ishould catch myself regarding him with a coldly appraising eye. Indeed, it troubled me a good deal; and the more so when I thought of Sylvia. 

I flatly declined to admit that London had affected my feeling forSylvia. Whatever one's view, her big violet eyes were abrim with gentlesympathy. I watched her as I sat by her side in church, and thought ofour irreverent talk at the office. Here was sincere piety, at allevents, I thought. Mediævalism never produced a sweeter devotee, aworshipper more rapt. I could not follow her into the place of ecstasyshe reached. But, I told myself, I could admire from without, and evenreverence. Could I? Well, I was somewhat strengthened in the belief thatvery Sunday night by Sylvia's father. 

VII

A GIRL AND HER FAITH

 "If faith produce no works, I see That faith is not a living tree. "

 HANNAH MORE. 

During that Sunday at Weybridge I saw but little of my friend Leslie. Itwas only by having obtained special permission from the _Daily Gazette_office that I was able to remain away from town that day. My leisure wasbrief, my chances few, I felt; and that seemed to justify the devotingof every possible moment to Sylvia's company. 

Sylvia's church was not the family place of worship. When Mrs. Wheelerand Marjory attended service, it was at St. Mark's, but Sylvia made herdevotions at St. Jude's, a church famous in that district for its highAnglicanism and stately ritual. 

The incumbent of St. Jude's, his Reverence, or Father Hinton, as Sylviaalways called him, was a tall, full-bodied man, with flashing dark eyes, and a fine, dramatic presence. I believe he was an indefatigable workeramong the poor. I know he had a keen appreciation of the dramaticelement in his priestly calling, and in the ritual of his church, withits rich symbolism and elaborate impressiveness. Even from my briefglimpses of the situation, I realized that this priest (the wordsclergyman and vicar were discouraged at St. Jude's) played a veryimportant, a vital part, in the scheme of Sylvia's religion. I thinkSylvia would have said that the personality of the man was nothing; butshe would have added that his office was much, very much to her. 

She may have been right, though not entirely so, I think. But it iscertain that, in the case of Father Hinton, the dramatic personality ofthe man did nothing to lessen the magnitude of his office in the mindsof such members of his flock as Sylvia. I gathered that belief in thecelibacy of the clergy was, if not an article of faith, at least a partof piety at St. Jude's. 

Before seven o'clock on Sunday morning I heard footsteps on the gravelunder my window, and, looking out, saw Sylvia, book in hand, leaving thehouse. She was exquisitely dressed, the distinguishing note of herattire being, as always in my eyes, a demure sort of richness andpicturesqueness. Never was there another saint so charming inappearance, I thought. Her very Prayer Book, or whatever the volumemight be, had a seductive, feminine charm about its dimpled cover. 

I hurried over my dressing and was out of the house by half-past sevenand on my way to St. Jude's. Breakfast was not until half-past nine, Iknew. The morning was brilliantly sunny; and life in the world, despiteits drawbacks and complexities, as seen from Fleet Street, seemed anadmirably good thing to me as I strode over a carpet of pine-needles, and watched the slanting sun-rays turning the tree trunks to burnishedcopper. 

The service was barely over when I tiptoed into a seat beside the doorat St. Jude's. At this period the appurtenances of ritual in suchchurches as St. Jude's--incense, candles, rich vestments, and thelike--rivalled those of Rome itself. I remember that, fresh from thedewy morning sunshine without, these symbols rather jarred upon mysenses than otherwise, with a strong hint of artificiality andtawdriness, the suggestion of a theatre seen by daylight. But they meanta great deal to many good folks in Weybridge, for, despite the earlinessof the hour, there were fifty or sixty women present, besides Sylvia, and half a dozen men. 

I could see Sylvia distinctly from my corner by the door, and I was maderather uneasy by the fact that she remained in her place when every oneelse had left the building. Five, ten minutes I waited, and then walkedsoftly up the aisle to her place. I did not perceive, until I reachedher side, that she was kneeling, or I suppose I should have felt obligedto refrain from disturbing her. As it was, Sylvia heard me, and, havingseen who disturbed her, rose, with the gravest little smile, and, with acurtsy to the altar, walked out before me. 

I found that Sylvia generally stayed on in the church for the eighto'clock service; and I was duly grateful when she yielded to mysolicitations and set out for a walk with me instead. I had taken a fewbiscuits from the dining-room and eaten them on my way out; but Ilearned later, rather to my distress, that Sylvia had not broken herfast. I must suppose she was accustomed to such practices, for sheseemed to enjoy almost as much as I did our long ramble in the freshmorning air. 

I learned a good deal during that morning walk, and the day thatfollowed it, the greater part of which I spent by Sylvia's side. Uponthe whole, I was perturbed and made uneasy; but I continued to assuremyself, perhaps too insistently for confidence or comfort, that Sylviawas wholly desirable and sweet. It was perhaps unfortunate for my peaceof mind that the day was one of continuous religious exercises. The facttinged all our converse, and indeed supplied the motive of most of it. 

I did not at the time realize exactly what chilled and disturbed me, butI think now that it was what I might call the inhumanity of Sylvia'sreligion. I dipped into one of her sumptuous little books at some timeduring the day, and I remember this passage:

"To this end spiritual writers recommend what is called a 'holyindifference' to all created things, including things inanimate, place, time, and the like. Try as far as possible to be indifferent to allthings. Remember that the one thing important above all others to you isthe salvation of your own soul. It is the great work of your life, fargreater than your work as parent, child, husband, wife, or friend. "

It was a reputable sort of a book this, and fathered by a respectedOxford cleric. 

There was singularly little of the mystic in my temperament. My mind, asyou have seen, was surcharged with crude but fervent desires for thematerial betterment of my kind. I was nothing if not interested in humanwell-being, material progress, mortal ills and remedies. ApproachingSylvia's position and outlook from this level then, I thrust my waythrough what I impatiently dismissed as the "flummery"; by which I meantthe poetry, the picturesqueness, the sacrosanct glamour surrounding hisReverence and St. Jude's; and found, or thought I found, that Sylvia'sreligion was at worst a selfish gratification of the senses of theindividual worshipper, and at best a devout and pious ministration tothe worshipper's own soul; in which the loving of one's neighbour andcaring for one another seemed to play precisely no part at all. 

True it was, as I already knew, that in the East End of London, andelsewhere, some of the very High Church clergy were carrying on a workof real devotion among the poor, and that with possibly a moredistinguished measure of success than attended the efforts of any otherbranch of Christian service. They did not influence anything like thenumber of people who were influenced by dissenting bodies, but those whodid come under their sway came without reservation. 

But the point which absorbed me was the question of how this particularaspect of religion affected Sylvia. In this, at all events, it seemed tome a far from helpful or wholesome kind of religion. Sylvia liked earlymorning services because so few people attended them. It was "almostlike having the church to oneself. " The supreme feature of religiouslife for Sylvia had for its emblem the tinkle of the bell at the serviceshe always called Mass. The coming of the Presence--that was the CMajor of life for Sylvia. For the rest, meditation, preferably in thesetting provided by St. Jude's, with its permanent aroma of incense andits dim lights--the world shut out by stained glass--this, with prayer, genuflections, and the ecstasy of long thought upon the circumstances ofthe supreme act of Christ's life upon earth, seemed to me to representthe sum total of Sylvia's religion. 

But, over and above what was to me the chilling negativeness of allthis, its indifference to the human welfare of all other mortals, therewas in Sylvia's religion something else, which I find myself unable, even now, to put into words. Some indication of it, perhaps, is given bythe little passage I have quoted from one of her books. It was the onething positive which I found in my lady's religion; all the rest was tome a beautiful, intricate, purely artificial negation of human life andhuman interest. 

This one thing positive struck into my vitals with a chill premonition, as of something unnatural and, to me, unfathomable. It was a sentimentwhich I can only call anti-human. Even as those of Sylvia's persuasionheld that the clergy should be celibate, so it seemed to me they viewedall purely human loves, ties, emotions, sentiments, and interestsgenerally with a kind of jealous suspicion, as influences to bebelittled as far as possible, if not actually suppressed. 

Puritanism, you say? But, no; the thing had no concern with Puritanism, for it lacked the discipline, the self-restraint that made Cromwell'smen invincible. There was no Puritanism in the influence which couldmake women indifferent to the earthly ties of love and sentiment, tochildren, to the home and domesticity, while at the same time implantingin them an almost feverish appreciation of incense, rich vestments, gorgeous decorations, and the whole paraphernalia of such a service asthat of St. Jude's, Weybridge. This religion, or, as I think it would bemore just to say, Sylvia's conception of this religion, did not say:

"Deny yourself this or that. "

It said:

"Deny yourself to the rest of your kind. Deny all other mortals. Wrapyourself in yourself, thinking only of your own soul and its relation toits Maker and Saviour. "

This was how I saw Sylvia's religion, and, though she was sweetly kindand sympathetic to me, Dick Mordan, I was strangely chilled andperturbed by realization of the fact that nothing human really weighedwith her, unless her own soul was human; that the people, our fellow menand women, of whose situation and welfare I thought so much, were farless to Sylvia than the Early Fathers and the Saints; that humanity hadeven less import for her, was less real, than to me, was the fascinationof St. Jude's incense-laden atmosphere. 

Sylvia's dainty person had an infinite charm for me; the personalitywhich animated and informed it chilled and repelled me as it might havebeen a thing uncanny. When I insisted upon the dear importance of someone of humanity's claims, the faraway gaze of her beautiful eyes, withtheir light that never was on sea or land, her faintly superiorsmile--all this thrust me back, as might a blow, and with more bafflingeffect. 

And then the accidental touch of her little hand would bring me back, with pulses fluttering, and the warm blood in my veins insisting thatsweet Sylvia was adorable; that everything would be well lost in paymentfor the touch of her lips. So, moth-like, I spent that pleasant Sabbathday, attached to Sylvia by ties over which my mind had small control; bybonds which, if the truth were known, were not wholly dissimilar, Ibelieve, from the ties which drew her daily to the heavy atmosphere ofthe sanctuary rails of St. Jude's. 

In the evening Mr. Wheeler asked me to come and smoke a cigar with himin his private room, and the invitation was not one to be evaded. I wassubconsciously aware that it elicited a meaning exchange of glancesbetween Marjory and her mother. 

"Well, Mordan, I hope things go well with you in Fleet Street, " said Mr. Wheeler, when his cigar was alight and we were both seated in hisluxurious little den. 

"Oh, tolerably, " I said. "Of course, I am quite an obscure person thereas yet; quite on the lowest rungs, you know. "

"Quite so; quite so; and from all I hear, competition is as keen thereas in the City, though the rewards are--rather different, of course. "

I nodded, and we were silent for a few moments. Then he flicked a littlecigar-ash into a tray and looked up sharply, with quite the MoorgateStreet expression, I remember thinking. 

"I think you are a good deal attracted by my youngest girl, Mordan?" hesaid; and his tone demanded a reply even more than his words. 

"Yes, I certainly admire her greatly, " I said, more than a littlepuzzled by the wording of the question; more than a little fluttered, itmay be; for it seemed to me a welcoming sort of question, and I waskeenly aware of my ineligibility as a suitor. 

"Exactly. That is no more than I expected to hear from you. Indeed, Ithink anything less would--well, I shouldn't have been at all pleasedwith anything less. "

His complaisance quite startled me. Somehow, too, it reminded me of mymany baffled retirements of that day, before the elements in Sylvia'scharacter which chilled and repelled me. I was almost glad that I hadnot committed myself to any warmer or more definite declaration. Mr. Wheeler weighed his cigar with nice care. 

"Yes, " he continued. "If you had disputed the attraction--theattachment, I should perhaps say--I should have found serious ground forcriticizing your--your behaviour to my girl. As it is, of course, thething is natural enough. You have been attracted; the child isattractive; and you have paid her marked attentions--which is what anyyoung man might be expected to do. "

"If he is going to suggest an engagement, " I thought, "I must be veryclear about my financial position, or want of position. " Mr. Wheelercontinued thoughtfully to eye his cigar. 

"Yes, it is perfectly natural, " he said; "and you will probably think, therefore, that what I am going to say is very unnatural and unkind. Butyou must just bear in mind that I am a good deal older than you, and, also, I am Sylvia's father. "

I nodded, with a new interest. 

"Well, now, Mordan, let me say first that I know my girls pretty well, and I am quite satisfied that Sylvia is not fitted to be a poor man'swife. You would probably think her far better fitted for that part thanher sister, because Marjory is a lot more gay and frivolous. Well, youwould be wrong. They are neither of them really qualified for the post, but Sylvia is far less so than Marjory. In point of fact she would bewretched in it, she would fail in it; and--I may say that the fact wouldnot make matters easier for her husband. "

There did not seem to me any need for a reply, but I nodded again; andMr. Wheeler resumed, after a long draw at his cigar. He smoked a veryexcellent, rather rich Havana. 

"Yes, girls are different now from the girls I sweethearted with; andgirls like mine must have money. I dare say you think Sylvia dressesvery prettily, in a simple way. My dear fellow, her laundry bill alonewould bankrupt a newspaper reporter. "

I may have indicated before, that Mr. Wheeler was not a person of anyparticular refinement. He had made the money which provided a tolerablycostly upbringing for his children, but his own education I gathered hadbeen of a much more exiguous character. There was, as I know, a gooddeal of truth in what he said of the girl of the period. 

"Well, now, I put it to you, Mordan, whether, admitting that what I sayabout Sylvia is true--and you may take it from me that it istrue--whether it would be very kind or fair on my part to allow you togo on paying attention to her at the rate of--say to-day's. Do you thinkit would be wise or kind of me to allow it? I say nothing about yourside in the matter, because--well, because I still have somerecollection of how a young fellow feels in such a case. But would it bewise of me to allow it?"

He was a shrewd man, this father of Sylvia, and of my old friend; and Ihave no doubt that the tactics I found so disarming had served him wellbefore that day in the City. At the same time, instinct seemed to forbidcomplete surrender on my side. 

"It is just consideration of the present difficulties of my positionwhich has made me careful to avoid seeking to commit Sylvia in any way, "I said. 

It was probably an unwise remark. At all events, it struck the note ofopposition, of contumacy, which it seemed my host had been anticipating;and he met it with a new inflection in his voice, as who should say:"Well, now to be done with explanations and the velvet glove. Have atyou!" What he actually said was:

"Ah, there's a deal of mischief to be done without a declaration, myfriend. But, however, I don't expect that you should share my view. Ionly suggested it on the off chance because--well, I suppose, becausethat would be the easiest way out for me, as host. But I don't know thatI should have thought much of you if you had met me half-way. So nowlet me do my part and get it over, for it's not very pleasant. I haveshown you my reasons, which, however they may seem to you, areundeniable to me. Now for my wishes in the matter, as a father; I amsure there is no need for me to say 'instructions, ' so I say 'wishes. 'They are simply that for the time--for a year or two, anyhow--you shouldnot give me the pleasure of being your host, and that you should notcommunicate in any way with Sylvia. There, now it's said, and done, andI think we might leave it at that; for I don't think it's much morepleasant for me than for you. I'm sure I hope we shall have many apleasant evening together--er--after a few years have passed. Now, whatdo you say--shall we have another cigar, or go in to the ladies?"

I flatter myself that, with all my shortcomings, I was never a sulkyfellow. At all events, I elected to join the ladies; but my reward wasnot immediately apparent, for it seemed that Sylvia had retired for thenight. At least, we did not meet again until breakfast-time nextmorning, when departure was imminent, and the week's work had, so tosay, begun. 

VIII

A STIRRING WEEK

 Ay! we would each fain drive At random, and not steer by rule. Weakness! and worse, weakness bestows in vain. Winds from our side the unsuiting consort rive. We rush by coasts where we had lief remain; Man cannot, though he would, live chance's fool. 

 . . . . . 

 Even so we leave behind, As, charter'd by some unknown Powers, We stem across the sea of life by night. The joys which were not for our use design'd; The friends to whom we had no natural right, The homes that were not destined to be ours. 

 MATTHEW ARNOLD. 

It goes without saying that Mr. Wheeler's attitude, and my beingpractically forbidden the house at Weybridge, strengthened and sharpenedmy interest in Sylvia. Nothing else so fans the flame of a young man'sfancy as being forbidden all access to its object. Accordingly, in theweeks which followed that Sunday at Weybridge, I began an ardentcorrespondence with Sylvia, after inducing her to arrange to call forletters at a certain newspaper shop not far from the station. 

It was a curious correspondence in many ways. Some of my long, wordyepistles were indited from the reporters' room at the _Daily Gazette_office, in the midst of noisy talk and the hurried production of "copy. "Others, again, were produced, long after--for my health's sake--I shouldhave been in bed; and these were written on a corner of my little chestof drawers in the Bloomsbury lodging-house. I was a great reader of thepoet Swinburne at the time, and I doubt not my muse was sufficientlypassionate seeming. But, though I believe my phrases of endearment werealliteratively emphatic, and even, as I afterwards learned, somewhatalarming to their recipient, yet the real mainspring of my eloquence wasthe difference between our respective views of life, Sylvia's and mine. 

In short, before very long my letters resolved themselves into fiery andvehement denunciation of Sylvia's particular and chosen _metier_ inreligion, and equally vehement special pleading on behalf of the claimsof humanity and social reform, as I saw them. I find the thingprovocative of smiles now, but I was terribly in earnest then, orthought so, and had realized nothing of the absolute futility of pittingtemperament against temperament, reason against conviction, argumentagainst emotional belief. 

We had some stolen meetings, too, in the evenings, I upon one side of alow garden wall, Sylvia upon the other. Stolen meetings are apt to bevery sweet and stirring to young blood; but the sordid consideration ofthe railway fare to Weybridge forbade frequent indulgence, and such wasmy absorption in social questions, such my growing hatred of Sylvia'santi-human form of religion, that even here I could not altogetherforbear from argument. Indeed, I believe I often left poor Sylvia wearyand bewildered by the apparently crushing force of my representations, which, while quite capable of making her pretty head to ache, left hermental and emotional attitude as completely untouched as though I hadnever opened my lips. 

Wrought up by means of my own eloquence, I would make my way back toLondon in a hot tremor of exaltation, which I took to be love and desireof Sylvia. And then, as like as not, I would receive a letter from mylady-love the next day, the refrain of which would be:

"How strange you are. How you muddle me! Indeed, you don't understand;and neither, perhaps, do I understand you. It seems to me you would dragsacred matters down to the dusty level of your politics. "

The dusty level of my politics! That was it. The affairs of the world, of mortal men, they were as the affairs of ants to pretty Sylvia. Alofty and soaring view, you say? Why, no; not that exactly, for whatremained of real and vital moment in her mind, to the exclusion of allserious interest in humanity? There remained, as a source of muchgratification, what I called the daily dramatic performance at St. Jude's; and there remained as the one study worthy of serious devotionand interest--Sylvia Wheeler's own soul. She never sought to influencethe welfare of another person's soul. Indeed, as she so often said tome, with a kind of plaintiveness which should have softened mydeclamatory ardour but did not, she did not like speaking of suchmatters at all; she regarded it as a kind of desecration. 

No, it did not seem to me a lofty and inspiring view that Sylvia took. On the contrary, it exercised a choking effect upon me, by reason ofwhat I regarded as its intense littleness and narrowness. The too oftenbitter and sordid realities of the struggle of life, as I saw it inLondon, had the effect upon me of making Sylvia's esoteric exclusivenessof interest seem so petty as to be an insult to human intelligence. Iwould stare out of the train windows, on my way back from Weybridge, atthe countless lights, the endless huddled roofs of London; and, seeingin these a representation of the huge populace of the city, I wouldstretch out my arms in an impotent embrace, muttering:

"Yes, indeed, you _are_ real; you _are_ more important than any otherconsideration; you are _not_ the mere shadows she thinks you; yourservice is of more moment than any miracle, or than any nursing of one'sown soul!"

And so I would make my way to Fleet Street, where I forced myself tobelieve I served the people by teaching them to despise patriotism, togive nothing, but to organize and demand, and keep on demanding andobtaining, more and more, from a State whose business it was to give, and to ask nothing in return. I was becoming known, and smiled atmockingly, for my earnest devotion to the extreme of the _DailyGazette's_ policy, which, if it made for anything, made, I suppose, foranti-nationalism, anti-militarism, anti-Imperialism, anti-loyalty, andanti-everything else except State aid--by which was meant theantithesis of aid of the State. 

"I've got quite a good job for you this afternoon, Mordan--somethingquite in your line, " said Mr. Charles N. Pierce one morning. "A lot ofthese South African firebrands are having a luncheon at the WestminsterPalace Hotel, and that fellow John Crondall is to give an addressafterwards on 'Imperial Interests and Imperial Duties. ' I'll give youyour fling on this up to half a column--three-quarters if it's goodenough; but, be careful. A sort of contemptuous good humour will be thebest line to take. Make 'em ridiculous. And don't forget to convey theidea of the whole business being plutocratic. You know the sort ofthing: Park Lane Israelites, scooping millions, at the expense of theovertaxed proletariat in England. Jingoism, a sort of swell bucket-shopbusiness--you know the tone. None of your heroics, mind you. It's got tobe news; but you can work in the ridicule all right. "

I always think of that luncheon as one of the stepping-stones in mylife. However crude and mistaken I had been up till then, I had alwaysbeen sincere. My report of that function went against my ownconvictions. The writing of it was a painful business; I knew I wasbeing mean and dishonest. Not that what I heard there changed my viewsmaterially. No; I still clung to my general convictions, which fittedthe policy of the _Daily Gazette_. But the fact remained that intreating that gathering as I did, on the lines laid down by mynews-editor, I knew that I was being dishonest, that I was conveying anuntrue impression. 

In this feeling, as in most of a young man's keen feelings, the personalelement played a considerable part. I was introduced to the speaker, John Crondall, by a Cambridge man I knew, who came there on behalf of aConservative paper, which had recently taken a new lease of life in newhands, and become the most powerful among the serious organs of theEmpire party. It is a curious thing, by the way, that overwhelming aswas the dominance of the anti-national party in politics, theImperialist party could still claim the support of the greatest and mostthoughtfully written newspapers. 

John Crondall had no time to spare for more than a very few words withso obscure a person as myself; but in two minutes he was able to producea deep impression upon me, as he did upon most people who met him. JohnCrondall had a great deal of personal charm, but the thing about himwhich bit right into my consciousness that afternoon was his earnestsincerity. As Crewe, the man who introduced me to him, said afterwards:

"There isn't one particle of flummery in Crondall's whole body. "

It was an obviously truthful criticism. You might agree with the man ornot, but no intelligent human being could doubt his honesty, the realityof his convictions, the strength and sincerity of his devotion to thecause of those convictions. It was perfectly well known then thatCrondall had played a capable third or fourth fiddle in the maintenance, so far, of the Imperial interest in South Africa. His masterful leader, the man who, according to report, had inspired all his fiery earnestnessin the Imperialist cause, was dead. But John Crondall had relinquishednothing of his activity as a lieutenant, and continued to spend a goodshare of his time in South Africa, while, wherever he was, continuing todevote his energies to the same cause. 

As for his material interests, Crewe assured me that Crondall knew nomore of business, South African or otherwise, than a schoolboy. He hadinherited property worth about a couple of thousand a year, and hadrather decreased than added to it. For, though he had acted as warcorrespondent in the Russo-Japan war, and through one or two "littlewars, " in outlying parts of the British Empire, circumstances hadprevented such work being of profit to him. In the South African war hehad served as an irregular, and achieved distinction in scouting andguiding work. 

John Crondall's life, I gathered, had been the very opposite of my ownsheltered progress from Dorset village to school, from school toUniversity, and thence to my present street-bound routine in London. Hisviews were clearly no less opposite to that vague tumult of resentment, protest, and aspiration which represented my own outlook upon life. Indeed, his speech that day was an epitome of the sentiment and opinionswhich I had chosen to regard with the utmost abhorrence. 

With Crondall, every other consideration hinged upon and was subservientto the Imperialist idea of devotion to the bond which united allBritish possessions under one rule. The maintenance and furtherance ofthat tie, the absorption of all parts into that great whole, thesubordination of all other interests to this: that I took to be JohnCrondall's great end in life. By association I had come to identifymyself, and my ideals of social reform, entirely with those to whom meremention of the rest of the Empire, or of the ties which made it anEmpire, was as a red rag to a bull. 

I have tried to explain something of the causes for this extraordinaryattitude, but I am conscious that at the present time it cannot reallybe explained. It was there, however. We might interest ourselves in talkof Germany, we might enthusiastically admire and even model ourselvesupon the conduct of a foreign people; but mention of the outside placesof our own Empire filled us with anger, resentment, scorn, and contempt. It amounted to this: that we regarded as an enemy the man who sought toserve the Empire. He cannot do that without opposing us, we said ineffect; as one who should say: You cannot cultivate my garden, or repairmy fences, without injuring my house and showing yourself an enemy to myfamily. A strange business; but so it was. 

Therefore, John Crondall's speech that day found me full enough ofopposition, and not at all inclined to be sympathetic. But the thing ofit was, I knew him for an honest and disinterested man; a man alightwith high inspiration and lofty motive; a man immeasurably above sordidor selfish ends. And it was my task, first, to ridicule him; and, second, to attach sordidness and self-interest to him. That was thething which made the day eventful for me. 

John Crondall talked of British rule and British justice, as he hadknown them in the world's far places. He drew pictures of Oriental rule, Boer rule, Russian rule, savage rule; and, again, of the methods andcustoms of foreign Powers in their colonial administration. When heclaimed this and that for British rule, and the Imperial unity whichmust back it, as such, sneers came naturally to me. The anti-Britishsentiment covered that. My qualms began, when he based his plea upon thevalue of British administration to all concerned, the danger tocivilization, to mankind, of its being allowed to weaken. 

Remember, he spoke in pictures, and in the first person; not ofimaginings, but of what he had seen: how a single anti-British speech inLondon, meant a month's prolongation of bloody strife in one country, oran added weight of cruel oppression in another. Right or wrong, JohnCrondall carried you with him; for he dealt with men and things as hehad brothered and known them, before ever he let loose, in a fieryperoration, that abstract idea of Empire patriotism which ruled hislife. 

But it was not all this that made my paltry journalistic task a hardone. It was my certainty of Crondall's lofty sincerity. From thatafternoon I date the beginning of the end of my _Daily Gazette_engagement. Some men in my shoes would have moved to success from thispoint; gaining from it either complete unscrupulousness, or the bolddecision which would have made them important as friends or enemies. For my part I was simply slackened by the episode. I met John Crondallseveral times again. He chaffed me in the most generous fashion over myabominably unfair report of the luncheon gathering. He influenced megreatly, though my opinions remained untouched, so far as I knew. 

I cannot explain just how John Crondall influenced me, but I am veryconscious that he had a broadening effect on me--he enlarged my horizon. If he had remained in London things might have gone differently with me. One cannot tell. Among other things, I know his influence mightilyreduced the number and length of my letters to Weybridge. In my mind Iwas always fighting John Crondall. It was my crowded millions of Englandagainst his lonely, sun-browned men and women outside--his worldinterests. The war in my heart was real, unceasing. And then there waspretty Sylvia and her little soul, and her meditations, and her dailymiracles. The pin-point, bright as it was, became too tiny for me toconcentrate upon it, when contrasted with these other tumultuousconcerns. 

Then came a crowded, confused week, in which I saw John Crondall departby the South African boat-train from Waterloo. The first lieutenant ofhis dead leader out there had cabled for Crondall to come and hold hisbroad shoulders against the side of some political dam. My eyes prickedwhen John Crondall wrung my hand. 

"You're all right, sonny, " he said. "Don't you suppose I have thesmallest doubt about you. "

I had never given him anything but sneers and opposition--I, a littleunknown scrub of a reporter; he a man who helped to direct policies andshape States. Here he was rushing off to the other side of the earth athis own expense, sacrificing his own interests and engagements at home, in the service of an Idea, an abstract Tie, a Flag. My philosophy hadseemed spacious beside, say, Sylvia's: to secure better things for thoseabout me, instead of for my own soul only. But what of Crondall? As Isay, my eyes pricked, even while I framed some sentence in my mindexpressing regret for his wrong-headedness. Ah, well!

The same week--the same day--brought me the gentlest little note ofdismissal from Sylvia. Her duty to her father, and--my ideas seemed toomuch for her peace of mind; so bewildering. "I am no politician, youknow; and truth to tell, these matters which seem so much to you thatyou would have them drive religion from me, they seem to me soinfinitely unimportant. Forgive me!"

No doubt my vanity was wounded, but I will not pretend that I was veryseriously hurt. Neither could I ponder long upon the matter, becauseanother letter, received by the same post, claimed my attention. Sylvia's letter threw out a hint of better things for us in a year ortwo's time. Her notion of a break between us was "for the present. "There were references to "later on, when you can come here again, and weneed not hide things. " But my other letter made more instant claims. Itwas type-written, and ran thus:

 "DEAR MR. MORDAN:--Mr. Chas. N. Pierce directs me to inform you that after the expiration of the present month your services will no longer be required by the editor of the _Daily Gazette_. 

 "I am, Sir, Yours faithfully, JAMES MARTIN, _Secretary_. "

I pictured the little pale-eyed rabbit of a man typing the dictum of hisNapoleon, his hero, and wondering in his amiable way how "Mr. Mordan"would be affected thereby, and how he had managed to displease the greatman. As for "the editor of the _Daily Gazette_, " I had not seen himsince the day of my engagement. But I recalled now various recent signsof chill disapproval of my work on Mr. Pierce's part. And, indeed, I wasaware myself of a slackness in my work, a kind of reckless, windmill-tilting tendency in my general attitude. 

Meantime, there was the fact that I had recently encroached twice uponmy tiny nest-egg; once to buy a wedding present for my sister Lucy, andonce for a piece of silly extravagance. 

It was quite a notable week. 

IX

A STEP DOWN

 "Cosmopolitanism is nonsense; the cosmopolite is a cipher, worse than a cipher; outside of nationality there is neither art, nor truth, nor life; there is nothing. "--IVAN TURGENIEFF. 

I have mentioned a piece of reckless extravagance; it was reckless inview of my straightened circumstances. And the reason I mention thisapparent trifle is that it and its attendant circumstances influenced mein my conduct after the abrupt termination of the _Daily Gazette_engagement. 

One of my fellow knights of the reporters' room introduced me in acertain Fleet Street wine-bar to one of the characters of that classichighway--a man named Clement Blaine, who edited and owned a weeklypublication called _The Mass_. I hasten to add that this journal hadnothing whatever to do with any kind of religious observance. Its titlereferred to the people, or rather, to the section of the public which, at that time, we still described by the quaintly misleading phrase, "theworking classes, " as though work were a monopoly in the hands of themanual labourer. 

_The Mass_ was a journal which had quite a vogue at that time. This wasbrought about, I suppose, by the wave of anti-nationalism which, in1906, established the notorious administration which subsequently becameknown as "The Destroyers. " It was maintained largely, I fancy, byClement Blaine's genius for getting himself quoted in other journals ofevery sort and standing. 

The existence of _The Mass_, and the popularity which it earned byoutraging every civic and national decency, stands in my mind as astriking example of the extraordinary laxity and slackness of moralwhich had grown out of our boasted tolerance, broad-mindedness, andcosmopolitanism. We had waxed drunken upon the parrot-like asseverationof "rights, " which our fathers had won for us, and we had no time tospare for their compensating duties. This misguided apotheosis of whatwe considered freedom and broad-mindedness, produced the most startlingand anomalous situations in our national life, including the almostincredible fact that, while nominally at peace with the world, the Statewas being bitterly warred against by cliques and parties among its ownsubjects. 

For instance, in any other State than our own, my new acquaintance, Clement Blaine, would have been safely disposed in a convenient prisoncell, and his flamingly seditious journal would have been promptly andeffectually squashed. In England the man was free as the Prime Minister, and a Department of State, the Post Office, was engaged in thedistribution of the journal which he devoted exclusively to stirring upanimosity against that State, and traitorous opposition to itsconstitution. 

Further, Mr. Blaine's vitriolic outpourings, his unnatural defilement ofhis own nest, were gravely quoted in every newspaper in the Kingdom, without a hint of recognition of the fact that they were fundamentallycriminal and a public offence. The sacrosanct "liberty of the subject"was involved; and though Mr. Blaine would have been forcibly restrainedif he had shown any tendency to injure lamp-posts, or to lay hands uponhis own worthless life, he was given every facility in hisself-appointed task of inciting the public to all sorts of offencesagainst the State, and to a variety of forms of national suicide. 

It was the commonest thing for a Member of Parliament, a man solemnlysworn and consecrated to the loyal service of the Crown and State, tofill a signed column of Clement Blaine's paper, with an article orletter the whole avowed end of which would be the championing of somenational enemy or rival, or the advocacy of means whereby a shrewd blowmight be struck against British rule or British prestige in some part ofthe world. 

I recall one long and scurrilous article by a Member of Parliament, urging rebellious natives in South Africa to take heart of grace andpursue with ever-increasing vigour their attacks upon the small andisolated white populace which upheld British rule in that part of theContinent. I remember a long and venomous letter from another Member ofParliament (a strong advocate of the State payment of members) defendingin the most ardently sympathetic manner both the action and thesentiments of a municipal official who had torn down and destroyed theUnion Jack upon an occasion of public ceremony. 

We called this sort of thing British freedom in those chaotic days; andwhen our Continental rivals were not jeering at the grotesqueness of it, they were lauding this particular form of madness to the skies, as wellthey might, seeing that our insensate profligacy and incontinence meanttheir gain. The cause of a foreigner, good, bad, or indifferent--thatwas the cause Clement Blaine most loved to champion in his journal. Anattack upon anything British, though the author of it might be thebasest creature ever outlawed from any community--that was certain ofready and eager hospitality in the columns of _The Mass_. 

I can conceive of no infamy which that journal was not ready to condone, no offence it would not seek to justify--save and except the crime ofpatriotism, loyalty, avowed love of Britain. And this obscene, mad-dogpolicy, so difficult even to imagine at this time, was by curiousdevious ways identified with Socialism. _The Mass_ was called aSocialist organ. The fact may have been a libel upon Socialism, if notupon Socialists; but so it was. 

Be it said that at Cambridge I had rather surprised the evangelicalsection of my college (Corpus Christi) by the part I played in foundinga short-lived institution called the Anonymous Society, the choicestspirits in which affected canvas shirts and abstention from the use ofneckties. As Socialists, we invited the waiters of the college to asoirée, at which a judicious blend of revolutionary economics andbitter beer was relied upon to provide a flow of reasonable andinexpensive entertainment. The society lapsed after a time, chieflyowing, if I remember rightly, to an insufficiency of funds forrefreshments. But I had remained rather a person to be reckoned with atthe Union. 

I regarded my meeting with Clement Blaine as something of an event, andI very cheerfully and quite gratuitously contributed an article to hisjournal dealing with some form of government subvention which I held tobe a State duty. (We wasted few words over the duties of the citizen inthose days. ) It was as a result of that article that I was invited to aSocialist soirée in which the moving spirit, at all events in therefreshment-room, was Mr. Clement Blaine. Here I met a variety of queerfish who called themselves Socialists. They were of both sexes, and uponthe whole they were a silly, inconsequent set. Their views ratherwearied me, despite my predisposition to favour them. 

They were a kind of tepid, ineffectual anarchists, unconvinced andwholly unconvincing. Broadly speaking, theirs was a policy of blindreversal. They were not constructive, but they were opposed vaguely tothe existing order of things, and, particularly, to everything British. They pinned their faith to the foreigner in all things, even though theforeigner's whole energies might be devoted to the honest endeavour toraise conditions in his country to a level approaching the Britishstandard. Any contention against the existing order, and, above all, anything against Britain, appealed directly to these rather tawdrypeople. 

In this drab, ineffective gathering, I found one point of colour, like ared rose on a dingy white tablecloth. This was Beatrice, the daughter ofClement Blaine. I believe the man had a wife. One figures her as a wornhousehold drudge. In any case, she made no appearance in any of theplaces in which I met Blaine, or his handsome daughter. Beatrice Blainewas a new type to me. One had read of such girls, but I had never metthem. And I suppose novelty always has a certain charm for youth. Onefelt that Beatrice had crossed the Rubicon. Mentally, at all events, onegathered that she had thrown her bonnet over the windmill. 

Physically, materially, I have no doubt that Beatrice was perfectly wellqualified to take care of herself. But here was a very handsome girl whowas entirely without reticence or reserve. With her, many things usuallytreated with respect were--"all rot. " Beatrice's aim in life waspleasure, and she not merely admitted, but boasted of the fact. She didnot think much of her father's friends as individuals. She probablyobjected to their dinginess. But she acclaimed herself a thoroughgoingSocialist, I think because she believed that Socialism meant theprovision of plenty in money, dresses, pleasures, and so forth, for allwho were short of these commodities. 

Perhaps I was a shade less dingy than the others. At all events, Beatrice honoured me with her favour upon this occasion, and talked tome of pleasure. So far as recollection serves me she connected pleasurechiefly with theatres, restaurants, the habit of supping in public, andthe use of hansom cabs. At all events, within the week I squandered twowhole sovereigns out of my small hoard on giving this young pagan whatshe called a "fluffy" evening. It reminded me more than a little ofcertain rather frantic undergraduate excursions from Cambridge. ButBeatrice quoted luscious lines of minor poetry, and threw a certainglamour over a quarter of the town which was a warren of tawdryimmorality; the hunting-ground of a pallid-faced battalion of alienpimps and parasites. 

England was then the one civilized country in the world which stillwelcomed upon its shores the outcast, rejected, refuse of other lands;and, as a matter of course, when foreign capitals became positively toohot for irreclaimable characters, they flocked into Whitechapel andSoho, there to indulge their natural bent for every kind of criminalityknown to civilization, save those involving physical risk or physicalexertion for the criminal. There were then whole quarters of themetropolis out of which every native resident had gradually been ousted, in which the English language was rarely heard, except during a policeraid. 

Tens of thousands of these unclassed, denationalized foreigners livedand waxed fat by playing upon the foibles and pandering to theweaknesses of the great city's native population. Others, of a higherclass, steadily ousted native labour in the various branches oflegitimate commerce. We know now, to our cost, something of themalignant danger these foreigners represented. In indirect ways onewould have supposed their evil influence was sufficiently obvious then. But I remember that the parties represented by such organs as the _DailyGazette_ prided themselves upon their furious opposition to any hint ofprecautions making for the restriction of alien immigration. 

England was the land of the free, they said. Yet, while boasting thatEngland was the refuge of the persecuted (as well as the rejected) ofall lands, we were so wonderfully broad-minded that we upheld anythingforeign against anything British, and were intolerant only of Englishsentiment, English rule, English institutions. I believe Beatrice'sconviction of the superiority of the Continent and of foreignersgenerally was based upon the belief that:

"On the Continent people can really enjoy themselves. There's none ofour ridiculous English puritanism, and early closing, and rubbish ofthat sort there. "

I am rather surprised that the crude hedonism of Beatrice should haveappealed to me, for my weaknesses had never really included mere fleshlyindulgence. But, as I have said, the girl had the charm of novelty forme. I remember satirically assuring myself that, upon the whole, herfrank concentration upon worldly pleasure was more natural and pleasingthan Sylvia's rapt concentration upon other kinds of self-ministration. Ours was a period of self-indulgence. Beatrice was, after all, only alittle more naïve and outspoken than the majority in her thirst forpleasure. And she was quite charming to look upon. 

Almost the first man to whom I spoke regarding my dismissal from thestaff of the _Daily Gazette_ was Clement Blaine. I met him in FleetStreet, and was asked in to his cupboard of an office. 

"You are a man who knows every one in Fleet Street, " I said. "I wish youwould keep an eye lifting for a journalistic billet for me. "

And then I told him that I was leaving the _Daily Gazette_, and spoke ofthe work I had done, and of my little journalistic experiences atCambridge. 

He combed his glossy black beard with the fingers of one hand; a whitehand it was, save where cigarettes had browned the first and secondfingers; a hand that had never known physical toil, though its owneralways addressed "working" men as one of themselves. He wore a fiery rednecktie, and a fiery diamond on the little finger of the hand thatcombed his beard. A self-indulgent life in the city was telling on him, but Clement Blaine was still rather a fine figure of a man, in hiscoarse, bold way. He had a varnished look, and, dressed for the part, would have made a splendid stage pirate. 

"It's odd you should have come to me to-day, " he said. "Look here!"

He handed me a cutting from a daily paper. 

 At Holloway, yesterday afternoon, an inquest was held on the body of a man named Joseph Cartwright, who is said to have been a journalist. This man was found dead upon his bed, fully dressed, on Tuesday morning. The medical evidence showed death to be due to heart failure, and indicated alcoholism as the predisposing cause. A verdict was returned in accordance with the medical evidence. 

"He was my assistant editor, " said Clement Blaine, as I looked up frommy perusal of this sorry tale. 

"Really?" I said. 

"Yes, a clever fellow; most accomplished journalist, but----" And Mr. Blaine raised his elbow with a significant gesture, by which hesuggested the act of drinking. 

Within the hour I had accepted an engagement as assistant editor of _TheMass_ with the magnificent sum of two pounds a week by way ofremuneration. 

"It's poor pay, " said Blaine. "And I only wish I could double it. Butthat's all it will run to at present, and--well, of course, it countsfor something to be working for the cause as directly as we do in _TheMass_. "

I nodded, not without qualms. My education made it impossible for me toaccept unreservedly the most scurrilous features of the journal. But thecause was good--I was assured of that; and I would introduceimprovements, I thought. I was still very inexperienced. Meantime, I wasnot to know the carking anxiety of the out-of-work. I could still pay myway at the Bloomsbury lodging. This was something. 

Beatrice expressed herself as delighted. I was to accumulate large sumsin various vague ways, and enjoy innumerable "fluffy" evenings with her. 

What a queer mad jumble of a shut-in world our London was, and howblindly self-centred we all were in our pursuit of immediate gain, inour absolute indifference to the larger outside movements, the shapingof national destinies, the warring of national interests! I rememberthat we were quite triumphant, in our little owlish way, that year; forthe weight of socialistic and anti-national, anti-responsible feelinghad forced a time-serving Cabinet into cutting down our Navy by aquarter at one stroke. The hurried scramblers after money and pleasurewere much gratified. 

"We can make defensive alliances with other Powers, " they said. "Meantime--retrench, reduce, cut down, and give us more freedom in ourrace. Freedom, freedom--that's the thing; and peace for the developmentof commerce. "

Undoubtedly, as a people, we were fey. 

X

FACILIS DESCENSUS AVERNI

 Love thou thy land, with love far-brought From out the storied Past, and used Within the Present, but transfused Thro' future time by power of thought. 

 True love turned round on fixed poles, Love that endures not sordid ends, For English natures, freemen, friends, Thy brothers and immortal souls. 

 But pamper not a hasty time, Nor feed with crude imaginings The herd, wild hearts and feeble wings That every sophister can lime. 

 Deliver not the tasks of might To weakness, neither hide the ray From those, not blind, who wait for day, Tho' sitting girt with doubtful light. 

 TENNYSON. 

And now, as assistant editor of _The Mass_, I entered a period of mylife upon which I look back as one might who, by chance rather than byreason of any particular fitness for survival, had won safely through awhirlpool. The next few years were a troublous time, a stormy era oftransition, for most English people. For many besides myself the periodwas a veritable maelstrom of confusion, of blind battling withunrecognized forces, of wasted effort, neglected duty, futile struggles, and slavish inertia. 

At an early stage I learned to know Clement Blaine for a sweater ofunderpaid labour, a man as grossly self-indulgent as he wasunprincipled, as much a charlatan as he was, in many ways, an ignoramus. Yet I see now, more clearly than then, that even Clement Blaine was notall bad. He was not even completely a charlatan. He believed he wasjustified in making all the money he could, in any way that waspossible. It must be remembered, however, that at that time most peoplereally thought, whatever they might say, that the first and most obviousduty in life was to make money for themselves. 

Then, too, I think Blaine really believed that the sort ofanti-national, socialistic theories he advocated would make for thehappiness of the people; for the profit and benefit of the majority. Hewas blinded by lack of knowledge of history and of human nature. He wasan extreme example, perhaps, but, after all, his mistaken idea thathappiness depended upon personal possession of this and that, uponhaving and holding, was very generally accepted at that time. The oldsaving sense of duty, love of country, national responsibility, andpride of race, had faded and become unreal to a people feverishly bentupon personal gain only. Nelson's famous signal and watchword was keptalive, in inscriptions; in men's hearts and minds it no longer had anymeaning; it made no appeal. This is to speak broadly, of course, and ofthe majority. We had some noble exceptions to the rule. 

In looking back now upon that period, it seems to me, as I suppose toall who lived through it, such a tragedy of confusion, of sordidness, and of futility, that one is driven to take too sweepingly pessimistic aview of the time. I have said a good deal of the anti-nationalsentiment, because it was undoubtedly in the ascendant then. As historyshows us, this sentiment ruled; by it the ship of state was steered; byit the defences of the Empire were cut down and down to the ultimatebreaking point. We call the administration of that period criminallyunpatriotic. As such "The Destroyers" must always figure in history. Butwe must not forget that then, as now, we English people had as good aGovernment as we deserved. The spirit of selfish irresponsibility wasnot confined to Whitehall. 

On the other hand, it must not be supposed that no patriotic partyexisted. There was a patriotic party, and the exigencies of the timeinspired some of its leaders nobly. But the sheer weight of numbers, ofindifference, and of selfishness to which this party was opposed was toomuch for it. The best method of realizing this nowadays is by the studyof the newspaper files for the early years of the century. From these itwill be seen that even the people and journals in whom devotedpatriotism survived, even the leaders who gave up their time and energy(politics gave us such a man, the Army another, the Navy another, literature another, and journalism gave us an editor in whom the rightfire burned brightly) to the task of warning and adjuring the public, and seeking to awaken the nation to the lost sense of its dangers, itsduties, and its responsibilities; even these were forced by the weightof public selfishness into using an almost apologetic tone, withreference to the common calls of patriotism and Imperial unity. 

People dismissed an obvious challenge of the national conscience with ahurried and impatient wave of the hand. They were tired of this; theyhad heard enough of the other; they were occupied with local interestsof the moment, and could not be bothered with this or that considerationaffecting the welfare of the world-wide shores of greater outsideBritain. And, accordingly, we find that the most patriotic andpublic-spirited journal was obliged, for its life, to devote moreattention to a football match at the Crystal Palace than to a change ofpublic policy affecting the whole commercial future of a part of theEmpire twenty times greater than Britain. There were other journals, organs of the self-centred majority, that would barely even mention anImperial development of that sort, and then but casually, as a matter ofno particular interest to their readers; as indeed it was. 

I do not think that retrospection has coloured my view too darkly when Isay that my brief experience in Fleet Street made me feel that the_Daily Gazette_ party, the supporters of "The Destroyers" (as naval folkhad named the Government of the day) consisted of a mass of smuglyhypocritical self-seekers; and that the party I served under ClementBlaine were a mass of blatantly frank self-seekers. Suchgeneralizations can never be quite just, however. There were earnest anddevoted men in every section of the community. But, as a generalization, as indicating the typical characteristics of the parties, I fear that myview has been proved correct. 

It would be quite a mistake to suppose that in the political world theshortcomings were all on one side. Writers like myself, even men likeClement Blaine, had only too much justification for the contempt theypoured upon the Conservative party. Selfishness, indolence, and theworship of the fossilized party spirit, had eaten into the very vitalsof this section of the political world. The form of madness we calledparty loyalty made the best men we had willing to sacrifice national topersonal interests. So-and-so must retain his place; loyalty to theparty demands our support there and there. We must give it, whatever theconsequences. The thing is not easy to understand; but it was so, andthe strongest and best men of the day were culpable in this. 

The farther my London experiences took me, the greater became the massof my shattered illusions, broken ideals, and lost hopes. I remember myreflections during a brief visit I paid to my mother in Dorset, when Ihad spent an evening talking with my sister Lucy's husband. DoctorWoodthrop was a good fellow enough, and my sister seemed happier withhim than one would have expected, remembering that it was rather thedesire for freedom, than love, which gave her to him. 

Woodthrop was popular, honest, steady-going; a fine, typical Englishmanof the period, I suppose. In politics he was as his father before him, though the name had changed from Tory to Conservative. He talkedpolitics for a week at election time. I would not say that he everthought politics. I know that he had no knowledge, and less interest, where the affairs of his country were concerned, when I met and talkedwith him during that visit. The country's defences were actually of farless importance in his eyes than the country's cricket averages. As foreither social reform interests in England, or the affairs of the Empireoutside England, he simply could not be induced to give them evenconversational breathing space. They were as exotic to my sister'shusband as the ethics of esoteric Buddhism. But he was a thick and thinConservative. To be sure, he would have said, nothing would cause him towaver in that. 

As for myself, I defended the anti-national party in its repudiation ofImperial responsibility by arguing that the domestic needs of thecountry were too urgent and great to admit of any kind of expenditure, in money or energy, upon outside affairs. We did not recognize thatinternal reform and content were absolutely incompatible with shamelessneglect of fundamental duties. 

We were as sailors who should concentrate upon drying and cleaning theircabin, seeking at all hazards to make that comfortable, while refusingto spare time for the ship's pumps, though the water was rising in herhold from a score of external fissures. Our anti-nationalists and LittleEnglanders were little cabin-dwellers, shirkers from the open deck, careless of the ship's hull, and masts, and sails, busily bent onlyupon the enrichment of their particular divisions among her saloons. 

In the early days of my engagement as assistant editor of _The Mass_, Ithink I may claim that I worked hard and with honest intent to make thepaper represent truly what I conceived to be the good and helpful sideof Socialism, of social progress and reform. But, if I am to be frank, Ifear I must admit that within six months of my first engagement byClement Blaine, I had ceased to entertain any sincere hope or ambitionin this direction. And yet I remained assistant editor of _The Mass_. 

The two statements doubtless redound to my discredit, and I have littleexcuse to offer. The work represented bread and butter for me, and thatcounted for something, of course. But I will admit that I think I couldhave found some more worthy employment, and should have done so but forBeatrice Blaine, my employer's daughter. 

Time and time again my gorge rose at being obliged to play my part--veryoften, as a writer, the principal part--in what I knew to be anabsolutely dishonest piece of journalism. Once I remember refusing towrite a grossly malicious and untrue representation of certain actionsof John Crondall's in the Transvaal. But I am ashamed to say I revisedthe proofs of the lying thing, and saw it to press, when a hireling ofClement Blaine's had prepared it. The man was a discharged servant ofCrondall's, a convicted thief, as I afterwards learned, as well as amost abandoned liar. But his scurrilous fabrication, after publicationin _The Mass_, was quoted at length by the _Daily Gazette_, and by thejournals of that persuasion throughout the country. 

I hardly know how to explain my relations with Blaine's daughter. Isuppose the main point is she was beautiful, in the sense that certaincats are beautiful. I rarely heard of my Weybridge friends now, andnever, directly, of Sylvia. My life seemed infinitely remote from thatof the luxurious Wheeler _ménage_. When I chanced to earn a few guineaswith my pen outside the littered office of _The Mass_ (where the bulk ofthe editorial work fell to me), the money was almost invariably devotedto the entertainment of Beatrice. She was in several ways not unlike akitten, or something feline, of larger growth: the panther, for example, in Balzac's thrilling story, "A Passion in the Desert. "

I have never, before or since, met any woman so totally devoid of themoral sense as Beatrice. Yet she had a heart that was not bad; indeed itwas a tender heart. But there was no moral sense to guide and balanceher. 

I think of Beatrice as very much a product of that time. Her ownpersonal enjoyment, pleasure, indulgence; these formed alike the centreand the limit of her thoughts and aims. And the suggestion that seriousthought or energy should be given to any other end, struck Beatrice asnecessarily insincere and absurd. As for duty, the word had no more realapplication to her own life as Beatrice saw it than the counsels ofold-time chivalry for the pursuit of the Holy Grail. 

Soberly considered, this is doubtless very grievous. But it must besaid that if Beatrice was singular in this, her singularity lay ratherin her frank disclosure of her attitude than in the attitude itself. Iam not sure that morally her absorption in such crude pleasures as sheknew, was a whit more culpable than the equal absorption of nine peopleout of ten at that time, in money-getting, in sport, in societyfunctions, or in sheer idleness. The same oblivion to the sense of dutywas very generally characteristic; though in other matters, no doubt, the moral sense was more active. In Beatrice it simply was not presentat all. 

All this was tolerably clear to me even then; but I will not pretendthat it interfered much with the physical and emotional attraction whichBeatrice had for me. Apart from her my life was very drab in colour. Ihad no recreations. In my time at Rugby and at Cambridge we eitherpractically ignored sport (so far, at all events, as actualparticipation in it went), or lived for it. I had very largely ignoredit. Now, Beatrice Blaine represented, not exactly recreation, perhaps--no, not that I think--but gaiety. The hours I spent in hercompany were the only form of gaiety that entered into my life. 

My feeling for Beatrice was not serious love, not at all a grandpassion; but denying myself the occasional pleasure of ministering toher appetite for little outings would have been a harder task for methan the acceptation of Sylvia Wheeler's dismissal. My attentions toBeatrice were very much those of Balzac's Provençal to his panther, after he had overcome his first terrors. 

There were times when her acceptance of gifts or compliments fromanother man made me believe myself really in love with Beatrice. Thensome peculiarly distasteful aspect of my journalistic work would beforced upon me; I would receive some striking illustration of thehopelessly sordid character of Blaine and his circle, of the policy of_The Mass_, of the general trend of my life; and, seeing Beatrice'sindifferent acceptance of all this venality, I would turn from her witha certain sense of revulsion--for three days. After that, I would returnto handsome Beatrice, with her feline graces and her warm colouring, asa chilly, tired man turns from his work to his fireside. 

In short, as time went on, I became as indifferent to ends and aims asthe most callous among those at whose indifference to matters of realmoment I had once girded so vehemently. And I lacked their excuse. I cutno figure at all in the race for money and pleasure; unless my clingingto Beatrice be accounted pursuit of pleasure. Certainly it lacked therapt absorption which characterized the multitude really in the race. Ifear I was rapidly degenerating into a common type of Fleet Street hack;into nothing more than Clement Blaine's assistant. And then a quite newinfluence came into my life. 

XI

MORNING CALLERS

 A woman mixed of such fine elements That were all virtue and religion dead She'd make them newly, being what she was. 

 GEORGE ELIOT. 

A sandy-haired youth-of-all-work, named Rivers, spent his days in thebox we called the front office; a kind of lobby really, by which oneentered the tolerably large and desperately untidy room in which Blaineand myself compiled each issue of _The Mass_. Blaine spent a good sliceof all his days in keeping appointments, usually in Fleet Street bars. 

My days were spent in the main office of the paper, among the files, thescissors and paste, the books of reference, and the three Gargantuanwaste-paper baskets. Here at different times I interviewed men of everyEuropean nationality and every known calling, besides innumerablefollowers of no recognized trade or profession. Among them all I cannotcall to mind more than two or three who, by the most charitable stretchof imagination, could have been called gentlemen. 

Most of them were obviously, and in all ways seedy, shadycharacters--furtive, wordy creatures, full of vague, involvedgrievances. The greater proportion were foreigners; scallywags from themean streets of every Continental capital; men familiar with prisons;men who talked of the fraternity of labour, and never did any work; menfull of windy plans for the enrichment of humanity, who themselves mustalways borrow and never repay--money, food, shelter, and the otherthings for which honest folk give their labour. 

If an English Cabinet Minister had offered us an explanation of anypolitical development we should have had small use for his contributionin _The Mass_, unless as an advertisement of our importance. For theirteaching, for the text they gave us in our fulminations, we greatlypreferred the rancorous and generally scurrilous vapourings of someunknown alien dumped upon our shores for the relief and benefit of hisown country. 

We wanted no information from Admiralty Lords about the Navy, fromcommanding officers about the Army, from pro-Consuls about the Colonies, or from the Foreign Office about foreign relations. But a deserter or aman dismissed from either of the Services, a broker ne'er-do-wellrejected as unfit by one of the Colonies, or a foreign agitator withstories to tell of Britain's duplicity abroad; these were all welcomefish for our net, and folk whom it was my duty to receive withrespectful attention. From their perjured lips it became my mechanicalduty to extract and publish wisdom for the use of our readers in theguidance of their lives and the exercise of their rights as citizens andratepayers. I became adept at the work, and in the end accomplished itdaily without interest, and with only occasional qualms of conscience. It was my living. 

On a sunshiny morning in June, which I remember very well, thesandy-haired Rivers brought me a visiting-card upon which I read thename of "Miss Constance Grey. " In one corner of the card the words "CapeTown" had been crossed out and a London address written over them. 

I was engaged at the time with a large, pale, fat man from Stettin, whose mission it was to show me that the socialist working men of theFatherland dearly loved their comrades in England, and that the payingof taxes for the defence of these islands was a preposterously absurdthing, for the reason that the Socialists would never allow Germany togo to war with England or with any other country. "The Destroyers, " intheir truckling to Demos, had already cut down Naval and Army estimatesby more than one-half since their rise to power, and our Stettinambassador was priming me regarding a demand for further reductions, prior to actual disarmament, to provide funds for the fixing of aminimum day's pay and a maximum day's work. 

The gentleman from Stettin was to provide us with material for a specialarticle and a leading article. His proposals were to be made a"feature. " However, I thought I had gone far enough with him at thistime; and so, looking from his pendulous jowl to the card in my hand, Itold Rivers to ask the lady to wait for two minutes, and to say that Iwould see her then. I remember Herr Mitmann found the occasionopportune for the airing of what I suppose he would have called hissense of humour. His English and his front teeth were equally badlybroken, and his taste in jokes was almost as swinishly gross as hisappearance. But I was able to be quit of him at length, and then Riversushered in Miss Constance Grey. 

As I rose to provide my visitor with a chair, I received the impressionthat she was a young and quietly well-dressed woman, with a notable pairof dark eyes. I thought of her as being no more than five-and-twentyyears of age and pleasant to look upon. But her eyes were the featurethat seized one's attention. They produced an impression of light andbrilliancy, of vigour, intelligence, and charm. 

"I called to see you at the office of the _Daily Gazette_, Mr. Mordan, and this was the only address of yours they could give me, or I shouldhave hesitated about intruding on you in working hours. I bring you anintroduction from John Crondall. "

And with that she handed me a letter in Crondall's writing, and noddedin a friendly way when I asked permission to read it at once. 

"Please do, " she said. 

She had no particular accent, but yet her speech differed slightly fromthat of the conventional Englishwoman of her class--the refined andwell-educated Englishwoman, that is. I suppose the difference was ratherone of expression, tone, and choice of phrase than a matter of accent. Idoubt if one could easily find an example of it nowadays, increasedcommunication having so much broadened our own colloquial diction thatmany of its conventional peculiarities have disappeared. But it existedthen, and after a time I learned to place it as characteristic of thespeech of Greater Britain, as distinguished from the English of those ofus who lived always in this capital centre of the Empire. 

[Illustration: "RIVERS USHERED IN MISS CONSTANCE GREY"]

Miss Grey had the Colonial directness and vividness of speech; a larger, freer diction upon the whole than that of the Londoner born and bred;more racy, less clipped and formal, but, in certain ways, more correct. The society _cliche_, and the society fads of abbreviation and accent, were missing; and in their place was an easy, idiomatic directness, distinctly noticeable to a man like myself who had actually never beenout of England. This it was that first struck me about Miss Grey; thisand the warm brilliance of her eyes: a graphic, moving speech, a frank, compelling gaze; both indicative, as it seemed to me, of broadlysympathetic understanding. 

I read John Crondall's kindly letter with a good deal of interest, movedby the fact that his terse, friendly phrases recalled to me a phase ofmy own life which, though no more than a couple of years past, seemed tome wonderfully remote. I had been new to London and to Fleet Streetthen, full of aspirations, of earnestness, of independent aims andhopes; fresh from the University and the more leisured days of my lifeas the son of the rector of Tarn Regis. I had had glimpses of much thatwas sordid and squalid in London life, at the period John Crondall'sletter recalled, but as yet there had been no sordidness in my own life. All that was far otherwise now, I felt. Cambridge and Dorset were along way from the office of _The Mass_. I thought of the greasy Teutonnondescript for whom I had kept Miss Grey waiting, and I felt colourrise in my face as I read John Crondall's letter:

"I expect you have been burgeoning mightily since I left London, and Ishould not be surprised to learn that you have put the _Daily Gazette_and its kind definitely behind you. You remember our talks? Tut, my dearfellow, Liberalism, Conservatism, Radicalism--it's of not the slightestconsequence, and they're all much of a muchness. The thing is to standto one's duty as a citizen of the Empire, not as a member of this orthat little tin coterie; and if we stick honourably to that, nothingelse matters. You will like Constance Grey; that is why I have asked herto look you up. She's sterling all through; her father's daughter to thebackbone. And he was the man of whom Talbot said: 'Give me two Greys, and'--and a couple of other men he mentioned--'and a free hand, andWhitehall could go to sleep with its head on South Africa, and never bedisturbed again. '"--When Crondall quoted his dead chief, the man whosepersonality had dominated British South Africa, one felt he had said hisutmost. --"The principal thing that takes her to London now, I believe, is detail connected with a special series she has been engaged upon for_The Times_; fine stuff, from what I have seen of it. It is marvellousthe grip this one little bit of a girl has of South African affairs. "

"Yes, " I thought, now the fact was mentioned, "I suppose she is small. "

"I hope the articles will be well read, for there's a heap of the vitalsof South Africa in them; and even if they are to cut us adriftaltogether, it's as well 'The Destroyers' should know a little about us, and the country. Constance Grey's name and introductions will take heranywhere in London, or I would have asked your help in that way. "

I thought of Clement Blaine's friends, my own Fleet Street circle, andshifted uncomfortably in my chair. 

"As it is, the boot may be rather on the other leg, and she may be ofsome service to you. But in any case, I want you to know each other, because you are a good chap, and will interest her, I know; and becauseshe is of the bigger Britain and will interest you. Things politicalare, of course, looking pretty blue for us all, and your particularfriends--I rather hope perhaps they're not so much your friends bynow--are certainly doing their level best to cut all moorings. But onemust keep pegging away. The more cutting for them, the more splicing forus. But I do wish we could blindfold Europe until these 'Destroyers' hadgot enough rope, and satisfactorily hanged themselves; for if they gomuch farther, their hanging will come too late to save the situation. Well, salue!"

I allowed my eyes to linger over the tail-end of the letter, while Ithought. I was sensible of a very real embarrassment. There seemed akind of treachery to John Crondall, a kind of unfairness to Miss Grey, in my receiving her there at all. By this time one had no illusions leftregarding Clement Blaine and his circle, nor about _The Mass_. I knewthat, at heart, I was ashamed, and with good reason, of my connectionwith both. Still, there I was; it was my living; and--I suppose my eyesmust have wandered from the letter. At all events, evidently seeing thatI had finished reading it, my visitor spoke. 

"I had an introduction to the editor of the _Daily Gazette_, so I tookadvantage of being there this afternoon to see him. A nice man, Ithought, though I don't care for his paper. He remembered you as soon asI mentioned your name, and told me you--you were here. He seemed quitesorry you had left his paper; but I am sure I can understand theattraction of a position in which the whole concern is more or less inone's own hands. Mr. Delaney found me a copy of _The Mass_; so I havebeen studying you before calling. Perhaps you have inadvertently done somuch by me, through _The Times_--a rather high and dry old institution, isn't it?"

Naturally I had punctuated these remarks of hers, here and there. Shehad a very bright, alert way in talking, and now she added, easily, asentence or two to the effect that it would be a dull world if we allheld precisely the same views. She did the thing well, and in a fewminutes I found myself chatting away with her in the most friendlymanner. She managed with the utmost deftness to remove all ground for myembarrassment regarding my position. She talked for a while of SouthAfrica, and the life she had lived there prior to her father's death;but she touched no topic which contained any controversial element. Itseemed her aunt, a sister of her father's, had accompanied her toEngland, and she said:

"I promised my aunt, Mrs. Van Homrey, that I would induce you to spareus an evening soon. She loves meeting friends of John Crondall. We dineat eight, but would fix any other hour if it suited you better. "

The end of it was I promised to dine with Miss Grey and her aunt inSouth Kensington on the following evening, and, after a quarter of anhour's very pleasant chat (twice interrupted by Rivers, who had peoplein his cupboard waiting to see me) my visitor rose to take herdeparture, with apologies for having trespassed upon a busy man's time. I told her with some warmth that the loss of my time was of noimportance, and, with a thought as to the nature of my petty routine, Irepeated the assurance. She smiled:

"Ah, that's just the masculine insincerity of your gallantry, " she said, "unworn, I see, by working with women. John Crondall would have sent mepacking. "

"No doubt his time is of more value--better occupied. "

I had a mental vision of Clement Blaine (who grew stouter and slackerday by day) sitting drinking with Herr Mitmann of Stettin, in afavourite bar, within fifty yards of the office. 

"Still the insincerity of politeness, " she laughed. "You forget I haveread _The Mass_. I find you a terribly earnest partisan; very keenlyoccupied, I should say. Till to-morrow evening, then!"

And she was gone, and Rivers was leading in, like a bear on a cord, atousled Polish Jew named Kraunski, who was teaching us how theMetropolitan Police Force should be run, and how tyrannically its wickedmyrmidons oppressed worthy citizens of Houndsditch, like Mr. Kraunski--quite a good _Mass_ feature. 

So I stepped back again, feeling as though Constance Grey had carriedaway the pale London sunlight with her when she left my littered den. 

XII

SATURDAY NIGHT IN LONDON

 "Corrupted freemen are the worst of slaves. "--DAVID GARRICK. 

I remember that the evening of the day following my dinner engagementwith Miss Grey and her aunt was consecrate, by previous arrangement, toBeatrice Blaine. I had received seven guineas a couple of days beforefor a rather silly and sensational descriptive article, the subject ofwhich had been suggested by Beatrice. Indeed, she had made me write it, and liked the thing when it appeared in print. It described certainaspects of the quarter of London which stood for pleasure in her eyes;the quarter bounded by Charing Cross and Oxford Street, Leicester Squareand Hyde Park Corner. 

I think I would gladly have escaped the evening with Beatrice if I couldhave done so fairly. Seeing that I could not do this, and that my moodseemed chilly, I plunged with more than usual extravagance, and soughtto work up all the gaiety I could. I had a vague feeling that I owed somuch to Beatrice; that the occasion in some way marked a crisis in ourrelations. I did not mentally call it a last extravagance, but yet Ifancy that must have been the notion at the back of my mind; from whichone may assume, I think, that Constance Grey had already begun toexercise some influence over me. 

With the seven guineas clinking in the pockets of my eveningclothes--here, at all events, was a link with University days, for theseseldom-worn garments bore the name of a Cambridge tailor--I drove to thecorner of the road beside Battersea Park in which the Blaines lived, andthere picked up Beatrice, in all her vivid finery, by appointment. Sheloved bright colours and daring devices in dress. That I should come ina cab to fetch her was an integral part of her pleasure, and, if fundscould possibly be stretched to permit it, she liked to retain theservices of the same cab until I brought her back to her own door. 

We drove to a famous showy restaurant close to Piccadilly Circus, whereBeatrice accomplished the kind of entrance which delighted her heart, with attendants fluttering about her, and a messenger posting back tothe cab for a forgotten fan, and a deal of bustle and rustle of one sortand another. A quarter of an hour was devoted to the choice of a menu ina dining-room which resembled the more ornate type of music-hall, andwas of about the same size. The flashing garishness of it all delightedBeatrice, and the heat of its atmosphere suited both her mood and herextremely _décolleté_ toilette. 

I remember beginning to speak of my previous evening's engagement whileBeatrice sipped the rather sticky champagne, which was the first item ofthe meal to reach us. But a certain sense of unfitness ordisinclination stopped me after a few sentences, and I did not againrefer to my new friends; though I had been thinking a good deal ofConstance Grey and her plain-faced, plain-spoken aunt. I felt strangelyout of key with my environment in that glaring place, and the strains ofan overloud orchestra, when they came crashing through the buzz of talkand laughter, and the clatter of glass and silver, were rather a reliefto me as a substitute for conversation. I drank a great deal ofchampagne, and resented the fact that it seemed to have no stimulatingeffect upon me. But Beatrice was in a purring stage of contentment, hercolour high, her passionate eyes sparkling, and low laughter everatremble behind her full, red lips. 

After the dinner we drove to another place exactly like the restaurant, all gilding and crimson plush, and there watched a performance, whichfor dulness and banality it would be difficult to equal anywhere. It wasmore silly than a peep-show at a country fair, but it was all set in amost gorgeous and costly frame. The man who did crude and ancientconjuring tricks was elaborately finely dressed, and attended bymonstrous footmen in liveries of Oriental splendour. What he did wasabsurdly tame; the things he did it with, his accessories, werebarbarously gorgeous. 

This was not one of the great "Middle Class Halls, " as they were calledduring their first year of existence, but an old-established haunt ofthose who aimed at "seeing life"--a great resort of ambitious youngbloods about town. Not very long before this time, a powerful trust hadbeen formed to confer the stuffy and inane delights of the "Hall" uponthat sturdily respectable suburban middle class--the backbone of Londonsociety--which had hitherto, to a great extent, eschewed this particularform of dissipation. The trust amassed wealth by striking a shrewd blowat our national character. Its entertainments were to be allrefinement--"fun without vulgarity"; the oily announcements werenauseating. But they answered their purpose only too well. The great andstill religious bourgeois class was securely hooked; and then the nameof "Middle Class Halls" was dropped, and the programme provided in thesegarish palaces became simply an inexpensive and rather amateurishimitation of those of the older halls, plus a kind of prudish, sentimental, and even quasi-religious lubricity, which made themaltogether revolting, and infinitely deleterious. 

But our choice upon this occasion had fallen upon the most famous of theold halls. Of the performance I remember a topical song which evokedenthusiastic applause. It was an incredibly stupid piece of doggerelabout England's position in the world; and the shiny-faced exquisite whodeclaimed it strutted to and fro like a bantam cock at each fresh roarof applause from the heated house. When he used the word "fight" hewaved an imaginary sword and assumed a ridiculous posture, which heevidently connected with warlike exercises of some kind. The songpraised the Government--"A Government er business men; men that's gotsense"--and told how this wonderful Government had stopped the pouringout of poor folks' money upon flag-waving, to devote it to poor folks'needs. It alluded to the title that Administration had earned: "TheDestroyers"; and acclaimed it a proud title, because it meant thedestruction of "gold-laced bunkcombe, " and of "vampires that werepreying on the British working man. "

But the chorus was the thing, and the perspiring singer played conductorwith all the airs and graces of a spangled showman in a booth, while thehuge audience yelled itself hoarse over this. I can only recall twolines of it, and these were to the effect that: "They"--meaning theother Powers of civilization--"will never go for England, becauseEngland's got the dibs. "

It was rather a startling spectacle; that vast auditorium, in which onesaw countless flushed faces, tier on tier, gleaming through a haze oftobacco smoke; their mouths agape as they roared out the vapid lines ofthis song. I remember thinking that the doggerel might have been thecreation of my fat contributor from Stettin, Herr Mitmann, and that ifthe music-hall public had reached this stage, I must have beenoversensitive in my somewhat hostile and critical attitude toward thewritings of that ponderous Teuton. I thought that for once _The Mass_would almost lag behind its readers; though in the beginning I hadregarded Herr Mitmann's proposals as going beyond even our limits. 

We left the hall while its roof echoed the jingling tail-piece ofanother popular ditty, which tickled Beatrice's fancy hugely. In it thesinger expressed, without exaggeration and without flattery, a gooddeal of the popular London attitude toward the pursuit of pleasure andthe love of pleasure resorts. I recall phrases like: "Give my regards toLeicester Square--Greet the girls in Regent Street--Tell them in BondStreet we'll soon meet"--and, "Give them my love in the Strand. "

The atmosphere reeked now of spirits, smoke, and overheated humanity. The voice of the great audience was hoarse and rather bestial insuggestion. The unescorted women began to make their invitationsdreadfully pressing. Doubtless my mood coloured the whole tawdrybusiness, but I remember finding those last few minutes distinctlyrevolting, and experiencing a genuine relief when we stepped into theouter air. 

But the lights were just as brilliant outside, the pavements as throngedas the carpeted promenade, its faces almost as thickly painted as thoseof the lady who wished her "regards" given to Leicester Square, or thegentleman who had assured us that nobody wanted to fight England, because England had the "dibs. "

Beatrice was now in feverishly high spirits. She no longer purredcontentment; rather it seemed to me she panted in avid excitement, whilepouring out a running fire of comment upon the dress and appearance ofpassers-by, as we drove to another palace of gilt and plush--a sort ofmagnified Pullman car, with decorations that made one's eyes ache. Herewe partook of quite a complicated champagne supper. I dare say fiftypounds was spent in that room after the gorgeously uniformed attendantshad begun their chant of "Time, gentlemen, please; time!" whichsignified that the closing hour had arrived. 

Beatrice kept up her excitement--or perhaps the champagne did this forher--until our cab was half-way across Chelsea Bridge. Then she lay backin her corner, and, I suppose, began to feel the grayness of the as yetunseen dawn of a new day. But as I helped her out of the cab inBattersea, she said she had thoroughly enjoyed her "fluffy" evening, andthanked me very prettily. I returned in the cab as far as Westminster, and there dismissed the man with the last of my seven guineas, havingdecided to walk from there to my Bloomsbury lodging. 

For a Socialist, my conduct was certainly peculiar. There were two ofus. We had had two meals, one of which was as totally unnecessary as theother was overelaborate. And we had spent an hour or two in watching anincredibly stupid and vulgar performance. And over this I had spent asum upon which an entire family could have been kept going for a coupleof months. But there were scores of people in London that night--some ofthem passed me in cabs and carriages, as I walked from the Abbey towardFleet Street--who had been through a similar programme and spent twiceas much over it as I had. It was an extraordinarily extravagant period;and it seemed that the less folk did in the discharge of their nationalobligations as citizens, the more they demanded, and the more theyspent, in the name of pleasure. 

The people who passed me, as I made my way eastward, were mostly inevening dress, pale and raffish-looking. Many, particularly among thecouples in hansoms, were intoxicated, and making a painful muddle ofsuch melodies as those we had listened to at the music hall. Overeaten, overdrunken, overexcited, overextravagant, in all ways figures ofincontinence, these noisy Londoners made their way homeward, pursued bythe advancing gray light of a Sabbath dawn in midsummer. 

And Beatrice loved everything foreign, because the foreigners had noneof our stupid British Puritanism! And the British public was mightilypleased with its Government, "The Destroyers, " because they were cuttingdown to vanishing point expenditure upon such superfluous vanities asnational defence, in order to devote the money to improving theconditions in which the public lived, and to the reducing of their heavyburdens as citizens of a great Empire. Money could not possibly bespared for such ornamentation as ships and guns and bodies of trainedmen. We could not afford it!

As I passed the corner of Agar Street a drunken cabdriver, driving twonoisily intoxicated men in evening dress, brought his cab into collisionwith a gaunt, wolf-eyed man who had been scouring the gutter for scrapsof food. He was one of an army prowling London's gutters at that moment:human wolves, questing for scraps of refuse meat. The space between eachprowler was no more than a few yards. This particular wretch was knockeddown by the cab, but not hurt. Cabby and his fares roared out drunkenlaughter. The horse was never checked. But in the midst of theirlaughter one of the passengers threw out a coin, upon which the humanwolf pounced like a bird of prey. I saw the glint of the coin. It was asovereign; very likely the twentieth those men had spent that night. Forthat sum, four hundred of the gaunt, gutter-prowling wolves might havebeen fed and sheltered. 

Entering Holborn I ran against a man I knew, named Wardle, one of thesub-editors of a Sunday newspaper, then on his way home from FleetStreet. Wardle was tired and sleepy, but stopped to exchange a few wordsof journalistic gossip. 

"Rather sickening about the wind-up of the East Anglian Pageant, " hesaid, "isn't it? Did you hear of it?"

I explained that I had not been in Fleet Street that night, and hadheard nothing. 

"Why, there was to be no end of a tumashi for the Saturday eveningwind-up, you know, and we were featuring it. We sent a special man upyesterday to help the local fellow. Well, just as we'd got in about acouple of hundred words of his introductory stuff, word came throughthat the wires were interrupted, and not another blessed line did weget. I tell you there was some tall cursing done, and some flying aroundin the editorial 'fill-up' drawers. We were giving it first place--threecolumns. One blessing, we found the stoppage was general. No one elsehas got a line of East Anglian stuff to-night. Ours was the last wordfrom the submerged city of Ipswich. But it really is rather an oddbreakdown. No sign of rough weather; and, mind you there are a numberof different lines of communication. But they're all blocked, telegraphand telephone. Our chief tried to get through viâ the Continent, just togive us something to go on. But it was no go. Odd, isn't it?"

"Very, " I agreed, as we turned; and I added, rather inanely: "One hearsa lot about East Anglian coast erosion. "

Wardle yawned and grinned. 

"Yes, to be sure. Perhaps East Anglia is cruising down Channel by now. Or perhaps the Kaiser's landed an army corps and taken possession. ThatMediterranean business on Tuesday was pretty pronounced cheek, you know, and, by all accounts, the result of direct orders from Potsdam. Only theKaiser's bluff, I suppose, but I'm told it's taken most of the ChannelFleet down into Spanish waters. "

I smiled at the activity of Wardle's journalistic imagination, andthought of the music-hall crowd. 

"Ah, well, " I said, "'They'll never go for England, because England'sgot the dibs'!"

"What ho!" remarked Wardle, with another yawn. And this time he wasreally off. 

And so I walked home alone to my lodgings, and climbed into bed, thinking vaguely of Constance Grey, and what she would have thought ofmy night's work; this, as the long, palely glinting arms of the Sabbathdawn thrust aside the mantle of summer night from Bloomsbury. 

XIII

THE DEMONSTRATION IN HYDE PARK

 Winds of the World give answer! They are whimpering to and fro-- And what should they know of England who only England know?-- The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag, They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the English flag. 

 RUDYARD KIPLING. 

As was usually the case on the day following one of Beatrice's "fluffy"evenings, I descended to my never very tempting lodging-house breakfaston that Sunday morning feeling the reverse of cheerful, and muchinclined to take the gloomiest view of everything life had to offer me. 

Sunday was generally a melancholy day for me. It was my only day out ofFleet Street, and, though I had long since taken such steps as I thoughtI could afford toward transforming my bedroom into a sitting-room, therewas nothing very comfortable or homelike about it. I had dropped thehabit of churchgoing after the first few months of my London life, without any particular thought or intention, but rather, I think, as onekind of reflex action--a subconscious reflection of the views and habitsof those among whom I lived and worked. 

Hearing a newsboy crying a "special" edition of some paper, I threw upthe window and bought a copy, across the area railings. It was the paperfor which Wardle worked. I found in it no particular justification forany special issue, and, as a fact, the probability is the appearance ofthis edition was merely a device to increase circulation, suggestedmainly by the fact that the ordinary issue had been delayed by the EastAnglian telegraphic breakdown. Regarding this, I found the followingitem of editorial commentary:

"As is explained elsewhere, a serious breakdown of telegraphiccommunication has occurred between London and Harwich, Ipswich and EastAnglia generally, as a result of which our readers are robbed of specialdespatches regarding last night's conclusion of the East AnglianPageant. It is thought that the breakdown is due to some electricaldisturbance of the atmosphere resulting in a fusion of wires. 

"But as an example of the ridiculous lengths to which the nationaldefence cranks will go in their hatching of alarmist reports, a rumourwas actually spread in Fleet Street at an early hour this morning thatthis commonplace accident to the telegraph wires was caused by aninvading German army. This ridiculous _canard_ is reminiscent of some ofthe foolish scares which frightened our forefathers a little more than acentury ago, when the Corsican terrorized Europe. But our rumour-mongersare too far out of date for this age. It is unfortunate that theadvocates of militarism should receive parliamentary support of anykind. The Opposition is weakly and insignificant enough in allconscience, without courting further unpopularity by floating Britishpublic feeling in this way, and encouraging the cranks among itsfollowing to bring ridicule upon the country. 

"The absurd _canard_ to which we have referred is maliciously ill-timed. It will doubtless be reported on the Continent, and may injure us there. But we trust our friends in Germany will do us the justice ofrecognizing at once that this is merely the work of an irresponsible andtotally unrepresentative clique, and in no sort a reflection of anyaspect of public feeling in this country. We are able to state withcertainty that last Tuesday's regrettable incident in the Mediterraneanhas been satisfactorily and definitely closed. Admiral Blennerhausteindisplayed characteristic German courtesy and generosity in his frankacceptance of the apology sent to him from Whitehall; and the reportthat our Channel Fleet had entered the Straits of Gibraltar isincorrect. A portion of the Channel Fleet had been cruising off thecoast of the Peninsula, and is now on its way back to home waters. Ourrelations with His Imperial Majesty's Government in Berlin were nevermore harmonious, and such a _canard_ as this morning's rumour ofinvasion is only worthy of mention for the sake of a demonstration ofits complete absurdity. If, as was stated, the author of this puerileinvention is a Navy League supporter, who reached London in a motor-carfrom Harwich soon after daylight this morning, our advice to him is todevote the rest of the day to sleeping off the effects of aninjudicious evening in East Anglia. "

Failing the East Anglian Pageant, the paper's "first feature, " Inoticed, consisted of a lot of generously headed particulars regardingthe big Disarmament Demonstration to be held in Hyde Park thatafternoon. It seemed that this was to be a really big thing, and Idecided to attend in the interests of _The Mass_. The President of theLocal Government Board and three well-known members on the Governmentside of the House were to speak. The Demonstration had been organized bythe National Peace Association for Disarmament and Social Reform, ofwhich the Prime Minister had lately been elected President. Delegates, both German and English, of the Anglo-German Union had promised todeliver addresses. Among other well-known bodies who were sendingrepresentatives I saw mention of the Anti-Imperial and Free TariffSociety, the Independent English Guild, the Home Rule Association, theFree Trade League, and various Republican and Socialist bodies. Thepaper said some amusement was anticipated from a suggested counterdemonstration proposed by a few Navy League enthusiasts; but that thepolice would take good care that no serious interruptions were allowed. 

As the Demonstration was fixed for three o'clock in the afternoon, Idecided to go up the river by steamboat to Kew after my late breakfast. It was a gloriously fine morning, and on the river I began to feel alittle more cheerful. As we passed Battersea Park I thought of Beatrice, who always suffered from severe depressions after her little outings. Her spirits were affected; in my case, restaurant food, inferior wine, and the breathing of vitiated air was paid for by nothing worse than aheadache and a morning's discomfort. 

(One of the curses of the time, which seemed to grow more acute as thehabit of extravagance and the thirst for pleasure increased, was theoutrageous adulteration of all food-stuffs, and more particularly of allalcoholic liquors, which prevailed not alone in the West End of London, but in every city. Home products could only be obtained in clubs and inthe houses of the rich. Their quantity was insufficient to admit oftheir reaching the open markets. In the cities we lived entirely uponforeign products, and their adulteration had reached a most amazinglimit of badness. )

My thought of Beatrice was brief that morning, but I continued duringmost of my little excursion to dwell upon my new friends in SouthKensington. I wondered how Constance Grey spent Sunday in London, andwhether the confinement of the town oppressed her after the spaciousfreedom of the South African life she had described to me. I rememberedthat I had promised to call upon her and her aunt very soon, andwondered whether that afternoon, after the Demonstration, would be toosoon. I mentally decided that it would, but that I would go all thesame. 

And then, suddenly, as the steamer passed under Hammersmith Bridge, athought went through me like cold steel:

"She will very soon return to that freer, wider life out there in SouthAfrica. "

How I hated the place. South Africa! I had always associated it withImperialism, militarism--"empireism, " as I called it in my own mind: thestrange, outside interests, which one regarded as opposing homeinterests, social reform, and the like. Though I did not know that anypolitical party considerations influenced me one atom, I was in reality, like nearly every one else at that time, mentally the slave and creatureof party feeling, party tradition, party prejudice. But now I had a newcause for hating those remote uplands of Empire, those outside places. 

Sitting under a tree in Kew Gardens, I had leisure in which to browseover the matter, and, upon reflection, I was astonished that this suddenthought of mine should have struck so shrewdly, so violently, into mypeace of mind. I tried to neutralize its effect by reminding myself thatI had met Constance Grey only twice; that she was in many ways outsidemy purview; that she was the intimate friend of people who had helped tomake history, the special contributor to _The Times_, with herintroductions to ex-Cabinet Ministers in England and her other relationswith great people; that such a woman could never play an intimate partin my life. Her friendliness could not be the prelude to friendship withthe assistant editor of _The Mass_; it probably meant no more than acourteous deference to John Crondall's whim, I told myself. But I wouldcall at the South Kensington flat, certainly; it would be boorish torefrain, and--there was no denying I should have been mightilyperturbed if any valid reason had appeared against my going to seeConstance Grey after doing my duty by the Demonstration. 

The newsboys were putting a good deal of feeling into their crying ofspecial editions when I reached the streets again; but I was notinclined to waste further pence upon the _Sunday News'_ moralizings overthe evolution of _canards_. I took a mess of some adulterated pottage ata foreign restaurant in Notting Hill, as I had no wish to return toBloomsbury before the Demonstration. The waiter--either a Swiss or aGerman--asked me:

"Vad you sink, sare, of ze news from ze country?"

I asked him what it was, and he handed me a fresh copy of the _SundayNews_, headed: "Special Edition. Noon. "

"By Jove!" I thought; "no Sunday dinner for Wardle! They couldn't haveprinted this in the small hours. "

But the only new matter in this issue was a short announcement, headedin poster type, as follows:

 "EAST ANGLIA'S ISOLATION RAILWAY COMMUNICATION STOPPED STRANGE SUPPORT OF INVASION CANARD _IS THIS A TORY HOAX?_ (SPECIAL)

"The preposterous rumour of a German invasion of England is receivingmysterious support. We hear from a reliable source that some Imperialistand Navy League cranks have organized a gigantic hoax by way ofopposition to the Disarmament Demonstration. If the curious breakdown ofcommunication with the east coast does prove to be the work of politicalfanatics, we think, and hope, that these gentry may shortly beconvinced, in a manner they are never likely to forget, that, even inthis land of liberty, the crank is not allowed to interfere with thetransaction of public business. 

"No trains have reached Liverpool Street from the northeast thismorning, and communication cannot be established beyond Chelmsford. Whatever the cause of this singular breakdown may be, our readers willsoon know it, for, in order finally to dispel any hint of credence whichmay be attached in some quarters to the absurd invasion report, we havealready despatched two representatives in two powerful motor-cars, northeastward from Brentwood, with instructions to return to that pointand telegraph full particulars directly they can discover the cause ofthe stoppage of communication. 

"Further special editions will be issued when news is received from EastAnglia. "

"Yes, " I said to the waiter; "it's a curious affair. "

"You believe him, sare--zat Shermany do it?"

"Eh? No; certainly not. Do you?"

"Me? Oh, sare, I don' know nozzing. Vaire shstrong, sare, ze ShermanArmay. "

The fellow's face annoyed me in some way. It, and his grins andgesticulations, had a sinister seeming. My trade brought me into contactwith so many low-class aliens. I told myself I was getting insular andprejudiced, and resumed my meal with more thought for myself and mytendencies and affairs than for the East Anglian business. I havewondered since what the waiter thought about while I ate; whether hethought of England, Germany, and of myself, as representing the Britishcitizen. But, to be sure, for aught I know, his thoughts may have beenordered for him from Berlin. 

The Demonstration drew an enormous concourse of people to Hyde Park. Theweather being perfect, a number of people made an outing of theoccasion, and one saw whole groups of people who clearly came frombeyond Whitechapel, the Borough, Shepherd's Bush, and Islington. As hadbeen anticipated, a few well-dressed people endeavoured to run acounter-demonstration under a Navy League banner; but their followingwas absurdly small, and the crowd gave them nothing but ridicule andcontempt. 

The President of the Local Government Board received a tremendousovation. For some minutes after his first appearance that enormous crowdsang, "He's a jolly good fellow!" with great enthusiasm. Then, when thismember of the Government at last succeeded in getting as far as: "Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen, " some one started the song with thechorus containing the words: "They'll never go for England, becauseEngland's got the dibs. " This spread like a line of fire in dry grass, and in a moment the vast crowd was rocking to the jingling rhythm of thesong, the summer air quivering to the volume of its thousand-throatedvoice. 

The President of the Local Government Board had been rather suspected oftuft-hunting recently, and his appearance in the stump orator's rôle, and in the cause of disarmament, was wonderfully popular. In his longcareer as Labour agitator, Socialist, and Radical, he had learned toknow the popular pulse remarkably well; and now he responded cleverly tothe call of the moment. His vein was that of the heavy, broadbludgeoning sarcasm which tickles a crowd, and his theme was not thewickedness, but the stupidity and futility of all "Jingoism, ""spread-eagleism, " "tall-talk, " and "gold-lace bunkcombe. "

"I am told my honourable friends of the opposition, " he said, with anironical bow in the direction of the now folded Navy League banner, "have played some kind of a practical joke in the eastern countiesto-day. Well, children will be children; but I am afraid there will haveto be spankings if half that I hear is true. They have tried to frightenyou into abandoning this Demonstration with a pretended invasion ofEngland. Well, my friends, it does not look to me as though theirinvasion had affected this Demonstration very seriously. I seem to fancyI see quite a number of people gathered together here. (It is estimatedthat over sixty thousand people were trying to hear his words. ) But allI have to say on this invasion question is just this: If our friendsfrom Germany have invaded East Anglia, let us be grateful for theirenterprise, and, as a nation of shopkeepers should, let us make as muchas we can out of 'em. But don't let us forget our hospitality. If ourneighbours have dropped in in a friendly way, why, let's be sure we'vesomething hot for supper. Perhaps a few sausages wouldn't be takenamiss. (The laughter and applause was so continuous here that for somemoments nothing further could be heard. ) No, my friends, this invasionhoax should now be placed finally upon the retired list. It has been onactive service now since the year 1800, and I really think it's time ourspread-eagle friends gave us a change. Let me for one moment address youin my official capacity, as your servant and a member of the Government. This England of ours is about as much in danger of being invaded as I amof becoming a millionaire, and those of you----"

The speaker's next words never reached me, being drowned by a great roarof laughter and applause. Just then I turned round to remonstrate with aman who was supporting himself upon my right shoulder. I was on the edgeof the one narrow part of the crowd, against some iron railings. As Iturned I noticed a number of boys tearing along in fan-shaped formation, and racing toward the crowd from the direction of Marble Arch. My eyesfollowed the approaching boys, and I forgot the fellow who had beenplaguing me. The lads were all carrying bundles of papers, and now, asthey drew nearer, I could see and hear that they were yelling as theyran. 

"Another special edition, " I thought. "No sort of a Sunday for poorWardle. "

The President of the Local Government Board had resumed his speech, andI could hear his clean-cut words distinctly. He had a good incisivedelivery. Across his words now the hoarse yell of an approachingnewsboy smote upon my ears:

"Extry speshul! Sixpence! German Army Corps in England! Speshul!Invashen er Sufferk! Speshul--sixpence! German Army Corps--sixpence!Invashen!"

"By Jove!" I thought. "That's rough on our disarmament feature from HerrMitmann!"

I very well remember that that precisely was my thought. 

XIV

THE NEWS

 He could not hear Death's rattle at the door, He was so busy with his sottishness. 

 TURNER. 

The chance of my position on the edge of the crowd nearest to MarbleArch caused me to be among those who secured a paper, and at thecomparatively modest price of sixpence. Two minutes later, I saw amember of the committee of the Demonstration hand over half-a-crown forone of the same limp sheets, all warm and smeary from the press. And intwo more minutes the newsboys (there must have been fifty of them) wereracing back to Marble Arch, feverishly questing further supplies, and, Isuppose, reckoning as they ran their unaccustomed gains. 

The news, mostly in poster type, was only a matter of a few lines ofcomment, and a few more lines of telegraphic despatch from Brentwood:

"Telegraphic communication with Chelmsford has now been cut off, but oneof our special representatives, who succeeded in obtaining a powerfulsix-cylinder motor-car, has reached Brentwood, after a racing tour tothe northeastward. We publish his despatch under all possible reserve. He is a journalist of high repute, but we venture to say withconfidence that he has evidently been imposed upon by the promoters ofthe most abominably wicked hoax and fraud ever perpetrated by criminalfanatics upon a trusting public. We have very little doubt that a numberof these rabid advocates of that spirit of militarism to which theBritish public will never for one moment submit, will be cooling theirheated brains in prison cells before the night is out. "

And then followed the despatch from Brentwood, which said:

"Roads, railways, communication of all kinds absolutely blocked. Coastalregions of Suffolk and South Norfolk, and possibly Essex, are occupiedby German soldiers. A cyclist from near Harwich says the landing waseffected last evening, the most elaborate preparations and arrangementshaving been made beforehand. My car was fired at near Colchester. Chelmsford is now occupied by German cavalry, cyclist and motor corps. Have not heard of any loss of life, but whole country is panic-stricken. Cannot send further news. Telegraph office closed to public, beingoccupied in official business. "

That was all. As my eyes rose from the blurred surface of the news-sheetthe picture of the crowd absorbed me, like a stage-spectacle. There werefrom forty to sixty thousand people assembled, of all ages and classes. Among them were perhaps one thousand, perhaps two thousand, copies ofthe newspaper. Some ten thousand people were craning necks and strainingeyes to read those papers. The rest were making short, hoarse, frequently meaningless ejaculations. 

I saw one middle-aged man, who might have been a grocer, and a deacon inhis place of worship, fold up his paper after reading it and thrust it, for future reference, in the tail-pocket of his sombre Sunday coat. Buthis neighbours in the crowd would not have that. A number ofoutstretched hands suddenly surrounded him. I saw his face pale. "Giveus a look!" was all the sense I grasped from a score of exclamations. The grocer's paper was in fragments on the grass ten seconds later, andits destroyers were reaching out in other directions. 

"It's abominable, " I heard the grocer muttering to himself; and hishands shook as though he had the palsy. 

But in other cases the papers passed whole from hand to hand, and theirholders read the news aloud. I think the entire crowd had grasped thegist of it inside of four minutes; and their exclamatory comments wereextraordinary, grotesque. 

"My God!" and "My Gawd!" reached my ears frequently. But they were lessrepresentative than were short, sharp bursts of laughter, harsh andstaccato, like a dog's bark, and, it may be, half-hysterical. And, piercing these snaps of laughter, one heard the curious, contradictoryyapping of such sentences as: "I sye; 'ow about them 'ot sossiges?""'Taint true, Bill, is it?" "Disgraceful business; perfectlydisgraceful!" "Wot price the Kaiser? Not arf!" "Anything to sell thepapers, you know!" "What? No. Jolly lot of rot!" "Johnny get yer gun, get yer gun!" "Some one must be punished for this. Might have caused apanic, you know. " "True? Good Lord, no! What would our Navy be doing?""Well, upon my word, I don't know. " "Nice business for the fish trade!""Well, if that's it, I shall take the children down to their AuntRebecca's. " "Wot price Piccadilly an' Regent Street to-night?" "Comealong, my dear; let's get home out of this. " "Absolute bosh, my dearboy, from beginning to end--doing business with 'em every day o' mylife!" And then a hoarse snatch of song: "'They'll never go forEngland'--not they! What ho! 'Because England's got the dibs!'"

Suddenly then, above and across the thousand-voiced small talk, came thetrained notes of the voice of the President of the Local GovernmentBoard. 

"My friends, the whole story is a most transparent fraud. It's ashameful hoax. I tell you the thing is physically and morallyimpossible. It couldn't have been done in the time; and it is all a lie, anyhow. I beg to propose a hearty vote of thanks to our chairmanfor----"

The crowd had listened attentively enough to the old agitator's commenton the news. They liked his assurances on that point. But they were inno mood for ceremonial. Thousands were already straggling across thegrass toward Marble Arch and down to Hyde Park Corner. The speaker'sfurther words were drowned in a confused hubbub of applause, cheers, laughter, shouts of "Are we downhearted?" raucous answers in thenegative, and cries of "Never mind the chairman!" and "He's a jolly goodfellow!"

In ten minutes that part of the park seemed to have been stripped naked, and the few vehicles, tables, and little platforms which had formed thecentre of the Demonstration appeared, like the limbs of a tree suddenlybereft of foliage, looking curiously small and bare. I am told thatrestaurants and refreshment places did an enormous trade during the nextfew hours. When the public-houses opened they were besieged, and, inmany cases, closed again after a few hours, sold out. 

For my part, I made at once, and without thinking, for Constance Grey'sflat in South Kensington. The crowds in the streets were not only muchlarger, but in many ways different from the usual run of Sunday crowds. The people wore their Sunday clothes, but they had doffed the Sundaymanners and air. There was more of a suggestion of Saturday night in thestreets; the suggestion that a tremendous number of people were going toenjoy a "spree" of some kind. A kind of noisy hilarity, combined with ageneral desire for cigars, drinks, singing, and gaiety, seemed to beruling the people. 

At the upper end of Sloane Street a German band was blaring out the airof "The Holy City, " and people stood about in groups laughing andchatting noisily. The newspaper boys had some competitors now, and theBank Holiday flavour of the streets was added to by a number of lads andgirls who had appeared from nowhere, with all sorts of valuelesscommodities for sale, such as peacocks' feathers, paper fans, andstreamers of coloured paper. 

Why these things should have been wanted I cannot say; but theirsellers knew their business very well. The demand was remarkably brisk. Indeed, I noticed one of three young men, who walked abreast, purchasequite a bunch of the long feathers, only to drop them beside the curb afew moments later, whence another vendor promptly plucked them, and soldthem again. I suppose that by this time the vast majority of the peoplehad no doubt whatever about the news being a monstrous hoax; but therewas no blinking the fact that the public had been strongly moved. 

It was with a distinct sense of relief that I learned from a servantthat Miss Grey was at home--had just come in, as a matter of fact. Itwas as though I had some important business to transact with this girlfrom South Africa, with her brilliant dark eyes, and alert, thoughtfulexpression. I felt that it would have been serious if she should havebeen away, if I had missed her. It was not until I heard her stepoutside the door of the little drawing-room into which I had been shown, that I suddenly became conscious that I had no business whatever withConstance Grey, and that this call, on Sunday, within forty-eight hoursof my dining there, might perhaps be adjudged a piece of questionabletaste. 

A minute later, and, if I had thought again of the matter at all, Ishould have known that Constance Grey wasted no time over any such pettyconsiderations. She entered to me with a set, grave face, taking my handmechanically, as though too much preoccupied for such ceremonies. 

"What do you think of the news?" she said, without a word ofpreliminary greeting. I felt more than a little abashed at this; for, truth to tell, I really had given no serious thought to the news. I hadobserved its reception by the public as a spectator might. But, in thefirst place, I had been early warned that it was all a hoax; and then, too, like so many of my contemporaries, I was without the citizenfeeling altogether, so far as national interests were concerned. I hadgrown to regard citizenship as exclusively a matter of domestic politicsand social progress, municipal affairs, and the like. I never gave anythought to our position as a people and a nation in relation to foreignPowers. 

"Oh, well, " I said, "it's an extraordinary business, isn't it? I havejust come from the Demonstration in Hyde Park. It was practicallysquashed by the arrival of the special editions. The people seemedpretty considerably muddled about it, so I suppose those who arranged itall may be said to have scored their point. "

"So you don't believe it?"

"Well, I believe it is generally admitted to be a gigantic hoax, is itnot?"

"But, my dear Mr. Mordan, how--how wonderful English people are! You, your own self; what do _you_ think about it? But forgive me forheckling. Won't you sit down? Or will you come into the study? Aunt isin there. "

We went into the study, a cheerful, bright room, with low wicker chairs, and a big, littered writing-table. 

"Mr. Mordan doesn't believe it, " said Constance Grey, when I had shakenhands with her aunt. 

"Doesn't he?" said that strong, plain-spoken woman. "Well, I fancy thereare a good many more by the same way of thinking, who'll have their eyesopened pretty widely by this time to-morrow. "

"Then you take the whole thing seriously?" I asked them. 

Somehow, my own thoughts had become active in the presence of thesewomen, and were racing over everything that I had seen and heard thatday, from the moment of my chat with Wardle, before sunrise, in Holborn. 

"I don't see any other way to take it, " said Mrs. Van Homrey, withlaconic emphasis. "Do you?" she added. 

"Well, you see, I did not begin by taking your view. My first word of itwas just before dawn this morning, from a newspaper man in Holborn; and, somehow--well, you know, the general idea seems to be that the wholething is an elaborate joke worked up by the Navy League, or somebody, asa counter-stroke to the Disarmament Demonstration--to teach us a lesson, and all that, you know. "

I had to remind myself that I was addressing two ladies who were sure tobe whole-hearted supporters of the Navy League and all other Imperialistorganizations. Constance Grey seemed to me to be appraising me. Ifancied those brilliant eyes of hers were looking right into me withgrave criticism, and discovering me unworthy. My heart sickened at thethought. I should have been more distressed had not a vague, futileanger crept into my mind. After all, I thought, what right had this girlfrom South Africa to criticize me? I was a man. I knew England betterthan she did. I was a journalist of experience. Bah! My twopennythoughts drooped and fainted as they rose. 

"But perhaps you are better informed?" I said, weakly. "Perhaps you haveother information?"

Constance Grey looked straight at me, and as I recall her gaze now, itwas almost maternal in its yearning gravity. 

"I think it's going to be a lesson all right, " she said. "What cuts meto the heart is the fear that it may have come too late. "

Never have I heard such gravity in a young woman's voice. Her wordsoverpowered me almost by the weight of prescient meaning she gave them. They reached me as from some solemn sanctuary, a fount of inspiration. 

"We haven't any special information, " said Mrs. Van Homrey. "We haveonly read, like every one else, that East Anglia is occupied by Germansoldiers, landed last night; that the East Anglian Pageant has been madethe cloak of most elaborate preparations for weeks past; that theMediterranean incident last week was a deliberate scheme to draw theChannel Fleet south; and that the whole dreadful business has succeededso far, like--like perfect machinery; like the thing it is: the outcomeof perfect discipline and long, deliberate planning. We have heard nomore; but the only hoaxing that I can see is done by the purblind peoplewho have made the public think it a hoax--and that is not conscioushoaxing, of course; they are too bemuddled with their disarmament farcefor that. "

"More tragedy than farce, aunt, I'm afraid, " said Constance Grey. Andthen, turning to me, she said: "We lunched at General Penn Dicksee'sto-day; and they have no doubt about the truth of the news. The Generalhas motored down to Aldershot. They will begin some attempt atmobilizing at once, I believe. But it seemed impossible to get intotouch with headquarters. All the War Office people are away for theweek-end. In fact, they say the Minister's in Ipswich, and can't getaway. General Penn Dicksee says they have practically no material towork with for any immediate mobilization purposes. He says that underthe present system nothing can be done in less than a week. He thinksthe most useful force will be the sailors from the Naval Barracks. But Ishould suppose they would be wanted for the ships--if we have any shipsleft fit for sea. The General thinks there may be a hundred thousandGerman soldiers within twenty or thirty miles of London by to-morrow. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Van Homrey, "it doesn't seem easy to take it any otherway than seriously; not if one's on the British side. And, for thematter of that, if I know the Teuton, they are taking it prettyseriously in East Anglia, and--and in Berlin. "

And up till now, I had been thinking of the extra Sunday work forWardle, and the way they had started selling peacocks' feathers andthings, in the streets!

XV

SUNDAY NIGHT IN LONDON

 . . . 

 "Ah, " they cry, "Destiny, Prolong the present! Time, stand still here!"

 The prompt stern Goddess Shakes her head, frowning; Time gives his hour-glass Its due reversal; Their hour is gone. 

 MATTHEW ARNOLD. 

I stayed to dinner at the flat in South Kensington, and after dinner, when I spoke of leaving, Constance Grey asked if I would care toaccompany her into Blackfriars. She wanted to call at Printing HouseSquare, and ascertain what further news had arrived. The impliedintimacy and friendliness of the suggestion gave me a pleasurablethrill; it came as something of a reinstatement for me, and compensatedfor much. Constance Grey's views of me had in some way become moreimportant to me than anything else. I was even now more concerned aboutthat than about the news. 

We made the journey by omnibus. I suggested a cab, as in duty bound, but, doubtless with a thought of my finances, my companion insisted uponthe cheaper way. We had some trouble to get seats, but found them atlast on a motor omnibus bound for Whitechapel. The streets were denselycrowded, and the Bank Holiday spirit which I had remarked before was nowgeneral, and much more marked. 

"It reminds me exactly of 'Mafeking Night, '" I said, referring to thatevening of the South African war during which London waxed drunk uponthe news of the relief of Mafeking. 

"Was it as bad even then?" said my companion. And her question showedme, what I might otherwise have overlooked, that a good deal of waterhad passed under the bridges since South African war days. We had been alittle ashamed of our innocent rowdiness over the Mafeking relief. Wehad become vastly more inconsistent and less sober since then. I thinkthe "Middle Class Music Halls" had taken their share in the progress, bybreaking down much of the staid reserve and self-restraint of therespectable middle class. But, of course, one sees now that the rapidgrowth among us of selfish irresponsibility and repudiation of nationalobligations was the root cause of that change in public behaviour whichI saw clearly enough, once it had been suggested to me by ConstanceGrey's question. 

I saw that, among the tens of thousands of noisy promenaders of bothsexes who filled the streets, and impeded traffic at all crossings, theclass which had always been rowdily inclined was now far more rowdy, andthat its ranks were reinforced, doubled in strength, by recruits from aclass which, a few years before, had been proverbially noted for itsdecorous and decent reserve. And this was Sunday Night. I learnedafterwards that the clergy had preached to practically empty churches. Aman we met in _The Times_ office told us of this, and my companion'scomment was:

"Yes, even their religion has less meaning for them than their pleasure;and, with religion a dead letter, the spirit that won Trafalgar andarmed the Thames against Napoleon, must be dead and buried. "

The news we received at _The Times_ office was extraordinary. It seemedthere was no longer room for the smallest doubt that a large portion ofEast Anglia was actually occupied by a German army. Positive details ofinformation could not be obtained. 

"The way the coastal districts have been hermetically sealed againstcommunication, and the speed and thoroughness with which the occupationhas been accomplished, will remain, I believe, the most amazing episodein the history of warfare, " said the solemn graybeard, to whom I hadbeen presented by Constance Grey. (If he had known that I was theassistant editor of _The Mass_, I doubt if this Mr. Poole-Smith wouldhave consented to open his mouth in my presence. But my obscurity andhis importance combined to shelter me, and I was treated with confidenceas the friend of a respected contributor. )

"Already we know enough to be certain that the enemy has receivedincalculably valuable assistance from within. I am afraid there willpresently be only too much evidence of the blackest kind of treacheryfrom British subjects, members of one or other among the anti-Nationalcoteries. But in the meantime, we hear of extraordinary thingsaccomplished by aliens employed in this country, many of them inofficial capacities. We have learned through the Great Eastern RailwayCompany, and through one or two shipping houses, of huge consignments ofstores, and, I make very little doubt, of munitions of war. The thingmust have been in train on this side for many months--possibly foryears. Here, for instance, is an extraordinary item, which is hardlylikely to be only coincidence: Out of one hundred postmasters within asixty-mile radius of Harwich, eighty-one have obtained their positionswithin the last two years, and of those sixty-nine bear names whichindicate German nationality or extraction. But that is only one smallitem. An analysis of the Eastern Railway employees, and of the largerbusiness firms between here and Ipswich, will tell a more startlingtale, unless I am greatly mistaken. "

But to me, I think the part of the news we gathered which seemed moststartling was the fact that a tiny special issue of _The Times_, thenbeing sold in the streets, contained none of the information given tous, but only a cautiously worded warning to the public that the newsreceived from East Anglia had been grossly exaggerated, and that nodefinite importance should be attached to it, until authoritativeinformation, which would appear in the first ordinary issue of _TheTimes_ on Monday, had been considered. It was all worded very pompously, and vaguely, in a deprecating tone, which left it open for the reader toconclude that _The Times_ supported the generally accepted hoax theory. And we found that all the daily papers of repute and standing hadissued similar bulletins to the public. Asked about this, our graveinformant stroked his whiskers, and alluded distantly to "policy decidedupon in consultation with representatives of the Crown. "

"For one thing, you see, London is extraordinarily full of Germans, though we have already learned that vast numbers of them went to swellthe attendance at the East Anglian Pageant, and may now, for all weknow, be under arms. Then, too, anything in the nature of a panic on alarge scale, and that before the authorities have decided upon anydefinite plan of action, would be disastrous. Unfortunately our reportsfrom correspondents at the various southern military depôts are all tothe effect that mobilization will be a slow business. As you know, theregulars in England have been reduced to an almost negligible minimum, and the mobilization of the 'Haldane Army' involves the slow process ofdrawing men out of private life into the field. What is worse, it meansin many cases Edinburgh men reporting themselves at Aldershot, andsouth-country men reporting themselves in the north. And then theirpractical knowledge so far leaves them simply men in the street. 

"But the great trouble is that the Government and the official heads ofdepartments have been at loggerheads this long time past, and now arefar from arriving at any definite policy of procedure. Of course, themajority of the leaders are out of town. You will understand that everypossible precaution must be taken to avoid unduly alarming the public, or provoking panic. We hope to be able to announce something definitein the morning. The sympathy of all the Powers will undoubtedly be withus, for every known tenet of international law has been outraged by thisentirely unprovoked invasion. "

"And what do you think will be the practical effect and use of theirsympathy, Mr. Poole-Smith?" asked Constance Grey. 

"Well, " said our solemn friend, caressing his whiskers, "as to its_practical_ effect, my dear Miss Grey, why, I am afraid that in suchbitter matters as these the practical value of sympathy, or ofinternational law, is--er--cannot very easily be defined. "

"Quite so. Exactly as I thought. It would not make one pennyworth ofdifference, Mr. Poole-Smith. The British public is on the eve oflearning the meaning of brave old Lord Roberts's teaching: that noamount of diplomacy, of 'cordiality, ' of treaties, or of anything elsein the répertoire of the disarmament party, can ever counterbalance theuses of the rifle in the hands of disciplined men. Theirtwentieth-century notions will avail us pitifully little against theadvance of the Kaiser's legions. The brotherhood of man and the sacredarts of commerce and peace will have little in the way of reply tomachine guns. If only our people could have had even one year ofuniversal military training! But no; they would not even pay for themaintenance of such defence force as they had when it took three yearsto beat the Boers; and now--didn't some man write a book called 'TheDefenceless Isles'? We live in them. "

"But that is not the worst, Miss Grey, " said our friend. "These are nownot only defenceless, but invaded isles. "

"Ah! How long before they become surrendered isles, Mr. Poole-Smith?"

"The answer to that is with a higher Power than any in Printing HouseSquare, Miss Grey. But, let me say this, in strict confidence, please. You wonder, and perhaps are inclined to condemn our--well, our reticenceabout this news. Do you know my fear? It is that if, in its presentmood, suddenly, the British public, and more especially the Londonpublic, were allowed to realize clearly both what has happened in EastAnglia, and the monumental unfitness of our authorities and defences tomeet and cope with such an emergency--that then we should see Englandtorn in sunder by the most terrible revolution of modern times. Weshould see statesmen hanging from lamp-posts in Whitehall; 'TheDestroyers' would be destroyed; the Crown would be in danger, as well asits unworthy servants. And the Kaiser's machine-like army would find ithad invaded a ravaged inferno, occupied by an infuriated populacehopelessly divided against itself, and already in the grip of thedeadliest kind of strife. That, I think, is a danger to be guardedagainst, so far as it is possible, at all or any cost. "

One could not but be impressed by this rather pompous, but sincere andearnest man's words. 

"I see that very clearly, Mr. Poole-Smith, " said Constance Grey. "Butcan the thing be done? Can the public be deluded for more than a fewhours?"

"Not altogether, my dear young lady, not altogether. But, as we learnearly in journalism, life is made up of compromises. We hope to schoolthem to it, and give them the truth gradually, with as little shock asmay be. "

Soon after this we left the great office, and, as we passed out into thecrowded streets, Constance Grey said to me:

"Thank God, _The Times_ managed to win clear of the syndicate's clutcheswhen it did. There is moral and strength of purpose there now. I thinkthe Press is behaving finely--if only the public can be made to do aswell. But, oh, 'The Destroyers'--what a place they have cut out forthemselves in history!"

But for the glorious summer weather, one could have fancied Christmas athand from the look of Ludgate Hill. From the Circus we took a long lookup at Paul's great dome, massive and calm against the evening sky. Butbetween it and us was a seething crowd, promenading at the rate of amile an hour, and served by two solid lines of vendors of uselesstrifles and fruit, and so forth. 

Crossing Ludgate Circus, as we fought our way to the steps of anomnibus, was a band of youths linked arm in arm, and all apparentlyintoxicated. There must have been forty in a line. As they advanced, cutting all sorts of curious capers, they bawled, in something likeunison, the melancholy music-hall refrain:

"They'll never go for England, because England's got the dibs. "

The crowd caught up the jingle as fire licks up grass, and narrow FleetStreet echoed to the monstrous din of their singing. I began to feelanxious about getting Constance safely to her flat. Six out of thefourteen people on the top of our omnibus were noticeably and noisilytipsy. 

"Ah me, Dick, where, where is their British reserve? How I hate thatbeloved word cosmopolitan!"

She looked at me, and perhaps that reminded her of something. 

"Forgive my familiarity, " she said. "John Crondall spoke of you as DickMordan. It's rather a way we have--out there. "

I do not remember my exact reply, but it earned me the friendly shortname from her for the future; and, with England tumbling about our ears, for aught we knew, that, somehow, made me curiously happy. But it wasnone the less with a sigh of relief that I handed her in at the outerdoor of the mansions in which their flat was situated. We paused for amoment at the stairs' foot, the first moment of privacy we had knownthat evening, and the last, I thought, with a recollection of Mrs. VanHomrey waiting in the flat above. 

I know I was deeply moved. My heart seemed full to bursting. Perhaps thegreat news of that day affected me more than I knew. But yet it seemed Ihad no words, or very few. I remember I touched the sleeve of her dresswith my finger-tips. What I said was:

"You know I am--you know I am at your orders, don't you?"

And she smiled, with her beautiful, sensitive mouth, while the light ofgrave watching never flickered in her eyes. 

"Yes, Dick; and thank you!" she said, as we began to mount the stairs. 

Yet I was still the assistant editor of _The Mass_--Clement Blaine'sright hand. 

XVI

A PERSONAL REVELATION

 The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. 

 BYRON. 

That Sunday night was not one of London's black nights that have been sooften described. The police began to be a little sharp with the peopleafter nine or ten o'clock, and by midnight the streets were gettingtolerably clear. For the great majority, I believe it had been a day ofmore or less pleasurable excitement and amusement. For the minority, whowere better informed, it was a day and night of curious bewilderment andrestless anxiety. 

I looked in at several newspaper offices on my way home from SouthKensington, but found that subordinate members of the staffs had noinformation to give, and that their superiors maintained an attitude ofstrict reticence. As I passed the dark windows of my own office Ithought of our "feature" for the coming week: the demand fordisarmament, in order that naval and military expenditure might bediverted into labour reform channels; Herr Mitmann's voluble assurancesof the friendliness of the German people; of the ability and will of theGerman Socialists to make German aggression impossible, for the sake oftheir brother workers in England. 

I thought of these things, and wished I could spurn under foot myconnection with _The Mass_. Then, sitting at the window of my littlebed-sitting-room in Bloomsbury, I looked into my petty finances. If Ileft Clement Blaine I had enough to subsist upon for six or eight weeks. It was a risky business. Then I pictured myself casually mentioning toConstance Grey that I was no longer connected with _The Mass_. I fanciedthat I saw the bright approval in her eyes. Before blowing my light out, I had composed the little speech to Blaine which, in the morning, shouldset a period to our connection. 

And then I thought of Beatrice. It was barely twenty-four hours since wehad parted beside Battersea Park (though it seemed more like twenty-fourdays), and recollection showed me Beatrice in her rather rumpled finery, with the bleakness of the gray hour that follows such pleasures as mostappealed to her, beginning to steal over her handsome face, sapping itswarm colour, thinning and sharpening its ripe, smooth contours. Beatricewould pout when she heard of my leaving her father. The thought showedme her full red lips, and the little even white teeth they so oftendisclosed. 

The curves of Beatrice's mouth were of a kind that have twisted manymen's lives awry; and those men have thought straightness well lost forsuch red lips. Yes, Beatrice was good to look upon. She had a way ofthrowing her head back, and showing the smooth, round whiteness of herthroat when she laughed, that had thrilled me time and again. And howoften, and how gaily she laughed. 

In the midst of a picture of Beatrice, laughing at me across arestaurant table with a raised glass in her hand, I had a shadowy visionof Constance Grey beside the foot of the stairs in South Kensington. There was no laughter in her face. I had gathered, when I dined there, that Constance did not care for wine. She had said: "I don't care foranything that makes me feel as though I couldn't work if I wanted to. "How Beatrice would have scoffed at that! And then, how Constance wouldhave smiled over Beatrice's ideals--her "fluffy" evenings--in a kind ofregretful, wondering way; almost as she had smiled when she first calledme "Dick, " in asking what had become of our staid English reserve; asshe watched the noisy crowd in Fleet Street, singing its silly doggerelabout England's security and England's "dibs. "

And then, suddenly, my picture-making thoughts swept out across lowEssex flats to the only part of East Anglia with which I was familiar, and gave me a vision of burning farmhouses, and terror-smittencountry-folk fleeing blindly before a hail of bullets, and the pitilessadvance of legions of fair-haired men in long coats of a kind ofroan-gray, buttoned across the chest with bright buttons arranged tosuggest the inward curve to an imaginary waist-line. The faces of thesoldiers were all the same; they all had the face of Herr Mitmann ofStettin. And a hot wave of angry resentment and hatred of thesemachine-like invaders of a peaceful unprotected countryside pulsedthrough my veins. Could they dare--here on English soil? My fistsclenched under the bed-clothes. If it was true, by heavens, there waswork for Englishmen toward!

My blood was hot at the thought. It was perhaps the first swelling of apatriotic emotion I had known; the first hint of any larger citizenshipthan that which claims and demands, without thought of giving. And, immediately, it was succeeded by a sharp chill, a chill that ushered meinto one of the bitterest moments of humiliation that I can remember. The thought accompanying that chill was this:

"What can you do? What are you fit for? What boy's part, even, can youtake, though the roof were being burned over your mother's head? What ofConstance, or Beatrice? Could you strike a blow for either? Work forEnglishmen, forsooth! Yes, for those of them who have ever learned aman's part in such work. But you--you have never had a gun in your hand. What have you done? You have poured out for your weekly wage so manythousands of words; words meaning--what? Why, they have meant what theroadside beggar means: 'Give! Give! Give!' They have urged men to demandmore from the State, and give the State nothing; to rob the State ofeven its defences, for the sake of adding to their own immediate ease. And you have ridiculed, as a survival of barbarous times, the efforts ofsuch men as the brave old Field Marshal who gave his declining years tothe thankless task of urging England to make some effort of preparationto fend off just that very crisis which has now come upon her, andfound her absolutely unprepared. That is how you have earned your rightto live, a citizen of the freest country in the world, a subject of thegreatest Empire the world has ever seen. And when you have had leisureand money to spend, you have devoted it to overeating and drinking, andhelping to fill the tills of alien parasites in Soho. That has been yourpart. And now, now that the fatal crisis has arrived, you, whosequalification is that you can wield the pen of a begging letter-writer, who is also scurrilous and insolent--you lie in bed and clench youruseless hands, and prate of work for Englishmen!"

That was the thought that came to me with a sudden chill that night; andI suppose I was one of the earliest among millions doomed to writheunder the impotent shame of such a thought. I shall never forget thatnight in my Bloomsbury lodging. It was my ordeal of self-revelation. Isuppose I slept a little toward morning; but I rose early with a kind ofvague longing to escape from the company of the personality my thoughthad shown me in the night. 

It is natural that the awakening of an individual should be a morespeedy process than the awakening of a people--a nation. I regard myearly rising on that Monday morning as the beginning of my first realawakening to life as an Englishman. I had still far to go--I had noteven crossed the threshold as yet. 

XVII

ONE STEP FORWARD

 Thy trust, thy honours, these were great; the greater now thy shame, for thou hast proved both unready and unfit, unworthy offspring of a noble sire!--MERROW'S _Country Tales_. 

Five minutes after Clement Blaine reached the office of _The Mass_ thatmorning, he had lost the services of his assistant editor, and I feltthat I had taken one step upward from a veritable quagmire ofhumiliation. 

Blaine was almost too excited about the news of the day to pay much heedto my little speech of resignation. The morning paper to which hesubscribed--a Radical journal of pronounced tone--had observed far lessreticence than most of its contemporaries, and, in its desire to lendsensational interest to its columns, had not minimized in any way thestartling character of such intelligence as it had received. 

"The bloodthirsty German devils!" said Blaine, the erstwhile apostle ofinternationalism and the socialistic brotherhood of man. "By God, theAdmiralty and the War Office ought to swing for this! Here are we taxedout of house and home to support their wretched armies and navies, andGerman soldiers marching on London, they say, with never a sign of ahand raised to oppose 'em--damn them! Nice time you choose to talk ofleaving. By God, Mordan, you may be leaving from against a wall with abullet through your head, next thing you know. These German devils don'twear kid gloves, I fancy. They're not like our tin-pot army. Army!--wehaven't got one--lot of gold-laced puppets!"

That was how Clement Blaine was moved by the news. Last week: "Bloatedarmaments, " "huge battalions of idle men eating the heart out of thenation through its revenues. " This week, we had no army, and because ofit the Admiralty and the War Office ought to "swing. " In Blaine'sravings I had my foretaste of public opinion on the crisis. 

On the previous day I had listened to a prominent Member of Parliamenturging that our children should be preserved from the contamination ofcontact with those who taught the practice of the "hellish art" ofshooting. 

The leading daily papers of this Monday morning admitted the centralfact that England had been invaded during Saturday night, and evenallowed readers to assume that portions of the eastern counties werethen occupied by "foreign" troops. But they used the word "raid" inplace of "invasion, " and generally qualified it with such a word as"futile. " The general tone was that a Power with whom we had believedourselves to be upon friendly terms had been guilty of rash andprovocative action toward us, which it would speedily be made to regret. It was an insult, which would be promptly avenged; full atonement forwhich would be demanded and obtained at once. It was even suggested thatsome tragic misunderstanding would be found to lie at the root of thewhole business; and in any case, things were to be set right withoutdelay. One journal, the _Standard_, did go so far as to say that theBritish public was likely to be forced now into learning at great cost alesson which had been offered daily as a free gift since the opening ofthe century, and as steadily repudiated or ignored. 

"Two things it should teach England, " said this journal; "never toinvite insult and contempt by a repetition of Sunday's DisarmamentDemonstration or enunciation of its fallacious and dangerous teaching;and the necessity for paying instant heed to the warnings of theadvocates of universal military training for purposes of home defence. "

But at that time the nicknames of the "The Imperialist Banner" and "ThePatriotic Pulpit, " applied by various writers and others to this greatnewspaper, were scornful names, applied with opprobrious intent; andLondon was still full of people whose only comment upon thissufficiently badly-needed warning would be: "Oh, of course, the_Standard_!"

But the policy of reticence, though I have no doubt that it did saveLondon from some terrible scenes of panic, was not to be tenable formany hours. Within half an hour of noon special editions of a halfpennymorning paper, and an evening paper belonging to the same proprietors, were issued simultaneously with a full, sensational, and quiteunreserved statement of all the news obtainable from East Anglia. Anumber of motor-cyclists had been employed in the quest ofintelligence, and one item of the news they had to tell was thatColchester had offered resistance to the invaders, and as a result hadbeen shelled and burned to the ground. A number of volunteers and othercivilians had been found bearing arms, and had been tried by drum-headcourt martial and shot within the hour, by order of theCommander-in-Chief of the German forces. 

Another sensational item was a copy of a proclamation issued by theGerman Commander-in-Chief. This proclamation was dated from Ipswich, andI think it struck more terror into the people than any other single itemof intelligence published during that eventful day. It was headed withthe Imperial German Arms, and announced the establishment of Germanmilitary jurisdiction in England. It announced that the penalty ofimmediate death would be inflicted without any exception upon anyBritish subject not wearing and being entitled to wear British militaryuniform who should be found:

1. Taking arms against the invaders. 

2. Misleading German troops. 

3. Injuring in any manner whatever any German subject. 

4. Injuring any road, rail, or waterway, or means of communication. 

5. Offering resistance of any kind whatsoever to the advance andoccupation of the German Army. 

Then followed peremptory details of instructions as to the supplieswhich every householder must furnish for the German soldiers quarteredin his neighbourhood, and an announcement as to the supreme andinviolable authority of the German officer in command of any givenplace. 

Nothing else yet published brought home to the public the realization ofwhat had happened as did this coldly pompous and, in the circumstances, very brutal proclamation. And no item in it so bit into the hearts ofthe bewildered Londoners who read it as did the clear incisive statementto the effect that a British subject who wore no military uniform wouldbe shot like a dog if he raised a hand in the defence of his country orhis home. He must receive the invader with open arms, and provide himfood, lodging, and assistance of every kind, or be led out and shot. There were hundreds of thousands of men in London that day who wouldhave given very much for the right to wear a uniform which they hadlearned almost to despise of late years; a uniform many of them hadwished to abolish altogether, as the badge of a primitive and barbaroustrade, a "hellish art. "

We had talked glibly enough of war, of its impossibility in England, andof the childish savagery of the appeal to arms; just as, a few yearsearlier, before the naval reductions, we had talked of England'sinviolability, secured her by her unquestioned mastery of the sea. Wehad written and spoken hundreds of thousands of fine words upon thesesubjects; and, within the last forty-eight hours, we had demonstratedwith great energy the needlessness of armed forces for England. For andagainst, about it and about, we had woven a mazy network of windyplatitudes and catch-phrases, all devised to hide the manifest andmanly duties of citizenship; all intended to justify the individual'sexclusive concentration upon his own personal pleasures andaggrandizement, without waste of time or energy upon any claims of thecommonwealth. 

And now, in a few score of short, sharp words, in a single briefdocument, peremptorily addressed to the fifty million people of theseislands, a German soldier had brought an end to all our vapourings, allour smug, self-interested theories, and shattered the monstrous fabricof our complaisance, as it were, with a rattle of his sword-hilt. Neverbefore in history had a people's vanity been so shaken by a word. 

In the early afternoon an unavoidable errand took me to a northeasternsuburb. I made my return to town as one among an army of refugees. Thepeople had begun flocking into London from as far north and east asBrentwood. The Great Eastern Railway was disorganized. The northernhighways leading into London were occupied by unbroken lines of peoplejourneying into the city for protection--afoot, in motor-cars, oncycles, and in every kind of horse-drawn vehicle, and carrying with themthe strangest assortment of personal belongings. 

At the earliest possible hour I made my way toward South Kensington. Itold myself there might be something I could do for Constance Grey. Beyond that there was the fact that I craved another sight of her, and Ilonged to hear her comment when she knew I had finished with _The Mass_. 

A porter on the Underground Railway told me that the Southwestern andGreat Western termini were blocked by feverish crowds of well-to-dopeople, struggling, with their children, for places in trains boundsouth and west. Huge motor-cars of the more luxurious type whizzed pastone in the street continuously, their canopies piled high with bags, their bodies full of women and children, their chauffeurs driving hardtoward the southern and western highways. 

Outside South Kensington station I had my first sight of a RoyalProclamation upon the subject of the invasion. Evidently the Governmentrealized that, prepared or unprepared, the state of affairs could nolonger be hidden from the public. The King was at Buckingham Palace thatday I knew, and it seemed to me that I read rather his Majesty's ownsentiments than those of his Cabinet in the Proclamation. I gatheredthat the general public also formed this impression. 

There is no need for me to reproduce a document which forms part of ourhistory. The King's famous reference to the Government--"TheDestroyers"--"Though admittedly unprepared for such a blow, myGovernment is taking prompt steps for coping in a decisive manner, "etc. ; and again, the equally famous reference to the German Emperor, inthe sentence beginning: "This extraordinary attack by the armed forcesof my Royal and Imperial nephew. " These features of a nobly dignifiedand restrained Address seemed to me to be a really direct communicationfrom their Sovereign to the English people. Whatever might be said ofthe position of "The Destroyers" in Whitehall, it became evident, evenat this early stage, that the Throne was in no danger--that thesanctity pertaining to the person of the Monarch who, as it were indespite of his Government, had done more for the true cause of peacethan any other in Europe, remained inviolate in the hearts of thepeople. 

For the rest, the Proclamation was a brief, simple statement of thefacts, with an equally simple but very heart-stirring appeal to everysubject of the Crown to concentrate his whole energies, under properguidance, upon the task of repelling "this dastardly and entirelyunprovoked attack upon our beloved country. "

I heard many deeply significant and interesting comments from the circleof men and women who were reading this copy of the Proclamation. Theremarks of two men I repeat here because in both cases they were typicaland representative. The first remark was from a man dressed as a navvy, with a short clay pipe in his mouth. He said:

"Oh, yus; the King's all right; Gawd bless un! No one 'ld mind fightin'for 'im. It's 'is blighted Gov'nment wot's all bloomin' wrong--blast'em!"

The reply came from a young man evidently of sedentary occupation--ashop-assistant or clerk:

"You're all right, too, old sport; but don't you forget the otherfeller's proclamation. If you 'aven't got no uniform, your number's upfor lead pills, an' don't you forget it. A fair fight an' no favour'sall right; but I'm not on in this blooming execution act, thank you. Edward R. I. Will have to pass me, I can see. "

"Well, 'e won't lose much, matey, when all's said. But you're English, anyway; that seems a pity. Why don't yer run 'ome ter yer ma, eh?"

"Go it, old sport. You're a blue-blooded Tory; an Imperialist, aren'tyou?"

"Not me, boy; I'm only an able-bodied man. "

"What ho! Got a flag in your pocket, have you? You watch the Germansdon't catch you fer sausage meat. "

And then I passed on, heading for Constance Grey's flat. I reflectedthat I had done my share toward forming the opinions, the mentalattitude of that young clerk or shop-assistant. The type was familiarenough. But I had had no part nor lot in the preservation of thatnavvy's simple patriotism. Rather, by a good deal, had the tendency ofall I said and wrote been toward weakening the sturdy growth, andcausing it to be deprecated as a thing archaic, an obstacle in the wayof progress. 

Progress! The expounding of Herr Mitmann of Stettin! That Monday was aminor day of judgment for others beside myself. 

XVIII

THE DEAR LOAF

 A third of the people, then, in the event of war, would immediately be reduced to starvation: and the rest of the thirty-eight million would speedily be forced thither. --L. COPE CORNFORD'S _The Defenceless Islands_ (London, 1906). 

I saw Constance Grey only for a few minutes during that day. She hadpassed the stage of shocked sorrow and sad fear in which I had found heron Sunday, and was exceedingly busy in organizing a corps of assistantnurses, women who had had some training, and were able to provide apractical outfit of nursing requisites. She had the countenance of theArmy Medical authorities, but her nursing corps was to consistexclusively of volunteers. 

The organizing ability this girl displayed was extraordinary. She sparedfive minutes for conversation, and warmed my heart with her appreciationof my severance of _The Mass_ connection. And then, before I knew whathad happened, she had me impressed, willingly enough, in her service, and I was off upon an errand connected with the volunteer nursing corps. News had arrived of some wounded refugees in Romford, unable to proceedon their way into London; and a couple of motor-cars, with nurses andmedical comforts, were despatched at once. 

Detailed news of the sacking of Colchester showed this to have been amost extraordinarily brutal affair for the work of a civilized army. TheBritish regular troops at Colchester represented the whole of our forcesof the northeastern division, and included three batteries of artillery. The regiments of this division had been reduced to three, and foreighteen months or more these had been mere skeletons of regiments, thebulk of the men being utilized to fill other gaps caused by theconsistently followed policy of reduction which had characterized "TheDestroyers'" régime. 

A German spy who had been captured in Romford and brought to London, said that the Commander-in-Chief of the German forces in England hadpublicly announced to his men that the instructions received from theirImperial master were that the pride of the British people must be struckdown to the dust; that the first blows must be crushing; that theBritish people were to be smitten with terror from which recovery shouldbe impossible. 

Be this as it may, the sacking of Colchester was a terrible business. Anumber of citizens had joined the shockingly small body of regulars in agallant attempt at defence. The attempt was quite hopeless; the Germansuperiority in numbers, discipline, metal, and material being quiteoverwhelming. But the German commander was greatly angered by theresistance offered, and, as soon as he ascertained that civilians hadtaken part in this, the town was first shelled and then stormed. It wassurrounded by a cordon of cavalry, and--_no prisoners were taken_. 

The town was burned to the ground, though many valuable stores werefirst removed from it; and those of the inhabitants who had not alreadyfled were literally mown down in their native streets, without parley orquarter--men, women, and children being alike regarded as offendersagainst the edict forbidding any civilian British subject, upon pain ofdeath, to offer any form of resistance to German troops. I myself spoketo a man in Knightsbridge that evening who had definite news that hisnineteen-year-old daughter, a governess in the house of a Colchesterdoctor, was among those shot down in the streets of the town whileendeavouring to make her escape with two children. The handful ofBritish regulars had been shot or cut to pieces, and the barracks andstores taken over by the Germans. 

As I left Constance Grey's flat that evening I passed a small baker'sshop, before which an angry crowd was engaged in terrifying a small boyin a white apron, who was nervously endeavouring to put up the windowshutters. I asked what the trouble was, and was told the baker hadrefused to sell his half-quartern loaves under sevenpence, or hisquartern loaves under a shilling. 

"It's agin the law, so it is, " shouted an angry woman. "I'm apoliceman's wife, an' I know what I'm talking about. I'll have the lawof the nasty mean hound, so I will, with his shillin' for a fivepennyloaf, indeed!"

Long before this time, and while Britain still held on to a goodproportion of her foreign trade, it had been estimated by statisticiansthat in the United Kingdom some ten to twelve million persons livedalways upon the verge of hunger. But since then the manufacturers ofprotected countries, notably Germany and the United States, had, as wasinevitable in the face of our childish clinging to what we miscalled"free" trade, crowded the British manufacturer out of practically everymarket in the world, except those of Canada. Those also must ofnecessity have been lost, but for the forbearing and enduring loyalty ofthe Canadian people, who, in spite of persistent rebuffs, continued toextend and to increase their fiscal preference for imports from theMother-country. 

But, immense as Canada's growth was even then, no one country could keepthe manufacturers of Britain busy; and I believe I am right in sayingthat at this time the number of those who lived always on the verge ofhunger had increased to at least fifteen millions. Cases innumerablethere were in which manufacturers themselves had gone to swell the ranksof the unemployed and insufficiently employed; the monstrous legion ofthose who lived always close to the terrifying spectre of hunger. 

If the spirit of Richard Cobden walked the earth at that time, even ashis obsessions assuredly still cumbered it, it must have found food forbitter reflection in the hundreds of empty factories, grass-growncourtyards, and broken-windowed warehouses, which a single day's walkwould show one in the north of England. 

You may be sure I thought of those things as I walked away from thatbaker's shop in South Kensington. A journalist, even though he be onlythe assistant of a man like Blaine, is apt to see the conditions of lifein his country fairly plainly, because he has a wider vision of themthan most men. Into Fleet Street, each day brings an endless stream of"news items, " not only from all parts of the world, but from every townand city in the kingdom. And your journalist, though he may have scantleisure for its digestion, absorbs the whole of this mass ofintelligence each day in the process of conveying one-tenth part of it, in tabloid form, to the public. 

If one assumes for the moment that only twelve million people in GreatBritain were living on hunger's extreme edge at that time, the picture Ihad of the sullen, angry crowd outside the baker's shop remains asufficiently sinister one. As a matter of fact, I believe thatparticular baker was a shade premature, or a penny or two excessive, inhis advance of prices. But I know that by nightfall you could not havepurchased a quartern loaf for elevenpence halfpenny within ten miles ofCharing Cross. The Bakers' Society had issued its mandates broadcast. Shop-windows were stoned that night in south and east London; buttwenty-four hours later the price of the quartern loaf was 1s. 3d. , anda man offering 1s. 2d. Would go empty away. 

And with the same loaf selling at one-third the price, twelve millionpersons at least had lived always on the verge of hunger. I mention thestaple food only, but precisely the same conditions applied to all otherfood-stuffs with the exception of dairy produce, the price of which wasquadrupled by Tuesday afternoon, and fish, the price of which put it atonce beyond the reach of all save the rich, and all delicacies, theprices of which became prohibitive. Twelve million persons had lived onthe verge of hunger, before, under normal conditions, and when thecountry's trade had been far larger and more prosperous than of late. Now, with the necessities of life standing at fully three times normalprices, a large number of trades employing many thousands of work-peoplewere suddenly shut down upon, and rendered completely inoperative. 

It must be borne in mind that we had been warned again and again thatmatters would be precisely thus and not otherwise in the event of war, and we had paid no heed whatever to the telling. 

Historians have explained for us that the primary reason of the verysudden rise to famine rates of the prices of provisions was thepersistent rumour that the effective bulk of the Channel Fleet had beencaptured or destroyed on its way northward from Spanish waters. Germanstrategy had drawn the Fleet southward, in the first place, by means ofan international "incident" in the Mediterranean, which was clearly thebait of what rumour called a death-trap. Once trapped, it was said, German seamanship and surprise tactics had done the rest. 

The crews of the Channel Fleet ships (considerably below full strength)had been rushed out of shore barracks, in which discipline had fallen toa terribly low ebb, to their unfamiliar shipboard stations, at the timeof the Mediterranean scare. Beset by the flower of the German Navy, inships manned by crews who lived afloat, it was asserted that theChannel Fleet had been annihilated, and that the entire force of theGerman Navy was concentrated upon the task of patrolling English waters. 

We know that men and horses, stores and munitions of war, were pouringsteadily and continuously into East Anglia from Germany during thistime, escorted by German cruisers and torpedo-boats, and uninterruptedby British ships. There was yet no report of the Channel Fleet, theships of which were already twenty-four hours overdue at Portsmouth. 

Two things, more than any others, had influenced the British Navy duringthe Administration of "The Destroyers": the total cessation of buildingoperations, and the withdrawal of ships and men from sea service. Thereserve ships had long been unfit to put to sea, the reserve crews had, for all practical purposes, become landsmen--landsmen among whom want ofsea-going discipline had of late produced many mutinous outbreaks. 

It had been said by the most famous admiral of the time, and saidwithout much exaggeration, that, within twelve months of "TheDestroyers'" abandonment of the traditional two-Power standard ofefficiency, the British Navy had "fallen to half-Power standard. " Theprocess was quickened, of course, by the unprecedented progress of theGerman Navy during the same period. It was said that at the end of 1907the German Government had ships of war building in every great dockyardin the world. It is known that the entire fleet of the "Kaiser" classtorpedo-boats and destroyers was built and set afloat at the GermanEmperor's own private expense. 

Then there were the "Well-borns, " as they were called--vessels of nogreat weight of metal, it is true, but manned, armed, officered, andfound better perhaps than any other war-ships in the world; entirely atthe instigation of the German Navy League, and out of the pockets of theGerman nobility. The majority of our own wealthy classes preferredsinking their money in German motor-cars and German pleasure resorts; orone must assume so, for it is well known that our Navy League had longsince ceased to exert any active influence, because it was unable toraise funds enough to pay its office expenses. 

Our Navy might have had a useful reserve to draw upon in the variousauxiliary naval bodies if these had not, one by one, been abolished. TheMercantile Marine was not in a position to lend much assistance in thisrespect, for our ships at that time carried eighty-seven thousandforeign officers and men, three parts of whom were Teutons. These factswere presumably all well known to the heads and governing bodies of thevarious trades, and, that being so, the extremely pessimistic attitudeadopted by them, directly the fact of invasion was established, isscarcely to be wondered at. 

In banking, insurance, underwriting, stock and share dealing, manufacturing, and in every branch of shipping the lead of the bakerswere followed, and in many cases exceeded. The premiums asked ininsurance and underwriting, and the unprecedented advance in thebank-rate, corresponding as it did with a hopeless "slump" in everystock and share quoted on the Stock Exchange, from Consols to miningshares, brought business to a standstill in London on Monday afternoon. 

On Tuesday entire blocks of offices remained unopened. In business, moreperhaps than in any other walk of life, self-preservation andself-advancement were at that time, not alone the first, but the onlyfixed law. With bread at 1s. 4d. A loaf, great ship-owners in Englandwere cabling the masters of wheat ships in both hemispheres to remainwhere they were and await orders. 

This last fact I learned from Leslie Wheeler, whom I happened to meethurrying from the City to Waterloo, on his way down to Weybridge. Hisfamily were leaving for Devonshire next morning, to stay with relativesthere. 

"But, bless me!" I said, when he told me that friends of his father, shipping magnates, had despatched such cable messages that morning, "surely that's a ruffianly thing to do, when the English people arecrying out for bread?"

Leslie shrugged his smartly-clad shoulders. "It's the English people'sown affair, " he said. 

"How's that?"

"Why, you see it's all a matter of insurance. All commerce is based oninsurance, in one form or another. The cost of shipping insurance to-dayis absolutely prohibitive; in other words, there isn't any. We did havea permanent and non-fluctuating form of insurance of a kind one time. But you Socialist chaps--social reform, Little England for the English, and all that--you swept that away. Wouldn't pay for it; said it wasn'twanted. Now it's gone, and you're feeling the pinch. The worst of it is, you make the rest of us feel it, too. I'm thankful to say the dad'spulling out fairly well. He told me yesterday he hadn't five hundredpounds in anything British. Wise old bird, the dad!"

My friend's "You Socialist chaps" rather wrang my withers; its sting notbeing lessened at all by my knowledge of its justice. I asked after thewelfare of the Wheeler family generally, but it was only as Leslie wasclosing the door of the cab he hailed that I mentioned Sylvia. 

"Yes, Sylvia's all right, " he said, as he waved me good-bye; "but shewon't come away with the rest of us--absolutely refuses to budge. "

And with that he was off, leaving me wondering about the girl who had atone time occupied so much of my mind, but of late had had so little ofit. During the next few hours I wove quite a pretty story round Sylvia'srefusal to accompany her family. I even thought of her as joiningConstance Grey's nursing corps. 

The thought of this development of Sylvia Wheeler's character interestedme so much that I wrote to her that evening, tentatively sympathizingwith her determination not to be frightened away from her own place. Thewhole thing was a curious misapprehension on my part; but Sylvia's reply(explaining that it was her particular place of worship she refused toleave, and that she was staying "with his Reverence's sister"), thoughwritten within twenty-four hours, did not reach me until after manydays--days such as England will never face again. 

XIX

THE TRAGIC WEEK

 England can never have an efficient army during peace, and she must, therefore, accept the rebuffs and calamities which are always in store for the nation that is content to follow the breed of cowards who usually direct her great affairs. The day will come when she will violently and suddenly lose her former fighting renown to such an unmistakable extent that the plucky fishwives will march upon Downing Street, and if they can catch its usual inmates, will rend them. One party is as bad as the other, and I hope and pray that when the national misfortune of a great defeat at sea overtakes us, followed by the invasion of England, that John Bull will turn and rend the jawers and talkers who prevent us from being prepared to meet invasion. --_From a letter written by Lord Wolsley, ex-Commander-in-Chief of the British Army, to Lord Wemyss, and published, and ignored by the public, in the year 1906. _

It is no part of my intention to make any attempt to limp after thehistorians of the Invasion. The Official History, the half-dozen ofstandard military treatises, and the well-known works of Low, Forster, Gordon, and others, have allowed few details of the Invasion to escapeunrecorded. But I confess it has always seemed to me that these writersgave less attention to the immediate aftermath of the Invasion than thatcurious period demanded. Yet here was surely a case in which effect wasof vastly more importance than cause, and aftermath than crisis. Butperhaps I take that view because I am no historian. 

To the non-expert mind, the most bewildering and extraordinary featureof that disastrous time was the amazing speed with which crisissucceeded crisis, and events, each of themselves epoch-making incharacter, crashed one upon another throughout the progress toward BlackSaturday. We know now that much of this fury of haste which was sobewildering at the time, which certainly has no parallel in history, wasdue to the perfection of Germany's long-laid plans. Major-GeneralFarquarson, in his "Military History of the Invasion, " says:

"It may be doubted whether in all the history of warfare anything soscientifically perfect as the preparations for this attack can be found. It is safe to say that every inch of General von Füchter's progress wasmapped out in Berlin long months before it came to astound and horrifyEngland. The maps and plans in the possession of the German staff weremasterpieces of cartographical science and art. The German Army knewalmost to a bale of hay what provender lay between London and the coast, and where it was stored; and certainly their knowledge of East Angliafar exceeded that of our own authorities. The world has never seen aquicker blow struck; it has seldom seen a blow so crushingly severe; ithas not often seen one so aggressively unjustifiable. And, be it noted, that down to the last halter and the least fragment of detail, theGerman Army was provided with every conceivable aid to success--_induplicate_. 

"Never in any enterprise known to history was less left to chance. TheGerman War Office left nothing at all to chance, not even itsconception--a certainty really--of Britain's amazing unreadiness. Andthe German Army took no risks. A soldier's business, whether he beprivate or Field Marshal, is, after all, to obey orders. It would beboth foolish and unjust to blame General von Füchter. But the factremains that no victorious army ever risked less by generosity than theinvading German Army. Its tactics were undoubtedly ruthless; they werethe tactics necessitated by the orders of the Chief of the Army. Theywere more severe, more crushing, than any that have ever been adoptedeven by a punitive expedition under British colours. They weresuccessful. For that they were intended. Swiftness and thoroughness wereof the essence of the contract. 

"With regard to their humanity or morality I am not here concerned. Butit should always be remembered by critics that British apathy andneglect made British soil a standing temptation to the invader. Theinvasion was entirely unprovoked, so far as direct provocation goes. Butwho shall say it was entirely undeserved, or even unforeseen, byadvisers whom the nation chose to ignore? This much is certain: BlackSaturday and the tragic events leading up to it were made possible, notso much by the skill and forethought of the enemy, which were notable, as by a state of affairs in England which made that day one of shame andhumiliation, as well as a day of national mourning. No just recorder mayhope to escape that fact. "

In London, the gravest aspect of that tragic week was the condition ofthe populace. It is supposed that over two million people flocked intothe capital during the first three days. And the prices of thenecessities of life were higher in London than anywhere else in thecountry. The Government measures for relief were ill-considered andhopelessly inadequate. But, in justice to "The Destroyers, " it must beremembered that leading authorities have said that adequate measureswere impossible, from sheer lack of material. 

During one day--I think it was Wednesday--huge armies of the hungryunemployed--nine-tenths of our wage-earners were unemployed--were set towork upon entrenchments in the north of London. But there was no sort oforganization, and most of the men streamed back into the town thatnight, unpaid, unfed, and sullenly resentful. 

Then, like cannon shots, came the reports of the fall of York, Bradford, Leeds, Halifax, Hull, and Huddersfield, and the apparently wantondemolition of Norwich Cathedral. The sinking of the _Dreadnought_ nearthe Nore was known in London within the hour. Among the half-equippedregulars who were hurried up from the southwest, I saw dozens of menintercepted in the streets by the hungry crowds, and hustled intoleaving their fellows. 

Then came Friday's awful "surrender riot" at Westminster, a magnificentaccount of which gives Martin's big work its distinctive value. I hadleft Constance Grey's flat only half an hour before the riot began, andwhen I reached Trafalgar Square there was no space between that and theAbbey in which a stone could have been dropped without falling upon aman or a woman. There were women in that maddened throng, and some ofthem, crying hoarsely in one breath for surrender and for bread, weresuckling babies. 

No Englishman who witnessed it could ever forget that sight. The PrimeMinister's announcement that the surrender should be made came too late. The panic and hunger-maddened incendiaries had been at work. Smoke wasrising already from Downing Street and the back of the Treasury. Thencame the carnage. One can well believe that not a single unnecessarybullet was fired. Not to believe that would be to saddle those inauthority with a less than human baseness. But the question history putsis: Who was primarily to blame for the circumstances which led up to thetragic necessity of the firing order?

Posterity has unanimously laid the blame upon the Administration of thatday, and assuredly the task of whitewashing "The Destroyers" would be nolight or pleasant one. But, again, we must remind ourselves that theessence of the British Constitution has granted to us always, for acentury past at least, as good a Government as we have deserved. "TheDestroyers" may have brought shame and humiliation upon England. Unquestionably, measures and acts of theirs produced those effects. Butwho and what produced "The Destroyers" as a Government? The onlypossible answer to that is, in the first place, the British public; inthe second place, the British people's selfish apathy and neglect, wherenational duty and responsibility were concerned, and blindly selfishabsorption, in the matter of its own individual interests andpleasures. 

One hundred and thirty-two men, women, and children killed, and threehundred and twenty-eight wounded; the Treasury buildings and theofficial residence of the Prime Minister gutted; that was the casualtylist of the "Surrender Riot" at Westminster. But the figures do notconvey a tithe of the horror, the unforgettable shame and horror, of thepeople's attack upon the Empire's sanctuary. The essence of the tragedylay in their demand for immediate and unconditional surrender; themisery of it lay in "The Destroyers'" weak, delayed, terrified response, followed almost immediately by the order to those in charge of thefiring parties--an order flung hysterically at last, the veryarticulation of panic. 

No one is likely to question Martin's assertion that Friday's tragedy atWestminster must be regarded--"not alone as the immediate cause of BlackSaturday's national humiliation, but also as the crucial phase, thepivot upon which the development of the whole disastrous week turned. "But the Westminster Riot at least had the saving feature ofunpremeditation. It was, upon the one side, the outcry of a whollyundisciplined, hungry, and panic-smitten public; and, upon the otherside, the irresponsible, more than half-hysterical action of a group ofterrified and incompetent politicians. These men had been swept intogreat positions, which they were totally unfitted to fill, by a tidalwave of reactionary public feeling, and of the blind selfishness of adecadence born of long freedom from any form of national discipline; ofliberties too easily won and but half-understood; of superficialeducation as to rights, and abysmal ignorance as to duties. 

But, while fully admitting the soundness of Martin's verdict, for mypart I feel that my experiences during that week left me with memoriesnot perhaps more shocking, but certainly more humiliating anddisgraceful to England, than the picture burnt into my mind by theWestminster Riot. I will mention two of these. 

By Wednesday a large proportion of the rich residents of Western Londonhad left the capital to take its chances, while they sought the securityof country homes, more particularly in the southwestern counties. Suchthoroughfares as Piccadilly, Regent Street, and Bond Street were nolonger occupied by well-dressed people with plenty of money to spend. Their usual patrons were for the most part absent; but, particularly atnight, they were none the less very freely used--more crowded, indeed, than ever before. The really poor, the desperately hungry people, had noconcern whatever with the wrecking of the famous German restaurants andbeer-halls. They were not among the Regent Street and Piccadillypromenaders. 

The Londoners who filled these streets at night--the people who sackedthe Leicester Square hotel and took part in the famous orgy whichBlackburn describes as "unequalled in England since the days of thePlague, or in Europe since the French Revolution"; these people were notat all in quest of food. They were engaged upon a mad pursuit ofpleasure and debauchery and drink. "Eat, drink, and be vicious; butabove all, drink and be vicious; for this is the end of England!" Thatwas their watchword. 

I have no wish to repeat Blackburn's terrible stories of rapine andbestiality, of the frenzy of intoxication, and the blind savagery ofthese Saturnalias. In their dreadful nakedness they stand for ever inthe pages of his great book, a sinister blur, a fiery warning, writlarge across the scroll of English history. I only wish to say thatscenes I actually saw with my own eyes (one episode in trying to checkthe horror of which I lost two fingers and much blood), prove beyond allquestion to me that, even in its most lurid and revolting passages, Blackburn's account is a mere record of fact, and not at all, as someapologists have sought to show, an exaggerated or overheated version ofthese lamentable events. 

Regarded as an indication of the pass we had reached at this period ofour decadence, this stage of our trial by fire, the conduct of thecrowds in Western London during those dreadful nights, impressed me moreforcibly than the disaster which Martin considers the climax and pivotof the week's tragedy. 

One does not cheerfully refer to these things, but, to be truthful, Imust mention the other matter which produced upon me, personally, thegreatest sense of horror and disgrace. 

Military writers have described for us most fully the circumstances inwhich General Lord Wensley's command was cut and blown to pieces in theEpping and Romford districts. Authorities are agreed that the records ofcivilized warfare have nothing more horrible to tell than the historyof that ghastly butchery. As a slaughter, there was nothing exactly likeit in the Russo-Japanese war--for we know that there were less than ahundred survivors of the whole of Lord Wensley's command. But those whomourned the loss of these brave men had a consolation of which nothingcould rob them; the consolation which is graven in stone upon the Eppingmonument; a consolation preserved as well in German as in Englishhistory. Germany may truthfully say of the Epping shambles that noquarter was given that day. England may say, with what pride she may, that none was asked. The last British soldier slaughtered in the Eppingtrenches had no white flag in his hand, but a broken bayonet, and, underhis knee, the Colours of his regiment. 

The British soldiers in those blood-soaked trenches were badly armed, less than half-trained, under-officered, and of a low physical standard. But these lamentable facts had little or nothing to do with theirslaughter. There were but seven thousand of them, while the German forcehas been variously estimated at between seventy thousand and one hundredthousand horse and foot, besides artillery. One need not stop toquestion who should bear the blame for the half-trained, vilely equippedcondition of these heroic victims. The far greater question, to whichthe only answer can be a sad silence of remorse and bitter humiliation, bears upon the awful needlessness of their sacrifice. 

The circumstances have been described in fullest detail from authenticrecords. The stark fact which stands out before the average non-expertobserver is that Lord Wensley was definitely promised reinforcements tothe number of twenty thousand horse and foot; that after the WestminsterRiot not a single man or horse reached him; _and he was never informedof the Government's forced decision to surrender_. 

And thus those half-trained boys and men laid down their lives forEngland within a dozen miles of Westminster, almost twelve hours after aweak-kneed, panic-stricken Cabinet had passed its word to the peoplethat England would surrender. 

That, to my thinking, was the most burning feature of our disgrace;that, as an indication of our parlous estate, is more terrible thanMartin's "pivot" of the tragic week. 

XX

BLACK SATURDAY

 Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men. 

 WORDSWORTH. 

In the afternoon of Black Saturday, General von Füchter, theCommander-in-Chief of the German Army in England, took up his quarters, with his staff, in the residence of the German Ambassador to the Courtof St. James in Carlton House Terrace, and, so men said, enjoyed thefirst sleep he had had for a week. (The German Ambassador had handed inhis credentials, and been escorted out of England on the previousMonday. )

Throughout the small hours of Saturday morning I was at work nearRomford as one of the volunteer bearers attached to Constance Grey'snursing corps. That is one reason why the memory of the north of Londonmassacre will never leave me. One may assume that the German Army had nowish to kill nurses, but, as evidence of the terrible character of theonslaught on the poor defences of London, I may recall the fact thatthree of our portable nursing shelters were blown to pieces; while ofConstance Grey's nurses alone five were killed and fourteen were badlywounded. 

Myself, I had much to be thankful for, my only wound being the ploughingof a little furrow over the biceps of my right arm by a bullet thatpassed out through the back of my coat. But a circumstance for which mygratitude was more deeply moved was the fact that Constance Grey, despite a number of wonderfully narrow escapes, was entirely uninjured. 

The actual entry of General von Füchter and his troops into London hasbeen so often described that nothing remains for me to say about that. Also, I am unable to speak as an eye witness, since Constance Grey andmyself were among those who returned to London, in the rear of theGerman troops, with the ambulances. The enemy's line of communicationsstretched now from the Wash to London, and between Brentwood and Londonthere were more Germans than English. I believe the actual number oftroops which entered London behind General von Füchter was underforty-eight thousand; but to the northward, northeast, and northwest thehuge force which really invested the capital was spread in carefulformation, and amply provided with heavy artillery, then trained uponcentral London from all such points as the Hampstead heights. 

Although a formal note of surrender had been conveyed to General vonFüchter at Romford, _after_ the annihilation of our entrenched troops, occasional shots were fired upon the enemy as they entered London. Indeed, in the Whitechapel Road, one of the General's aides-de-camp, riding within a few yards of his chief, was killed by a shot from theupper windows of a provision shop. But the German reprisals were sharp. It is said that fifty-seven lives paid the penalty for the shooting ofthat aide-de-camp. Several streets of houses in northeast London wereburned. 

By this time the Lord Mayor of London had been notified that seriousresults would accrue if any further opposition were offered to theGerman acceptance of London's surrender; and proclamations to thateffect were posted everywhere. But the great bulk of London'sinhabitants were completely cowed by hunger and terror. Practically, itmay be said that, throughout, the only resistance offered to the Army ofthe invaders was that which ended so tragically in the trenches beyondEpping and Romford, with the equally tragical defence of Colchester, andsome of the northern towns captured by the eighth German Army Corps. 

In London the people's demand from the first had been for unconditionalsurrender. It was this demand which had culminated in the WestminsterRiot. The populace was so entirely undisciplined, so completely lackingin the sort of training which makes for self-restraint, that even if theGovernment had been possessed of an efficient striking force fordefensive purposes, the public would not have permitted its properutilization. The roar of German artillery during Friday night andSaturday morning, with the news of the awful massacre in the northernentrenchments, had combined to extinguish the last vestige of desirefor resistance which remained in London. 

Almost all the people with money had left the capital. Thoseremaining--the poor, the refugees from northward, irresponsibles, peoplewithout a stake of any kind; these desired but the one thing: food andsafety. The German Commander-in-Chief was wise. He knew that if time hadbeen allowed, resistance would have been organized, even though theBritish regular Army had, by continuous reductions in the name of"economy, " practically ceased to exist as a striking force. Andtherefore time was the one thing he had been most determined to denyEngland. 

It is said that fatigue killed more German soldiers than fell to Britishbullets; and the fact may well be believed when we consider theherculean task General von Füchter had accomplished in one week. Hisplan of campaign was to strike his hardest, and to keep on striking hishardest, without pause, till he had the British Government on its kneesbefore him; till he had the British public--maddened by sudden fear, andthe panic which blows of this sort must bring to a people with nodefensive organization, and no disciplinary training--cowed and cryingfor quarter. 

The German Commander has been called inhuman, a monster, a creaturewithout bowels. All that is really of small importance. He was a soldierwho carried out orders. His orders were ruthless orders. The instrumenthe used was a very perfect one. He carried out his orders with theutmost precision and thoroughness; and his method was the surest, quickest, and, perhaps, the only way of taking possession of England. 

At noon precisely, the Lord Mayor of London was brought before theGerman Commander-in-Chief in the audience chamber of the Mansion House, and formally placed under arrest. A triple cordon of sentries and twomachine-gun parties were placed in charge of the Bank of England, andquarters were allotted for two German regiments in the immediatevicinity. Two machine-guns were brought into position in front of theStock Exchange, and all avenues leading from the heart of the City wereoccupied by mixed details of cavalry and infantry, each party having onemachine-gun. 

My acquaintance, Wardle, of the _Sunday News_, was in the audiencechamber of the Mansion House at this time, and he says that he never sawa man look more exhausted than General von Füchter, who, according toreport, had not had an hour's sleep during the week. But though theGeneral's cheeks were sunken, his chin unshaven, and his eyes blood-red, his demeanour was that of an iron man--stern, brusque, taciturn, erect, and singularly immobile. 

Food was served to this man of blood and iron in the Mansion House, while the Lord Mayor's secretary proceeded to Whitehall, with word tothe effect that the Commander-in-Chief of the German forces in Englandawaited the sword and formal surrender of the British Commander, beforeproceeding to take up quarters in which he would deal with peacenegotiations. 

Forster's great work, "The Surrender, " gives the finest description wehave of the scene that followed. The Field Marshal in command of theBritish forces had that morning been sent for by a Cabinet Council thenbeing held in the Prime Minister's room at the House of Commons. Withnine members of his staff, the white-haired Field Marshal rode slowlyinto the City, in full uniform. His instructions were for unconditionalsurrender, and a request for the immediate consideration of the detailsof peace negotiations. 

The Field Marshal had once been the most popular idol of the Britishpeople, whom he had served nobly in a hundred fights. Of late years hehimself had been as completely disregarded, as the grave warnings, theearnest appeals, which he had bravely continued to urge upon aneglectful people. The very Government which now despatched him upon thehardest task of his whole career, the tendering of his sword to hiscountry's enemy, had for long treated him with cold disfavour. Thegeneral public, in its anti-national madness, had sneered at this greatlittle man, their one-time hero, as a Jingo crank. 

(As an instance of the lengths to which the public madness went in thismatter, the curious will find in the British Museum copies of at leastone farcical work of fiction written and published with considerablesuccess, as burlesques of that very invasion which had now occurred, ofthe possibility of which this loyal servant in particular had soearnestly and so unavailingly warned his countrymen. )

Now, the blow he had so often foreshadowed had fallen; the capital ofthe British Empire was actually in possession of an enemy; and theBritish leader knew himself for a Commander without an Army. 

He had long since given his only son to the cause of Britain's defence. The whole of his own strenuous life had been devoted to the same cause. His declining years had known no ease by reason of his unceasing andthankless striving to awaken his fellow countrymen to a sense of theirmilitary responsibilities. Now he felt that the end of all things hadcome for him, in the carrying out of an order which snapped his life'swork in two, and flung it down at the feet of England's almost unopposedconqueror. 

The understanding Englishman has forgiven General von Füchter much, byvirtue of his treatment of the noble old soldier, who with tear-blindedeyes and twitching lips tendered him the surrender of the almostnon-existent British Army. No man ever heard a speech from General vonFüchter, but the remark with which he returned our Field Marshal's swordto him will never be forgotten in England. He said, in rather labouredEnglish, with a stiff, low bow:

"Keep it, my lord. If your countrymen had not forgotten how to recognizea great soldier, I could never have demanded it of you. "

And the man of iron saluted the heart-broken Chief of the shatteredBritish Army. 

We prefer not to believe the report that this, the German Commander'sone act of gentleness and magnanimity in England, was subsequently paidfor by the loss of a certain Imperial decoration. But, if the story wastrue, then the decoration it concerned was well lost. 

It was a grim, war-stained procession that followed General von Füchterwhen, between two and three o'clock, he rode with his staff by way ofLudgate Hill and the Strand to Carlton House Terrace. But the cavalryrode with drawn sabres, the infantry marched with fixed bayonets, and, though weariness showed in every line of the men's faces, there was asyet no sign of relaxed tension. 

Throughout that evening and night the baggage wagons rumbled throughLondon, without cessation, to the two main western encampments in HydePark. The whole of Pall Mall and Park Lane were occupied by Germanofficers that night, few of the usual occupants of the clubs in the onethoroughfare, or the residences in the other, being then in London. 

By four o'clock General von Füchter's terms were in the hands of theGovernment which had now completed its earning of the title of "TheDestroyers. " The Chief Commissioner of Police and the principalmunicipal authorities of greater London had all been examined during theday at the House of Commons, and were unanimous in their verdict thatany delay in the arrangement of peace and the resumption of trade, ashore and afloat, could mean only revolution. Whole streets of shopshad been sacked and looted already by hungry mobs, who gave no thoughtto the invasion or to any other matter than the question of food supply. A great, lowering crowd of hungry men and women occupied WestminsterBridge and the southern embankment (no German soldiers had been seensouth of the Thames) waiting for the news of the promised conclusion ofpeace terms. 

There is not wanting evidence that certain members of the Government hadalready bitterly repented of their suicidal retrenchment andanti-defensive attitude in the past. But repentance had come too late. The Government stood between a hungry, terrified populace demandingpeace and food, and a mighty and victorious army whose commander, actingupon the orders of his Government, offered peace at a terrible price, orthe absolute destruction of London. For General von Füchter's briefmemorandum of terms alluded threateningly to the fact that his heavyartillery was so placed that he could blow the House of Commons into theriver in an hour. 

At six o'clock the German terms were accepted, a provisional declarationof peace was signed, and public proclamations to that effect, embodyingreference to the deadly perils which would be incurred by those takingpart in any kind of street disorder, were issued to the public. As tothe nature of the German terms, it must be admitted that they were aspitiless as the German tactics throughout the invasion, and as surelydesigned to accomplish their end and object. Berlin had not forgottenthe wonderful recuperative powers which enabled France to rise soswiftly from out of the ashes of 1870. Britain was to be far moreeffectually crippled. 

The money indemnity demanded by General von Füchter was the largest everknown: one thousand million pounds sterling. But it must be rememberedthat the enemy already held the Bank of England. One hundred millions, or securities representing that amount, were to be handed over withintwenty-four hours. The remaining nine hundred millions were to be paidin nine annual instalments of one hundred millions each, the first ofwhich must be paid within three months. Until the last payment was made, German troops were to occupy Glasgow, Cardiff, Portsmouth, Devonport, Chatham, Yarmouth, Harwich, Hull, and Newcastle. The Transvaal was to beceded to the Boers under a German Protectorate. Britain was to withdrawall pretensions regarding Egypt and Morocco, and to cede to Germany, Gibraltar, Malta, Ceylon, and British West Africa. 

It is not necessary for me to quote the few further details of the mostexacting demands a victor ever made upon a defeated enemy. There can beno doubt that, in the disastrous circumstances they had been so largelyinstrumental in bringing about, "The Destroyers" had no choice, noalternative from their acceptance of these crushing terms. 

And thus it was that--not at the end of a long and hard-fought war, asthe result of vast misfortunes or overwhelming valour on the enemy'sside, but simply as the result of the condition of utter and lamentabledefencelessness into which a truckling Government and an undisciplined, blindly selfish people had allowed England to lapse--the greatest, wealthiest Power in civilization was brought to its knees in theincredibly short space of one week, by the sudden but scientificallydevised onslaught of a single ambitious nation, ruled by a monarch whoselack of scruples was more than balanced by his strength of purpose. 

XXI

ENGLAND ASLEEP

 Evil springs up, and flowers, and bears no seed, And feeds the green earth with its swift decay, Leaving it richer for the growth of truth. 

 LOWELL. 

General von Füchter and his splendidly trained troops were not the onlypeople in England for whom the mere fatigue of that week was somethingnot easily to be forgotten. My impression of its last three days is thatthey brought no period of rest for any one. I know that there were asmany people in the streets by night as by day. The act of going withindoors or sitting down, seemed in some way to be a kind of cowardice, aspecies of shirking, or disloyalty. 

I remember Constance Grey assuring me that she had lain down for an houron Thursday. I can say with certainty that we were both of us on ourfeet from that time until after the terms of the surrender were madeknown on Saturday evening. I can also say that no thought of this matterof physical weariness occurred to me until that period of Saturdayevening--soon after seven o'clock it was--when the proclamations wereposted up in Whitehall, and the special issues of the newspaperscontaining the peace announcements began to be hawked. 

An issue of the _Standard_, a single sheet, with broad black borders, was the first press announcement to reach the public; and it contained agrave, closely reasoned address from the most famous statesman of theOpposition, urging upon the public the need vital of exercising theutmost cautiousness and self-restraint. 

"England has been stricken to the earth, " said this dignified statement. "Her condition is critical. If the injury sustained is not to provemortal, the utmost circumspection is required at this moment. Theimmediate duty of every loyal subject is quietly to concentrate hisenergies for the time upon the restoration of normal conditions. In thatway only can our suffering country be given that breathing space whichis the first step toward recuperation. For my part, I can conceive of nobetter, quicker method for the individual of serving this end than forhim to make the speediest possible return to the pursuit of his ordinaryavocation in life. It is to be hoped that, bearing in mind our urgentneed, all employers of labour will do their utmost to provide immediateoccupation for their work-people. It is not in the tragic catastrophe ofthe past week, but in the ordeal of this moment, of the coming days, that the real test of England's endurance lies. Never before was herneed so great; never before has Nelson's demand had so real and intimatea message for each and every one of us. I pray God the response may ringtrue. 'England expects that every man will do his duty!'"

I must not omit my tribute to those responsible for the salient factthat this important issue of the journal whose unwavering Imperialismhad been scoffed at in the mad times before the Invasion, was not sold, but distributed. Employment was found for hundreds of hungry men, women, and children in its free distribution; their wage being the thing theymost desired: bread, with soup, which, as I learned that night, wasprepared in huge coppers in the foundry of the printing works. 

I was with Constance Grey in Trafalgar Square when the news of theaccepted terms of peace reached us. We had just secured admission intoCharing Cross Hospital--not without considerable difficulty, for itswards were crowded--for two wounded nurses from Epping. Together we readthe news, and when the end was reached it seemed to me that the light oflife and energy passed suddenly out of my companion. She seemed tosuffer some bodily change and loss, to be bereft of her spring anderectness. 

"Ah, well, " she said, "I am very tired, Dick; and, do you know, itoccurs to me I have had nothing to eat since yesterday afternoon. Iwonder can we get away from these men, anywhere?"

The streets between Victoria and Hyde Park were lined by German cavalrymen, who sat motionless on their chargers, erect and soldierly, but, inmany cases, fast asleep. 

We began to walk eastward, looking for some place in which we could restand eat. But every place seemed to be closed. 

"How long have you been on your feet?" said Constance, as we passed theLaw Courts. 

"Only since Thursday evening, " I said. "I had a long rest in that cart, you remember--the one I brought the lint and bandages in. "

Just then we passed a tailor's shop-window, and, in a long, narrow stripof mirror I caught a full-length reflection of myself. I positivelyturned swiftly to see who could have cast that reflection. Four dayswithout shaving and without a change of collar; two days without evenwashing my hands or face; four days without undressing, and eight hours'work beside the North London entrenchments--these experiences had made awild-looking savage of me, and, until that moment, I had never thoughtof my appearance. 

Smoke, earth, and blood had worked their will upon me. My left hand, from which two fingers were missing, was swathed in blackened bandages. My right coat-sleeve had been cut off by a good-natured fellow who hadbandaged the flesh wound in my arm to stop its bleeding. My eyes glinteddully in a black face, with curious white fringes round them, wheretheir moisture had penetrated my skin of smoked dirt. And here was Iwalking beside Constance Grey!

Then I realized, for the first time, that Constance herself bore manytraces of these last few terrible days. In some mysterious fashion herface and collar seemed to have escaped scot free; but her dress wastorn, ragged, and stained; and the intense weariness of her expressionwas something I found it hard to bear. 

Just then we met Wardle of the _Sunday News_, and he told us of thebread and soup distribution in the _Standard_ office. Something warnedme that Constance had reached the limit of her endurance, and, inanother moment, she had reeled against me and almost fallen. I took herin my arms, and Wardle walked beside me, up a flight of stairs and intothe office of the great newspaper. There I walked into the first room Isaw--the sanctum of some managerial bashaw, for aught I knew--and placedConstance comfortably in a huge easy chair of green leather. 

Wardle brought some water, for Constance was in a fainting state still;but I hurried him off again to look for bread and soup. Meantime Ilowered Constance to the floor, having just remembered that in such acase the head should be kept low. Her face was positively deathly--lips, cheeks, all alike gray-white, save for the purple hollows under botheyes. One moment I was taking stock of these things, as a doctor might;the next I was on my knees and kissing the nerveless hand at her side, all worn and bruised and stained as it was from her ceaseless strivingsof the past week. I knew then that, for me, though I should live ahundred years and Constance should never deign to speak to me again, there was but one woman in the world. 

I am afraid Wardle found me at the same employ; but, though I remembervaguely resenting his fresh linen and normally smart appearance, he wasa good fellow, and knew when to seem blind. All he said was:

"Here's the soup!"

[Illustration: "I WAS ON MY KNEES AND KISSING THE NERVELESS HAND"]

He had brought a small wash-hand basin full to the brim, and a loaf ofwarm, new bread. As the steam of the hot soup reached me, I realizedthat I was a very hungry animal, whatever else I might be besides. Itmay have been the steam of the soup that rallied Constance. I know thatwithin two minutes I was feeding her with it from a cracked teacup. Itis a wonderful thing to watch the effect of a few mouthfuls of hot soupupon an exhausted woman, whose exhaustion is due as much to lack of foodas need of rest. There was no spoon, but the teacup, though cracked, wasclean, and I found a tumbler in a luxurious little cabinet near thechair one felt was dedicated to the Fleet Street magnate whose room wehad invaded. A tumbler is almost as convenient to drink soup from as acup, but requires more careful manipulation when hot. If the side of thetumbler becomes soupy, it can easily be wiped with the crumb of newbread. 

Wardle seemed to be as sufficiently nourished as he was neatly dressed;but he found a certain vicarious pleasure, I think, in watchingConstance and myself at the bowl. We sat on the Turkey carpet, and usedthe seat of the green chair as a table--a strange meal, in strangesurroundings; but a better I never had, before or since. There was aphysical gratification, a warmth and a comfort to me, in watching thecolour flowing gradually back into Constance's face; a singularlybeautiful process of nature I thought it. Presently the door of the roomopened with a jerk, and a tallish man wearing a silk hat looked in. 

"H'm!" he said brusquely. "Beg pardon!" And he was gone. I learnedafterwards that the room belonged to him, and that he came direct from aconference of newspaper pundits called together at Westminster by theHome Secretary. I do not know where he took refuge, but as for us wewent on with our soup and bread till repletion overtook us, as itquickly does after long fasts, and renewed strength brought sighs ofcontentment. 

"Wardle, " I remember saying to my journalistic friend, with absurdearnestness, "have you anything to smoke?"

"I haven't a thing but my pipe, " he said. "But wait a moment! There usedto be--yes. Look here!"

There was a drawer in a side-table near the great writing-table, and onedivision of it was half-full of cigarettes, the other of Upman's"Torpedoes. "

"I will repay thee, " I murmured irreverently, as I helped myself to oneof each, and lit the cigarette, having obtained permission fromConstance. It was the first tobacco I had tasted for forty-eight hours, and I was a very regular smoker. I had not known my need till then, afact which will tell much to smokers. 

"And now?" said Constance. Her eyelids were drooping heavily. 

"Now I am going to take you straight out to South Kensington, and youare going to rest. "

I had never used quite that tone to Constance before. I think, till now, hers had been the guiding and directing part. Yet her influence hadnever been stronger upon me than at that moment. 

"Well, of course, there are no cabs or omnibuses, " said Wardle, "but aman told me the Underground was running trains at six o'clock. "

We had a long, long wait at Blackfriars' station, but a train cameeventually, and we reached the flat in South Kensington as aneighbouring church clock struck ten. The journey was curious andimpressive from first to last. Fleet Street had been very much alivestill when we left it; and we saw long files of baggage wagons rumblingalong between Prussian lancers. But Blackfriars was deserted, the ticketcollector slept soundly on his box; the streets in South Kensington weresilent as the grave. 

London slept that night for the first time in a week. I learnedafterwards how the long lines of German sentries in Pall Mall, ParkLane, and elsewhere slept solidly at their posts; how the Metropolitanpolice slept on their beats; how thousands of men, women, and childrenslept in the streets of South London, whither they had fledpanic-stricken that morning. Conquerors and conquered together, thewhole vast city slept that night as never perhaps before or since. Aftera week of terror, of effort, of despair, and of debauchery, the sorelystricken capital of the British Empire lay that night like a city of thedead. England and her invaders were worn out. 

At the flat we found Mrs. Van Homrey placidly knitting. 

"Well, young folk, " she said cheerily; "I've had all the news, andthere's nothing to be said; and--there's bath and bed waiting for you, Conny. I shall bring you something hot in your room. "

Ah, the kindly comfort of that motherly soul's words! It was but a fewhours since her "Conny" had stood by my side on ground that wasliterally blood-soaked. Since the previous night we had both seen Deathin his most terrible guise; Death swinging his dripping scythe throughscores of lives at a stroke. We had been in England's riven heartthroughout the day of England's bitterest humiliation; and Mrs. VanHomrey had bed and bath waiting, with "something hot" for Constance totake in her room. 

"But, Aunty, if you could have seen----"

"Dear child, I know it all. " She patted her niece's shoulder, and Inoticed the rings and the shiny softness of her fingers. She saw at aglance--indeed, had seen beforehand, in anticipation--the wrought-up, exhausted condition Constance had reached. "I know it all, dear, " shesaid soothingly. "But the time has come for rest now. Nothing else isany good till that is done with. Come, child. God will send better daysfor England. First, we must rest. "

So Constance turned to leave the room. 

"And you?" she said to me. 

"I will see to him. You run along, my dear, " said her aunt. So Constancetook my hand. 

"Good night, Dick. You have been very good and kind, and--patient. Goodnight!"

There was no spare bedroom in that little flat, but the dear old ladyhad actually made up a bed for me on a couch in the drawing-room, andbefore she retired for the night she made me free of the bathroom, andsupplied me with towels and such like matters, and gave me cake andcocoa; a delicious repast I thought it. And so, while crushed and beatenLondon lay sleeping off its exhaustion, I slept under Constance Grey'sroof, full of gratitude, and of a kind of new hope and gladness, veryforeign, one would have said, to my gruesome experiences of the pastforty-eight hours. 

England, the old victorious island kingdom, bequeathed to us by Raleigh, Drake, Nelson; the nineteenth-century England of triumphantcommercialism; England till then inviolate for a thousand years; richand powerful beyond all other lands; broken now under the invader'sheel--that ancient England slept. 

PART II

THE AWAKENING

Exoriare aliquis de nostris ex ossibus ultor. --VIRGIL. 

I

THE FIRST DAYS

 The river glideth at his own sweet will. Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

 . . . . . 

 Without Thee, what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear Mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

 WORDSWORTH. 

It is safe to say that England's exhausted sleep on the night of BlackSaturday marked the end of an era in British history. It was followed bya curious, quiescent half-consciousness during Sunday. For the greaterpart of that day I should suppose that more than half London's populacecontinued its sleep. 

One of the first things I realized after Monday morning's awakening inmy Bloomsbury lodging was that I must find wages and work speedily, since I possessed no more than a very few pounds. As a fact, upon thatand several subsequent days I found plenty of work, if nothingnoticeable in the way of wages. I was second in command of one of thefood and labour bureaux which Constance Grey helped to organize, and allthe workers in these bureaux were volunteers. 

Another of my first impressions after the crisis was a sense of myactual remoteness, in normal circumstances, from Constance. Her fatherhad left Constance a quite sufficient income. Mrs. Van Homrey was in herown right comfortably well-to-do. But, despite the exiguous nature of myown resources, it was not the money question which impressed me most inthis connection, but rather the fact that, while my only acquaintancesin London were of a more or less discreditable sort, Constance seemed tohave friends everywhere, and these in almost every case people ofstanding and importance. Her army friends were apt to be generals, herpolitical friends ex-Ministers, her journalistic friends editors, and soforth. And I---- But you have seen my record up to this point. 

Nobody could possibly want Constance so much as I did, I thought. But anastonishing number of persons of infinitely more consequence than myselfseemed to delight to honour her, to obtain her coöperation. And I lovedher. There was no possibility of my mistaking the fact. I had been usedto debate with myself regarding Sylvia Wheeler. There was no room fordebate where my feeling for Constance was concerned. The hour of herbreakdown in Fleet Street on Black Saturday had taught me so much. 

In the face of my circumstances just then, the idea of making anydefinite disclosure of my feelings to Constance seemed impracticable. Yet there was one intimate passage between us during that week, thenature of which I cannot precisely define. I know I conveyed some hintto Constance of my feeling toward her, and I was made vaguely consciousthat anything like a declaration of love would have seemed shocking toher at that time. She held that, at such a juncture, no merely personalinterests ought to be allowed to weigh greatly with any one. Thecountry's call upon its subjects was all-absorbing in the eyes of this"one little bit of a girl from South Africa, " as Crondall had calledher. It made me feel ashamed to realize how far short I fell (even afterthe shared experiences culminating in Black Saturday) of her personalstandard of patriotism. Even now, my standing in her eyes, my immediatepersonal needs, loomed nearer, larger in my mind than England's fate. Iadmitted as much with some shamefacedness, and Constance said:

"Ah, well, Dick, I suspect that is a natural part of life lived entirelyin England, the England of the past. There was so little to arouse theother part in one. All the surrounding influences were against it. Mylife has been different. Once one has lived, in one's own home, througha native rising, for instance, purely personal interests never againseem quite so absorbing. The elemental things had been so long shut outof English life. Why, do you know----?" And she began to tell me of oneof the schemes in which she was interested; in connection with which Ilearned of a cable message she had received that day telling that JohnCrondall was then on his way to England. 

The least forgiving critics of "The Destroyers" have admitted that theydid their best and worked well during those strange weeks which cameimmediately after the invasion. One reason of this was that partyfeeling in politics had been scotched. The House of Commons met as oneparty. There was no longer any real Opposition, unless one counted asmall section of rabid anti-Britishers, who were incapable of learning alesson; and even they carped but feebly, while the rest of the Housedevoted its united energies to the conduct of the country's shatteredbusiness with the single aim of restoring normal conditions. Throughoutthe country two things were tacitly admitted. That the Government inpower must presently answer for its doings to the public before ceasingto be a Government; and that the present was no time for such businessas that of a general election. 

And so we had the spectacle of a Government which had entirely lost theconfidence of the electors, a Government anathematized from the Orkneysto Land's End, carrying on its work with a unison and a complete freedomfrom opposition such as had not been known before, even by the biggestmajority or the most popular Administration which had ever sat atWestminster. For the first time, and by no effort of our own, weobtained the rule of an Imperial Parliament devoted to no other end thanthe nation's welfare. The House of Commons witnessed many novelspectacles at that time--such as consultations between the leadingmembers of the Government and the Opposition. Most of its memberslearned many valuable lessons in those first weeks of the new régime. Itis to be supposed that the Surrender Riot had taught them something. 

It must also be admitted that General, or, as he now was, General Baronvon Füchter, accomplished some fine work during this same period. It hasbeen said that he was but consulting the safety of his Imperial master'sarmed forces; but credit may safely be given the General for thediscretion and despatch he used in distributing the huge body of troopsat his command, without hitch or friction, to the various centres whichit was his plan to occupy. His was a hand of iron, but he used it togood purpose; and the few errors of his own men were punished with aneven more crushing severity than he showed where British offences wereconcerned. 

The task of garrisoning those English ports with German soldiers was nolight or easy one; no task for a light or gentle hand. In carrying outthis undertaking a very little weakness, a very small display ofindecision, might easily have meant an appalling amount of bloodshed. Asit was, the whole business was completed in a wonderfully short while, and with remarkable smoothness. The judicial and municipaladministration of these centres was to remain English; but supremeauthority was vested in the officer commanding the German forces in eachplace, and the heads of such departments as the postal and the police, were German. No kind of public gathering or demonstration waspermissible in these towns, unless under the auspices of the Germanofficer in command, who in each case was given the rank of Governor ofthe town. 

We had learned by this time that the Channel Fleet had not been entirelyswept away. But a portion of it was destroyed, and the remaining shipshad been entrapped. It was strategy which had kept British ships fromour coasts during the fatal week of the invasion. "The Destroyers" wereresponsible for our weak-kneed concessions to Berlin some years earlier, in the matter of wireless telegraphy. In the face of urgentrecommendations to the contrary from experts, the Government had yieldedto German pressure in the matter of making our own systeminterchangeable, and had even boasted of their diplomacy in thusingratiating themselves with Germany. As a consequence, the enemy hadbeen able to convey messages purporting to come from the BritishAdmiralty and ordering British commanders to keep out of home waters. 

That these messages should have been conveyed in secret code form was amystery which subsequent investigations failed to solve. Some one hadplayed traitor. But the history of the invasion has shown us that we hadvery many traitors among us in those days; and there came a time whenthe British public showed clearly that it was weary of Commissions ofInquiry. Where so many, if not indeed all of us, were at fault, wherethe penalty was so crushing, it was felt that there were other and moreappropriate openings for official energy and public interest than themere apportioning of blame and punishment, however well deserved. 

The issue of what was called the "Invasion Budget" was Parliament'sfirst important act, after the dispersal of the German forces inEngland, and the termination of the Government distribution of foodsupplies. The alterations of customs tariff were not particularlynotable. The House had agreed that revenue was the objective to beconsidered, and fiscal adjustments with reference to commerce werepostponed for the time. The great change was in the income-tax. Theminimum income to be taxed was £100 instead of, as formerly, £160. Thescale ran like this: sixpence in the pound upon incomes of between £100and £150, ninepence from that to £200, one shilling from that to £250, one and threepence from that to £500, one and sixpence from that to£1, 000, two shillings upon all incomes of between £1, 000 and £5, 000, andfour shillings in the pound upon all incomes of over £5, 000. 

It was on the day following that of the Invasion Budget issue that Ireceived a letter from my sister Lucy, in Davenham Minster, telling meof my mother's serious illness, and asking me to come to her at once. And so, after a hurried visit to the South Kensington flat to explain myabsence to Constance, I turned my back upon London, for the first timein a year, and journeyed down into Dorset. 

II

ANCIENT LIGHTS

 Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command. 

 Regions Cæsar never knew Thy posterity shall sway. 

 . . . . . 

 COWPER. 

In the afternoon of a glorious summer's day, exactly three weeks afterleaving London, I stood beside the newly filled grave of my mother inthe moss-grown old churchyard of Davenham Minster. 

My dear mother was not one of those whose end was hastened by the shockof England's disaster. Doctor Wardle gave us little hope of her recoveryfrom the first. The immediate cause of death was pneumonia; but Igathered that my mother had come to the end of her store of vitality, and, it may be, of desire for life. I have sometimes thought that hercomplete freedom from those domestic cares of housekeeping, which hadseemed to be the very source and fountainhead of continuous worry forher, may actually have robbed my mother of much of her hold upon life. In these last days I had been almost continuously beside her, and Iknow that she relinquished her life without one sigh that spelt regret. 

Standing there at the edge of her grave in the hoary churchyard of theMinster, I was conscious of the loss of the last tie that bound me tothe shelter of youth: the cared-for, irresponsible division of a man'slife. The England of my youth was no more. Now, in the death of mymother, it seemed as if I had stepped out of one generation intoanother. I had entered a new generation, and was alone in it. 

I was to sleep at my sister's house that night, but I had no wish to gothere now. Doctor Wardle's forced gravity, his cheerful condolences, rather worried me. So it happened that I set out to walk from thechurchyard, and presently found myself upon the winding upland road thatled out of the rich Davenham valley, over the Ridgeway, and into thehilly Tarn Regis country, where I was born. 

I drank a mug of cider in the quaint little beerhouse kept by Gammer Joyin Tarn Regis, and read again the doggerel her grandfather had paintedon its sign-board, in which the traveller was advised of the varioususes of liquor, taken in moderation, and the evil effects of its abuse. Taken wisely, I remember, it was suggested that liquor proved the bestof lubricants for the wheels of life. Mrs. Joy looked just as old andjust as active and rosy as she had always looked for so long as I couldremember; and she hospitably insisted upon my eating a large slab of herdough cake with my cider--a very excellent comestible it was. 

The old dame's mood was cheerfully pessimistic--that is to say, she wasgarrulous, and spoke cheerily of generally downward tendencies. Thus, the new rector, by her way of it, was of a decadent modern type, full ofnewfangled "Papish" notions as to church vestments and early services, and neglectful of traditional responsibilities connected with soup andcoal and medical comforts. Cider was no longer what it used to be, Igathered, since the big brewers took it in hand, and spoiled the tradeof those who had hand-presses. As for farming, Gammer Joy held that itwas not near so good a trade for master or man with land at fifteenshillings the acre, as much of it was thereabouts, as it had been withrents up to two or three pounds, and food twice as dear as now. 

"But there, Master Dick, " said the old lady; "I suppose we be allGermans now--so they do tell me, however; an' if we be no better norfurriners here in Darset, why I doan't know as't matters gertly wha'cwomes to us at all. But I will say things wor different in yourfeyther's time, Master Dick--that they was. Ah doan't believe he'd ha'put up wi' this German business for a minute, that ah doan't. "

I gathered that the new rector was an earnest young man and a hardworker; but, evidently, those of Gammer Joy's generation preferred myfather's aloofness in conjunction with his regular materialdispensations, and his habit of leaving folk severely to themselves, sofar as their thoughts and feelings were concerned. 

The cottagers with whom I talked that summer's evening cherished amonumental ignorance regarding the real significance of the eventswhich had shaken England to its very roots since I had last seen TarnRegis. Gammer Joy's view seemed to be fairly typical. We had becomeGerman; England belonged to Germany; the Radicals had sold us to theKaiser--and so forth. But no German soldiers had been seen in Dorset. The whole thing was shadowy, academic, a political business; suitableenough for the discussion of Londoners, no doubt, but, after all, ofsmall bearing upon questions of real and intimate interest, such as theharvest, the weather, and the rate of wages. 

"Sims queer, too, that us should be born again like, and becomeGermans, " said one man to me; "but ah doan't know as it meakes much oddsto the loike o' we; though ah hev heerd as how Farmer Jupp be thinkin'o' gettin' shut o' his shartharn bull that won the prize to Davenham, an' doin' wi' fower men an' a b'y, in place o' sevin. Well, o' course, us has to keep movin' wi' the times, as sayin' is; an' 'tis trew themuplan' pastures o' Farmer Jupp's they do be mos' onusual poor an' leery, as you med say. "

Twilight already held the land in its grave embrace when I made my wayalong Abbott's Lane (my father had devoted months to the task of tracingthe origin of that name) and began the ascent of Barebarrow, by crossingwhich diagonally one reaches the Davenham turnpike from Tarn Regis, ashorter route by nearly a mile than that of the road past the mill andover the bridge. And so, presently, my feet were treading turf which hadprobably been turf before the Christian era. Smooth and vast against thesky-line, Barebarrow lay above me, like a mammoth at rest. 

On its far side was our Tarn Regis giant, a famous figure cut in theturf, and clearly visible from the tower of Davenham Minster. Long ago, in my earliest childhood, village worthies had given me the story ofthis figure--how once upon a time a giant came and slew all the TarnRegis flocks for his breakfast. Then he lay down to sleep behindBarebarrow, and while he slept the enraged shepherds and work-folk boundhim with a thousand cart-ropes, and slew him with a thousand scythes andforks and other homely implements. And then, that posterity might knowhis fearsome bulk, they cut out the turf all round his form, and eke theoutline of the club beside him, and left the figure there to commemoratetheir valour and the loss of their flocks. Some three hundred feet longit was, I think, with a club the length of a tall pine-tree. In anycase, the Tarn Regis lad who would excel in feats of strength had but tospend the night of Midsummer's Eve in the crook of the giant's arm (assome one or two did every year), and other youths of the countrysidecould never stand a chance with him. 

I paused on the ledge below the barrow beside a ruined shepherd's hut, and recalled the fact that here my father had unearthed sundry fragmentsof stone and pieces of implements which the Dorchester Museum curatorhad welcomed as very early British relics. They went back, I remembered, to long before the Roman period; to days possibly more remote than thoseof ancient Barebarrow himself. If you refer to a good map you will findthis spot surrounded by such indications of immemorial antiquity as"Tumuli, " "British Village, " and the like. The Roman encampment on theother side of Davenham Minster was modernity itself, I thought, comparedwith this ancient haunt of the neolithic forerunners of the earlyBriton; this resting-place of men whose doings were a half-forgottenstory many centuries before the birth of Julius Cæsar. 

I sat down on the grassy ledge and looked out across the lichen-coveredroofs and squat, rugged church tower of Tarn Regis; and pictures rose inmy mind, pictures to some extent inspired, perhaps, by scraps I had readof learned essays written by my father. He had loved this ancientground; he had been used to finger the earth hereabouts as a man mightfinger his mistress's hair. I do not know what period my twilit fancyhappened upon, but it was assuredly a later one than that of Barebarrow, for I saw shaggy warriors with huge pointless swords, their hiltsdecorated with the teeth of wild beasts--a Bronze Age vision, no doubt. I saw rude chariots of war, with murderous scythe-blades on theirwheels--and, in a flash then, the figure of Boadicea: that valiantmother of our race, erect and fearless in her chariot--

 Regions Cæsar never knew, Thy posterity shall sway!

"Thy posterity shall sway!" If you repeat the lines to yourself you maysee the outline of my vision. There at the foot of Barebarrow I saw thatQueen of ancient Britons at the head of her wild, shaggy legions. "TheRoman Army can never withstand the shouts and clamour of so manythousands, far less their shock and fury, " said the Queen. I saw herlead her valiant horde upon Colchester, and for me the ancient rudenessof it all was shot through and through with glimpses of the scientificsacking of Colchester, as I had read of it but a few weeks ago. I sawthe advance of the Roman Governor; the awful slaughter of the British;the end of the brave Queen who could not brook defeat: the mostheart-stirring episode in English history. 

"Thy posterity shall sway!" I recalled the solemn splendour of anothergreat Queen's passing--that which I had seen with my own eyes whilestill a lad at Rugby: the stately gathering of the great ships atSpithead; the end of Victoria the Good. No more than a step it seemedfrom my vision of the unconquerable Boadicea. But to that otheronslaught upon Colchester--to General von Füchter's slaughter of womenand children and unarmed men in streets of houses whose ashes must bewarm yet--O Lord, how far! I thought. Could it really be that a thousandyears of inviolability had been broken, ended, in those few wild days;ended for ever?

Lights twinkled now among the nestling houses of the little place whereI was born. They made me think of torches, the clash of arms, thespacious mediæval days when Davenham Minster supported a greatmonastery, whose lordly abbot owned the land Tarn Regis stood upon. 

And then the little lights grew misty and dim in my eyes as glimpsescame of my own early days; of play on that very ridge-side where I satnow, where I had then romantically sworn friendship with George Stairson the eve of my departure for Elstree School, and his leaving with hisfather for Canada. How had I kept my vow? Where was George Stairs now?There was not a foot of that countryside we had not roamed together. Myeyes pricked as I looked and listened. Exactly so, I thought, thesheep-bells had sounded below Barebarrow when I had lain listening tothem in that low-pitched back bedroom of the Rectory which I had beenproud to hear called "Dick's Room, " after my first experience ofsleeping alone. 

Then for a space my mind was blank as the dark valley beyond thevillage--until thoughts and pictures of recent happenings began to oustthe gentler memories, and I lived over again the mad, wild, tragic weekwhich culminated in the massacre of the North London trenches. But inthe light of my previous musings I saw these happenings differently, more personally, than in the actual experience of them. It seemed nowthat not my country only, but myself, had been struck down and humbledto the dust by the soldiers of the Kaiser. I saw the broad fair faces ofthe German cavalry as they had sat their horse in Whitehall on theevening of Black Saturday. I heard again the clank of their arms, thebarking of guttural orders. Could it be that they had mastered England?that for nine long years we were to be encircled by their garrisons?Nine years of helotry!

A sudden coolness in the air reminded me of the lateness of the hour, and I rose and began to cross Barebarrow. 

But this ancient land was British in every blade of its grass, Ithought--root and crop, hill and dale, above and beneath, no single sodof it but was British. Surely nothing could alter that. Nine years ofhelotry! I heard again the confused din of the Westminster Riot; thefrantic crowd's insistent demand for surrender, for unconditionalsurrender. And now the nation's word was pledged. Our heads were bowedfor nine years long. 

Suddenly, then, as I descended upon the turnpike, a quite new thoughtcame to me. The invasion had overridden all law, all custom, allunderstandings. The invasion was an act of sheer lawless brutality. Nosurrender could bind a people to submission in the face of such anoutrage as that. The Germans must be driven out; the British people mustrise and cast them out, and overthrow for ever their insolent dominion. But too many of the English people were--like myself! Well, they mustlearn; we must all learn; every able-bodied man must learn; for a blowhad to be struck that should free England for ever. The country must beawakened to realization of that need. We owed so much to the brave oneswho gave us England; so much could be demanded of us by those that cameafter. The thing had got to be. 

I walked fast, I remember, and singing through my head as I enteredDavenham Minster, long after my sister's supper hour, were the lines towhich I had never till then paid any sort of heed:

 Regions Cæsar never knew, Thy posterity shall sway!

III

THE RETURN TO LONDON

 Oh! 'tis easy To beget great deeds; but in the rearing of them-- The threading in cold blood each mean detail, And furze brake of half-pertinent circumstance-- There lies the self-denial. 

 CHARLES KINGSLEY. 

I spent but one other day in Dorset after my walk out to Tarn Regis, andthen took train in the morning for London. 

I believe I have said before that Doctor Wardle, my sister's husband, was prosperous and popular. The fact made it natural for me to accept mymother's disposition of her tiny property, which, in a couple ofsentences, she had bequeathed solely to me. My sister had no need of thehundred and fifty pounds a year that was derived from my mother's littlecapital, which had been invested in Canadian securities and wasunaffected by England's losses. Thus I was now possessed of meanssufficient to provide me with the actual necessities of life; and, though I had not thought of it before, realization of this came to mewhile I attended to the winding up of my mother's small affairs, bringing with it a certain sense of comfort and security. 

It was with a strongly hopeful feeling, a sense almost of elation, thatI stepped from the train at Waterloo. My quiet days and nights in Dorsethad taught me something; and, particularly, I had gained much, inconviction and in hope, from the evening spent by Barebarrow. I cannotsay that I had any definite plans, but I was awake to a genuine sense ofduty to my native land, and that was as strange a thing for me as for agreat majority of my fellow countrymen. I was convinced that a greattask awaited us all, and I determined upon the performance of my part init. I suppose I trusted that London would show me the particular formthat my effort should take. Meanwhile, as a convert, the missionaryfeeling was strong in me. 

I might have made shift to afford better quarters, perhaps, but it wasto my original lodging in Bloomsbury that I drove from Waterloo. Somefew belongings of mine were there, and I entertained a friendly sort offeeling for my good-hearted but slatternly landlady, and for poor, overworked Bessie, with her broad, generally smutty face, and lingeringremains of a Dorset accent. The part of London with which I was familiarhad resumed its normal aspect now, and people were going about theirordinary avocations very much as though England never had been invaded. 

But in the north and east of the capital were streets of burned andblackened houses, and the Epping and Romford districts were onewilderness of ruins, and of graves; while across East Anglia, from thecoast to the Thames, the trail of the invaders was as the track of alocust plague, but more terrible by reason of its blood-soakedtrenches, its innumerable shallow graves, and its charred remains ofonce prosperous towns. Hundreds of ruined farmers and small landholderswere working as navvies at bridge and road and railway repairs. 

A great many people had been ruined during those few nightmare days ofthe invasion, and every man in England was burdened now with a scale oftaxation never before known in the country. But business had resumed itssway, and London looked very much as ever. The need there was for ageneral making good, from London to the Wash, provided a great deal ofemployment, and the Government had taken such steps as it could to makecredit easy. But Consols were still as low as sixty-eight; prices hadnot yet fallen to the normal level, and money was everywhere scarce. 

In the middle afternoon I set out for South Kensington to see ConstanceGrey, to whom I had written only once during my absence, and then onlyto tell her of my mother's death. She had replied by telegraph, amessage of warm and friendly sympathy. I knew well that she was alwaysbusy, and, like most moderns who have written professionally, I supposewe were both bad correspondents. Now there was much of which I wanted totalk with Constance, and it was with a feeling of sharp disappointmentthat I learned from the servant at the flat that she was not at home. Mrs. Van Homrey was in, however, and in a few moments I was with her inthe little drawing-room where I had passed the night of London'sexhausted sleep on Black Saturday. 

"Yes, you have just missed my niece, " said Mrs. Van Homrey, after akindly reference to the strip of crepe on my arm. "She has gone in toVictoria Street to a 'conference of the powers' of John Crondall'sconvening. Oh, didn't you know he was here again? Yes, he arrived lastweek, and, as usual, is up to his neck in affairs already, and Constancewith him. I verily believe that child has discovered the secret ofperpetual motion. "

At first mention of John Crondall's name my heart had warmed to itsrecollection of the man, and a pleasurable thought of meeting him again. And immediately then the warm feeling had been penetrated by a vaguesense of disquiet, when Mrs. Van Homrey spoke of his affairs--"andConstance with him. " But I was not then conscious of the meaning of mymomentary discomfort, though, both then and afterwards, I read emphasisand meaning into Mrs. Van Homrey's coupling of the two names. I askedwhat the "conference" was about, but gathered that Mrs. Van Homrey wasnot very fully informed. 

"I know they are to meet these young Canadian preachers who are sotremendously praised by the _Standard_---- What are their names, again?Tcha! How treacherous my memory grows! You know the men I mean. JohnCrondall met them the day after their arrival last week, and isenthusiastic about them. "

I felt very much out of the movement. During the few days immediatelypreceding my mother's death, and since then, I had not even seen anewspaper, and, being unusually preoccupied, not only over the eventsof my stay at Davenham Minster, but by developments in my own thoughts, I seemed to have lost touch with current affairs. 

"And what does John Crondall think of the outlook?" I asked. 

"Well, I think his fear is that people in the country--outside EastAnglia, of course--may fail to realize all that the invasion has meantand will mean; and that Londoners and townsfolk generally may slip backinto absorption in business and in pleasure as soon as they can affordthat again, and forget the fact that England is practically underGermany's heel still. "

"The taxes will hardly allow them to do that, surely, " I said. 

"Well, I don't know. The English are a wonderful people. The invasionwas so swift and sudden; the opposition to it was so comparativelytrifling; surrender and peace came so soon, that really I don't know butwhat John is right. He generally is. You must remember that millions ofthe people have not seen a German soldier. They have had no disciplineyet. Even here in London, as soon as the people spoke decidedly, peacefollowed. They did not have to strike a blow. They did not feel a blow. They were not with you and Conny, remember, at those awful trenches. Anyhow, John thinks the danger is lest they forget again, and regard thewhole tragic business as a new proof of England's ability to 'muddlethrough' anything, without any assistance from them. Of course, England's wealth is still great, and her recuperative powers arewonderful; but John Crondall holds that, in spite of that, submissionto nine years of German occupation and German tribute-paying will meanthe end of the British Empire. "

"And he feels that the people must be stirred into seeing that andacting on it?" I said, recalling my own thoughts during the night walkfrom Barebarrow. 

"Yes, I suppose that is his view. But, now I come to think of it, whyshould you waste your time in talking to an old woman who can only giveyou echoes? It is only half an hour since Conny started. Why not hurryon to John Crondall's place, and join them there? He has often spoken ofyou, Conny tells me. "

This seemed to me too good a suggestion to neglect, and ten minuteslater I was on my way to St. James's Park by underground railway. Ibought an evening paper on my way, and read an announcement to theeffect that General Baron von Füchter, after returning to Portsmouthfrom his visit to Berlin, had definitely decided that Portsmouth andDevonport could no longer remain British naval bases, and that noBritish sailors or soldiers in uniform could in future be admitted intoany of the towns in England now occupied by Germany. 

IV

THE CONFERENCE

 Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side; Some great cause, God's new Messiah offering each the bloom or blight, Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right; And the choice goes by for ever 'twixt that darkness and that light. 

 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

A few seconds after his servant had shown me into the dining-room ofJohn Crondall's flat, the man himself entered to me with a rush, as hismanner was, both hands outstretched to welcome me. 

"Good man!" he said. "I've had fine news of you from Constance Grey, andnow you're here to confirm it. Splendid!"

And then, with sudden gravity, and a glance at my coat sleeve: "I heardof your loss. I know what it means. I lost my mother when I was in PortArthur, and I know London looked different because of it when I gotback. It's a big wrench; one we've all got to face. "

"Yes. I think my mother died without regret; she was very tired. "

There was a pause, and then I said:

"But I may have chosen my time badly, to-day. Mrs. Van Homrey said youhad a conference. If you----"

"Tut, tut, man! Don't talk nonsense. I was just going to say how wellyou'd timed things. I don't know about a conference, but Constance ishere, and Varley, and Sir Herbert Tate--he took on the secretaryship ofthe Army League, you know, after Gilbert chucked it--and Winchester. Youknow Winchester, the Australian rough-rider, who did such fine work withhis bushman corps in the South African war--and--let me see! And ForbesThompson, the great rifle clubman, you know; _and_ the Canadianpreachers--splendid fellows, by Jove! Simply splendid they are, I cantell you. I look for great things from those two. Stairs is English, ofcourse, but he's been nearly all his life in British Columbia and theNorthwest, and he's got all the eternal youth, the fire and grit andenthusiasm of the Canadian, with--somehow, something else as well--good. His chum, Reynolds, is an out-and-out Canadian, born in Toronto ofCanadian parents. Gad, there's solid timber in that chap, I can tellyou. But, look here! Come right in, and take a hand. I'm awfully gladyou came. I heard all about _The Mass_ and that; but, bless me, I cansee in your eye that that's all past and done with for ever. By the way, I heard last night that your Mr. Clement Blaine had got a job after hisown heart, in the pay of the Germans at Chatham--interpreter in thepassport office, or some such a thing. What a man! Well, come along in, my dear chap, and give us the benefit of your wisdom. "

We were leaving the room now. 

"I knew you'd like Constance, " he said. "She's the real thing, isn'tshe?"

I despised myself for the hint of chill his words brought me. What righthad I to suspect or resent? And in any case John Crondall spoke in hiscustomary frank way, with never a hint of afterthought. 

"Yes, " I said; "she's splendid. "

"And such a head-piece, my boy. By Jove, she has a better head forbusiness than---- Here we are, then. "

Constance Grey was naturally the first to greet me in the big room whereJohn Crondall did his work and met his friends. There was welcome in herbeautiful eyes, but, obviously, Constance was very much preoccupied. Then I was presented to Sir Morell Strachey, Sir Herbert Tate, andForbes Thompson, and then to the Canadian parson, the Rev. GeorgeStairs. I had paid no attention to the name when Crondall had mentionedit in the other room. Now, as he named the parson again, I looked intothe man's face, and----

"Mordan? Why, not Dick Mordan, of Tarn Regis?" said the parson. 

"By gad! George Stairs! I was thinking of you on the side of Barebarrowthe night before last. "

"And I was thinking of you, Dicky Mordan, yesterday afternoon, when Imet the present rector of Tarn Regis at a friend's house. "

It was a long strong handshake that we exchanged. Sixteen years on theyoung side of thirty is a considerable stretch of time, and all thathad passed since I had last seen my old Tarn Regis playmate. 

Stairs introduced me to his friend, Reynolds, and I learned the curiousfact that this comrade and chum of my old friend's was also a parson, but not of Stairs's church. Reynolds had qualified at a theologicaltraining college in Ontario, and had been Congregational minister in theparish of which Stairs had been vicar for the last three years. 

There was a big table in the middle of the room, littered over withpapers and writing materials. About this table we presently all foundseats. 

"Now look here, my friends, " said John Crondall, "this is no time forceremoniousness, apologies, and the rest of it, and I'm not going toindulge in any. No doubt we've all of us got special interests of ourown, but there's one we all share; and it comes first with all of us, Ithink. We all want the same thing for England and the Empire, and we allwant to do what we can to help. It's because of that I dismiss theceremonies, and don't say anything about the fear of boring you, and allthat. I don't even make exceptions of you, Stairs, or you, Reynolds. Itell you quite frankly I want to poke and pry into your plans. I want toknow all about 'em. I've sense enough to see that you wield a biginfluence. I am certain I have your sympathy in my aims. And I want tofind out how far I can make your aims help my aims. All I know is thatyou have addressed three meetings, each bigger than the last; and thatyour preaching is the real right thing. Now I want you to tell us asmuch as you will about your plans. You know we are all friends here. "

Stairs looked at Reynolds, and Reynolds nodded at Stairs. 

"Well, " said the latter, smiling, first at Crondall, and then at me, "our plans are simplicity itself. In Canada we have not risen yet to thecultivation of much diplomacy. We don't understand anything of your highpolitics, and we don't believe in roundabout methods. For instance, Isuppose here in England you don't find parsons of one denominationworking in partnership much with parsons of another denomination. Well, now, when I took over from my predecessor at Kootenay, I found my friendReynolds doing a fine work there, among the farmers and miners, asCongregational minister. He was doing precisely the work I wanted to do;but there was only one of him. Was I to fight shy of him, or set towork, as it were, in opposition to him? Well, anyhow, that didn't seemto me the way. We had our own places of worship; but, for the rest, bothdesiring the one thing--the Christian living of the folk in ourdistrict--we worked absolutely shoulder to shoulder. There were a fewworthy folk who objected; but when Reynolds and I came to talk it over, we decided that these had as much religion as was good for them already, and that we could afford rather to ignore them, if by joint working wecould rope in the folk who had next to none at all---- You must forgivemy slang, Miss Grey. "

Constance smiled across at the parson. 

"You forget, Mr. Stairs, I grew up on the veld, " she said. 

"Ah, to be sure; I suppose one is as close to the earth and therealities there as in Canada. "

"Quite, " said Crondall. "And, anyhow, we are not doing any apologiesto-day; so please go ahead. "

"Well, " continued George Stairs, "we often talked over Old Countryaffairs, Reynolds and I. Reynolds had only spent three months over herein his life, but I fancy I learned more from him than he from me. "

"That's a mistake, of course, " said Reynolds. "He had the facts and theknowledge. I merely supplied a fresh point of view--home-grownCanadian. "

"Ah, well, we found ourselves very much in agreement, anyhow, about Homeaffairs and about the position of the Anglican Church in Canada; theneed there is for less exclusiveness and more direct methods. The ideaof coming Home and preaching through England, a kind of pilgrimage--thatwas entirely Reynolds's own. I would have come with him gladly, when wehad our district in good going order out there. But, you see, I had nomoney. My friend had a little. Then my father died. He had been ailingfor a long time, and I verily think the news of the invasion broke hisheart. He died in the same week that it reached him, and left his twofarms, with some small house property, to me. 

"My father's death meant for me a considerable break. The news fromEngland shocked me inexpressibly. It was such a terrible realization ofthe very fears that Reynolds and myself had so often discussed--theclimax and penalty of England's mad disregard of duty; of every otherconsideration except pleasure, easy living, comfort, and money-making. "

"This is the pivot of the whole business, that duty question, "interposed Crondall. "It was your handling of that on Tuesday thatburdened you with my acquaintance. I listened to that, and I said, 'Mr. George Stairs and you have got to meet, John Crondall!' But I didn'tmean to interrupt. "

"Well, as I say, I found myself rather at a parting of the ways, andthen came my good friend here, and he said, 'What about these farms andhouses of yours, Stairs? They represent an income. What are you going todo about it?' And--well, you see, that settled it. We just packed ourbags and came over. "

"And now that you are here?" said John Crondall. 

"Well, you heard what we had to say the other afternoon?"

"I did--every word of it. "

"Well, that's what we are here for. Our aim is to take that message toevery man and woman in this country; and we believe God will give uszest and strength enough to bring it home to them--to make them _feel_the truth of it. Your aim, naturally, is political and patriotic. Idon't think you can have any warmer sympathizers than Reynolds andmyself. But our part, as you see, is another one, and outside politics. We believe the folk at Home have lost their bearings; their compasseswant adjusting. I say here what I should not venture to admit to a lesssympathetic and indulgent audience: Reynolds and myself aim at arousing, by God's will, the sleeping sense of duty in our kinsmen here at Home. We have no elaborate system, no finesse, no complicated issues toconsider. Our message is simply: 'You have forgotten Duty; and theChristian life is not possible while Duty remains forgotten or ignored. 'Our purpose is just to give the message; to prove it; make it real; makeit felt. "

Crondall had been looking straight at the speaker while he listened, hisface resting between his two hands, his elbows planted squarely on thetable. Now he seemed to pounce down upon Stairs's last words. 

"And yet you say your part is another one than ours. But why not thesame? Why not the very essence and soul of our part, Stairs?"

"Gad--he's right!" said Sir Herbert Tate, in an undertone. Reynoldsleaned forward in his chair, his lean, keen face alight. 

"Why not the very soul of our part, Stairs--the essential first steptoward our end? Our part is to urge a certain specific duty on them--aduty we reckon urgent and vital to the nation. But we can't do thatunless we, or you, can first do your part--rousing them to the sense ofduty--Duty itself. Man, but your part is the foundation of ourpart--foundation, walls, roof, corner-stone, complete! We only give thestructure a name. Why, I give you my word, Stairs, that that address ofyours on Tuesday was the finest piece of patriotic exhortation I everlistened to. "

"But--it's very kind of you to say so; but I never mentioned King orcountry. "

"Exactly! You gave them the root of the whole matter. You cleared a wayinto their hearts and heads which is open now for news of King andcountry. It's as though I had to collect some money for an orphanagefrom a people who'd never heard of charity. Before I see the people youteach 'em the meaning and beauty of charity--wake the charitable sensein them. You needn't bother mentioning orphanages; but if I come alongin your rear, my chances of collecting the money are a deal rosier thanif you hadn't been there first--what?"

"I see--I see, " said Stairs, slowly. 

"Mr. Crondall, you ought to have been a Canadian, " said Reynolds, in hisdry way. His use of the "Mr. , " even to a man who had no hesitation incalling him plain "Reynolds, " was just one of the tiny points ofdistinction between himself and Stairs. 

"Oh, Canada has taught me something; and so have South Africa and India;and so have you and Stairs, with your mission, or pilgrimage, orwhatever it is--your Message. "

"Well, " said Stairs, "it seems to me your view of our pilgrimage is avery kindly, and perhaps flattering one; and as I have said, your aimsas a citizen of the Empire and a lover of the Old Country could not havewarmer sympathizers than Reynolds and myself; but----"

"Mind, I'm not trying to turn your religious teaching to any ignoblepurpose, " said Crondall, quickly. "I am not asking you to introduce asingle new word or thought into it for my sake. "

"That's so, " said Reynolds, his eye upon Stairs. 

"Quite so, quite so, " said Stairs. "And, of course, I am with you in allyou hope for; but you know, Crondall, religion is perhaps a ratherdifferent matter to a parson from what it is to you. Forgive me if I putit clumsily, but----"

And now, greatly daring, I ventured upon an interruption, speaking uponimpulse, without consideration, and hearing my voice as though it weresomething outside myself. 

"George Stairs, " I said--and I fancy the thoughts of both of us wentback sixteen years--"what was it you thought about the Congregationalminister when you took over your post at Kootenay? How did you decide totreat him? Did you ever regret the partnership?"

"Now if that isn't straight out Western fashion!" murmured Reynolds. Constance beamed at me from her place beside John Crondall. 

"I leave it at that, " said our host. 

"A palpable bull's-eye, " said Forbes Thompson. 

I hardly needed George Stairs's friendly clap on the shoulder, nor theassurance of his:

"You are right, Dick. You have shown me my way in three words. "

"Good, " said Reynolds. "Well, now I don't mind saying what I wouldn'thave said before, that among the notes we drew up nearly three yearsago----"

"You drew up, my friend, " said Stairs. 

"Among the notes we drew up, I say, on this question of neglected duty, were details as to the citizen's obligations regarding the defence ofhis home and native land, with special reference to the callous neglectof Lord Roberts's campaign of warning and exhortation. Now, Stairs, youknow as well as I do, you wrote with your own hand the passage about theEnglishman's sphere of duty being as much wider than his country asGreater Britain was wider than Great Britain. You know you did. "

"Oh, you can count me in, all right, Reynolds; you know I'm not one forhalf-measures. "

"Well, now, my friends, I believe I see daylight. By joining hands Ireally believe we are going to accomplish something for England. "Crondall looked round the table at the faces of his friends. "We are allagreed, I know, that the present danger is the danger Kipling tried towarn us about years and years ago. "

"'Lest we forget!'" quoted Sir Herbert quietly. 

"Exactly. There are so many in England who have neither seen nor feltanything of the blow we have had. "

And here I told them something of what I had seen and heard in Dorset;how remote and unreal the whole thing was to folk there. 

"That's it, exactly, " continued Crondall. "That's one difficulty whichhas just got to be overcome. Another is the danger that, among those whodid see and feel something of it, here in London, and even in EastAnglia, the habit of apathy in national matters, and the calls ofbusiness and pleasure may mean forgetting, indifference--the old fatalneglect. You see, we must remember that, crushing as the blow was, itdid not actually reach so very many people. It did not force them to getup and fight for their lives. It was all over so soon. Directly theycried out, 'The Destroyers' answered with surrender, and so helped tostrengthen the fatal delusion they had cherished so long, thateverything is a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence. "

"'They'll never go for England, because England's got the dibs, '" quotedForbes Thompson, with a nod of assent. 

"Yes, yes. 'Make alliances, and leave me to my business!' One knows itall so well. But, mind you, even to the blindest of them, the invasionhas meant something. "

"And the income-tax will mean something to 'em, too, " said Sir MorellStrachey. 

"Yes. But the English purse is deep, and the Englishman has long yearsof money-spinning freedom from discipline behind him. Still, here isthis brutal fact of the invasion. Here we are actually condemned to nineyears of life inside a circle of German encampments on English soil, with a hundred millions a year of tribute to pay for the right to livein our own England. Now my notion is that the lesson must not be lost. The teaching of the thing must be forced home. It must be burnt intothese happy-go-lucky countrymen of ours--if Stairs and Reynolds are toachieve their end, or we ours. "

"Our aim is to awake the sense of duty which seems to us to have becomeatrophied, even among the professedly religious, " said Stairs. 

"And ours, " said Crondall, sharp as steel, "is to ram home yourteaching, and to show them that the nearest duty to their hand is theirduty to the State, to the Race, to their children--the duty of freeingEngland and throwing over German dominion. "

"To render unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar's, " said Reynolds. AndStairs nodded agreement. 

"Now, by my way of it, Stairs and Reynolds must succeed before we cansucceed, " said Crondall. "That is my view, and because that is so, youcan both look to me, up till the last breath in me, for any kind ofsupport I can give you--for any kind of support at all. But that's notall. Where you sow, I mean to reap. We both want substantially the sameharvest--mine is part of yours. I know I can count on you all. You, Stairs, and you, Reynolds, are going to carry your Message throughEngland. I propose to follow in your wake with mine. You rouse them tothe sense of duty; I show them their duty. You make them ready to dotheir duty; I show it them. I'll have a lecturer. I'll get pictures. They shall _feel_ the invasion, and know what the German occupationmeans. You shall convert them, and I'll enlist them. "

"Enlist them! By Jove! that's an idea, " said Forbes Thompson. "Apatriotic league, a league of defenders, a nation in arms. "

"The Liberators!"

"Ah! Yes, the Liberators. "

"Or the Patriots, simply?"

"I would enrol them just as citizens, " said Crondall. "By that timethey should have learned the meaning of the word. "

"Yes, by Jove! it is good enough--just 'The Citizens, '" said Sir MorellStrachey. 

And then a servant came in with a message for Forbes Thompson, and werealized that dinner-time had come and almost gone. But we were in nomood for separating just then, and so every one welcomed John Crondall'sinvitation to dine with him at a neighbouring hotel. 

V

MY OWN PART

 Free men freely work; Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease. 

 E. B. BROWNING. 

Constance Grey and myself were the last of John Crondall's guests toleave him on that evening of the conference. As soon as we three werealone, Constance turned to Crondall, and said:

"You must expect to have me among your camp followers if I find AuntMary can stand the travelling. I dare say there will be little things Ican do. "

"Things you can do! By George, I should think so!" said Crondall. "Ishall look to you to capture the women; and if we get the women, it willsurprise me if we don't get the men as well. Besides, don't you fancy Ihave forgotten your prowess as a speaker in Cape Town and Pretoria. Youremember that meeting of your father's, when you saved him from thewrath of Vrow Bischoff? Why, of course, I reckon on you. We'll havespecial women's meetings. "

"And where do I come in?" I asked, with an assumed lightness of tonewhich was far from expressing my feeling. 

"Yes, " said Crondall, eying me thoughtfully; "I've been thinking ofthat. "

As he said that, I had a swift vision of myself and my record, as bothmust have appeared to a man like Crondall, whose whole life had beenspent in patriotic effort. The vision was a good corrective for theunworthy shafts of jealousy--for that no doubt they were--which had cometo me with John Crondall's references to Constance. I was admittedcordially into the confidences of these people from whom, on my record, I scarcely deserved common courtesy. It was with a distinctly chastenedmind that I gave them both some outline of the thoughts and resolutionswhich had come to me during my evening beside Barebarrow, overlookingsleepy little Tarn Regis. 

"It's a kind of national telepathy, " said Crondall. "God send it's atwork in other counties besides Dorset. "

"It had need be, " I told them; "for all those that I spoke to in Dorsetaccepted the German occupation like a thing as absolutely outside theirpurview as the movements of the planets. "

"Yes, they want a lot of stirring, I know; but I believe we shall stir'em all right. But about your part in the campaign. Of course, Irecognize that every one has to earn his living, just as much now asbefore. But yet I know you'd like to be in this thing, Dick Mordan, andI believe you can help it a lot. What I thought of was this: I shallwant a secretary, and want him very badly. He will be the man who willdo half my work. On the other hand, I can't pay him much, for every centof my income will be wanted in the campaign, and a good deal morebesides. The thing is, would you tackle it, for the sake of the cause, for a couple of hundred a year? Of course, I should stand all runningexpenses. What do you think? It's not much of an offer, but it wouldkeep us all together?"

Constance looked expectantly at me, and I realized with a sudden thrillthe uses of even such small means as I now possessed. 

"Well, no, " I said; "I couldn't agree to that. " The pupils of JohnCrondall's eyes contracted sharply, and a pained, wondering look creptinto the face I loved, the vivid, expressive face of Constance Grey. "But what I would put my whole heart and soul into, would be working asyour secretary for the sake of the cause, as long as you could stand therunning expense, and--and longer. "

I think the next minute was the happiest I had ever known. I dare say itseems a small enough matter, but it was the only thing of the kind I hadever been able to do. These friends of mine had always given so much toour country's cause. I had felt myself so far beneath them in this. Now, as John Crondall's strong hand came down on my shoulder, and Constance'sbright eyes shone upon me in affectionate approval, my heart swelledwithin me, with something of the glad pride which should be thepossession of every man, as it indubitably is of every true citizen andpatriot. 

"You see, " I explained deprecatingly, as Crondall swayed my shoulderaffectionately to and fro in his firm grip; "I have become a sort of aminor capitalist. I have about a hundred and fifty a year coming in, and so I'm as free as I am glad to work with you, and--there'll be twohundred more for the campaign, you see. "

"God bless you, old chap! You and Constance and I, we'll movemountains--even the great mountain of apathy--between us. Sir Herbertoffers a thousand pounds toward expenses, and Forbes Thompson and Varleyare ready to speak for us anywhere we like, and Winchester has a pal whohe says will work wonders as a kind of advance agent. I'm pretty sure ofGovernment help, too--or Opposition help; they'll be governing beforeChristmas, you'll find. Now, we all meet here again the day afterto-morrow. We three will see each other to-morrow, I expect. I mustwrite a stack of letters before the midnight post. "

"Well, can I lend a hand?" I asked. 

"No, not to-night, Mr. Secretary Dick, thank you! But it's late. Willyou take Constance home? I'll get my fellow to whistle up a cab. "

Ten minutes earlier I should have been chilled by his impliedguardianship of Constance; but now I had that within which warmed methrough and through: the most effectual kind of protection againstchill. So all was settled, and we left John Crondall to his letters. And, driving out to South Kensington, we talked over our hopes, Constance and I, as partners in one cause. 

"This is the beginning of everything for me, Constance, " I said, when weparted in the hall below her flat. 

"It is going to be the beginning of very much for a good many, " shesaid, as she gave me her hand. 

"I wonder if you know how much--for me!"

"I think so. I am tremendously glad about it all. "

But she did not know, could not know, just how much it meant to me. 

"Good night, my patriotic Muse!" I said. 

"Good night, Mr. Secretary Dick!"

And so we parted on the night of my return to London. 

VI

PREPARATIONS

 We were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled town; We yearned beyond the sky-line where the strange roads go down. Came the Whisper, came the Vision, came the Power, with the Need, Till the Soul that is not man's soul was lent us to lead. 

 . . . . . 

 Follow after--follow after--for the harvest is sown: By the bones about the wayside ye shall come to your own!

 RUDYARD KIPLING. 

Never before had I known days so full, so compact of effort andachievement, as were those of the week following the conference in JohnCrondall's rooms. I could well appreciate Winchester's statement when hesaid that: "John Crondall is known through three Continents as a gluttonfor work. "

Our little circle represented Canada, South Africa, Australia, and theMother Country; and, while I admit that my old friend, George Stairs, and his Canadian-born partner, Reynolds, could give points to mostpeople in the matter of unwearying energy, yet I am proud to report thatthe member of our circle who, so to say, worked us all to a standstillwas John Crondall, an Englishman born and bred. I said as much in thepresence of them all, and when my verdict was generally endorsed, JohnCrondall qualified it with the remark:

"Well, I can only say that pretty nearly all I know about work I learnedin the Colonies. "

And I learned later on to realize the justice of this qualification. Colonial life does teach directness and concentration. Action of anysort in England was at that time hedged about by innumerablecomplications and cross issues and formalities, many of which we havewon clear from since then. Perhaps it was the strength of our Colonialsupport which set the pace of our procedure. Whatever the cause, I knowI never worked harder, or accomplished more; and I had never been sohappy. 

I think John Crondall must have interviewed from two to three hundredprominent politicians and members of the official world during thatweek. I have heard it said by men who should know, that the moneyCrondall spent in cable messages to the Colonies that week was the priceof the first Imperial Parliament ever assembled in Westminster Hall. Iuse these words in their true sense, their modern sense, of course. Nominally, the House of Commons had long been the "Imperial" Parliament. 

I know that week's work established _The Citizens_ as an alreadypowerful organization, with a long list of names famous in history amongits members, with a substantial banking account, and with volunteeragents in every great centre in the kingdom. The motto and watchword of_The Citizens_, as engraved upon a little bronze medal of membership, was: "For God; our Race; and Duty. " The oath of enrolment said:

"I ---- do hereby undertake and promise to do my duty to God, to ourRace, and to the British Empire to the utmost limit of my ability, without fear and without compromise, so help me God!"

John Crondall interviewed the editors of most of the leading Londonnewspapers during that week, and thereby earned a discreet measure ofjournalistic support for his campaign. There was a great need ofdiscretion here, for our papers were carefully studied in Berlin, aswell as by the German Generals commanding the various English towns nowoccupied by the Kaiser's troops. It was, of course, most important thatno friction should be caused at this stage. 

But it was with regard to the preaching pilgrimage of the two Canadianparsons that Crondall's friends of the Press rendered us the greatestpossible service. Here no particular reticence was called for, and thePress could be, and was, unreservedly helpful and generous. Inestimating the marvellous achievements of the two preachers, I do notthink enough weight has been attached to the great services rendered totheir mission by such journals as the great London daily which publishedeach morning a column headed, "The New Evangel, " and, indeed, by all thenewspapers both in London and the provinces. 

We were not directly aiming, during that first week, at enrollingmembers. No recruiting had been done. Yet when, at the end of the week, a meeting of the executive committee was held at the Westminster PalaceHotel, the founder, John Crondall, was able to submit a list of closeupon six hundred sworn members of _The Citizens_; and, of these, Isuppose fully five hundred were men of high standing in the world ofpolitics, the Services, commerce, and the professions. Among them werethree dukes, twenty-three peers, a Field Marshal, six newspaperproprietors, eleven editors, seven of the wealthiest men in England, andninety-eight prominent Members of Parliament. And, as I say, nosystematic recruiting had been done. 

At that meeting of the executive a great deal of important business wastransacted. John Crondall was able to announce a credit balance of tenthousand pounds, with powers to overdraw under guarantee at the Bank ofEngland. A simple code of membership rules and objects was drawn up forpublication, and a short code of secret rules was formed, by which everysworn member was to be bound. These rules stipulated for implicitobedience to the decision and orders of the executive, and by theseevery member was bound to take a certain course of rifle drill, and torespond immediately to any call that should be made for military servicewithin the British Isles during a period of twelve months from the dateof enrolment. John Crondall announced that there was every hope of _TheCitizens_ obtaining from the Government a grant of one service rifle andone hundred rounds of ammunition for every member who could pass asimple medical examination. 

"We may not actually secure this grant until after the generalelection, " Crondall explained; "but it can be regarded as a certainasset. "

It was decided that, officially, there should be no connection betweenthe Canadian preachers, as every one called them, and the propaganda of_The Citizens_. But it was also privately agreed that steps should betaken to follow the Canadians throughout their pilgrimage with lecturesand addresses, and meetings at which members could be enrolled upon theroster of _The Citizens_, including volunteer instructors in rifledrill. My friend Stairs attended this meeting with Reynolds, and, afterdiscussion, it was agreed that, for the present, they should not visitthe towns occupied by the Germans. 

"The people there have their lesson before them every day and all daylong, " said John Crondall. "The folk we want to reach are those who havenot yet learned their lesson. My advice is to attack London first. Enlist London on your side, and on that go to the provinces. "

There was a good deal of discussion over this, and finally an offer JohnCrondall made was accepted by Stairs and Reynolds, and our meeting wasbrought to a close. What Crondall said was this:

"To-day is Monday. There is still a great deal of detail to be attendedto. Officially, there must be no connection between Stairs and Reynoldsand _The Citizens_. Actually, we know the connection is vital. Give methe rest of this week for arrangements, and I promise that we shall allgain by it. I will not appear in the matter, and I will see you eachevening for consultation. Your pilgrimage shall begin on Sunday, andours within a day or so of that. "

Then followed another week of tense effort. Stairs and Reynolds bothaddressed minor gatherings during the week, and met John Crondall everyevening for consultation. On Wednesday the principal Imperialisticnewspaper in London appeared with a long leading article and threecolumns of descriptive exposition of "The New Evangel. " On the same daythe papers published despatches telling of the departure from theirvarious homes of the Premiers, and two specially elected representativesof all the British Colonies, who were coming to England for an ImperialConference at Westminster. The Government's resignation was expectedwithin the month, and writs for the election were to be issuedimmediately afterwards. 

On Wednesday evening and Thursday morning the newspapers of London alonepublished one hundred and thirteen columns of matter regarding themessage and the pilgrimage of the Rev. George Stairs and the Rev. ArthurJ. Reynolds. During the latter part of the week all London was agog overthe Canadian preachers. As yet, very little had appeared in printregarding _The Citizens_. 

On Sunday morning at three o'clock John Crondall went into his bedroomto sleep, and I slept in the room he had set aside for me in hisflat--too tired out to undress. Even Crondall's iron frame was wearythat night, and he admitted to me before retiring from a table at whichwe had kept three typewriters busy till long after midnight, that hehad reached his limit and must rest. 

"I couldn't stand another hour of it--unless it were necessary, youknow, " was his way of putting it. 

By my persuasion he kept his bed during a good slice of Sunday morning, and lunched with me at Constance Grey's flat. He always said that Mrs. Van Homrey was the most restful tonic London could supply to any man. Iwent to the morning service at Westminster Abbey that day withConstance, and listened to a magnificent sermon from the Bishop ofLondon, whose text was drawn from the sixth chapter of Exodus: "And Iwill take you to me for a people, and I will be to you a God. "

The Bishop struck a strong note of hopefulness, but there was alsowarning and exhortation in his discourse. He spoke of sons of our racewho had gone into far countries, and, carrying our Faith and traditionswith them, had preserved these and wrought them into a finer fabric thanthe original from which they were drawn. And now, when a greataffliction had come upon the people of England, their sons of theGreater Britain oversea were holding out kindly hands of friendship andsupport. But it was not alone in the material sense that we should dowell to avail ourselves of the support offered us from the outsideplaces. These wandering children of the Old Land had cherished amongthem a strong and simple godliness, a devout habit of Christianmorality, from which we might well draw spiritual sustenance. 

"You have all heard of the Canadian preachers, and I hope you will alllearn a good deal more of their Message this very afternoon at theAlbert Hall, where I am to have the honour of presiding over a meetingwhich will be addressed by these Christian workers from across the sea. "

We found John Crondall a giant refreshed after his long sleep. 

"I definitely promise you a seat this afternoon, Mrs. Van Homrey, " hesaid, as we all sat down to lunch in the South Kensington flat, "butthat's as much as I can promise. You and I will have to keep our feet, Dick, and you will have to share Lady Tate's seat, Constance. If everyticket-holder turns up this afternoon, there won't be a single vacantseat in the whole of that great hall. "

"You earned your Sunday morning in, John, " said Mrs. Van Homrey. "Is thePrime Minister coming?"

"No, he has failed me at the last, but half the members of the lastGovernment will be there, and I have promises from prominentrepresentatives of every religious denomination in England. There willbe sixty military officers above captain's rank, in uniform, andforty-eight naval officers in uniform. There will be many scores ofbluejackets and private soldiers, a hundred training-ship lads, fifty ofthe Legion of Frontiersmen, and a number of volunteers all in fulluniform. There will be a tremendous number of society people, but themass will be leavened, and I should say one-half the people will bemiddle-class folk. For to-night, no tickets have been issued. Theattendance will depend to some extent on the success of this afternoon, but, to judge from the newspapers and the talk one hears, I should sayit would be enormous. "

Just before we left the flat Crondall told us a secret. 

"You know they have a volunteer choir of fifty voices?" he said. "It wasStairs's idea, and he has carried it out alone. The choir consistsentirely of bluejackets, soldiers, volunteers, Red Cross nurses, andboys from the Army bands. "

VII

THE SWORD OF THE LORD

 Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove; Thou who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

 WORDSWORTH'S _Ode to Duty_. 

I have always been glad that I was able to attend that first greatservice of the Canadian preachers; and so, I think, has every one elsewho was there. Other services of theirs may have been more notable incertain respects--indeed, I know they were; but this one was thebeginning, the first wave in a great tide. And I am glad that I wasthere to see that first grand wave rise upon the rock of British apathy. 

I have said something of the audience, but a book might well be devotedto its description, and, again, a sentence may serve. It was arepresentative English gathering, in that it embraced a member of theRoyal Family, a little group of old men and women from an asylum for theindigent, and members of every grade of society that comes between. Also, it was a very large gathering--even for the Albert Hall. 

It should be remembered that not many weeks prior to this Sundayafternoon, the people of London, maddened by hunger, fear, andbewildered panic, had stormed Westminster to enforce their demand forsurrender, and had seen Von Füchter with his bloodstained legions takepossession of the capital of the British Empire. Fifty Londoners hadbeen cut down, almost in as many seconds, within two miles of theMansion House. In one terrible week London had passed through an age ofterror and humiliation, the end of which had been purchased in panic anddisorder by means of a greater humiliation than any. Now England had topay the bill. Some, in the pursuit of business and pleasure, werealready forgetting; but the majority among the great concourse ofLondoners who sat waiting in the Albert Hall that afternoon, clothed intheir Sunday best, were still shrewdly conscious of the terribleseverity of the blow which had fallen upon England. 

Having found Constance her half-seat with Lady Tate, I stood beside oneof the gangways below the platform, which lead to the dressing-rooms andother offices. Beside me was a table for Press representatives. There, with their pencils, I noted Campbell, of the _Daily Gazette_, and othermen I knew, including Carew, for the _Standard_, who had an assistantwith him. He told me that somewhere in the hall his paper had a specialdescriptive writer as well. 

Looking up and down that vast building, from dome to amphitheatre, Iexperienced, as it were vicariously, something of the nervousness ofstage fright. Londoners were not simple prairie folk, I thought. Howshould my friend George Stairs hold that multitude? Two plain men fromWestern Canada, accustomed to minister to farmers and miners, what couldthey say to engage and hold these serried thousands of Londoners, themost blasé people in England? I had never heard either of the preachersspeak in public, but--I looked out over that assemblage, and I washorribly afraid for my friends. A Church of England clergyman and aNonconformist minister from Canada, and I told myself they had never hadso much as an elocution lesson between them!

And then the Bishop of London appeared on the crowded platform, followedby George Stairs and Arthur Reynolds; and a dead silence descended uponthe hall. In the forefront of the platform was a plain table with achair at either end of it, and a larger one in the middle. Here theBishop and the two preachers placed themselves. Then the Bishop rosewith right hand uplifted, and said solemnly:

"May God bless to us all the Message which His two servants have broughtus from oversea; for Christ's sake, Amen. "

George Stairs remained kneeling at his end of the table. But as theBishop resumed his seat Arthur Reynolds stepped forward, and, pitchinghis voice well, said:

"My friends, let us sing the British Anthem. "

And at that the great organ spoke, and the choir of sailors, soldiers, and nurses led the singing of the National Anthem. The first bar wassung by the choir alone, but by the time the third bar was reachedthousands among the standing congregation were singing with them, andthe volume of sound was most impressive. I think that a good many peoplebesides myself found this solemn singing of the Anthem, from its firstline to its last, something of a revelation. It made "God Save the King"a real prayer instead of a musical intimation that hats might be feltfor and carriages ordered. It struck a note which the Canadian preachersdesired to strike. They began with a National Hymn which was a prayerfor King and Country. The people were at first startled, and thenpleased, and then stirred by a departure from all customs known to them. And that this should be so was, I apprehend, the deliberate intention ofthe Canadian preachers. 

Still George Stairs knelt at his end of the bare table. 

As the last note of the organ accompaniment died away, Arthur Reynoldsstepped to the front. 

"Will you all pray, please?" he said. He closed his eyes and extendedone hand. 

I cannot tell you what simple magic the man used. I know those were hiswords. But the compelling appeal in them was most remarkable. There wassomething childlike about his simple request. I do not think any onecould have scoffed at the man. After a minute's silence, he prayedaloud, and this is what he said:

"Father in Heaven, give us strength to understand our duty and to do it. Thou knowest that two of the least among Thy servants have crossed thesea to give a Message to their kinsmen in England. Our kinsmen are agreat and proud people, and we, as Thou knowest, are but very simplemen. But our Message is from Thee, and with Thee all things arepossible. Father, have pity upon our weakness to-day. Open to us thehearts of even the proudest and the greatest of our kinsmen. Do not letthem scorn us. And, O Father of all men, gentle and simple, breathe Thouupon us that we may have a strength not of ourselves; a power worthy ofthe Message we bring, which shall make its truth to shine so that nonemay mistake it. For Christ's sake. Amen. "

Arthur Reynolds resumed his seat, and a great Australian singer, a_prima donna_ of world-wide repute, stepped forward very simply and sangas a solo the hymn beginning:

 Church of the Living God, Pillar and ground of truth, Keep the old paths the fathers trod In thy illumined youth. 

The prayer had softened all hearts by its simplicity, its humility. Theexquisitely rendered hymn attuned all minds to thoughts of ancient, simple piety, and the traditions which guided and inspired our race inthe past. When it was ended, and not till then, George Stairs rose fromhis knees, and stepped forward to where a little temporary extensionjutted out beyond the rest of the platform. He stood there with bothhands by his side, and a Bible held in one of them. His head inclined alittle forward. It was an attitude suggestive rather of submission tothat great assembly, or to some Power above it, than of exhortation. Watching him as he stood there, I realized what a fine figure of a manGeorge was, how well and surely Canadian life had developed him. Hishead was massive, his hair thick and very fair; his form lithe, tall, full of muscular elasticity. 

He stood so, silent, for a full minute, till I began to catch my breathfrom nervousness. Then he opened the Bible, and:

"May I just read you a few verses from the Bible?" he said. 

There was the same directness, the same simple, almost childlike appealthat had touched the people in Reynolds's prayer. He read some versesfrom the First Book of Samuel. I remember:

"'And did I choose him out of all the tribes of Israel to be my priest, to offer upon mine altar, to burn incense, to wear an ephod before me?And did I give unto the house of thy father all the offerings made byfire of the children of Israel? Wherefore kick ye at my sacrifice and atmine offering, which I have commanded in my habitation; and honouredstthy sons above me to make yourselves fat with the chiefest of all theofferings of Israel, my people? Wherefore the Lord God of Israel saith, I said indeed that thy house and the house of thy father should walkbefore me for ever; but now the Lord saith, be it far from me; for themthat honour me I will honour, and them that despise me shall be lightlyesteemed. Behold the day is come, that I will cut off thine arm, and thearm of thy father's house, and there shall not be an old man in myhouse. And thou shalt see an enemy in my habitation, in all the wealthwhich God shall give Israel.... And I will raise me up a faithfulpriest, that shall do according to that which is in mine heart and in mymind.... '"

There was a pause, and then the preacher read a passage from Judges, ending with the famous war-cry: "The Sword of the Lord and of Gideon. "He looked up then, and, without reference to the Bible in his hand, repeated several verses:

"'And by thy sword thou shalt live, and shalt serve thy brother: and itshall come to pass when thou shalt have the dominion, that thou shaltbreak his yoke from off thy neck. '

"'He that hath no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one. '

"'For he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, arevenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil. '

"'And take the helmet of salvation, and the Sword of the Spirit, whichis the Word of God. '

"'Think not that I am come to send peace on earth; I came not to sendpeace but a sword. ' Not the peace of indolence and dishonour; not thefatted peace of mercenary well-being; but a Sword; the Sword of theLord, the Sword of Duty, which creates, establishes, and safeguards theonly true peace--the peace of honourable peoples. "

I remember his slow turning of leaves in his Bible, and I remember:

"'Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep Hiscommandments, for this is the whole duty of man--' the whole duty----Yes, 'but isn't Duty rather an early Victorian sort of business, and abit out of date, anyhow?' That was what a young countryman of mine--fromDorset, he came--said to me in Calgary, last year. I told him that, according to my reading of history, it had come down a little fartherthan early Victorian days. I remember I mentioned Rorke's Drift; and herather liked that. But, of course, I knew what he meant. "

It was in this very simple strain, without a gesture, without a trace ofdramatic appeal, that George Stairs began to address that greatgathering. Much has been said and written of the quality of revelationwhich was instinct in that first address; of its compelling force, itsinspired strength, the convincing directness of it all. And I should bethe last to deny to my old friend's address any of the praises lavishedupon it by high and low. But what I would say of it is that, even now, sufficient emphasis and import are never attached to the most compellingquality of all in George Stairs's words: their absolutely unaffectedsimplicity. I think a ten-year-old child could have followed his everyword with perfect understanding. 

Nowadays we take a fair measure of simplicity for granted. Anything lesswould condemn a man as a fool or a mountebank. But be it remembered thatthe key-note and most striking feature of all recent progress has beenthe advance toward simplicity in all things. At the period of GeorgeStairs's first exposition of the new evangel in the Albert Hall, we werenot greatly given to simplicity. It was scarcely noticeable at thattime even among tillers of the earth. Not to put too fine a point uponit, we were a tinselled lot of mimes, greatly given to apishness, andshunning naked truth as though it were the plague. Past masters incompromise and self-delusion, we had stripped ourselves of simplicity inevery detail of life, and, from the cradle to the grave, seemedwillingly to be hedged about with every kind of complexity. We somaltreated our physical palates that they responded only to flavourswhich would have alarmed a plain-living man; and, metaphorically, thesame thing held good in every concern of our lives, until simplicitybecame non-existent among us, and was forgotten. There were men andwomen in that Sunday afternoon gathering at the Albert Hall whose verypleasures were a complicated and laborious art, whose pastimes were astrain upon the nervous system, whose leisure was quite an arduousbusiness. 

This it was which gave such striking freshness, such compellingstrength, to the simple, forthright directness, the unaffectedearnestness and modesty of the Message brought us by the Canadianpreachers. The most bumptious and self-satisfied Cockney who ever heardthe ringing of Bow Bells, would have found resentment impossible afterGeorge Stairs's little account of his leaving Dorset as a boy of twelve, and picking up such education as he had, while learning how to milkcows, bed down horses, split fire-wood, and perform "chores" generally, on a Canadian farm. Even during his theological course, vacations hadfound him in the harvest field. 

"You may guess my diffidence, then, " he said, "in lifting up my voicebefore such a gathering as this, here in the storied heart of theEmpire, the city I have reverenced my life long as the centre of theworld's intelligence. But there is not a man or woman here to-day whowould chide a lad who came home from school with tidings of something hehad learned there. That is my case, precisely. I have been to one of ouroutside schools, from my home here in this beloved island. Home andschool alike, they are all part of our family heritage--yours and mine. I only bring you your own word from another part of our own place. Thatis my sole claim to stand before you to-day. Yet, when I think of it, itsatisfies me; it safeguards me from the effect of misunderstanding oroffence, so long as my hearers are of my kin--British. "

His description of Canada and the life he had lived there occupied usfor no more than ten minutes, at the outside. It has appeared in so manybooks that I will not attempt to quote that little masterpiece ofillumination. But by no means every reproduction of this passage addsthe simple little statement which divided it from its successor. 

"That has been my life. No brilliant qualities are demanded of a man insuch a life. The one thing demanded is that he shall do his duty. Youremember that passage in Ecclesiastes--'The conclusion of the wholematter'?"

And then came the story of Edward Hare. That moved the people deeply. 

"My first curacy was in Southern Manitoba. When I was walking from thechurch to the farmhouse where I lodged, after morning service, oneperfect day in June, I passed a man called Edward Hare, sitting at theedge of a little bluff, on a rising piece of ground. I had felt drawntoward this man. He was a Londoner, and, in his first two years, had hada tough fight. But he had won through, and now had just succeeded inadding a hundred and sixty acres to his little farm, which was one ofthe most prosperous in the district. 

"'I didn't see you at church this morning, Hare, ' I said, after we hadchatted a minute or two. 

"'No, ' said he; 'I wasn't at church. I've been here by this bluff sincebreakfast, and--Parson!' he said, with sudden emphasis, 'I shall give upthe farm. I'm going back Home. '

"Well, of course, I was surprised, and pressed him for reasons. 'Well, 'he said, 'I don't know as I can make much of a show of reasons; but I'mgoing. Did you notice anything special about the weather, or--or that, this morning, Parson?' I told him I had only noticed that it was a verysweet, clear, happy sort of a morning. 'That's just it, Parson, ' hesaid; 'sweet and clear and clean it is; and I don't believe there's anysweeter, cleaner thing than this morning on my farm--no, not in heaven, Parson, ' he said. 'And that's why I'm going back Home to London; toBattersea; that's where I lived before I came here. '

"I waited for him to tell me more, and presently he said: 'You know, Parson, I was never what you might call a drunkard, not even at Home, where drinking's the regular thing. But I used to get through a tidy lotof liquor, one way and another, and most generally two or three pintstoo many of a Saturday night. Then, of a Sunday morning, the job waswaiting for the pubs to open. Nobody in our street ever did much else ofa Sunday. I suppose you don't happen to have ever been down the FalconRoad of a Sunday morning, Parson? No? Well, you see, the street's a kindof market all Saturday night, up till long after midnight--costers'barrows with flare-lights, gin-shops full to the door, and all the funof the fair--all the fun of the fair. Mothers and fathers, lads andsweethearts, babies in prams, and toddlers in blue plush and white wool;you see them all crowding the bars up till midnight, and they see--well, they see Battersea through a kind of a bright gaze. Then comes Sunday, and a dry throat, and waiting for the pubs to open. The streets are alla litter of dirty newspaper and cabbage-stumps, and worse; and the air'skind of sick and stale. '

"At that Hare stopped talking, and looked out over the prairie on thatJune morning. Presently he went on again: 'Well, Parson, when I came outhere this morning--I haven't tasted beer for over three years--I satdown and looked around; and, somehow, I thought I'd never seen anythingso fine in all my life; so sweet and clean; the air so bright, like dew;and green--well, look at it, far as your eye can carry! And all thisround, away to the bluff there, and the creek this way; it's mine, everyfoot of it. Well, after a bit, I was looking over there to the church, and what d'ye think I saw, all through the pretty sunlight? I saw theFalcon Road, a pub I know there, and a streak of sunshine running overthe wire blinds into the bar, all frowsy and shut in, with the liquorstains over everything. And outside, I saw the pasty-faced crowd waitingto get in, and all the Sunday litter in the road. Parson, I got thesmell of it, the sick, stale smell of it, right here--in Paradise; I gotthe frowsy smell of it, and heard the waily children squabbling, and--Ican't tell you any more of what I saw. If you'd ever seen it, you'dknow. '

"And there he stopped again, until I moved. Then he said: 'Parson, ifyou saw a fellow starving on a bit of land over there that wouldn't feeda prairie-chick, and you knew of a free homestead across the creek, where he could raise five and twenty bushels to the acre and live like aman, would you leave him to rot on his bare patch? Not you. That's whyI'm going Home--to Battersea. '

"If Hare had been a married man I might have advised him otherwise. Buthe was married only to the farm he had wrought so well, and it did notseem to me part of my business to come between a man and his duty--as hesaw it. That man came Home, and took the cheapest lodging he could getin Battersea. He had sold his farm well. Now he took to streetpreaching, and what he preached was, not religion, but the prairie. 'Lord sake, young folk!' he used to say to the lads and girls when theyturned toward the public-houses. 'Hold on! Wait a minute! I want to tellyou something!' And he would tell them what four years' clean work hadgiven him in Canada. 

"He got into touch with various emigration agencies. The money he hadlasted him, living as he did, for five years. In that time he was themeans of sending nine hundred and twenty men and five hundred and fortywomen and girls to a free and independent life in Canada. Just beforehis money was exhausted, England's affliction, England's chastisement, came upon her like God's anger in a thunderbolt. Hare had meant toreturn to Canada to make another start, and earn money enough to returnto his work here. Instead of that, my friends, instead of what he calledParadise in Manitoba, God took him straight into Heaven. He left hisbody beside the North London entrenchments, where, so one of hiscomrades told me, he fought like ten men for England, knowing well that, if captured, he would be shot out of hand as a civilian bearing arms. One may say of Edward Hare, I think, that he saw his duty veryclearly--and did it. 

 * * * * *

"But what of us? What of you, and I, my friends? How do we standregarding Duty?"

I never heard such questions in my life. He had been speaking smoothly, evenly, calmly, and without gesticulation. With the questions, his bodywas bent as though for a leap; his hands flung forward. These questionsleft him like bullets. It was as though that great hall had been inblackest darkness, and with a sudden movement the speaker had switchedon ten thousand electric lights. I saw men rise to a half-erectposture. I heard women catch their breath. The air of the place seemedall aquiver. 

"My friends, will you please pray with me?"

He leaned forward, an appeal in every line of his figure, addressedconfidentially to each soul present. Then his right hand rose:

"Please God, help me to give my Message! Please God, open London's heartto hear my Message! Please God, give me strength to tell it--now! ForChrist's sake. Amen!"

One heard a low, emphatic, and far-carrying "Amen!" from the lips ofLondon's Bishop; and I think that, too, meant something to the greatcongregation of Londoners assembled there. 

Immediately then, it was, while the electric thrill of his questions andthe simple prayer still held all his audience at high tension, thatGeorge Stairs plunged into the famous declaration of the new evangel ofDuty and Simplicity. If any man in the world has learned for himselfthat prayer is efficacious, that man is the Rev. George Stairs. For itis now universally admitted that such winged words as those of his firstgreat exposition of the doctrine of Duty and simple living, the doctrinewhich has placed the English-speaking peoples in the forefront ofChristendom, had never before thrilled an English audience. 

His own words were a perfect example of the invincible virtue ofsimplicity; his presence there was a glowing evidence of the force ofDuty. It is quite certain that the knowledge shown in his flashingsummary of nineteenth-century English history was not knowledge basedupon experience. But neither the poets, nor the most learnedhistorians, nor the most erudite of naval experts, has ever given apicture so instantly convincing as the famous passage of his orationwhich showed us, first, the British Fleet on the morning of Trafalgar;then, Nelson going into action; then, the great sailor's dyingapotheosis of Duty; and, finally, England's reception of her dead hero'sbody. The delivery of this much-quoted passage was a matter of momentsonly, but from where I stood I saw streaming eyes in women's faces, andthat stiff, unwinking stare on men's faces which indicates tense effortto restrain emotion. 

And so, with a fine directness and simplicity of progress, he carried usdown through the century to its stormy close, with vivid words oftribute for the sturdy pioneers of Victorian reform who fought for andbuilt the freest democracy in the world, and gave us the triumphantenlightenment which illumined Victoria's first Jubilee. 

"'But isn't Duty a rather early Victorian sort of business, and out ofdate, anyhow?' said my young countryman in Calgary. To the first half ofhis question there can be no answer but 'Yes. ' To deny it were toslander our fathers most cruelly. But what of the question's secondhalf? Our fathers have no concern with the answering of that. Is Duty'out of date, ' my friends? If so, let us burn our churches. If so, letthe bishops resign their bishoprics. If so, let us lower for ever theflag which our fathers made sacred from pole to pole. If so, let Britainadmit--as well first as last--that she has retired for ever from herproud place among the nations, and is no more to be accounted a Powerin Christendom; for that is no place for a people with whom Duty is outof date. 

"'And did I choose him out of all the tribes of Israel to be my priest, to offer upon mine altar?... But now the Lord saith, Be it far from me, for them that honour me I will honour, and them that despise me shall belightly esteemed. _Behold the days come that I will cut off thinearm!_'"

It was almost unbearable. No one had guessed the man had such a voice. He had recited that passage quietly. Then came the rolling thunder ofthe: "Behold the days come that I will cut off thine arm!" A woman inthe centre of the hall cried aloud, upon a high note. The roar of Germanartillery in North London never stirred Londoners as this particularsentence of God's Word stirred them in the Albert Hall. 

And then, in a voice keyed down again to calm and tender wisdom, thewords of the Scriptural poet stole out over the heads of the perturbedpeople, stilling their minds once more into the right receptive vein:"'Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God and keep Hiscommandments, for this is the whole duty of man. '"

Like balm, the stately words fell upon the people, as a light to lightentheir darkness, as an end and a solution to a situation foundintolerable. But, though calm resolve was in George Stairs's gift thatday, he suffered no complaisance; and, by this time, he held that greatassembly in the hollow of his hand. It was then he dealt with thecharacter of our own century, as distinguished from that of theVictorian era. It was then his words taught me, personally, more thanall he had said besides. 

I will not quote from a passage which has been incorporated in hundredsof school-books. It is generally admitted that the end and purposeunderlying the civil and national code of our age has never since beenmore admirably stated than on the day of its first enunciation in theAlbert Hall by George Stairs. His words were glowing when he showed ushow the key-note of our fathers' age had been the claiming andestablishing of rights and privileges. His words stung like whip-thongswhen he depicted our greedy, self-satisfied enjoyment of those rightsand privileges, with never a thought, either of the various obligationspertaining to them, or of our plain duty in the conservation for ourchildren of all that had been won for us. Finally, his words were livingfire of incentive, red wine of stimulation, when he urged upon us thetwentieth-century watchword of Duty, and the loyal discharge ofobligations. 

"Theirs, an age crowned by well-won triumph, was the century of claimantdemand; ours is the century of grateful obedience. Theirs was the age ofclaims; ours the age of Duty. Theirs the century of rights; ours thecentury of Duty. Theirs the period of brave, insistent constructiveeffort; ours the period of Duty--Duty--Duty!

"In fighting to obtain all that they won for us, our fathers pledgedthemselves--and us--to be fit recipients, true freemen. For a moment, misled by the glare of wealth and pleasure, we have played thecaitiff's part; grasped freemen's privileges, without thanks, and withrepudiation of the balancing duties and obligations without which norights can survive. And--'Behold, the days come that I will cut offthine arm!'

"The God of our fathers trusted them, in our behalf; and we playedtraitor. So God smote England, through the arrogant war-lords of anotherpeople. That blow, self-administered, is Heaven's last warning toEngland. In truth, the blow was ours, yours and mine; we ourselves itwas who played the traitor and struck a cruel blow at Britain's heart. Unworthy sons of valiant sires, we snatched our wages and shirked ourwork; seized the reward and refused the duty. God in His mercy gave usmany warnings; but we hid our faces and pursued our selfish ends. 'Behold, the days come----'

"But God stayed His hand. England lies bloody but unbroken. There can beno more warnings. The time for warnings has gone by. There can be nomore paltering. Now is the day of final choice. Will ye be men--orhelots and outcasts? Will you choose Duty, and the favour of God'sappointed way for us, of progress and of leadership; or will youchoose--pleasure, swift decay, annihilation? Upon your heads be it! Ourfathers nobly did their part. Upon your choice hangs the future of ourrace, the fate of your children, the destiny of God's chosen people, whohave paltered with strange gods, blasphemed the true faith, and steppedaside from the white path--the Only Way: Duty!"

He turned, raising one hand, and the notes of the great organ rose andswelled mightily, filling the hall with the strains of the BritishNational Anthem. Every soul in the building stood erect, and followingthe choir's lead, that great gathering sang the British hymn as it wasnever sung before. As the last note throbbed into silence in the hall'sdome, George Stairs, who had knelt through the singing of the anthem, advanced, with hand uplifted. 

"God helping us, as, if we choose aright, He surely will help us, do wechoose Duty, or pleasure? Choose, my kinsmen! Is it Duty, or is itpleasure?"

It was a severe test to put to such an assembly, to a congregation ofall classes of London society. There was a moment of silence in which Isaw George Stairs's face, white and writhen, through a mist which seemedto cloud my vision. And then the answer came, like a long, rolling clapof thunder:

"Duty!"

And I saw George Stairs fall upon his knees in prayer, as the Bishopdismissed the people with a benediction, delivered somewhat brokenly, ina hoarse voice. 

VIII

THE PREACHERS

 There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who in love and truth Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth: Glad hearts! without reproach or blot, Who do thy work, and know it not: O! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast. 

 _Ode to Duty. _

It was with something of a shock that I learned, while endeavouring tomake my way through a dense crowd to the Canadian preacher'sdressing-room, that my friend, George Stairs, was lying unconscious in afainting fit. But my anxiety was not long-lived. Several doctors hadvolunteered their services, and from one of them I learned that thefainting fit was no more than the momentary result of an exceptionalstrain of excitement. 

Within half an hour, Stairs and Reynolds were both resting comfortablyin a private sitting-room at a neighbouring hotel, and there I visitedthem, with Constance Grey and Mrs. Van Homrey, and John Crondall. Stairsassured us that his fainting was of no consequence, and that he feltperfectly fit and well again. 

"You see it was something of an ordeal for me, a nobody from nowhere, toface such an assembly. "

"Well, " said John Crondall, "I suppose that at this moment there is nota man in London who is much more a somebody, and less a nobody fromnowhere. "

"You think we succeeded, then?"

"My dear fellow! I think your address of this afternoon was the mostimportant event England has known this century. Mark my words, thatgreat thunder of 'Duty!' that you drew from them--from a Londonaudience, mind--is to have more far-reaching results for the BritishEmpire than the acquisition of a continent. "

"No, no, my dear Crondall, you surely overrate the thing, " said Stairs, warm colour spreading over his pale face. 

"Well, you can take my deliberate assurance that in my opinion youachieved more for your country this afternoon than it has been my goodfortune to achieve in the whole of a rather busy life. "

Stairs protested, blushing like a girl. But we know now that, so far atall events as his remarks were prophetic, John Crondall was absolutelyright; though whether or not the new evangel could have achieved what itdid without the invasion is another matter. 

Myself, I believe nothing could have been more triumphantly successful, more pregnant with great possibilities for good, than the event of thatafternoon. Yet I was assured that fully two thousand five hundred morepeople crowded into the hall for the evening service than had beenthere to hear Stairs's address. And I had thought the huge place crowdedin the afternoon. As before, the service began and ended with theNational Anthem; but in the evening the great assembly was thrilled toits heart by the Australian _prima donna's_ splendid singing ofWordsworth's _Ode to Duty_ in the setting specially composed for thisoccasion by Doctor Elgar. 

I saw very many faces that I had seen at the first service, but Ibelieve that there was a far greater proportion of poorer folk presentthan there had been in the afternoon. The President of theCongregational Union presided, and the address was delivered by ArthurReynolds. 

As with Stairs, so with Reynolds, Duty was the gist and heart of theMessage delivered--Duty, plain living, simplicity; these they both urgedto be the root of the whole matter. Both men gave substantially the sameMessage, there can be no doubt of that; but there were differences, andupon the whole I am inclined to think that Reynolds's address was moreperfectly adapted to his hearers than Stairs's would have been if hishad been given that evening. Reynolds's diction in public speaking wasnot quite his conversational speech, because nothing like slang, nothingaltogether colloquial crept into it, but its simplicity was notable; itwas the diction of a frank, earnest child. There were none of thestereotyped phrases of piety; yet I never heard a more truly pious anddeeply religious discourse. 

The social and political aspects of Duty were more cursorily treated byReynolds than its moral and religious aspect. There was nothingheterodox in the view put forward by this preacher from oversea. A manmay find salvation in this world and the next through love and faith, hesaid in effect; but the love and faith must be of the right sort. Theredemption of the world was the world's greatest miracle; but it did notoffer mankind salvation in return for a given measure of psalm-singing, sentimentalizing, and prayerful prostrations. Christianity was somethingwhich had to be lived, not merely contemplated. Love and faith wereall-sufficient, but they must be the true love and faith, of which Dutywas the legitimate offspring. The man who thought that any form of pietywhich permitted the neglect of Duty, would win him either true peace inthis life or salvation in the next, was as pitifully misled as the manwho indulged himself in a vicious life with a view to repentance when heshould be too near his demise to care for indulgence. 

"But, even if one could put aside all thought of God and the lifecompared with which this life is but an instant of time; even then therewould be nothing left really worth serious consideration besides Duty. Dear friends, you who listen so kindly to the man who comes to you fromacross the sea, I ask you to look about you in the streets and among thepeople you know, and to tell me if the majority are really happy. Inthis connection I dare not speak of the land of my birth, because, though it is yours as truly as it is mine, and we are allblood-brothers, yet I might be thought guilty of a vain partiality. ButI do say that I cannot think the majority of the people of England arereally happy. I do not believe the majority of Londoners are happy. I amsure that the majority of those who spend an immense amount of moneyhere in the West End of London, are not one whit happier than theaverage man who works hard for a few pounds a week. 

"If I am certain of anything in this world, I am certain that thepursuit of pleasure never yet brought real happiness to any intelligenthuman being, and never will. True, I have met some happy people inLondon, even now, when England lies wounded from a cruel blow--a blowwhich I believe may prove the greatest blessing England ever knew. Butthose happy people are not running after pleasure or concentrating theirintelligence upon their own gratification. No, no; those happy peopleare strenuously, soberly striving to do the whole of their duty asChristians and British citizens. They are happy because of that. 

"Oh, my dear friends, do please believe me, that, even apart from God'swill and the all-sacrificing love of His Son, _there is absolutely noreal happiness in this world outside the clean, sweet way of Duty_. Ifyou profess you love a woman, but shirk your duty by her, of what worthis such love? Is God of less importance to you? Is Eternity of lessimportance? Are King and Country, and the future of our race and themillions who depend on us for light and guidance and protection, of lessimportance? As God hears me, _nothing_ is of _any_ importance, besidethe one thing vital to salvation, to happiness, to honour, to life, hereand hereafter. That one thing is Duty. "

The evening congregation was more demonstrative than that of theafternoon, and though I do not think the impression produced byReynolds's address was deeper or stronger than that made by Stairs--itcould hardly have been that--its effects were more noticeable. The greatcrowd that streamed out of the hall after the Benediction had beenpronounced, testified in a hundred ways to the truth of John Crondall'sassertion that the Canadian preachers had stirred the very depths ofLondon's heart as no other missioners had ever stirred them. 

By George Stairs's invitation, Mrs. Van Homrey, Constance, Crondall, myself, Sir Herbert Tate, and Forbes Thompson, joined the preachers thatevening, quite informally, at their very modest supper board. It musthave been a little startling to a _bon vivant_ like Sir Herbert to findthat the men who had stormed London, supped upon bread and cheese andcelery and cold rice pudding, and, without a hint of apology, offeredtheir guests the same Spartan entertainment. But it was quite abrilliant function so far as mental activity and high spirits wereconcerned. We were discussing the possibilities of the Canadianpreachers' pilgrimage, and Crondall said:

"I know that some of you think I take too sanguine a view, but, mark mywords, these meetings to-day are the beginning of the greatestreligious, moral, and national revival that the British people have everseen. I am certain of it. Your blushes are quite beside the point, Stairs; they are wholly irrelevant; so is your modesty. Why, my dearfellow, you couldn't help it if you tried. You two men are themouthpiece of the hour. The hour having come, you could not stay itsMessage if you tried, nor check the tide of its effect. I know myLondon. In a matter of this kind--a moral movement--London is thehardest place in the kingdom to move, because its bigness and varietymake it so many-sided. Having achieved what you have achieved to-day inLondon, I say nothing can check your progress. My counsel is for no morethan a week in London; two days more in the west, three in the east, andone in the south; and then a bee-line due north through England, with afew days in all big centres. "

"Well, " said Reynolds, "whatever happens after to-night, I just want tosay what George Stairs has more than once said to me, and that is, thatto-day's success is three parts due to Mr. Crondall for every one partdue to us. "

"And to his secretary, " said Stairs. "It really is no more than baretruth. Without you, Crondall, there would have been no Albert Hall forus. "

"And no Bishop, " added Reynolds. 

"And no great personages. "

"_And_ no columns and columns of newspaper announcements. "

"In point of fact, there would have been none of the splendidorganization which made to-day possible. I recognize it very clearly. Ifthis is to prove the beginning of a really big movement, then it is abeginning in which _The Citizens_ and their founder have played a verybig part. You won't find that we shall forget that; and I know Reynoldsis with me when I say that we shall leave no word unsaid, or actundone, which could make our pilgrimage helpful to _The Citizens'_campaign. I tell you, standing before that vast assembly to-day, it wasborne in upon me as I had not felt it before, that your aims and oursare inseparable. We cannot succeed without your succeeding, nor youwithout our succeeding. Our interpretation of Christianity, our Message, is Duty and simple living, and unless the people will accept thatMessage they will never achieve what you seek of them. On the otherhand, if they will answer your call they will be going a long way towardaccepting and acting upon our Message. "

"I am mighty thankful that has come home to you, Stairs, " said Crondall. "I felt it very strongly when I first asked you to come and talk thingsover. Your pilgrimage is going to wake up England, morally. It will beour business to see that newly waked England choose the right directionfor the first outlay of its energy. The thing will go far--much fartherthan I have said, and far beyond England's immediate need. But, ofcourse, we mustn't lose sight of that immediate need. If I am not greatlymistaken, one of the first achievements of this movement will be the safesteering of the British public through the General Election. With the NewYear I hope to see a real Imperial Parliament sitting. By that I mean astrong Government administering England from the House of Commons, whilesome of its members sit in an Imperial Chamber--Westminster Hall--andhelp elected representatives of every one of the Colonies to govern theEmpire. My belief is there will be no such thing as an Opposition in theHouse. Why should England continue to waste its time and energy overpulling both ways in every little job its legislators have to tackle? Itsterilizes the efforts of the good men, and gives innumerable openingsto the fools and cranks and obstructionists. You will find the verynames of the old futile cross-purposes of party warfare will fall intothe limbo which has swallowed up the pillory, the stocks, and LittleEnglandism. With deference to the cloth present in the person of ourreverend friends here, let me quote you what to me is one of the moststrikingly interesting passages in the Bible: '_The vile person shall beno more called liberal. _' It will become clear to all men that the onlypossible party, the only people who can possibly stand for progress, movement, advance, are those who stand firm for Imperial Federation. "

"And then?" said Constance, leaning forward, her face illumined by hershining eyes. Crondall drew a long breath. 

"And then--then Britain will have something to say to the Kaiser. "

As we rose from the table, George Stairs laid his hand on Reynolds'sshoulder. 

"Deep waters these, my friend, " said he, "for simple parsons from thebackwoods. But our part is plain, and close at hand. Our work is to makethe writing on the wall flame till all can read and feel: Duty first, last, and all the time. 'The conclusion of the whole matter. '"

"Yes, yes; that's so, " said Reynolds, thoughtfully. And then he added, as it were an afterthought: "But was that remark about vile people nomore being called liberal really scriptural, I wonder--I wonder!"

"Without a doubt, " said Crondall, with a broad grin. "You look up IsaiahXXXII. 5. You will find it there, written maybe three thousand yearsago, fitting to-day's situation like a glove. "

On the way out to South Kensington, where I accompanied the ladies, Iasked Constance what she thought of my old chum, George Stairs. 

"Why, Dick, " she said, "he makes me feel that an English village canstill produce the finest type of man that walks the earth. But, asthings have been, in our time, I'm glad this particular man didn'tremain in his native village--aren't you?"

"Yes, " I agreed, with a half-sad note I could not keep out of my voice. "I suppose Colonial life has taught him a lot. "

"Oh, he is magnificent!"

"And look at John Crondall!"

"Ah, John is a wonderful man; Empire-taught, is John. "

"And I suppose the man who has never lived the outside life in the big, open places can never----"

And then I think she saw what had brought the twinge of sadness to me;for she touched my arm, her bright eyes gleamed upon me, and--

"You're a terribly impatient man, Dick, " she said, with a smile. "Itseems to me you've trekked a mighty long way from _The Mass_ officein--how many weeks is it?"

IX

THE CITIZENS

 Serene will be our days, and bright And happy will our nature be When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security. And they a blissful course may hold Ev'n now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed, Yet find that other strength, according to their need. 

 _Ode to Duty. _

Charles Corbett's _History of the Revival_ is to my mind the mostinteresting book of this century. There are passages in it which leaveme marvelling afresh each time I read them, that any writer, howevergifted, could make quite so intimate a revelation, without personalknowledge of the inside workings of the movement he describes soperfectly. But it is a fact that Corbett never spoke with Stairs orReynolds, or Crondall; neither, I think, was he personally known to anymember of the executive of _The Citizens_. Yet I know from my ownworking experience of the Revival, both in connection with thepilgrimage of the Canadian preachers and the campaign of _The Citizens_, that Corbett's descriptions are marvellously accurate and lifelike, andthat the conclusions he draws could not have been made more correct andluminous if they had been written by the leaders of the great jointmovement themselves. 

The educational authorities were certainly well advised in makingCorbett's great work the base from which the contemporary historytext-books for use in the national schools were drawn. Your modernstudents, by the way, would find it hard to realize that, even at thetime of the Revival, our school-children were obliged to waste most ofthe few hours a week which were devoted to historical studies, to thewearisome memorizing of dates and genealogies connected with the SaxonHeptarchy. As a rule they had no time left in which to learn anythingwhatever of the progress of their own age, or the nineteenth-centurydevelopment of the Empire. At that time a national schoolboy destined toearn his living as a soldier or a sailor, or a tinker or a tailor, sometimes knew a little of the Saxon kings of England, or even a fewdates connected with the Norman Conquest, and the fact that Henry VIII. Had six wives. But he had never heard of the Reform Bill, and knewnothing whatever of the incorporation of India, Australia, South Africa, or Canada. 

I suppose the most notable and impressive intimation received by theBritish public of the fact that a great religious, moral, and socialrevival had begun among them, was contained in Monday morning'snewspapers, after the first great Albert Hall services. The recognizedchief among imperialistic journals became from the beginning the organof the new movement. Upon that Monday morning I remember that thisjournal's first leading article was devoted to the Message of theCanadian preachers, its second to the coming of the various Colonialdelegates for the Westminster Hall Conference. For the rest, the centreof the paper was occupied by a four-page supplement, with portraits, describing fully, and reporting verbatim the Albert Hall services. Theopening sentences of the leading article gave the public its cue:

"There can be little doubt, we think, that yesterday's services at theAlbert Hall mark the inauguration of a national movement in morals, which, before it has gone far, is as likely to earn the name of theRevolution as that of Revival. A religious, moral, and social revolutionis what we anticipate as the result of the mission of the Canadianpreachers. Never before has London been so stirred to its moral andemotional depths. In such a movement the provincial centres are notlikely to prove less susceptible than the metropolis. "

As a matter of fact, I had occasion to know that Mr. James Bryanstone, the preachers' secretary (in whose name John Crondall had carried outthe whole work of organization, while I served him as secretary andassistant) received during that Monday no fewer than thirty-fourseparate telegraphic invitations from provincial centres subsequentlyvisited by Stairs and Reynolds. It was, as Crondall had said: The timewas ripe, and the Canadian preachers were the mouthpiece of the hour. Their Message filled them, and England was conscious of its need of thatMessage. 

On Monday and Tuesday the afternoon and evening services at the AlbertHall were repeated. Thousands of people were unable to obtain admissionupon each occasion. Some of these people were addressed by friends ofJohn Crondall's and _The Citizens_, within the precincts of the hall. OnTuesday morning, sunrise found a great throng of people waiting tosecure places when the hall should open. On both days members of theRoyal Family were present, and on Tuesday the Primate of Englandpresided over the service addressed by Stairs. 

During all this time, John Crondall was working night and day, and I wasbusy with him in organizing the recruiting campaign of _The Citizens_. The Legion of Frontiersmen, and the members of some scores of rifleclubs, had been enrolled _en bloc_ as members, and applications werepouring in upon us by every post from men who had seen service indifferent parts of the world, and from men able to equip themselveseither as mounted or foot riflemen. On Tuesday evening the Canadianpreachers announced that their next day services would be held at thePeople's Palace, in the East End. But I fancy that, among the packedthousands who attended _The Citizens'_ first public meeting at theAlbert Hall on Wednesday afternoon, many came under the impression thatthey were to hear the Canadian preachers. 

The man of all others in England most fitted for the office, presidedover that first meeting, in full review uniform, and wearing the swordwhich had been returned to him by General Baron von Füchter, after thehistoric surrender at the Mansion House on Black Saturday. The greatlittle Field Marshal rose at three o'clock and stood for full fiveminutes, waiting for the tempest of cheering which greeted him tosubside, before he could introduce John Crondall to that huge audience. Even when the Field Marshal began to speak he could not obtain completesilence. As one burst of cheering rumbled to its close, another wouldrise from the hall's far side like approaching thunder, swelling as itcame. 

It seemed the London public was trying to make up to its erstwhile herofor its long neglect of his brave endeavours to warn them against theevils which had actually befallen. At last, not to waste more time, thelittle Field Marshal drew his sword, and waved it above his head till apenetrant ray of afternoon sunlight caught and transformed the bladeinto a streak of living flame. 

"There is a stain on it!" he shouted, shaking the blade. "It belongs toyou--to England--and there's a stain on it; got on Black Saturday. Nowsilence, for the man who's for wiping out all stains. Silence!"

It was long since the little man had delivered himself of such a roar, as that last "Silence!" There were one or two Indian veterans in thehall who remembered the note. It had its effect, and John Crondallstood, presently, before an entirely silent and eagerly expectantmultitude, when he began his explanation of the ends and aims of _TheCitizens_. I remember he began by saying:

"I cannot pretend to be a Canadian preacher--I wish I could. " And herethere was another demonstration of cheering. One realized that afternoonthat the Canadians had lighted a fire in London that would not easilybe put out. "No, I am a native of your own London, " said Crondall; "butI admit to having learned most of the little I know in Canada, SouthAfrica, India, and Australia. And if there is one thing I have learnedvery thoroughly in those countries, it is to love England. She has nobraver or more devoted sons and lovers within her own shores than ourkinsmen oversea. You will find we shall have fresh proofs of that verysoon. Meantime, just in passing, I want to tell you this: You have readsomething in the papers of _The Citizens_, the organization ofBritishers who are sworn to the defence of Britain. I am here to tellyou about them. Well, in the past fortnight, I have received two hundredand forty cable messages from representative citizens in Canada, SouthAfrica, Australia, India, and other parts of the Empire, claimingmembership, and promising support through thick and thin, from thousandsof our kinsfolk oversea. So, before I begin, I give you the greeting ofmen of our blood from all the ends of the earth. They are with us heartand hand, my friends, and eager to prove it. And now I am going to tellyou something about _The Citizens_. "

But before that last sentence had left Crondall's lips, we were in thethick of another storm of cheering. The religious character of theCanadian preachers' meetings had been sufficient to prevent theseoutbursts of popular feeling; but now the public seemed to welcome thesecular freedom of _The Citizens'_ gathering, as an opportunity forgiving their feelings vent. I am not sure that it was John Crondall'smessage from the Colonies that they cheered. They were moved, I am sure, by a vague general approval of the idea of a combination of citizens forBritish defence. But their cheering I take to have been produced byfeelings they would have been hard put to it to define in any way. Theyhad been deeply stirred by the teaching of the Canadian preachers. Inshort, they had been seized by the fundamental tenets of the simplefaith which has since come to be known to the world as "BritishChristianity"; and they were eager to find some way in which they couldgive tangible expression to the faith that was burgeoning within them;stirring them as young mothers are stirred, filling them with resolvesand aspirations, none the less real and deep-seated because they were asyet incoherent and shapeless. 

I am only quoting the best observers of the time in this description ofpublic feeling when John Crondall made his great recruiting speech for_The Citizens_. The event proved my chief to have been absolutely rightin his reckoning, absolutely sound in his judgment. He had urged fromthe beginning that _The Citizens_ and the Canadian preachers had acommon aim. "But you teach a general principle, " he had said to GeorgeStairs, "while we supply the particular instance. We must reap where yousow; we must glean after you; we must follow you, as night follows day, as accomplishment follows preparation--because you arouse the sense ofduty, you teach the sacredness of duty, while we give it particulardirection. It's you who will make them _Citizens_, my dear fellow--forwhat you mean by a true Christian is what I mean by a true citizen--ourpart is to swear them in. Or, as you might say, you prepare, and weconfirm. Those that won't come up to your standard as Christians, won'tbe any use to us as _Citizens_. "

Just how shrewdly John Crondall had gauged the matter perhaps no oneelse can realize, even now, so clearly as those who played a recorder'spart in the recruiting campaign, as I did from that first day in theAlbert Hall, with Constance Grey's assistance, and, later on, with theassistance of many other people. At a further stage, and in otherplaces, we made arrangements for enrolling members after every meeting. Upon this occasion we were unable to face the task, and, instead, a cardwas given to every applicant, for subsequent presentation at _TheCitizens'_ headquarters in Victoria Street, where I spent many busyhours, with a rapidly growing clerical staff, swearing in new members, and booking the full details of each man's position and capabilities, for registration on the roster. 

We had no fees of any kind, but every new member was invited tocontribute according to his means to _The Citizens'_ equipment fund. During the twenty-four hours following that first meeting at the AlbertHall, over twenty-seven thousand pounds was received in this way fromnew members. But we enrolled many who contributed nothing; and weenrolled a few men to whom we actually made small payments from aspecial fund raised privately for that purpose. All this last-namedminority, and a certain proportion of other members, went directly intocamp training on the estates of various wealthy members, who themselveswere providing camp equipment and instructors, while, in many cases, arranging also for employment which should make these camps as nearly asmight be self-supporting. 

Among the list of people who agreed to deliver addresses at our meetingswe now included many of the most eloquent speakers, and some of the mostfamous names in England. But I am not sure that any of them ever evokedthe same storms of enthusiasm, the same instant and direct response thatJohn Crondall earned by his simple speeches. Heart and soul, JohnCrondall was absorbed in the perfection and furtherance of theorganization he had founded, and when he sought public support he wasirresistible. 

In those first days of the campaign there were times when John Crondallwas so furiously occupied, that his bed hardly knew the touch of him, and I could not exchange a word with him outside the immediate work ofour hands. This was doubtless one reason why I took a certain idea ofmine to Constance Grey, instead of to my chief. Together, she and Iinterviewed Brigadier-General Hapgood, of the Salvation Army, and, onthe next day, the venerable chief of that remarkable organization, General Booth. The proposition we put before General Booth was that heshould join hands with us in dealing with that section of our would-bemembers who described themselves as unemployed and without resources. 

For five minutes the old General stroked his beard, and offeredoccasional ejaculatory interrogations. I pointed out that the convertsof the Canadian preachers (for whom the General expressed unboundedadmiration and respect) flocked to our standard, full of genuineeagerness to carry out the gospel of duty and simple living. Suddenly, in the middle of one of my sentences, this commander-in-chief of an armylarger than that of any monarch in Christendom made up his mind, andstopped me with a gesture. 

"We will do it, " he said. "Yes, yes, I see what you would say. Yes, yes, to be sure, to be sure; that is quite so. We will do it. Come and see meagain, and I will put a working plan before you. Good day--God blessyou!"

And we were being shown out. It was all over in a few minutes; but thatwas the beginning of the connection between the Salvation Army and thatsection of _The Citizens_ whose members lacked both means andemployment. According to a safe and conservative estimate, we are toldthat the total number of sworn _Citizens_ subsequently handled by theSalvation Army was six hundred and seventy-five thousand. We suppliedthe instructors, officers, and all equipment; the Salvation Army carriedout all the other work of control, organization, and maintenance, andmade their great farm camps so nearly self-supporting as to bepractically no burden upon _The Citizens'_ funds. The effect upon themen themselves was wholly admirable. Every one of them was a genuinelyunemployed worker, and the way they all took their training wasmarvellous. 

I think Constance Grey was as pleased as I was with the praise we wonfrom John Crondall over this. A little while before this time I shouldhave felt jealous pangs when I saw her sweet face lighten and glow at aword of commendation from John Crondall. But my secretaryship wasteaching me many things. No other woman could ever mean to me one titheof all that Constance Grey meant. Of that I was very sure. To think ofsuch women as handsome Beatrice Blaine or Sylvia Wheeler, in a vein ofcomparison, was for me like comparing the light of a candle in a distantwindow with the moon herself. The mere sound of Constance's voicethrilled me as nothing else could. But I am glad to remember now that Ino longer knew so small an emotion as jealousy where she was concerned. 

John Crondall was the strongest man of all the men I knew; Constance wasthe sweetest woman. Here was a natural and fitting comradeship. Ithought of my chief as the mate of the woman I loved. My heart ached attimes. But I am glad and proud that I had no jealousy. 

X

SMALL FIGURES ON A GREAT STAGE

 I, loving freedom and untried, No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust; And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task, in smoother walks to stray, But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 

 _Ode to Duty. _

It has often been said of the Canadian preachers that they conferred thegift of eloquence upon all their converts. It is certainly a fact thatlong before Stairs and Reynolds had traversed half the length ofEngland, disciples of theirs were winning converts to "BritishChristianity"--as the religion of Duty and simple living came to becalled--in every county in the kingdom. 

In the same way, the progress of _The Citizens'_ recruiting campaign wasmade marvellously rapid and triumphant in character by reason of theenthusiastic activity of all new adherents. During the second of JohnCrondall's great meetings in Birmingham, for example, we receivedtelegraphic greeting from the chairmen presiding over one hundred andninety-eight other meetings then being held for the furtherance of ourcause in different parts of the country. And, in many cases, those whoaddressed these meetings were among the most famous public speakers inEngland. 

In most towns we spent no more than twenty-four hours, in others no morethan twelve hours, and in some we stayed only a third of that time. Inone memorable day we addressed immense gatherings in four differenttowns, and travelled one hundred and thirty miles to boot. But in eachone of those towns, as in every centre visited, we left a properlyorganized committee at work, with arrangements for frequent meetings, and the swearing in of new members. 

The Canadian preachers spent only one day in many of the places theyvisited. But in large centres they stayed longer, because, after thefirst week of the pilgrimage, the attendances at their meetings becameunmanageably large, owing to the arrangements made by railway companies, who ran special trains to tap the outlying parts of every districtvisited. Advance agents--a hard-working band, many of whom werewell-to-do volunteers--prepared the way in every detail for the progressof both the Canadians and ourselves, and local residents placed everypossible facility at our disposal. 

Never in the history of religious revivals in England has anything beenknown to equal the whole-souled enthusiasm with which the new evangel ofDuty was welcomed as the basis of our twentieth-century national life. The facts that the Canadian preachers were rarely seen apart, and thatthe teaching of each was identical with that of the other, combined withthe general knowledge that one represented the Church of England andthe other a great Nonconformist body; these things divested thepilgrimage of any suggestion of denominationalism, and lent it the sameurgent strength of appeal for members of all sects, and members of none. This seems natural enough to us now, ours being a Christian country. Butit was regarded then as a wonderful testimony to the virtue of the newteaching, because at that time sectarian differences, animosities even, were very clearly marked, and led far more naturally to opposition andhostility between the representatives of different denominations than toanything approaching united effort in a common cause. 

It was during the day we spent in York that chance led to my witnessingan incident which greatly affected me. My relations with my chief, JohnCrondall, were not such as to call for the observance of much ceremonybetween us. Accordingly, it was with no thought of interference with hisprivacy that I blundered into my chief's sitting-room to announce thenumber of new members we had enrolled after the meeting. John Crondallwas standing on the hearth-rug, his right hand was resting on ConstanceGrey's shoulder, his lips were touching her forehead. 

For an instant I thought of retreat. But the thing seemed too clumsy. Accordingly, having turned to close the door, with deliberation, Iadvanced into the room with some awkward remark about having thought mychief was alone, and produced my figures of the enrolment of newmembers. After a few moments Constance left us, referring to some errandshe had in view. I did not look at her, and John Crondall plunged atonce into working talk. As for me, I was acutely conscious that I hadseen Crondall kiss Constance; but my chief made no sign to show mewhether or not he was aware that I had seen this. 

Although I thought I had accustomed myself to the idea of these twobeing predestined mates, I realized now that no amount of reasoningwould ever really reconcile me to the practical outworking of the idea. Of course, my feeling about it would be described as jealousy pure andsimple. Perhaps it was; but I cherish the idea that it was some morekindly shade of feeling. I know it brought no hint of resentment orweakening in my affection for John Crondall; and most assuredly Iharboured no unkind thought of Constance. But I loved her; every pulsein me throbbed love and longing at her approach. Again and again I haddemonstrated to myself my own unworthiness of such a woman; the naturalaffinity between Constance and Crondall. Yet now, the sight of that kisswas as the sound of a knell in my heart; it filled me with an achinglament for the death of----of something which had still lived in me, whether admitted or not, till then. 

For days after that episode of the kiss I lived in hourly expectation ofa communication from John Crondall. Our relations were so intimate thatI felt certain he would not withhold his confidence for long. But daysucceeded day in our strenuous, hurried life, and no word came to mefrom my chief regarding any other thing than our own work. Indeed, Ithought I detected a certain new sternness in John Crondall's demeanour, an extra rigid concentration upon work, which carried with it, for me, a suggestion of his being unwilling to meet one upon any other than theworking footing. I was surprised and a little hurt about this, becauseof late there had been no reservations in the confidence with which mychief treated me. Also, I could not see any possible reason for secrecyin such a matter; it might as well be told first as last, I thought. AndI watched Constance with a brooding eye for signs she never made, for aconfidence which did not come from either of my friends. 

The thing possessed my mind, and must, I fear, have interferedmaterially with my work. But after a time the idea came to me that thesetwo had decided to allow our joint work to take precedence of theirprivate happiness, and to put aside their own affairs until the aims of_The Citizens_ had been attained. I recalled certain little indicationsI myself had received from Constance before John Crondall's return fromSouth Africa, to the effect that personal feeling could have no greatweight with her, while our national fate hung in the balance. And, bydulling the edge of my expectancy, this conclusion somehow eased theache which had possessed me since the day of the kiss to which chancehad made me a witness. But it did not altogether explain to me the newreserve, the hint of stiffness in John Crondall's manner; and, rightlyor wrongly, I knew when I took Constance's hand in mine, or met the gazeof her shining eyes, that I did so as a devout lover, and not merely asa friend. 

XI

THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE

 Through no disturbance of my soul Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy controul; But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires: My hopes no more must change their name; I long for a repose that ever is the same. 

 _Ode to Duty. _

From the first, the courtesy of the Press was securely enlisted in _TheCitizens'_ favour by John Crondall. For many months the _Standard_, nowfirmly established as the principal organ of the reform movement, devoted an entire page each day to the progress of our campaign and thepilgrimage of our forerunners--the Canadian preachers. John Crondall hadgone thoroughly into the matter at the beginning with the editor of thisjournal, and the key-note thus given was taken by the Press of the wholecountry. 

The essence of our treatment by the newspapers lay in their carefulavoidance of all matter which would be likely to earn for the movementthe hostility of Germany, or of the officers in command of the Germanforces in England. Our language took on a new and special meaning inthe columns of the newspapers, where reports of our campaign wereconcerned. Such adjectives as "social, " "moral, " and the like were madeto cover quite special meanings, as applied to the organization of _TheCitizens_. So ably was all this done, that the German authoritiesregarded the whole movement as social and domestic, with a directbearing upon the General Election, perhaps, but none whatever uponinternational politics or Anglo-German relations. 

In Elberfeld's ponderous history we are given the text of a despatch tothe Kaiser in which General Baron von Füchter assured his Imperialmaster that any interference with _The Citizens_ and their meetingswould be gratuitous and impolitic:

"Their aims being purely social and domestic, and those of aquasi-religious Friendly Society, resembling something between their'Band of Hope' and their 'Antediluvian Buffaloes. ' The English have apassion for this kind of child's play, and are absurdly impatient ofofficial surveillance. Their incorrigible sentimentality is soothed bysuch movements as those of the Canadian preachers and _The Citizens_;but even the rudiments of discipline or efficient coördination arelacking among them. Combination against us would be impossible for them, for this is a country of individualists, among whom the matter ofobligations to the State is absolutely not recognized. There is no traceof military feeling among the people, and in my opinion the invasionmight safely have been attempted five, if not ten years, before it was. The absence of any note of resentment in their newspapers against ouroccupation has been quite marked since their preoccupation with theCanadian preachers and _The Citizens_. The people accept it in the mostmatter-of-course manner, and are already entirely absorbed once more intheir own affairs, and even in their sports. British courage andindependence have been no more than a myth for many years past--a bubblewhich your Majesty's triumphantly successful policy has burst for ever. "

Another important feature, alike of our campaign and the pilgrimage ofthe preachers, was their positively non-party and non-sectariancharacter. John Crondall had been firm upon this point from thebeginning. I remember his saying at the first meeting of the executiveof _The Citizens_:

"Our party government, party conflict, here in England, have sapped thevitality of the British Empire long enough. I believe the invasion hasscotched the thing, and we must be very careful to do nothing that mighthelp to bring it to life again. A Radical, as such, is neither betternor worse than a Conservative. It does not matter two pins what becomesof the Conservative organization, or the Liberal party, as parties. Ishould be delighted never to hear of either again. Our business is theEmpire's business; and we want the people of the Empire with us--thewhole lot of them--as one solid party. "

Accordingly, no mention of any political party was ever heard at ourmeetings. We made no appeal to any given section of the community, butonly to the British public as a whole. We aimed at showing that therecould be no division in national affairs, save the division whichseparates citizens and patriots from men worthy of neither name. Andthat is why Maurice Hall, in his famous _British Renaissance_, was ableto write that:

"The General Elections of the invasion year were practically directedand decided by two forces: the influence of _The Citizens_ and theinfluence of the Canadian preachers' Duty teaching. Political opinionsand traditions, as previously understood, played no part whatever. "

Of course, it seems natural enough now that the British public should beunited in matters of national and imperial import; but those whosememories are long enough will bear me out in saying that in previouselections nine voters in ten had been guided, not by any question of theneeds of the country or the Empire, but by their support of this partyor of that, of this colour or of that. Our politicians had strenuouslysupported the preposterous faction system, and fanned party rivalry inevery way, because they recognized that it gave them personal power andaggrandizement, which they had long placed before any consideration ofthe common weal. By this they had brought shame and disaster upon thenation, in precisely the same manner that the same results had beenproduced by the same means, when these were used by the oligarchs of theDutch Republic, prior to the downfall of the Netherlands. 

Indeed, for some time before the invasion our politicians might havebeen supposed to be modelling their lives and policy entirely upon thoseof the Dutch Republic in the eighteenth century; particularly withregard to their mercenary spoliation of the nation's defence forces, andtheir insane pertinacity in clinging to the policy of "cheapness, " whichkilled both the manufacturing and the agricultural industries of thecountry, by allowing other properly protected nations to oust ourproducers from all foreign markets, and to swamp our home markets withtheir surplus stocks. Down to the minutest detail, the same causes andactions had produced the same results a century earlier in theNetherlands; and even as, first, King William of Prussia, and thenrevolutionary France, had devastated the Netherlands, so had theKaiser's legions overrun England. It was not for lack of warning thatour politicians had blindly followed so fatal a lead. "The Destroyers"were still being warned most urgently at the very time of the invasionby public speakers, and in such lucid works as Ellis Barker's _The Riseand Decline of the Netherlands_. 

In spite of the emphatically non-party character of _The Citizens'_campaign, John Crondall kept in close touch throughout with all hispolitical friends, and very many members of Parliament were among ourleading workers. My chief's idea was that, when the elections drew near, we should cease to map out our movements in accordance with those of theCanadian preachers, and allow them to be guided by the exigencies of theelectoral campaign; bringing all our influence to bear wherever we sawweakness in the cause of patriotism and reform. 

Already we had arrangements made for leading members of _The Citizens_to address meetings throughout the elections at a good many centres. But, before the electioneering had gone far, it became evident that morehad already been accomplished than we supposed. Candidates who camebefore their constituents with any kind of party programme were eitherangrily howled down or contemptuously ignored. Old supporters of "TheDestroyers, " who ventured upon temporizing tactics, were peremptorilyfaced with demands for straight-out declarations of policy upon thesingle issue of patriotic reform and duty to the State. With a singleexception, the actual members of the Cabinet in "The Destroyers'"Administration refrained from any attempt to secure reëlection. 

Such an electoral campaign had never before been known in England. Candidates who, even inadvertently, used such words as "Conservative, ""Radical, " or "Liberal, " were hissed into silence. Even the word"Labour" was taboo, so far as it referred to any political party. "Duty, " "Patriotism, " "Defence, " "Citizenship, " "United Empire, ""British Federation, " and, again, ringing loudly above all other cries, "Duty"--those were the watchwords and the platforms of the invasion yearelections. The candidate who promised relief from taxation was laughedat. The candidate who promised legislation directed toward the citizen'sdefence of the citizen's hearth and home, was cheered to the echo. 

The one member of "The Destroyers'" Administration who soughtreëlection, found it well to assert the claims of his youth by making apublic recantation of all his previously expressed views and policy, and seeking to outdo every one else in the direction of patrioticreform. Though he gulled nobody, he was listened to good-humouredly, anddefeated with great ease by Abel Winchester, the Australian, who sawyears of work before him, in conjunction with Forbes Thompson, in thesupervision of village rifle corps throughout the country. 

In many ways the country had never known a Parliamentary election soconstructive; in one respect it was absolutely destructive. It destroyedall previously existing political parties. No single member was returnedas the representative of a previously existing party. The voters ofBritain had refused to consider any other than the one issue ofpatriotic reform: the all-British policy, as it was called; and theconsequence was, that when Parliament assembled it was found that theHouse of Commons could no longer boast possession of an Opposition. 

The members of that assembly had been sent to St. Stephens to busythemselves, in unison, with the accomplishment of a common end; and ifone among them should waste the time of the House by any form ofobstruction, he could only do so by breaking the pledges upon thestrength of which he had been elected. This fact was clearly set forthin the Speech from the Throne, delivered by the King in person. Thebusiness of Parliament was in full swing before its second sitting wasfar advanced. Though then an aged man, the famous statesman to whom theKing had entrusted the task of forming a new Cabinet bore himself withthe vigour of early manhood, and no Prime Minister had ever facedParliament with so great a driving power behind him of unity, confidence, and national sympathy. The fact that for years his name hadbeen most prominently associated with every movement making for unitywithin the Empire; that he had striven valiantly for many years againstthe anti-British forces of disintegration; this was admitted to augurwell for the success of the Conference of Colonial representatives thenholding its first sitting in historic Westminster Hall. 

Meantime, the patriotic enthusiasm of the general public seemed to havebeen greatly heightened by the result of the general elections. Bycommon consent a note of caution, of warning, took the place of thestirring note of appeal and stimulation which had formerly characterizedevery public address delivered under the auspices of _The Citizens_. Almost without invitation now the cream of the country's manhood flockedinto our travelling headquarters for enrolment on the roster of _TheCitizens_; and: "Hasten slowly--and silently, " became John Crondall'scounsel to all our supporters. 

The effect upon the whole public of this counsel of caution andrestraint was one of the most remarkable features of that period; and itshowed, more clearly, I think, than anything else, the amazing depth andstrength of the influence exerted by the Canadian preacher's Dutyteaching. Our relations with the Power to which we were in effect apeople in vassalage, and payers of tribute, demanded at this stage theexercise of the most cautious restraint; and finely the people respondedto this demand. In his _History of the Revival_, Charles Corbett says, with good reason:

"It was the time of waiting, of cautious preparation, of enthusiasmrestrained and harnessed to prudence, which must really be regarded asthe probationary era of the Revival. It is in no sense a depreciation ofthe incalculable value of the work done by the Canadian apostles of thenew faith, to say that their splendid efforts might well have proved ofno more than transitory effect, but for that stern, silent period ofrepression, of rigid, self-administered discipline, which followed theaccess to office of the first Free Government. [1] That period may beregarded as the crucible in which British Christianity was tested andproven; in which the steel of the new patriotism was tempered andhardened to invincible durability. The Canadian preachers awakened thepeople; _The Citizens_ set them their task; the period of waitingschooled them in the spirit of the twentieth century, the key-note ofwhich is discipline, the meaning of which is Duty. "

 [1] This title, applied by the Prince of Wales in a speech delivered at the Guildhall to the first Parliament which met without an Opposition, remained in use for a number of years afterwards. 

I do not regard that as a statement of more than the truth; and I do notthink it would be easy to overrate, either the value of the period orthe excellence of the response to the demand it made upon them. The onlydissatisfied folk were the publicans and the theatre and music-halllessees. The special journals which represented the interests of thisclass--caterers for public amusement and public dissipation--were fullof covert raillery against what they called the new Puritanism. Theirraillery was no more than covert, however; the spirit of the time wastoo strong to permit more than that, and I do not think it produced anyeffect worth mentioning. 

Here again our difficulties proved real blessings in disguise. Theburden of invasion taxation was heavy; all classes felt the monetarypinch of it, apart altogether from the humiliation of the Germanoccupation; and this helped very materially in the development of commonsense ideals regarding economy and simple living. Not for nothing hadJohn Crondall called the Canadian preachers the mouthpiece of the hour. One saw very plainly, in every walk of life, a steadily growing love ofsobriety. The thing was perhaps most immediately noticeable in thematter of the liquor traffic. Throughout the country, thosepublic-houses and hotels which were in reality only drinking-shops werebeing closed up by the score, or converted into other sorts of businesspremises, for lack of custom in their old misery-breeding trade. Theconsumption of spirits, and of all the more expensive wines, decreasedenormously. It is true there was a slight increase in the consumption ofcider, and the falling off of beer sales was slight. But this wasbecause a large number of people, who had been in the habit of takingfar less wholesome and more costly beverages, now made use of both beerand cider. It was not at all evidence that the consumption of alcoholamong the poorer classes maintained its old level. The sales of gin, for example, fell to less than half the amounts used in the yearsbefore the invasion. 

And this was no more than one aspect of the great national progresstoward realization of the ideals of Duty and simple living. Extravaganceof every sort became, not merely unpopular, but hated and despised, asevidence of unpatriotic feeling. In this, I think, the women of Englanddeserve the greater meed of gratitude and respect. The change theywrought in domestic economy was not less than wonderful when onerealizes how speedily it was brought about, and how great was thechange. For in the years immediately preceding the invasion the womenhad been sad offenders in this respect, particularly, perhaps, in theirvulgar and ostentatious extravagance in matters of dress. Now, theplacards of the British Commercial Union, exhorting the public to "BuyBritish Empire Goods only, " became out of date almost as soon as theywere printed, their advice being no longer needed. 

No more could one see the wives and daughters of England competing withtheir unfortunate sisters of the _demi-monde_ in the extravagance oftheir attire. One of the first evidences of the effect of the Canadianpreachers' teaching that I can remember was the notable access ofdecorum and simplicity in dress which dominated the fashion of ourclothes. In this, as in sundry other matters, I think we were helped bythe unprecedented number of Colonials who began to flock into England atthis time from Canada, South Africa, and Australia. But, despite thegeneral desire for economy, it is certain that from that time on themiddle-class folk at all events began to wear better clothes and buybetter commodities generally--articles which lasted longer, and werebetter worth using. The reason of this was all a part of the sameteaching, the same general tendency. Shoddy goods, representing thesurplus output of German and American firms, could no longer be sold inEngland, however low the prices at which they were offered; andshopkeepers soon found that they lost standing when they offered suchgoods to the public. Thus true economy and true patriotism were servedat one and the same time. 

Extravagance in eating, dress, entertainment, and the like, became thatyear more disgraceful than drunkenness had been a year before in thepublic eye. In the same way we attained to clearer vision and a sanersense of proportion in very many matters of first-rate socialimportance. I remember reading that the market for sixty and seventyhorse-power touring motor-cars had almost ceased to exist, while thedemand for industrial motor-vehicles, and for cars of something undertwenty horse-power, had never been so flourishing. 

Before this time we had fallen into incredible extravagance in ourattitude toward all the parasitical occupations, and paid absurdtributes of respect to many of those who waxed fat upon pandering to ourweaknesses. This passed away now, like a single night's dream, andincidentally gave rise to a certain amount of complaining from those whosuffered by it. But the public was no more inclined to heed thesecomplainings than it was to fritter away its time and substance indrinking-bars or in places of amusement. The famous "Middle-classMusic-halls" faded quickly into the limbo of forgotten failures, and themost popular of public performers were those--and they were not afew--who forsook grease-paint for khaki, and posturing on stages forexercising on rifle-ranges and drill-grounds. 

The word "Puritanism" was still a term of reproach then, by virtue ofits old associations; but, as we see things nowadays, there is room onlyfor gladness in admitting that the wave of feeling which swept throughthe homes of England in the wake of the Canadian preachers, _TheCitizens_, and the organizers of the village rifle corps, was in verytruth a mighty revival of Puritanism, backed by the newly awakenedtwentieth-century spirit of Imperial patriotism, with its recognition ofthe duty of loyalty, not alone to country, but to race and Empire. Yes, it was true Puritanism--stern, unfaltering Puritanism; and it came toEngland not a day too soon. Without it, we could never have been purgedof our insensate selfishness; without it, the loose agglomeration ofstates, then called the British Empire, could never have been weldedinto the State; without it, the great events of that year would havebeen impossible, and the dominion of the English-speaking peoples must, ere this, have become no more than a matter of historical interest. 

XII

BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER

 Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face: Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong; And the most ancient Heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. 

 _Ode to Duty. _

I suffered no change so far as Constance Grey's demeanour to me wasconcerned; but certainly John Crondall had altered since the day uponwhich I had so inopportunely entered his room when Constance was withhim. At times I fancied his change was toward me personally, and Ithought it curiously unlike the man to cherish any sort of unkindnessover an accident. But then, again, at odd times, I watched him withother men among our now considerable train, and the conclusion was bornein upon me that the change had nothing to do with me, but was general inits character. He was more stern, less cheery, and far more reservedthan before. 

And this I thought most strange, for it seemed to me that, even thoughConstance and my chief might have agreed that nothing like an engagementbetween them must come till our work was done, yet the understandingwhich could lead to the kiss I had seen was surely warrant enough for achange of quite another character than this one. I thought of itwhenever I took Constance's hand in greeting her; and I think my eyesmust sometimes have told her what my heart always felt: that in me, thisright to do as Crondall had done would have seemed an entry intoParadise, let circumstances and conditions be what they might. And withsuch a thought I would recall what, to me, would never be the least ofBlack Saturday's events: that once Constance Grey had lain in myarms--unconsciously, it was true; and that upon the same occasion I hadkissed her, and known in that moment that never again could she be asother women for me. 

I was often tempted to speak to Constance of the change I saw in JohnCrondall, and one day in Carlisle I yielded to the temptation. At oneand the same time I both craved and dreaded definite news of theunderstanding between the woman I loved and the man I liked andrespected more than any other. I wanted Constance's confidence; yet Ifelt as though my life would be stripped bare by definite knowledge thatshe was betrothed. So, moth-like, I hovered about the perilous subject, with a nervous endeavour to lend natural composure to my voice. 

"Do you notice any particular change in John Crondall of late?" I asked. And it seemed to me that Constance flushed slightly as she answered me:

"Change? No. Has he changed?"

"Well, he does not seem to be nearly so happy as----" And there I brokeaway from a dangerous comparison, and substituted--"as he was awhileback. "

"Really? But what makes you think that?"

"I fancy he is much more reserved--less frank and more preoccupied; notso jolly, in fact, as he always was. I have thought so for severalweeks. "

"I am sorry, very sorry; and I do hope you are mistaken. Of course he isoverworked--we all are; but that never hurt him before; and with thingsgoing so splendidly---- Oh, I hope you are mistaken. "

"Perhaps so, " I said. "Certainly I think he has every reason to behappy--to be happy and proud; every reason. "

And I stopped at that; but Constance made no sign to me; and I wonderedshe did not, for we were very intimate, and she was sweetly kind to mein those days. Indeed, once when I looked up sharply at her with aquestion from some work we were engaged upon, I saw a light in herbeautiful eyes which thrilled my very heart with strange delight. Herexpression had changed instantly, and I told myself I had no sort ofbusiness to be thrilled by a look which was obviously born of reverie, of thoughts about John Crondall. Such a sweet light of love her eyesheld! I told myself for the hundredth time that no consideration shouldever cloud the happiness of the man who was so fortunate as to inspireit--to have won the heart which looked out through those shining eyes. 

But it must not be supposed that I had much leisure for this sort ofmeditation. My feeling for Constance certainly dominated me. Indeed, itaccounted for everything of import in my life--for my general attitudeof mind and, I make no doubt, for my being where I was and playing thepart I did play in _The Citizens'_ campaign. But our life was not onethat admitted of emotional preoccupation of any sort. We were too closeto the working mechanism of national progress. There never was moreabsorbing work than the making and enrolment of _Citizens_ at such ajuncture in the history of one's country. 

The spirit of our work, no less than that of the Canadian preachers'teaching, was actually in the air at that time. It dominated Englishlife, from the mansions of the great landholders to the cottages of thefield-labourers and the tenements of the factory-hands. It affectedevery least detail of the people's lives, and coloured all thought andaction in England--a process which I am sure was strengthened by theremarkable growth of Colonial sentiment throughout the country at thistime. The tide of emigration seemed to have been reversed by some subtleprocess of nature: the strong ebb of previous years had become a flow ofimmigration. Everywhere one met Canadians, Australians, South Africans, and an unusual number of Anglo-Indians. 

"We've been doing pretty well of late, " said one of the Canadians to mewhen I commented to him upon this influx into the Old Country of herColonial sons; "and I reckon we can most of us spare time to see thingsthrough a bit at Home. The way our folk look at it on the other side isthis: They reckon we've got to worry through this German businesssomehow and come out the right way up on the other side, and a good dealmore solid than we went in. We don't reckon there's going to be any more'Little Englandism' or Cobdenism after this job's once put through; andthat's a proposition we're mighty keenly interested in, you see. We putmost of our eggs into the Empire basket, away back, while you peoplewere still busy giving Africa to the Boers, and your Navy to the dogs, and your markets to Germany, and your trade and esteem to any oldforeigner that happened along with a nest to feather. I reckon that'swhy we're most of us here; and maybe that's why we mostly bring ourcartridge-belts along. A New South Wales chap told me last night youcouldn't get up a cricket match aboard a P. And O. Or Orient boat, notfor a wager--nothing but shooting competitions and the gentle art ofdrill. You say 'Shun!' to the next Colonial you meet, and listen for theclick of his heels! Not that we set much store by that businessourselves, but we learned about the Old Country taste for it in SouthAfrica, and it's all good practice, anyhow, and good discipline. "

But, whatever the motives and causes behind their coming, it is certainthat an astonishingly large number of our oversea kinsmen were arrivingin England each week; and I believe every one of them joined _TheCitizens_. Their presence and the part they played in affairs had amarked effect upon the spirit of the time. All sorts and conditions ofpeople, whose thoughts in the past had never strayed far from their ownparishes, now talked familiarly of people, things, and places Colonial. The idea of our race being one big tribe, though our homes might behemispheres apart, seemed to me to take root for the first time in theminds of the general public at about this period. I spoke of it to JohnCrondall, and reminded him how he had urged this idea upon us yearsbefore in Westminster with but indifferent success. 

"Ah, well, " he said, "they have come to it of their own accord now; andthat means they'll get a better grip of it than any one could ever havegiven them. That's part of our national character, and not a bad part. "

We were heading southward through Lancashire, when the news reached usof that extension of the British Constitution which first gave us areally Imperial Parliament. The country received the news with adeep-seated and sober satisfaction. Perhaps the majority hardlyappreciated at once the full significance of this first greataccomplishment of the Free Government. But the published details showedthe simplest among us that by this act the congeries of scatterednations we had called the British Empire were now truly welded into anImperial State. It showed us that we English, and all those stalwartkinsmen of ours across the Atlantic and on the far side of thePacific--north, south, east, and west, wherever the old flag flew--werenow actually as well as nominally subjects of one Government, and thatthat Government would for the future be composed of men chosen as theirrepresentatives by the people of every country in the Empire; men drawntogether under one historic roof by one firm purpose--the service andadministration of a great Imperial State. 

As I say, the realization produced deep-seated satisfaction. Of late wehad learned to take things soberly in England; but there was no room fordoubt about the effect of this news upon the public. The events of thepast half-year, the pilgrimage of the Canadian preachers, the newdevotion to Duty (which seemed almost a new religion though it wasactually but an awakening to the religion of our fathers), the influxamong us of Colonial kinsmen, and the campaign of _The Citizens_; thesethings combined to give us a far truer and more keen appreciation of thenews than had been possible before. 

Indeed, looking back upon my experience in Fleet Street, I must supposethe whole thing would have been impossible before. I could imagine howmy _Daily Gazette_ colleagues would have scoffed at the ImperialParliament's first executive act, which was the devising of an ImperialCustoms Tariff to give free trade within the Empire, and completeprotection so far as the rest of the world was concerned, with strictlyreciprocatory concessions to such nations as might choose to offer theseto us, and to no others. 

Truly Crondall had said that the Canadian preachers accomplished morethan they knew. The sense of duty, individual and national, burned inEngland for the first time since Nelson's day: a steady, white flame. The acceptance by all classes of the community of the ImperialParliament's programme of work proved this. The public had been shownthat our duty to the whole Empire, and to our posterity, demanded thisthing. That was enough. Five years before, one year before, the countryhad been shown very clearly where its duties lay; and the showing hadnot moved five men in a hundred from their blind pursuit of individualpleasure and individual gain. Army, Navy, Colonies, Imperialprestige--all might go by the board. 

But now, all that was changed. My old friend, Stairs, with Reynolds, andtheir following, had given meaning and application to the teaching ofour national chastisement. Religion ruled England once more; and it wasthe religion, not of professions and asseverations, but of Duty. TheHouse of Commons and, more even than our first Free Government, theImperial Parliament in Westminster Hall had behind them the absoluteconfidence of a united people. If England could have been convinced atthat time that Duty demanded a barefoot pilgrimage to Palestine, Iverily believe Europe would have speedily been dissected by athousand-mile column of marching Britishers. 

But the Canadian preachers taught a far more practical faith than that;and, behind them, John Crondall and his workers opened the door upon apath more urgent and direct than that of any pilgrimage; the path to betrodden by all British citizens who respected the white hairs of theirfathers, and the innocent trust of their children; the path of Duty toGod and King and Empire; the path for all who could hear and understandthe call of our own blood. 

XIII

ONE SUMMER MORNING

 To humbler functions, awful Power! I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; O, let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And in the light of Truth thy bondman let me live. 

 _Ode to Duty. _

Winter rushed past us like a tropical squall that year, and, before onehad noted the beautiful coming of spring, young summer was upon theland. For me, serving as I did the founder and leader of _The Citizens_, life was filled as never before. I had never even dreamed of a life socompact of far-reaching action, of intimate relation with great causes. 

I know now that the speed and strenuousness of it was telling upon allof us. But we did not realize it then. John Crondall seemed positivelytireless. The rest of us had our moments of exhaustion, but never, Ithink, of depression. Our work was too finely productive and too richlyrewarded for that. But we were thin, and a little fine-drawn, likeathletes somewhat overtrained. 

Published records have analyzed our progress through the country, theCanadian preachers' and our own; but nothing I have read, or could tell, gives more than a pale reflection of that triumphal progress, as welived it. In our wake, harlots forsook harlotry to learn something ofnursing by doing the rough domestic work of hospitals; famous misers andmoney-grubbers gave fortunes to _The Citizens'_ cause, and peers' sonsleft country mansions to learn defensive arts, in the ranks; drunkardsleft their toping for honest work, and actresses sold their wardrobes toprovide funds for village rifle corps. 

There was no light sentiment, no sort of hysteria, at the back of thesemiracles. Be it remembered that the streets of English towns had neverbeen so orderly; public-houses and places of amusement had never been soempty; churches and chapels had never been one-half so full. During thatyear, as the records show, it became the rule in many places for curatesand deacons to hold services outside the churches and chapels, whilepacked congregations attended the services held within. And it was thenthat, for the first time, we saw parsons leading the young men of theirflocks to the rifle-ranges, and competing with them there. 

The lessons we learned in those days will never, I suppose, seem sowonderful to any one else as to those of us who had lived a good sliceof our lives before the lessons came; before the need of them was feltor understood. "For God, our Race, and Duty!" Conceive the stirringwonder of the watchword, when it was no more than a month old!

The seasons rushed by us, as I said. But one short conversation servedto mark for me the coming of summer. We had reached the Surrey hills inour homeward progress toward London. On a Saturday night we held a hugemeeting in Guildford, and very early on Sunday morning I woke with acuriously insistent desire to be out in the open. Full of thisinclination I rose, dressed, and made my way down to the side entranceof the hotel, where a few servants were moving about drowsily. As Ipassed out under a high archway into the empty, sunny street, with itsclean Sabbath hush, Constance Grey stepped out from the front entranceto the pavement. 

"I felt such a longing to be out in the open this morning, " she said, when we had exchanged greeting. "It's months since I had a walk for thewalk's sake, and now I mean to climb that hill that we motored over fromFarnham--the Hog's Back, as they call it. "

We both thought it deserved some more beautiful name, when we turned onits crest and looked back at Guildford in the hollow, shining in summermorning haze. 

"Now surely that's King Arthur's Camelot, " said Constance. 

And then we looked out over the delectable valley toward the towers ofCharterhouse, across the roofs of two most lovable hamlets, from whichblue smoke curled in delicate spirals up from the bed of the valley, through a nacreous mist, to somewhere near our high level. 

We gazed our fill, and I only nodded when Constance murmured:

"It's worth a struggle, isn't it?"

I knew her thought exactly. It was part of our joint life, of the causewe both were serving. I had been pointing to some object across thevalley, and as my hand fell it touched Constance's hand, which was cooland fresh as a flower. Mine was moist and hot. I never was more at aloss for words. I took her hand in mine and held it. So we stood, handin hand, like children, looking out over that lovely English valley. Myheart was all abrim with tenderness; but I had no words. I had been agood deal moved by the curious instance of telepathic sympathy orunderstanding which had brought me from my bed that morning and led toour meeting. 

"You have given me so much, taught me so much, Constance, " I said atlast. 

"No, no; I am no teacher, " she said. "But I do think God has taught allof us a good deal lately--all our tribe--Dick. "

There was a rare hint of nervousness in her voice; and I felt I knew thecause. I felt she must be thinking of John Crondall. And yet, if my lifehad depended on it, I could not help saying:

"It is love that taught me. "

Constance drew her hand away gently. 

"Would not the Canadian preachers say we meant the same thing?" shesaid. I had my warning; but, though haltingly, the words would come, now. 

"Ah, Constance, it is love of you, I mean--love of you. Oh, yes, Iknow, " I hurried on now. "I know. Have no fear of me. I understand. Butit is love of you, Constance, that rules every minute of my life. Icouldn't alter that if I tried; and--and I would not alter it if I hadto die for it. But--you must forgive me. Tell me you do not want me tostop loving you, Constance. You see, I do not ask any more of you. Iunderstand. But--let me go on loving you, dear heart, because that meanseverything to me. It has guided me in everything I have done since thatday you came to me in _The Mass_ office. Constance, you do not reallywant me to stop loving you?"

I was facing her now; kneeling to her, in my mind, though not in fact. Her head was bowed toward me. Then she raised her glorious eyes, andgave to me the full tender sweetness of them. 

"No, Dick, " she said, quite firmly, but soft and low; "I don't want youever to stop loving me. "

Whatever else Fate brings or takes from me, I shall never lose thelovely music of those words. That is mine for ever. 

XIV

"FOR GOD, OUR RACE, AND DUTY"

 Soldiers, prepare! Our cause is Heaven's cause; Soldiers, prepare! Be worthy of our cause: Prepare to meet our fathers in the sky: Prepare, O troops that are to fall to-day! Prepare, prepare. 

 Alfred shall smile, and make his harp rejoice; The Norman William, and the learned Clerk, And Lion-Heart, and black-browed Edward, with His loyal queen shall rise, and welcome us! Prepare, prepare. 

 BLAKE. 

We had two other meetings before finally taking train for London; butvirtually our campaign was brought to an end at Guildford. Ourperegrination ended there, but the Canadian preachers continued theirpilgrimage till long afterwards. Scores of rich men were anxious tofinance these expounders of the new teaching, and even to build themchurches. But Stairs and Reynolds were both agreed in wanting nochurches. Their mission was to the public as a whole. 

When we returned to our headquarters in London, the membership of _TheCitizens_ stood within a few hundreds of three million and a half ofable-bodied men. And still new members were being sworn in every day. Some few of these members had contributed as much as five thousandpounds to our funds. Very many had contributed a fifth of that sum, andvery many more had given in hundreds of pounds. There were some who gaveus pence, and they were very cordially thanked, giving as they did fromthe slenderest of purses. There were women who had sold dresses andjewels for us, hundreds of them; and there were little children whosepocket-money had helped to swell the armament and instruction funds. Joseph Farquharson, the well-known coal and iron magnate, who had beenfamous for his "Little England" sentiments--a man who had boasted of hisparochialism--must have learned very much from the invasion and theteaching of the new movement. He gave one hundred thousand pounds to_The Citizens_ after John Crondall's first address in Newcastle. 

When Crondall attended the famous Council at the War Office, he did soas the founder and representative of the most formidable organizationever known in England. He had no official standing at the Council: hetook his seat there as an unofficial commoner. Yet, in a sense, he heldthe defensive strength of Britain in his hand. But several of theMinisters and officials who formed that Council were members of ourExecutive, and our relations with the Government were already welldefined and thoroughly harmonious. It was from the War Office that wereceived the bronze badge which was supplied to every sworn _Citizen_and bore our watchword--"For God, our Race, and Duty"; and theGovernment had given substantial aid in the matter of equipment andinstruction. But now John Crondall represented three million and a halfof British men, all sworn to respond instantly to his call as Presidentof the Executive. And every _Citizen_ had some training--was thenreceiving some training. 

"The Canadian preachers waked and inspired the people; we swore themin, " said John Crondall modestly. "Their worth is the faith in them, andtheir faith spells Duty. That's what makes _The Citizens_ formidable. "

"The grace of God, " Stairs called it; and so did many others. 

Crondall bowed to that, and added a line from his favourite poet: "Thenit's the grace of God in those 'Who are neither children nor gods, butmen in a world of men!'" he said. 

No wise man has ever doubted, so far as I know, that simple piety, simple religion, "British Christianity, " was the motive force at workbehind the whole of the revival movement. Without that foundation, theenduring results achieved must have been impossible. But this wasentirely unlike any previously known religious revival, in that itsupplied no emotional food whatever. There was no room forsentimentality, still less for hysteria, in the acceptation of GeorgeStairs's message from that "Stern Daughter of the Voice of God, " whosename is Duty. Tears and protestations were neither sought nor foundamong converts to the faith which taught all to be up and doing inDuty's name. 

From the records, I know that eight weeks passed after the famousCouncil at the War Office before England spoke. When I say that duringthat time I acted as my chief's representative in controlling an officeof over ninety clerks (all drilled men and fair shots), besides severaltimes traversing the length and breadth of the kingdom on specialmissions, it will be understood that the period was to me a good dealmore like eight days. During that time, too, I was able to helpConstance Grey in her organization of the women helpers' branch of _TheCitizens_, in which over nine thousand members were enrolled. Constancehad an executive committee of twenty-five volunteer workers, who spentmoney and energy ungrudgingly in helping her. 

We kept in close touch with the heads of provincial committees duringthe whole of that period, and several times we communicated by means ofprinted circular letters, franked gratis for us by the War Office, withevery single _Citizen_. 

Then came the day of the now historic telegram which the Post Office wasauthorized to transmit to every sworn _Citizen_ in the kingdom:

"Be ready! 'For God, our Race, and Duty. '"

This was signed by John Crondall, and came after some days of detailedinstruction and preparation. 

It has been urged by some writers that the Government was at fault inthe matter of its famous declaration of war with Germany. It has beenpointed out that for the sake of a point of etiquette, the Governmenthad no right to yield a single advantage to an enemy whose conducttoward us had shown neither mercy nor courtesy. There is a good deal tobe said for this criticism; but, when all is said and done, I believethat every Englishman is glad at heart that our Government took thiscourse. I believe it added strength to our fighting arm; I believe itadded weight and consequence to the first blows struck. 

Be that as it may, there was no sign of hesitancy or weakness in theaction of the Government when the declaration had once been made; and itspeaks well for the deliberate thoroughness of all preparations that, twenty-four hours after the declaration, every one of the nine Germangarrisons in the kingdom was hemmed in by land and by sea. On the landside the Germans were besieged by more than three million armed men. Almost the whole strength of the British Navy was then concentrated uponthe patrolling of our coasts generally, and the blockading of theGerman-garrisoned ports particularly. Thirty-six hours had not passedwhen the German battle-ships _Hohenzollern_ and _Kaiserin_, and thecruisers _Elbe_ and _Deutschland_, were totally destroyed off Portsmouthand Cardiff respectively; Britain's only loss at that time being the_Corfe Castle_, almost the smallest among the huge flotilla of armedmerchantmen which had been subsidized and fitted out by the Governmentthat year. 

I believe all the authorities had admitted that, once it was known thatour declaration had reached Berlin, the British tactics could not havebeen excelled for daring, promptitude, and devastating thoroughness. Itis true that Masterman, in his well-known _History of the War_, urgesthat much loss of life might have been spared at Portsmouth andDevonport "if more deliberate and cautious tactics had been adopted, and the British authorities had been content to achieve their ends alittle less hurriedly. " But Masterman is well answered by the passage inGeneral Hatfield's Introduction to Low's important work, which tells usthat:

"The British plan of campaign did not admit of leisurely tactics orgreat economy. Britain was striking a blow for freedom, for her verylife. Failure would have meant no ordinary loss, but mere extinction. The loss of British life in such strongly armed centres as Portsmouthwas very great. It was the price demanded by the immediate end ofBritain's war policy, which was to bring the enemy to terms without theterrible risks which delay would have represented, for the outlying andcomparatively defenceless portions of our own Empire. When the price ismeasured and analyzed in cold blood, the objective should be ascarefully considered. The price may have been high; the result purchasedwas marvellous. It should be borne in mind, too, that Britain's militaryarm, while unquestionably long and strong (almost unmanageably so, perhaps), was chiefly composed of what, despite the excellentinstructive routine of _The Citizens_, must, from the technicalstandpoint, be called raw levies. Yet that great citizen army, by reasonof its fine patriotism, was able in less than one hundred hours from thetime of the declaration, to defeat, disarm, and extinguish as a fightingforce some three hundred thousand of the most perfectly trained troopsin the world. That was the immediate objective of Britain's war policy;or, to be exact, the accomplishment of that in one week was our object. It was done in four days; and, notwithstanding the unexpected turn ofevents afterwards, no military man will ever doubt that the achievementwas worth the price paid. It strengthened Britain's hand as nothing elsecould have strengthened it. It gave us at the outset that unmistakablelead which, in war as in a race, is of incalculable value to itspossessors. "

And, the General might have added, as so many other writers have, thatno civilized and thinking men ever went more cheerfully and bravely totheir deaths, or earned more gladly the eternal reward of Dutyaccomplished, than did _The Citizens_, the "raw levies, " with theirstiffening of regulars, who fell at Portsmouth and Devonport. They werenot perfectly disciplined men, in the professional sense, or one mustsuppose they would have paid some heed to General Sir Robert Calder'srepeated orders to retire. But they were British citizens of as fine acalibre as any Nelson or Wellington knew, and they carried the Sword ofDuty that day into the camp of an enemy who, with all his skill, had notlearned, till it was written in his blood for survivors to read, thatEngland had awakened from her long sleep. For my part, if retrospectivepower were mine, I would not raise a finger to rob those stern convertsof their glorious end. 

It is easy to be wise after the event, but no Government could haveforetold the cynical policy adopted by Berlin. No one could have guessedthat the German Government would have said, in effect, that it wasperfectly indifferent to the fate of nearly three hundred thousand ofits own loyal subjects and defenders, and that Britain might starve orkeep them at her own pleasure. After all, the flower of the German Armywas in England, and only a Government to the last degree desperate, unscrupulous, and cynical could have adopted Germany's callous attitudeat this juncture. 

Britain's aim was not at all the annihilation of Germany, but thefreeing of her own soil; and it was natural that our Government shouldhave acted on the assumption that this could safely be demanded when weheld a great German army captive, by way of hostage. The British aim wasa sound one, and it was attained. That it did not bring about theresults anticipated was due to no fault in our Government, nor even toany lack of foresight upon their part; but solely to the cynicalrapacity of a ruler whose ambition had made him fey, or of a Court sofar out of touch with the country which supported it as to have lost itssense of honour. 

In the meantime, though saddled with a huge army of prisoners, and thepoorer by her loss of eighteen thousand gallant citizens, Britain hadfreed her shores. In an even shorter time than was occupied over theinvasion, the yoke of the invader had been torn in sunder, and not onearmed enemy was left in England. And for our losses--the shedding ofthat British blood partook of the nature of a sacrament; it waslife-giving. By that fiery jet we were baptized again. England had foundherself. Once more His people had been found worthy to bear the Sword ofthe Lord. Britain that had slept, was wide-eyed and fearless again, asin the glorious days which saw the rise of her Empire. Throughout theland one watchword ran: "For God, our Race, and Duty!" We had heard andanswered to the poet's call:

 Strike--for your altars and your fires; Strike--for the green graves of your sires; God, and your native land!

I find it easy to believe and read between the lines of the grimofficial record which told us that outside Portsmouth "white-haired mensmiled over the graves of their sons, and armed youths were heardsinging triumphant chants while burying their fathers. "

Meantime, simple folk in the southern country lanes of Dorset and ofHampshire (Tarn Regis yokels among them, no doubt) heard the dull, rumbling thunder of great guns at sea, and the talk ran on navalwarfare. 

XV

"SINGLE HEART AND SINGLE SWORD"

 Yea, though we sinned--and our rulers went from righteousness-- Deep in all dishonour though we stained our garment's hem. 

 . . . . . . 

 Hold ye the Faith--the Faith our fathers sealed us; Whoring not with visions--overwise and overstale. Except ye pay the Lord Single heart and single sword, Of your children in their bondage shall he ask them treble-tale!

 RUDYARD KIPLING. 

The learned German, Professor Elberfeld, has told the world, insentences of portentous length and complication, that "the pettytrader's instincts which form the most typical characteristic of theBritish race" came notably to the fore in our treatment of the Germanprisoners of war who were held under military surveillance in theBritish ports which they had garrisoned. 

The learned professor notes with bitter contempt that no wines, spirits, cigars, or "other customary delicacies" were supplied to our prisoners, and that the German officers received very little more than the rationsserved to their men. The professor makes no mention of one or two otherpertinent facts in this connection; as, for example, that none of these"customary delicacies" were supplied to the British troops. We mayendure his reproaches with the more fortitude, I think, when we rememberthat the German Government absolutely ignored our invitation to sendweekly shipments of supplies under a white flag for the towns they hadgarrisoned on British soil. 

It is known that the officers in command of the German forces in Englandhad previously maintained a very lavish and luxurious scale of living;in the same way that, since the invasion of England, extravagance wassaid to have reached unparallelled heights in Germany itself. But theBritish Government which had reached depletion of our own supplies, byassisting our prisoners to maintain a luxurious scale of living whileheld as hostages, would certainly have forfeited the confidence of thepublic, and justly so. Upon the whole, it is safe to say that Germansneers at British parsimony and Puritanism may fairly be accepted astribute, and, as such, need in no sense be resented. 

As soon as we received Germany's cynical reply to Britain's demand for acomplete withdrawal of all the invasion claims, it became evident thatthe war was to be a prolonged and bitter one, and that no furtherpurpose could be served by the original British plan of campaign, which, as its object had been the freeing of our own soil, had been based onthe assumption that the defeat and capture of the invader's forces wouldbe sufficient. Troops had to be despatched at once to South Africa, where German overlordship had aroused the combined opposition of theBoers and the British. This opposition burst at once into openhostility immediately the news of England's declaration of war reachedSouth Africa. While the Boers and the British, united in a common cause, were carrying war into German Southwest Africa, troops from German EastAfrica were said to have landed in Delagoa Bay, and to be advancingsouthward. 

In all this, the British cause was well served by Germany's initialblunder; by the huge mistake which cost her four-fifths of her navalstrength at a blow. This mistake in Germany's policy was distinctlytraceable to one cause: the national arrogance which, since theinvasion, had approached near to madness; which had now led Germany intocontemptuously underrating the striking power still remaining in theBritish Navy. It was true that, prior to the invasion, our Navy had beenconsistently starved and impoverished by "The Destroyers. " It was that, of course, which had first earned them their title. But Germany herself, when she struck her great blow at England, hardly wounded the BritishNavy at all. Her cunning had drawn our ships into a Mediterraneanimpasse when they were sadly needed upon our coasts, and her strategyhad actually destroyed one British line of battle-ship, one cruiser, andtwo gunboats. But that was the whole extent of the naval damageinflicted by her at the time of the invasion. But the lesson she gave atthe same time was of incalculable value to us. The ships she destroyedhad been manned by practically untrained, short-handed crews, hurriedlyrushed out of Portsmouth barracks. Yet German arrogance positivelyinspired Berlin with the impression that the Navies of the two countrieshad tried conclusions, and that our fleet had been proved practicallyineffective. 

Prior to the invasion our Navy had indeed reached a low ebb. Livingalways in barracks, under the pernicious system gradually forced uponthe country by "The Destroyers" in the name of economy, our bluejacketshad fallen steadily from their one high standard of discipline andefficiency into an incompetent, sullen, half-mutinous state, due solelyto the criminal parsimony and destructive neglect of an Administrationwhich aimed at "peace at any price, " and adopted, of all means, themeasures most calculated to provoke foreign attack. But, since theinvasion, an indescribable spirit of emulation, a veritable fury ofendeavour, had welded the British fleet into a formidable state ofefficiency. 

First "The Destroyers, " actuated by a combination of panic and remorse, and then the first Free Government, representing the convinced feelingof the public, had lavished liberality upon the Navy since the invasion. Increased pay, newly awakened patriotism, the general change in thespirit of the age, all had combined to fill the Admiralty recruitingoffices with applicants. Almost all our ships had been kept practicallycontinuously at sea. "The Destroyers'" murderous policy in naval mattershad been completely reversed, and our fleet was served by a greatflotilla of magnificently armed leviathans of the Mercantile Marine, including two of the fastest steamships in the world, all subsidized byGovernment. 

We know now that exact official records of these facts were filed inthe Intelligence Department at Berlin. But German arrogance prohibitedtheir right comprehension, and Britain's declaration of war wasinstantly followed by an Imperial order which, in effect, divided theavailable strength of the German Navy into eight fleets, and despatchedthese to eight of the nine British ports garrisoned by German troops, with orders of almost childish simplicity. These ports were to be taken, and British insurrection crushed, ashore and afloat. 

If the German Navy had been free of its Imperial Commander-in-Chief, andof the insensate arrogance of his entourage, it could have struck aterrible blow at the British Empire, while almost the whole fightingstrength of our Navy was concentrated upon the defence of England. As itwas, this fine opportunity was flung aside, and with it the greater partof Germany's fleet. Divided into eight small squadrons, their ships wereat the mercy of our concentrated striking force. Our men fell upon themwith a Berserker fury born of humiliation silently endured, and followedby eight or nine months of the finest sort of sea-training which couldpossibly be devised. 

The few crippled ships of the German fleet which survived those terribleNorth Sea and Channel engagements must have borne with them into theirhome waters a bitter lesson to the ruler whom they left, so far aseffective striking power was concerned, without a Navy. 

Here, again, critics have said that our tactics showed an extravagantdisregard of cost, both as to men and material. But here also thehostile critics overlook various vital considerations. The destructionof Germany's sea-striking power at this juncture was worth literallyanything that Britain could give; not perhaps in England's immediateinterest, but in the interests of the Empire, without which Englandwould occupy but a very insignificant place among the powers ofcivilization. 

Then, too, the moral of our bluejackets has to be considered. Since theinvasion and the sinking of the _Dreadnought_, ours had become a Navy ofBerserkers. The Duty teaching, coming after the invasion, made runningfire of our men's blood. They fought their ships as Nelson's men foughttheirs, and with the same invincible success. It was said the_Terrible's_ men positively courted the penalty of mutiny in time of warby refusing to turn in, in watches, after forty-two hours of continuousfighting. There remained work to be done, and the "Terribles" refused toleave it undone. 

The commander who had lessened the weight of the blow struck byBritain's Navy, in the interests of prudence or economy, would haveshown himself blind to the significance of the new spirit with whichEngland's awakening had endowed her sons; the stern spirit of thetwentieth-century faith which gave us for watchword, "For God, our Race, and Duty!"

With the major portion of our Navy still in fighting trim, andtwenty-five-knot liners speeding southward laden with British troops, itspeedily became evident that Germany's chance of landing further troopsin South Africa was hardly worth serious consideration, now that hernaval power was gone. On the other hand, it was known that the enemyhad already massed great bodies of troops in East and Southwest Africa, and it became the immediate business of the British Admiralty to seethat German oversea communications should be cut off. 

Further, we had to face ominous news of German preparations foraggression in the Pacific and in the near East, with persistent rumoursof a hurriedly aggressive alliance with Russia for action in the FarEast. The attitude of Berlin itself was amazingly cynical, as it hadbeen from the very time of the unprovoked invasion of our shores. Ineffect, the Kaiser said:

"You hold a German Army as prisoners of war, and you have destroyed myNavy; but you dare not invade my territory, and I defy you to hit uponany other means of enforcing your demands. You can do nothing further. "

The British demands, made directly the German troops in England were inour hands, were, briefly, for the complete withdrawal of the whole ofclaims enforced by Germany at the time of the invasion. 

That, then, was the position when I returned to our London headquartersfrom a journey I had undertaken for my chief in connection with the workof drafting large numbers of _Citizens_ back from the camps into privatelife. Various questions had to be placed in writing before every_Citizen_ as to his attitude in the matter of possible future calls madeupon his services. I had only heard of seven cases of men physically fitfailing to express perfect readiness to respond to any future call foractive service at home or abroad, in case of British need. Here was ashield of which I knew both sides well. The thing impressed me more thanI can tell, or most folk would understand nowadays. I knew so well howthe god of business (which served to cover all individual pursuit ofmoney or pleasure) would have been invoked to prove the utterimpracticability of this--one short year before. I looked back toward myFleet Street days, and I thanked God for the awakening of England, whichhad included my own awakening. 

My return to London was a matter of considerable personal interest tome, for Constance Grey was there, having been recalled by John Crondallfrom her active superintendence of nursing at Portsmouth. 

XVI

HANDS ACROSS THE SEA

 There is a Pride whose Father is Understanding, whose Mother is Humility, whose Business is the Recognition and Discharge of Duty. That is the true Pride. --MERROW'S _Essays of the Time_. 

I was impatient to reach London, but I should have been far moreimpatient if I had known that Constance Grey stood waiting to meet me onthe arrival platform at Waterloo. 

"They told me your train at the office, " she said, as I took one of herhands in both of mine, "and I could not resist coming to give you thenews. Don't say you have had it!"

"No, " I told her. "My best news is that Constance has come to meet me, and that I am alive to appreciate the fact very keenly. Another triflingitem is that, so far as I can tell, practically every member of _TheCitizens_ would respond to-morrow to a call for active service inTimbuctoo--if the call came. I tell you, Constance, this is not reform, it's revolution that has swept over England. We call our membershipthree and a half millions; it's fifty millions, really. They're all_Citizens_, every mother's son of them; and every daughter, too. "

We were in a cab now. 

"But what about my news?" said Constance. 

"Yes, tell me, do. And isn't it magnificent about the Navy? How aboutthose 'Terrible' fellows? Constance, do you realize how all this muststrike a man who was scribbling and fiddling about disarmament a yearago? And do you realize who gave that man decent sanity?"

"Hush! It wasn't a person, it was a force; it was the revolution thatbrought the change. "

"Ah, well, God bless you, Constance! I wish you'd give me the news. "

"I will, directly you give me a chance to get in a word. Well, John isat Westminster, in consultation with the Foreign Office people, andnothing definite has been done yet; but the great point is, to mythinking, that the offer should ever have been made. "

"Why, Constance, whatever has bewitched you? I never knew you to beginat the end of a thing before. "

And indeed it was unlike Constance Grey. She was in high spirits, andsomehow this little touch of illogical weakness in her struck me asbeing very charming. She laughed, and said it was due to my persistentinterruptions. And then she gave me the news. 

"America has offered to join hands with us. "

"Never!"

"Yes. The most generous sort of defensive alliance, practically withoutconditions, and--'as long as Great Britain's present need endures. 'Isn't it splendid? John Crondall regards it as the biggest thing thathas happened; but he is all against accepting the offer. "

There had been vague rumours at the time of the invasion, and again, ofa more pointed sort, when Britain declared war. But every one had saidthat the pro-German party and the ultra-American party were far toostrong in the United States to permit of anything beyond expressions ofgood-will. But now, as I gathered from the copy of the _EveningStandard_ which Constance gave me:

"The heart of the American people has been deeply stirred by twoconsiderations: Germany's unwarrantable insolence and arrogance, andBritain's magnificent display of patriotism, ashore and afloat, infighting for her independence. The patriotic struggle forindependence--that is what has moved the American people toforgetfulness of all jealousies and rivalries. The rather indiscreetefforts of the German sections of the American public have undoubtedlyhastened this offer, and made it more generous and unqualified. Thesuggestion that any foreign people could hector them out of generosityto the nation from whose loins they sprang, finally decided the Americanpublic; and it is fair to say that the President's offer of alliance isan offer from the American people to the British people. "

"But how about the Monroe Doctrine?" I said to Constance, after runningthrough the two-column telegram from Washington, of which this passageformed part. 

"I don't know about that; but you see, Dick, this thing clearly comesfrom the American people, not her politicians and diplomatists only. That is what gives it its tremendous importance, I think. "

"Yes; to be sure. And why does John Crondall want the offer declined?"

"Oh, he hadn't time to explain to me; but he said something about itsbeing necessary for the new Britain to prove herself, first; our ownunity and strength. 'We must prove our own Imperial British alliancefirst, ' he said. "

"I see; yes, I think I see that. But it is great news, as you say--greatnews. "

How much John Crondall's view had to do with the Government's decisionwill never be known, but we know that England's deeply grateful Messagepointed out that, in the opinion of his Majesty's Imperial Government, the most desirable basis for an alliance between two great nations wasone of equality and mutual respect. While in the present case therecould be nothing lacking in the affection and esteem in which GreatBritain held the United States, yet the equality could hardly be heldproven while the former Power was still at war with a nation which hadinvaded its territory. The Message expressed very feelingly the deepsense of grateful appreciation which animated his Majesty's ImperialGovernment and the British people, which would render unforgettable inthis country the generous magnanimity of the American nation. And, finally, the Message expressed the hope, which was certainly felt by theentire public, that those happier circumstances which should equalizethe footing of the two nations in the matter of an alliance wouldspeedily come about. 

To my thinking, our official records contain no document more moving ormore worthy of a great nation than that Message, which, as has sofrequently been pointed out, was in actual truth a Message from thepeople of one nation to the people of another nation--from the heart ofone country to the heart of another country. The Message of thanks, noless than the generous offer itself, was an assertion of blood-kinship, an appeal to first principles, a revelation of the underlying racial andtraditional tie which binds two great peoples together through andbeneath the whole stiff robe of artificial differences which separatedthem upon the surface and in the world's eyes. 

The offer stands for all time a monument to the frank generosity andhumanity of the American people. And in the hearts of both peoples thereis, in my belief, another monument to certain sturdy qualities whichhave gone to the making and cementing of the British Empire. The shapethat monument takes is remembrance of the Message in which that kindlyoffer was for the time declined. 

The declining of the American offer has been called the expression of anation's pride. It was that, incidentally. First and foremost--and this, I think, is the point which should never be forgotten--it was theexpression of a nation's true humility. Pride we had always with us inEngland, of the right sort and the wrong sort; of the sort that adds toa people's stature, and sometimes, of late, of the gross and senselesssort that leads a people into decadence. But in the past year we hadlearned to know and cherish that true pride which has its foundations inthe rock of Duty, and is buttressed all about and crowned by thatquality which St. Peter said earned the grace of God--humility. 

For my part, I see in that Message the ripe fruit of the Canadianpreachers' teaching; the crux and essence of the simple faith which cameto be called "British Christianity. " I think the spirit of it was thespirit of the general revival in England that came to us with theCanadian preachers; even as so much other help, spiritual and material, came to us from our kinsmen of the greater Britain overseas, which, before that time, we had never truly recognized as actually part, and byfar the greater part, of our State. 

XVII

THE PENALTY

 We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed. 

 _Othello. _

It would be distinctly a work of supererogation for me to attempt totell the story of the Anglo-German war--of all modern wars the mostremarkable in some ways, and certainly the war which has been mostexhaustively treated by modern historians. A. Low says in the concludingchapter of his fine history:

"Putting aside the fighting in South Africa, and after the initialdestruction of both the German Navy and its Army in England (aseffective forces), we must revert to the wars of more than a century agoto find parallels for this remarkable conflict. There can be no doubtthat at the time of the invasion of England Germany's effective fightingstrength was enormous. Its growth had been very rapid; its decline mustbe dated from General von Füchter's occupation of London on BlackSaturday. 

"At that moment everything appeared to bode well for the realization ofthe Emperor's ambition to be Dictator of Europe, as the ruler of by farthe greatest Power in the Old World. From that moment the German people, but more particularly the German official and governing class, and hernaval and military men, would appear to have imbibed of somedistillation of their Emperor's exaggerated pride, and found it tooheady an elixir for their sanity. It would ill become us to dilate atlength upon the extremes into which their arrogance and luxuriousnessled them. With regard, at all events, to the luxury and indulgence, weourselves had been very far from guiltless. But it may be that ourextravagance was less deadly, for the reason that it was of slowergrowth. Certain it is, that before ever an English shot was fired thefighting strength of Germany waned rapidly from the period of theinvasion. By some writers this has been attributed to the insidiousspread of Socialism. But it must be remembered that the deteriorationwas far more notable in the higher than in the lower walks of life; andmost of all it was notable among the naval and military officialnobility, who swore loudest by lineage and the divine privileges ofancient pedigrees. 

"When the German army of occupation in England was disarmed, prisonersin barracks and camps, and the German Navy had, to all intents andpurposes, been destroyed, the Imperial German Government adopted theextraordinary course of simply defying England to strike further blows. Germany practically ceased to fight (no reinforcements were ever landedin South Africa, and the German troops already engaged there had noother choice than to continue fighting, though left entirely withoutImperial backing), but emphatically refused to consider the extremelymoderate terms offered by Britain, which, at that time, did not eveninclude an indemnity. But this extraordinary policy was not so purelycallous and cynical as was supposed. Like most things in this world, ithad its different component parts. There was the cynical arrogance ofthe Prussian Court upon the one side; but upon the other side there wasthe ominous disaffection of the lesser German States, and the rampant, angry Socialism of the lower and middle classes throughout the Empire, which had become steadily more and more virulent from the time of thereactionary elections of the early part of 1907, in which the Socialistsfelt that they had been tricked by the Court party. In reality Germanyhad two mouthpieces. The Court defied Britain; the people refused toback that defiance with action. "

For a brief summary of the causes leading up to the strange half-yearwhich followed our receipt of the American offer of assistance, I thinkwe have nothing more lucid than this passage of Low's important work. That the forces at work in Germany, which he described from thevantage-point of a later date, were pretty clearly understood, even atthat time, by our Government, is proved, I think, by the tactics weadopted throughout that troublous period. 

In South Africa our troops, though amply strong, never adopted anaggressive line. They defended our frontiers, and that defence led tosome heavy fighting. But, after the first outbreak of hostilities, ourmen never carried the war into the enemy's camp. There was aconsiderable party in the House of Commons which favoured an activelyaggressive policy in the matter of seizing the Mediterraneanstrongholds ceded to Germany at the time of the invasion. It was evensuggested that we should land a great _Citizen_ army in Germany andenforce our demands at the point of the sword. 

In this John Crondall rendered good service to the Government byabsolutely refusing to allow his name to be used in calling out _TheCitizens_ for such a purpose. But, in any case, wiser counsels prevailedwithout much difficulty. There was never any real danger of ourreturning to the bad old days of a divided Parliament. The gospel ofDuty taught by the Canadian preachers, and the stern sentiment behind_The Citizens'_ watchword, had far too strong a hold upon the countryfor that. 

Accordingly, the Government policy had free play. No other policy couldhave been more effective, more humane, or more truly direct andeconomical. In effect, the outworking of it meant a strictly defensiveattitude in Africa, and in the north a naval siege of Germany. 

Germany had no Navy to attack, and, because they believed England wouldnever risk landing an army in Germany, the purblind camarilla who stoodbetween the Emperor's arrogance and the realities of life assumed thatEngland would be powerless to carry hostilities further. Or if theImperial Court did not actually believe this, it was ostensibly theGovernment theory, the poor sop they flung to a disaffected people whilefilling their official organs with news of wonderful successes achievedby the German forces in South Africa. 

But within three months our Navy had taught the German people that thetruth lay in quite another direction. The whole strength of the BritishNavy which could be spared from southern and eastern bases wasconcentrated now upon the task of blocking Germany's oversea trade. Practically no loss of life was involved, but day by day the ocean-goingvessels of Germany's mercantile marine were being transferred to theBritish flag. The great oversea carrying trade, whose growth had beenthe pride of Germany, was absolutely and wholly destroyed during thathalf-year. The destruction of her export trade spelt ruin for Germany'smost important industries; but it was the cutting off of her importswhich finally robbed even the German Emperor of the power to shut hiseyes any longer to the fact that his Empire had in reality ceased toexist. 

The actual overthrow of monarchical government in Prussia was notaccomplished without scenes of excess and violence in the capital. But, in justice to the German people as a whole, it should be remembered thatthe revolution was carried out at remarkably small cost; that the peopledisplayed wonderful patience and self-control, in circumstances ofmaddening difficulty, which were aggravated at every turn by theEmperor's arbitrary edicts and arrogant obtrusion of his personal will, and by the insolence of the official class. One must remember that forseveral decades Germany had been essentially an industrial country, andthat a very large proportion of her population were at once stronglyimbued with Socialistic theories, and wholly dependent upon industrialactivity. Bearing these things in mind, one is moved to wonder that theGerman people could have endured so long as they did the practicallydespotic sway of a Ruler who, in the gratification of his own insensatepride, allowed their country to be laid waste by the stoppage of trade, and their homes to be devastated by the famine of an unemployed peoplewhose communications with the rest of the world were completely severed. 

That such a ruler and such a Court should have met with no worse fatethan deposition, exile, and dispersal is something of a tribute to thetemperate character of the Teutonic race. Bavaria, Württemberg, Saxony, and the southern Grand Duchies elected to retain their independent formsof government under hereditary rule; and to this no objection was raisedby the new Prussian Republic, in which all but one of the northernprincipalities were incorporated. 

Within, forty-eight hours of the election of Dr. Carl Möller to thePresidency of the new Republic, hostilities ceased between Great Britainand Germany, and three weeks later the Peace was signed in London andBerlin. Even hostile critics have admitted that the British terms werenot ungenerous. The war was the result of Germany's unprovoked invasionof our shores. The British terms were, in lieu of indemnity, the cessionof all German possessions in the African continent to the British Crown, unreservedly. For the rest, Britain demanded no more than a complete andunqualified withdrawal of all German claims and pretensions in thematter of the Peace terms enforced after the invasion by General Baronvon Füchter, including, of course, the immediate evacuation of all thosepoints of British territory which had been claimed in the invasiontreaty, an instrument now null and void. 

The new Republic was well advised in its grateful acceptance of theseterms, for they involved no monetary outlay, and offered no obstacle tothe new Government's task of restoration. At that early stage, at allevents, the Prussian Republic had no colonial ambitions, and needed allits straitened financial resources for the rehabilitation of its homelife. (In the twelve months following the declaration of war betweenGreat Britain and Germany, the number of Germans who emigrated reachedthe amazing total of 1, 134, 378. )

To me, one of the most interesting and significant features of theactual conclusion of the Peace--which added just over one million squaremiles to Britain's African possessions, and left the Empire, in certainvital respects, infinitely richer and more powerful than ever before inits history--is not so much as mentioned in any history of the war Ihave ever read, though it did figure, modestly, in the report of theCommissioner of Police for that year. As a sidelight upon thedevelopment of our national character since the arrival of the Canadianpreachers and the organization of _The Citizens_, this one brief passagein an official record is to my mind more luminous than anything I couldpossibly say, and far more precious than the fact of our territorialacquisitions:

"The news of the signature of the Peace was published in the earlyeditions of the evening papers on Saturday, 11 March. Returns show thatthe custom of the public-houses and places of entertainment during theremainder of that day was 37-1/2 per cent. Below the average Saturdayreturns. Divisional reports show that the streets were more empty oftraffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, than on any ordinary week-day. Police-court cases on the following Monday were 28-1/2 per cent. Belowthe average, and included, in the metropolitan area, only five cases ofdrunkenness or disorderly conduct. All reports indicate the prevalencethroughout the metropolitan area of private indoor celebrations of thePeace. All London churches and chapels held Thanksgiving Services onSunday, 12 March, and the attendances were abnormally large. "

Withal, I am certain that the people of London had never before duringmy life experienced a deeper sense of gladness, a more generalconsciousness of rejoicing. Not for nothing has "British Christianity"earned its Parisian name of "New Century Puritanism. " As the Presidentof the French Republic said in his recent speech at Lyons: "It is the'New Century Puritanism' which leads the new century's civilization, andmaintains the world's peace. "

XVIII

THE PEACE

 Fair is our lot--O goodly is our heritage! (Humble ye, my people, and be fearful in your mirth!) For the Lord our God Most High He hath made the deep as dry, He hath smote for us a pathway to the ends of all the earth. 

 RUDYARD KIPLING. 

At a very early stage of the war with Germany, before the end of thefirst month, in fact, it became evident that, our own soil having oncebeen freed, this was to be a maritime and not a land war. A little lateron it was made quite clear that there would be no need to draw furtherupon our huge reserve force of _Citizen_ defenders. It was then thatJohn Crondall concentrated his efforts upon giving permanent nationaleffect to our work of the previous year. 

Fortunately, the Government recognized that it would be an act ofcriminal wastefulness and extravagance to allow so splendid a defensiveorganization as ours to lapse because its immediate purpose had beenserved. Accordingly, special legislation, which was to have beenpostponed for another session, was now hurried forward; and long beforethe German Revolution and the conclusion of the Peace, England wassecure in the possession of that permanent organization of home defencewhich, humanly speaking, has made these shores positively impregnable, by converting Great Britain, the metropolis and centre of the Empire, into a nation in arms. There is no need for me to enlarge now upon theother benefits, the mental, moral, and physical advancement which thislegislation has given us. Our doctors and schoolmasters and clergymenhave given us full and ample testimony upon these points. 

Prior to the passing of the National Defence Act, which guaranteedmilitary training as a part of the education of every healthy malesubject, the great majority of _The Citizens_ had returned to privatelife. Yet, with the exception of some few hundreds of special cases, every one of _The Citizens_ remained members of the organization. And itwas that fact which provided incessant employment, not alone for JohnCrondall and myself, and our headquarters staff, during the progress ofthe war, but for our committees throughout the country. 

Before reëntering private life, every _Citizen_ was personallyinterviewed and given the opportunity of being resworn under conditionsof permanent membership. The new conditions applied only to homedefence, but they included specific adherence to our propaganda for themaintenance of universal military training. They included also adefinite undertaking upon the part of every _Citizen_ to further ourends to the utmost of his ability, and, irrespective of Statelegislation, to secure military training for his own sons, and to abideby _The Citizens'_ Executive in whatever steps it should take towardlinking up our organization, under Government supervision, with theregular national defence force of the country. 

It should be easy to understand that this process involved a great dealof work. But it was work that was triumphantly rewarded, for, upon thepassage into law of the Imperial Defence Act, which superseded theNational Defence Act, after the peace had been signed, we were able topresent the Government with a nucleus consisting of a compact workingorganization of more than three million British _Citizens_. These_Citizens_ were men who had undergone training and seen active service. They were sworn supporters of universal military training, and of aminimum of military service as a qualification for the suffrage. 

All political writers have agreed that the knowledge of what was takingplace in England, with regard to our organization, greatly strengthenedthe hands of the Imperial Parliament in its difficult task of framingand placing upon the Statute Book those two great measures which haveremained the basis of politics and defence throughout the Empire: theImperial Defence Act and the Imperial Parliamentary Representation Act. At the time there were not wanting critics who held that a short reignof peace would bring opposition to legislation born of a state of war;but if I remember rightly we heard the last of that particular order ofcriticism within twelve months of the peace, it being realized once andfor all then, that the maintenance of an adequate defence system was tobe regarded, not so much as a preparation for possible war, as the oneand only means of preventing war. 

Constance Grey worked steadily throughout the progress of the war, andit was owing almost entirely to her efforts that the Volunteer NursingCorps, which she had organized under _Citizens'_ auspices, was placed ona permanent footing. Admirable though this organization was as a nursingcorps, its actual value to the nation went far beyond the limits of itsnominal scope. By her tireless activity, and as a result of her ownpersonal enthusiasm, Constance was able before the end of the war toestablish branches of her corps in every part of the country, with acommittee and headquarters in all large centres. Meetings were heldregularly at all these headquarters, every one of which was visited inturn by Constance herself; and in the end _The Citizens' Nursing Corps_, as this great league of Englishwomen was always called, became a verypotent force, an inexhaustible spring of what the Prime Minister called"the domestic patriotism of Britain. "

In the earliest stage of this work of hers Constance had to cope with acertain inertia on the part of her supporters, due to the fact that noactive service offered to maintain their enthusiasm. But Constance'swatchword was, "Win mothers and sisters, and the fathers and brotherscannot fail you. " It was in that belief that she acted, and before longthe Nursing Corps might with equal justice have been called _The WomenCitizens_. It became a great league of domestic patriots, and it wouldnot be easy to overstate the value of its influence upon the risinggeneration of our race. 

War has always been associated in men's minds with distress and want, and that with some reason. But after the first few months of theAnglo-German war it became more and more clearly apparent that this war, combined with the outworking of the first legislation of the ImperialParliament, was to produce the greatest commercial revival, the greatestaccess of working prosperity, Britain had ever known. Two main causeswere at work here; and the first of them, undoubtedly, was theprotection afforded to our industries by Imperial preference. The timefor tinkering with half-measures had gone by, and, accordingly, thefiscal belt with which the first really Imperial Parliament girdled theEmpire was made broad and strong. The effect of its application wasgradual, but unmistakable; its benefits grew daily more apparent as theend of the war approached. 

Factories and mills which had long lain idle in the North of Englandwere hastily refitted, and they added every day to the muster-roll ofhands employed. Our shipping increased by leaps and bounds, but eventhen barely kept pace with the increased rate of production. The priceof the quartern loaf rose to sixpence, in place of fivepence; but thewages of labourers on the land rose by nearly 25 per cent. , and thedemand exceeded the supply. Thousands of acres of unprofitablegrass-land and of quite idle land disappeared under the plough to makeway for corn-fields. Wages rose in all classes of work; but that was notof itself the most important advance. The momentous change was in thedemand for labour of every kind. The statistics prove that while wagesin all trades showed an average increase of 19-1/2 per cent. , unemployment fell during the year of the Peace to a lower level than ithad ever reached since records were instituted. 

In that year the cost of living among working people was 5-1/2 per cent. Higher than it had been five years previously. The total workingearnings for the year were 38-1/2 per cent. Greater than in any previousyear. Since then, as we know, expenditure has fallen considerably; butwages have never fallen, and the total earnings of our people are stillon the up grade. 

Another cause of the unprecedented access of prosperity which changedthe face of industrial and agricultural England, was the fact that someseven-tenths of the trade lost by Germany was now not only carried inBritish ships, but held entirely in British hands. Germany's worldmarkets became Britain's markets, just as the markets of the wholeEmpire became our own as the result of preference, and just as the greatoversea countries of the Empire found Britain's home markets, with fiftymillion customers, exclusively their own. The British public learnedonce and for all, and in one year, the truth that reformers had soughtfor a decade to teach us--that the Empire was self-supporting andself-sufficing, and that common-sense legislative and commercialrecognition of this fundamental fact spelt prosperity for Britishsubjects the world over. 

But, as John Crondall said in the course of the Guildhall speech of hiswhich, as has often been said, brought the Disciplinary Regiments intobeing, "We cannot expect to cure in a year ills that we have studiouslyfostered through the better part of a century. " There was still anunemployed class, though everything points to the conclusion that beforethat first year of the Peace was ended this class had been reduced tothose elements which made it more properly called "unemployable. " Therewere the men who had forgotten their trades and their working habits, and there were still left some of those melancholy products of ourdecadent industrial and social systems--the men who were determined notto work. 

In a way, it is as well that these ills could not be swept aside by thesame swift, irresistible wave which gave us "British Christianity, " _TheCitizens'_ watchword, Imperial Federation, and the beginning of greatprosperity. It was the continued existence of a workless class that gaveus the famous Discipline Bill. At that time the title "DisciplinaryRegiments" had a semidisgraceful suggestion, connected with punishment. In view of that, I shared the feeling of many who said that another nameshould be chosen. But now that the Disciplinary Regiments have earnedtheir honourable place as the most valuable portion of ournon-professional defence forces, every one can see the wisdom of JohnCrondall's contention that not the name, but the public estimate of thatname, had to be altered. Theoretically the value and necessity ofdiscipline was, I suppose, always recognized. Actually, people had cometo connect the word, not with education, not with the equipment ofevery true citizen, but chiefly with punishment and disgrace. 

At first there was considerable opposition to the law, which said, ineffect: No able-bodied man without means shall live without employment. Indeed, for a few days there was talk of the Government going to thecountry on the question. But in the end the Discipline Act became lawwithout this, and I know of no other single measure which has done morefor the cause of social progress. Its effects have been far-reaching. Among other things, it was this measure which led to the common-sensesystem which makes a soldier of every mechanic and artisan employed uponGovernment work. It introduced the system which enables so many men todevote a part of their time to soldiering, and the rest to various otherkinds of Government work. But, of course, its main reason of existenceis the triumphant fact that it has done away with the loafer, as aclass, and reduced the chances of genuine employment to a minimum. Someof the best mechanics and artisans in England to-day are men who learnedtheir trade, along with soldiering and general good citizenship, in oneof the Disciplinary Regiments. 

Despite the increase of population, the numerical strength of our policeforce throughout the kingdom is 30 per cent. Lower to-day than it wasbefore the Anglo-German war; while, as is well known, the prisonpopulation has fallen so low as to have led to the conversion of severallarge prisons into hospitals. The famous Military Training School atDartmoor was a convict prison up to three years after the war. Therecan be no doubt that, but for the Discipline Bill, our police forcewould have required strengthening and prisons enlarging, in place of thereverse process of which we enjoy the benefit to-day. 

Its promoters deserve all the credit which has been paid them for theintroduction of this famous measure; and I take the more pleasure inadmitting this by token that the chief among them has publicly recordedhis opinion that the man primarily responsible for the introduction ofthe Discipline Bill was John Crondall. At the same time it should not beforgotten that we have John Crondall's own assurance that the Bill couldnever have been made law but for that opening and awakening of thehearts and minds of the British people which followed the spreading ofthe gospel of Duty by the Canadian preachers. 

XIX

THE GREAT ALLIANCE

 Truly ye come of the Blood; slower to bless than to ban; Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man. 

 . . . . . 

 Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether; But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together. 

 . . . . . 

 Draw now the threefold knot firm on the ninefold bands, And the law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands. 

 RUDYARD KIPLING. 

During all this time I was constantly with John Crondall, and saw a gooddeal of Constance Grey; yet the announcement that I had once expectedevery day, the announcement which seemed the only natural sequence tothe kiss of which I had been an unwilling witness, never came. Neitherdid any return come, in John Crondall, of his old frank gaiety ofmanner. There remained always the shadow of reserve, of gravity, and ofa certain restraint, which dated in my mind from the day of myinadvertent intrusion upon the scene between himself and Constance. 

Knowing John Crondall as I knew him then, it was not possible for me tothink ill of him; but he perplexed me greatly at times. For at times itdid seem to me that I read in Constance's face, when we three weretogether, a look that was almost an appeal to my chief--ahalf-sorrowful, half-abashed appeal. Then I would recall that kiss, andin my puzzlement I would think: "John Crondall, if you were any otherman, I should say you----"

And there my thought would stop short. Of what should I accuse him?There was the kiss, the long silence, John Crondall's stiffness, andthen this look of distress, this hint of appeal, in the face ofConstance. Well! And then my intimate knowledge of my chief wouldsilence me, giving me assurance that I should never be a good enough manjustly to reproach John Crondall. But it was all very puzzling, andmore, to me, loving Constance as I loved her. 

You may judge, then, of my surprise when Crondall came into my room at_The Citizens'_ headquarters office one morning and said:

"You have been the real secretary for some time, Dick, not only mine, but _The Citizens'_; so there's no need for me to worry about how you'llmanage. I'm going to America. "

"Going to America! Why--when?"

"Well, on Friday, I believe I sail. As to why, I'm afraid I mustn't tellyou about that just yet. I've undertaken a Government mission, and it'sconfidential. "

"I see. And how long will you be away?"

"Oh, not more than two or three months, I hope. "

That simplified the thing somewhat. My chief's tone had suggested atfirst that he was going to live in the United States. Even as it was, however, surely, I thought, he would tell me something now abouthimself and Constance. But though I made several openings, he told menothing. 

While John Crondall was away a new State Under-Secretaryship wascreated. It was announced that for the future the Government wouldinclude an Under-Secretary of State for the Civilian Defence Forces, whose chief would be the Secretary of State for War. A few days latercame the announcement that the first to hold this appointment would beJohn Crondall. I had news of this a little in advance of the public, formy work in connection with _The Citizens'_ organization brought me nowinto frequent contact with the War Office, particularly with regard tosupplies and general arrangements for our different villagerifle-ranges. 

This piece of news seemed tolerably important to Constance Grey andmyself, and we talked it over with a good deal of interest andenthusiasm. But before many weeks had passed this and every other itemof news was driven out of our minds by a piece of intelligence which, indifferent ways, startled and excited the whole civilized world, for thereason that it promised to affect materially the destiny of all thenations of civilization. Every newspaper published some kind of anannouncement on the subject, but the first full, authoritative statementwas that contained in the great _London Daily_ which was now therecognized principal organ of Imperial Federation. The opening portionof this journal's announcement read in this way:

"We are able to announce, upon official authority, the completion of adefensive and commercial Alliance between the British Empire and theUnited States of America, which amounts for all practical purposes to apolitical and commercial Federation of the English-speaking peoples ofthe world. 

"Rumours have been current for some time of important negotiationspending between London and Washington, and, as we pointed out some timeago, Mr. John Crondall's business in Washington has been entirely withour Ambassador there. 

"The exact terms of the new Alliance will probably be made public withinthe next week. In the meantime, we are able to say that the Alliancewill be sufficiently comprehensive to admit United States trade withinthe British Empire upon practically British terms--that is to say, theUnited States will, in almost every detail, share in ImperialPreference. 

"Further, in the event of any foreign Power declaring war with eitherthe British Empire or the United States, both nations would shareequally in the conduct of subsequent hostilities, unless the war werethe direct outcome of an effort upon the part of either of the highcontracting parties in the direction of territorial expansion. TheUnited States will not assist the British Empire to acquire newterritory, but will share from first to last the task of defendingexisting British territory against the attack of an enemy. Precisely thesame obligations will bind the British Empire in the defence of theUnited States. 

"It would scarcely be possible to exaggerate the importance toChristendom of this momentous achievement of diplomacy; and futuregenerations are little likely to forget the act or the spirit to whichthis triumph may be traced: the United States' offer of assistance toBritain during the late war. 

"The advantages of the Alliance to our good friends and kinsmen acrossthe Atlantic are obviously great, for they are at once given free entryinto a market which has four hundred and twenty millions of customers, and is protected by the world's greatest Navy and the world's greatestcitizen defence force. Upon our side we are given free entry into thesecond richest and most expansive market in the world, with eightymillion customers, and an adequate defence force. Upon a preferentialfooting, such as the Alliance will secure to both contracting Powers, the United States offer us the finest market in the world as anextension of our own. In our own markets we shall meet the Americanproducer upon terms of absolute equality, to our mutual advantage, wherea couple of years ago we met him at a cruel disadvantage, to our greatloss. 

"We have said enough to indicate the vast and world-wide importance ofthe Alliance we are able to announce. But we have left untouched itsmost momentous aspect. The new Alliance is a guarantee of peace to thathalf of the world which is primarily concerned; it renders a breach ofthe peace in the other half of the world far more unlikely than it everwas before. As a defensive Alliance between the English-speakingpeoples, this should represent the beginning of an era of unexampledpeace, progress, and prosperity for the whole civilized world. "

Before I had half-digested this tremendous piece of news, and with nevera thought of breakfast, I found myself hurrying in a hansom toConstance Grey's flat. In her study I found Constance, her beautifuleyes full of shining tears, poring over the announcement. 

XX

PEACE HATH HER VICTORIES

 Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns. 

 TENNYSON. 

I had hoped to be the bearer of the Alliance news to Constance, andseeing how deeply she was moved by it made me the more regretful that Ihad not arrived at the flat before her morning paper. Constance had beenthe first to give me the news of the American offer of help at thebeginning of the war; she had been the first to give me any seriousunderstanding of the invasion, there in that very room of the littleSouth Kensington flat, on the fateful Sunday of the DisarmamentDemonstration. Now she raised her gleaming eyes to me as I entered:

"A thing like this makes up for all the ills one's ever known, Dick, "she said, and dropped one hand on the paper in her lap. 

"Yes, it's something like a piece of news, is it not? I had hoped tobring it you, but I might have known you would be at your paperbetimes. "

"Oh, it's magnificent, Dick, magnificent! I have no words to tell youhow glad I am about this. I see John Crondall's hand here, don't you?"

"Yes, " I said; and thought: "Naturally! You see John Crondalleverywhere. "

"He was dead against any sort of an Alliance while we were under acloud. And he was right. The British people couldn't afford to enter anycompact upon terms of less than perfect equality and independence. Butnow--why, Dick, it's a dream come true: the English-speaking peoplesagainst the world. It's Imperial Federation founded on solid rock. No!With its roots in the beds of all the seven seas. And never a hint ofcondescension, but just an honourable pact between equals of one stock. "

"Yes; and a couple of years ago----"

"A couple of years ago, there were Englishmen who spat at the BritishFlag. "

"There was a paper called _The Mass_. "

Constance smiled up at me. "Do you remember the DisarmamentDemonstration?" she said. 

"Do you remember going down Fleet Street into a wretched den, to call onthe person who was assistant editor of _The Mass_?"

"The person! Come! I found him rather nice. "

"Ah, Constance, how sweet you were to me!"

"Now, there, " she said, with a little smile, "I think you might havechanged your tense. "

"But I was talking of two years ago, before---- Well, you see, I thoughtof you, then, as just an unattached angel from South Africa. "

"And now you have learned that my angelic qualities never existedoutside your imagination. Ah, Dick, your explanations make matters muchworse. "

"But, no; I didn't say you were the less an angel; only that I thoughtof you as unattached, then--you see. "

Constance looked down at her paper, and a silence fell between us. Thesilence was intolerable to me. I was standing beside her chair, and Icannot explain just what I felt in looking down at her. I know that thevery outline of her figure and the loose hair of her head seemed at onceintimately familiar and inexpressibly sacred and beautiful to me. Looking down upon them caused a kind of mist to rise before my eyes. Itwas as though I feared to lose possession of my faculties. That mustend, I felt, or an end would come to all reserve and loyalty to JohnCrondall. And yet--yet something in the curve of her cheek--she waslooking down--held me, drew me out of myself, as it might be into atranced state in which a man is moved to contempt of all risks. 

"Dear, I loved you, even then, " I said; "but then I thought you free. "

"So I was. " She did not look at me, and her voice was very low; butthere was some quality in it which thrilled me through and through, as Istood at her side. 

"But now, of course, I know---- But why have you never told me, Constance?"

"I am just as free now as then, Dick. "

"Why, Constance! But, John Crondall?"

"He is my friend, just as he is yours. "

"But I--but he----"

"Dick, I asked him if I might tell you, and he said, yes. John asked meto marry him, and when I said I couldn't, he asked me to wait till ourwork was done, and let him ask me again. Can't you see, Dick, how hardit was for me? And John is--he is such a splendid man. I could not denyhim, and--that was when you came into the room--don't youremember--Dick?"

The mist was thickening about me; it seemed my mind swam in clouds. Ionly said: "Yes?"

"Oh, Dick, I am ashamed! You know how I respect him--how I like him. Hedid ask me again, before he went to America. "

"And now--now, you----"

"It hurt dreadfully; but I had to say no, because----"

And there she stopped. She was not engaged to John Crondall. She hadrefused him--refused John Crondall! Yet I knew how high he stood in hereyes. Could it be that there was some one else--some one in Africa? Thesuggestion spelled panic. It seemed to me that I must know--that I couldnot bear to leave her without knowing. 

"Forgive me, Constance, " I said, "but is there some one else who--isthere some one else?" To see into her dear face, I dropped on one kneebeside her chair. 

"I--I thought there was, " she said very sweetly. And as she spoke sheraised her head, and I saw her beautiful eyes, through tears. It wasthere I read my happiness. I am not sure that any words could have givenit me, though I found it sweeter than anything else I had known in mylife to have her tell me afterwards in words. It was an unforgettablemorning. 

 Why did she love him? Curious fool! be still; Is human love the growth of human will?

John Crondall was my best man, as he has been always my best friend. Heinsisted on my taking over the permanent secretaryship of _The Citizens_when he went to the War Office. And since then I hope I have not ceasedto take my part in making our history; but it is true that there is notmuch to tell that is not known equally well to everybody. 

Assuredly peace hath her victories. Our national life has been a dailysuccession of victories since we fought for and won real peace andovercame the slavish notion that mere indolent quiescence could evergive security. Our daily victory as a race is the triumph of raceloyalty over individual self-seeking; and I can conceive of no realdanger for the British Empire unless the day came, which God forbid, when Englishmen forgot the gospel of our "New Century Puritanism"--theCanadian preachers' teaching of Duty and simple living. And that day cannever come while our _Citizens'_ watchword endures:

 "FOR GOD, OUR RACE, AND DUTY!"

For me, I feel that my share of happiness, since those sombre days ofour national chastisement, since those stern, strenuous months ofEngland's awakening to the new life and faith of the twentieth century, has been more, far more, than my deserts. But I think we all feel thatin these days; I hope we do. If we should ever again forget, punishmentwould surely come. But it is part of my happiness to believe that, atlong last, our now really united race, our whole family, four hundredand twenty millions strong, has truly learned the lesson which our greatpatriot poet tried to teach in the wild years before discipline came tous, in the mailed hand of our one-time enemy:

 _God of our fathers, known of old, Lord of our far-flung battle-line, Beneath Whose awful Hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine-- Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!_

 _The tumult and the shouting dies; The captains and the kings depart: Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!_

 . . . . . 

 _For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard, All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding, calls not Thee to guard, For frantic boast and foolish word-- Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!_

_Amen!_

Transcriber's Note:

 Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. Archaic, dialect and variant spellings remain as printed.