A NEUTRAL NATION
The first days of the war were for Larry days of dazed bewilderment and
of ever-deepening misery. The thing which he had believed impossible had
come. That great people upon whose generous ideals and liberal Christian
culture he had grounded a sure hope of permanent peace had flung to the
winds all the wisdom, and all justice, and all the humanity which the
centuries had garnered for them, and, following the primal instincts of
the brute, had hurled forth upon the world ruthless war. Even the great
political party of the Social Democrats upon which he had relied to make
war impossible had without protest or division proclaimed enthusiastic
allegiance to the war programme of the Kaiser. The universities and the
churches, with their preachers and professors, had led the people in mad
acclaim of war. His whole thinking on the subject had been proved wrong.
Passionately he had hoped against hope that Britain would not allow
herself to enter the war, but apparently her struggle for peace had
been in vain. His first feeling was one of bitter disappointment and of
indignation with the great leaders of the British people who had allowed
themselves to become involved in a Mid-European quarrel. Sir Edward
Grey's calm, moderate--sub-moderate, indeed--exposition of the causes
which had forced Britain into war did much to cool his indignation, and
Bethmann-Hollweg's cynical explanation of the violation of Belgium's
neutrality went far to justify Britain's action consequent upon that
outraging of treaty faith. The deliberate initiation of the policy
of “frightfulness” which had heaped such unspeakable horrors upon the
Belgian people tore the veil from the face of German militarism and
revealed in its sheer brutality the ruthlessness and lawlessness of that
monstrous system.
From the day of Austria's ultimatum to Servia Larry began to read
everything he could find dealing with modern European history, and
especially German history. Day and night he studied with feverish
intensity the diplomacy and policies of the great powers of Europe till
at length he came to a somewhat clear understanding of the modern theory
and world policy of the German state which had made war inevitable. But,
though his study made it possible for him to relieve his country from
the charge of guilt in this war, his anxiety and his misery remained.
For one thing, he was oppressed with an overwhelming loneliness. He
began to feel that he was dwelling among an alien people. He had made
many and close friends during the months of his stay in Chicago. But
while they were quick to offer him sympathy in his anxiety and misery,
he could not fail to observe on every hand the obvious and necessary
indications of the neutral spirit. He could expect nothing else. In this
conflict America had decided that she was not immediately concerned and
she was resolute to remain unconcerned. A leading representative of the
Chicago press urged Americans to be careful not to “rock the boat.” The
President of the United States counselled his people “to keep calm”
and to observe the strictest neutrality. Larry discovered, too, an
unconfessed, almost unconscious desire in the heart of many an American,
a relic of Revolutionary days, to see England not destroyed or even
seriously disabled, but, say, “well trimmed.” It would do her good.
There was, beside, a large element in the city distinctly and definitely
pro-German and intensely hostile to Great Britain. On his way to the
office one afternoon Larry found himself held up by a long procession
of young German reservists singing with the utmost vigour and with an
unmistakable note of triumph the German national air, “Die Wacht Am
Rhein,” and that newer song which embodied German faith and German
ambition, “Deutschland Uber Alles.” When he arrived at the office that
afternoon he was surprised to find that he was unable to go on with his
work for the trembling of his hands. In the office he was utterly alone,
for, however his friends there might take pains to show extra kindness,
he was conscious of complete isolation from their life. Unconcerned,
indifferent, coolly critical of the great conflict in which his people
were pouring out blood like water, they were like spectators at a
football match on the side lines willing to cheer good play on either
side and ready to acclaim the winner.
The Wakehams, though extremely careful to avoid a word or act that might
give him pain, naturally shared the general feeling of their people.
For them the war was only another of those constantly recurring European
scraps which were the inevitable result of the forms of government which
these nations insisted upon retaining. If peoples were determined to
have kings and emperors, what other could they expect but wars. France,
of course, was quite another thing. The sympathy of America with
France was deep, warm and sincere. America could not forget the gallant
Lafayette. Besides, France was the one European republic. As for
Britain, the people of Chicago were content to maintain a profoundly
neutral calm, and to a certain extent the Wakehams shared this feeling.
In Larry's immediate circle, however, there were two exceptions.
One, within the Wakeham family, was Elfie. Quick to note the signs of
wretchedness in him and quick to feel the attitude of neutrality assumed
by her family toward the war, the child, without stint and without
thought, gave him a love and a sympathy so warm, so passionate, that
it was to his heart like balm to an open wound. There was no neutrality
about Elfie. She was openly, furiously pro-Ally. The rights and wrongs
of the great world conflict were at first nothing to her. With Canada
and the Canadians she was madly in love, they were Larry's people and
for Larry she would have gladly given her life. Another exception to the
general state of feeling was that of Hugo Raeder. From the first Raeder
was an intense and confessed advocate of the cause of the Allies. From
personal observation he knew Germany well, and from wide reading he had
come to understand and appreciate the significance of her world policy.
He recognised in German autocracy and in German militarism and in German
ambition a menace to the liberties of Europe. He represented a large and
intellectually influential class of men in the city and throughout the
country generally. Graduates of the great universities, men high in the
leadership of the financial world, the editors of the great newspapers
almost to a man, magazine editors and magazine writers untinged by
racial or personal affinity with Germany, these were represented by
Raeder, and were strongly and enthusiastically in sympathy with the aims
of the Allies, and as the war advanced became increasingly eager to have
their country assume a definite stand on the side of those nations whom
they believed to be fighting for the liberties and rights of humanity.
But though these exceptions were a source of unspeakable comfort to him,
Larry carried day by day a growing sense of isolation and an increasing
burden of anxiety.
Then, too, there was the question of his duty. He had no clear
conviction as to what his duty was. With all his hatred and loathing of
war, he had come to the conviction that should he see it to be the
right thing for him, he would take his place in the fighting line. There
appeared, however, to be no great need for men in Canada just now.
In response to the call for twenty-five thousand men for the First
Expeditionary Force, nearly one hundred thousand had offered. And yet
his country was at war; his friends whether enlisted for the fighting
line or in the civilian ranks were under the burden. Should he not
return to Canada and find some way to help in the great cause? But
again, on the other hand, his work here was important, he had been
treated with great consideration and kindness, he had made a place for
himself where he seemed to be needed. The lack of clear vision of his
duty added greatly to his distress.
A wire had informed him in the first days of the war that his
brother-in-law had gone to rejoin his old regiment in the Coldstream
Guards. A letter from Nora did not help much. “Jack has gone,” she
wrote. “We all felt he could do nothing else. Even poor, dear Mother
agreed that nothing else was possible. Kathleen amazes us all. The very
day after the awful news came, without a word from Jack, I found her
getting his things together. 'Are you going to let him go?' I asked
her, perfectly amazed at her coolness. 'Let me go?' said Jack, who was
muddling about her. 'Let me go? She would not let me stay. Would you,
Kathleen?' 'No,' she said, 'I do not think I would like you to stay,
Jack.' And this is our pacifist, Kathleen, mind you! How she came to see
through this thing so rapidly I don't know. But sooner than any of us
Kathleen saw what the war was about and that we must get in. She goes
about her work quietly, cheerfully. She has no illusions, and there is
no bravado. Oh, Larry dear, I do not believe I could do it. When she
smiles at the dear wee man in her arms I have to run away or I should
howl. I must tell you about Duckworth. You know what a dear he is. We
have seen a good deal of him this year. He has quite captivated Mother.
Well, he had a letter from his father saying, 'I am just about rejoining
my regiment; your brother has enlisted; your sister has gone to the Red
Cross. We have given our house to the Government for a hospital. Come
home and join up.' What a man he must be! The dear boy came to see us
and, Larry, he wanted me. Oh, I wish I could have said yes, but somehow
I couldn't. Dear boy, I could only kiss him and weep over him till he
forgot himself in trying to comfort me. He went with the Calgary boys.
Hec Ross is off, too; and Angus Fraser is up and down the country with
kilt and pipes driving Scotchmen mad to be at the war. He's going, too,
although what his old mother will do without him I do not know. But she
will hear of nothing less. Only four weeks of this war and it seems like
a year. Switzer has gone, you know, the wicked devil. If it had not been
for Sam, who had been working around the mine, the whole thing would
have been blown up with dynamite. Sam discovered the thing in time. The
Germans have all quit work. Thank God for that. So the mine is not
doing much. Mother is worried about the war, I can see, thinking things
through.”
A letter from Jane helped him some. It was very unlike Jane and
evidently written under the stress of strong emotion. She gave him full
notes of the Reverend Andrew McPherson's sermons, which she appeared
to set great store by. The rapid progress of recruiting filled her with
delight. It grieved her to think that her friends were going to the
war, but that grief was as nothing compared to the grief and indignation
against those who seemed to treat the war lightly. She gave a page of
enthusiastic appreciation to Kellerman. Another page she devoted to
an unsuccessful attempt to repress her furious contempt for Lloyd
Rushbrooke, who talked largely and coolly about the need of keeping
sane. The ranks of the first contingent were all filled up. She knew
there were two million Canadians in the United States who if they were
needed would flock back home. They were not needed yet, and so it would
be very foolish for them to leave good positions in the meantime.
Larry read the last sentence with a smile. “Dear old Jane,” he said to
himself. “She wants to help me out; and, by George, she does.” Somehow
Jane's letter brought healing to his lacerated nerves and heart, and
steadied him to bear the disastrous reports of the steady drive of the
enemy towards Paris that were released by the censor during the last
days of that dreadful August. With each day of that appalling retreat
Larry's agony deepened. The reports were vague, but one thing was
clear--the drive was going relentlessly forward, and the French and the
British armies alike were powerless to stay the overwhelming torrent.
The check at the Marne lifted the gloom a bit. But the reports of that
great fight were meagre and as yet no one had been able to estimate the
full significance of that mighty victory for the Allied armies, nor
the part played therein by the gallant and glorious little army that
constituted the British Expeditionary Force.
Blacker days came in late September, when the news arrived of the
disaster to the Aboukir and her sister ships, and a month later of the
destruction of the Good Hope and the Monmouth in the South Pacific
sea fight. On that dreadful morning on his way downtown he purchased
a paper. After the first glance he crushed the paper together till he
reached his office, where he sat with the paper spread out before him on
his desk, staring at the headlines, unable to see, unable to think, able
only to suffer. In the midst of his misery Professor Schaefer passed
through the office on his way to consult with Mr. Wakeham and threw him
a smile of cheery triumph. It was a way Schaefer had these days.
The very sight of him was enough to stir Larry to a kind of frenzied
madness. This morning the German's smile was the filling up of his cup
of misery. He stuffed the paper into his desk, took up his pen and began
to make figures on his pad, gnawing his lips the while.
An hour later Hugo Raeder came in with a message for him. Raeder after
one look at his face took Larry away with him, sick with rage and fear,
in his car, and for an hour and a half drove through the Park at a rate
that defied the traffic regulations, talking the while in quiet, hopeful
tones of the prospects of the Allies, of the marvellous recovery of
the French and British armies on the Marne and of the splendid Russian
victories. He touched lightly upon the recent naval disaster, which
was entirely due to the longer range of the enemy's guns and to a few
extraordinarily lucky shots. The clear, crisp air, the swift motion,
the bright sun, above all the deep, kindly sympathy of this strong,
clear-thinking man beside him, brought back to Larry his courage if not
his cheer. As they were nearly back to the office again, he ventured his
first observation, for throughout the drive he had confined his speech
to monosyllabic answers to Raeder's stream of talk.
“In spite of it all, I believe the navy is all right,” he said, with
savage emphasis.
“My dear chap,” exclaimed Raeder, “did you ever doubt it? Did you read
the account of the fight?”
“No,” said Larry, “only the headlines.”
“Then you did not see that the British ships were distinctly outclassed
in guns both as to range and as to weight. Nothing can prevent disaster
in such a case. It was a bit of British stupidity to send those old
cruisers on such an expedition. The British navy is all right. If not,
then God help America.”
“Say, old chap,” said Larry as they stepped out of the car, “you have
done me a mighty good turn this morning, and I will not forget it.”
“Oh, that is all right,” said Raeder. “We have got to stand together in
this thing, you know.”
“Stand together?” said Larry.
“Yes, stand together. Don't you forget it. We are with you in this. Deep
down in the heart America is utterly sound; she knows that the cause of
the Allies is the cause of justice and humanity. America has no use for
either brutal tyranny or slimy treachery. The real American heart is
with you now, and her fighting army will yet be at your side.”
These sentiments were so unusual in his environment that Larry gazed at
him in amazement.
“That is God's truth,” said Raeder. “Take a vote of the college men
to-day, of the big business men, of the big newspaper men--these control
the thinking and the acting of America--and you will find, ninety per
cent. of these pro-Ally. Just be patient and give the rest of us time.
Americans will not stand for the bully,” added Raeder, putting his hand
on Larry's shoulder. “You hear me, my boy. Now I am going in to see the
boss. He thinks the same way, too, but he does not say much out loud.”
New hope and courage came into Larry's heart as he listened to the
pronouncement of this clear-headed, virile young American. Oh, if
America would only say out loud what Raeder had been saying, how it
would tone up the spirit of the Allies! A moral vindication of their
cause from America would be worth many an army corps.
The morning brought him another and unexpected breeze of cheer in the
person of Dean Wakeham straight from Alberta and the Lakeside Farm. A
little before lunch he walked in upon Larry, who was driving himself to
his work that he might forget. It was a veritable breath from home for
Larry, for Dean was one who carried not only news but atmosphere as
well. He was a great, warm-hearted boy, packed with human energies of
body, heart and soul.
“Wait till I say good-morning to father,” he said after he had shaken
hands warmly with Larry. “I will be back then in a minute or two.”
But in a few minutes Mr. Wakeham appeared and called Larry to him. “Come
in, boy, and hear the news,” he said.
Larry went in and found Dean in the full tide of a torrential outpouring
of passionate and enthusiastic, at times incoherent, tales of the
Canadians, of their spirit, of their sacrifice and devotion in their
hour of tragedy.
“Go on, Dean,” said Raeder, who was listening with face and eyes aglow.
“Go on? I cannot stop. Never have I come up against anything like
what is going on over there in Canada. Not in one spot, either, but
everywhere; not in one home, but in every home; not in one class, but in
every class. In Calgary during the recruiting I saw a mob of men in from
the ranches, from the C. P. R. shops, from the mines, from the offices,
fighting mad to get their names down. My God! I had to go away or I
would have had mine in too. The women, too, are all the same. No man is
getting under his wife's skirts. You know old Mrs. Ross, Larry, an old
Scotch woman up there with four sons. Well, her eldest son could not
wait for the Canadian contingent, but went off with Jack Romayne and
joined the Black Watch. He was in that Le Cateau fight. Oh, why don't
these stupid British tell the people something about that great fighting
retreat from Mons to the Marne? Well, at Le Cateau poor Hec Ross in
a glorious charge got his. His Colonel wrote the old lady about it. I
never saw such a letter; there never was one like it. I motored Mrs.
Gwynne, your mother, Larry, over to see her. Say, men, to see those two
women and to hear them! There were no tears, but a kind of exaltation.
Your mother, Larry, is as bad, as good, I mean, as any of them now. I
heard that old Scotch woman say to your mother in that Scotch voice of
hers, 'Misthress Gwynne, I dinna grudge my boy. I wouldna hae him back.'
Her youngest son is off with the Canadians. As she said good-bye to us
I heard her say to your mother, 'I hae gi'en twa sons, Misthress
Gwynne, an' if they're wanted, there's twa mair.' My God! I found myself
blubbering like a child. It sounds all mad and furious, but believe me,
there is not much noise, no hurrahing. They know they are up against a
deadly serious business, and that is getting clearer every minute. Did
you see that the Government had offered one hundred and fifty thousand
men now, and more if wanted? And all classes are the same. That little
Welch preacher at Wolf Willow--Rhye, his name is, isn't it? By George,
you should hear him flaming in the pulpit. He's the limit. There won't
be a man in that parish will dare hold back. He will just have to go to
war or quit the church. And it is the same all over. The churches are
a mighty force in Canada, you know, even a political force. I have been
going to church every Sunday, Father, this last year. Believe me, God is
some real Person to those people, and I want to tell you He has become
real to me too.” As Dean said this he glanced half defiantly at his
father as if expecting a challenge.
But his father only cleared his throat and said, “All right, my boy. We
won't do anything but gladly agree with you there. And God may come to
be more real to us all before we are through with this thing. Go on.”
“Let's see, what was I talking about?”
“Churches.”
“Yes, in Calgary, on my way down this time, the Archdeacon preached a
sermon that simply sent thrills down my spine. In Winnipeg I went with
the Murrays to church and heard a clergyman, McPherson, preach. The
soldiers were there. Great Caesar! No wonder Winnipeg is sending out
thousands of her best men. He was like an ancient Hebrew prophet, Peter
the Hermit and Billy Sunday all rolled into one. Yet there was no
noisy drum pounding and no silly flag flapping. Say, let me tell you
something. I said there was a battalion of soldiers in church that day.
The congregation were going to take Holy Communion. You know the Scotch
way. They all sit in their pews and you know they are fearfully strict
about their Communion, have rules and regulations and so on about it.
Well, that old boy McPherson just leaned over his pulpit and told the
boys what the thing stood for, that it was just like swearing in, and he
told them that he would just throw the rules aside and man to man would
ask them to join up with God. Say, that old chap got my goat. The boys
just naturally stayed to Communion and I stayed too. I was not fit, I
know, but I do not think it did me any harm.” At this point the boy's
voice broke up and there was silence for some moments in the office.
Larry had his face covered with his hands to hide the tears that were
streaming down. Dean's father was openly wiping his eyes, Raeder looking
stern and straight in front of him.
“Father,” said Dean suddenly, “I want to give you warning right now.
If it ever comes that Canada is in need of men, I am not going to hold
back. I could not do it and stay in the country. I am an American,
heart, body and soul, but I would count myself meaner than a polecat if
I declined to line up with that bunch of Canadians.”
“Think well, my boy,” said his father. “Think well. I have only one son,
but I will never stand between you and your duty or your honour. Now we
go to lunch. Where shall we go?”
“With me, at the University Club, all of you,” said Raeder.
“No, with me,” said Mr. Wakeham. “I will put up the fatted calf, for
this my son is home again. Eh, my boy?”
During the lunch hour try as they would they could not get away from the
war. Dean was so completely obsessed with the subject that he could not
divert his mind to anything else for any length of time.
“I cannot help it,” he said at length. “All my switches run the same
way.”
They had almost finished when Professor Schaefer came into the dining
hall, spied them and hastened over to them.
“Here's this German beast,” said Dean.
“Steady, Dean. We do business with him,” said his father.
“All right, Father,” replied the boy.
The Professor drew in a chair and sat down. He only wanted a light lunch
and if they would allow him he would break in just where they were. He
was full of excitement over the German successes on sea and on land.
“On land?” said Raeder. “Well, I should not radiate too freely about
their land successes. What about the Marne?”
“The Marne!” said Schaefer in hot contempt. “The
Marne--strategy--strategy, my dear sir. But wait. Wait a few days. If
we could only get that boasted British navy to venture out from their
holes, then the war would be over. Mark what happens in the Pacific.
Scientific gunnery, three salvos, two hundred minutes from the first
gun. It is all over. Two British ships sunk to the bottom. That is the
German way. They would force war upon Germany. Now they have it. In
spite of all the Kaiser's peace efforts, they drove Germany into the
war.”
“The Kaiser!” exclaimed Larry, unable any longer to contain his fury.
“The Kaiser's peace efforts! The only efforts that the Kaiser has made
for the last few years are efforts to bully Europe into submission
to his will. The great peace-maker of Europe of this and of the last
century was not the Kaiser, but King Edward VII. All the world knows
that.”
“King Edward VII!” sputtered Schaefer in a fury of contempt. “King
Edward VII a peacemaker! A ----!” calling him a vile name. “And his son
is like him!”
The foul word was like a flame to powder with Larry. His hand closed
upon his glass of water. “You are a liar,” he said, leaning over and
thrusting his face close up to the German. “You are a slanderous liar.”
He flung his glass of water full into Schaefer's face, sprang quickly
to his feet, and as the German rose, swung with his open hand and struck
hard upon the German's face, first on one cheek and then on the other.
With a roar Schaefer flung himself at him, but Larry in a cold fury was
waiting for him. With a stiff, full-armed blow, which carried the whole
weight of his body, he caught him on the chin. The professor was lifted
clear over his chair. Crashing back upon the floor, he lay there still.
“Good boy, Larry,” shouted Dean. “Great God! You did something that
time.”
Silent, white, cold, rigid, Larry stood waiting. More than any of them
he was amazed at what he had done. Some friends of the Professor rushed
toward them.
“Stand clear, gentlemen,” said Raeder. “We are perfectly able to handle
this. This man offered my friend a deadly insult. My friend simply
anticipated what I myself would gladly have done. Let me say this
to you, gentlemen, for some time he and those of his kind have made
themselves offensive. Every man is entitled to his opinion, but I have
made up my mind that if any German insults my friends the Allies in my
presence, I shall treat him as this man has been treated.”
There was no more of it. Schaefer's friends after reviving him led him
off. As they passed out of the dining hall Larry and his friends were
held up by a score or more of men who crowded around him with warm
thanks and congratulations. The affair was kept out of the press, but
the news of it spread to the limits of clubland. The following day
Raeder thought it best that they should lunch again together at the
University Club. The great dining-room was full. As Raeder and his
company entered there was first a silence, then a quick hum of voices,
and finally applause, which grew in volume till it broke into a ringing
cheer. There was no longer any doubt as to where the sympathy of the men
of the University Club, at least, lay in this world conflict.
Two days later a telegram was placed upon Larry's desk. Opening it, he
read, “Word just received Jack Romayne killed in action.” Larry carried
the telegram quietly into the inner office and laid it upon his chief's
desk.
“I can stand this no longer, sir,” he said in a quiet voice. “I wish you
to release me. I must return to Canada. I am going to the war.”
“Very well, my boy,” said Mr. Wakeham. “I know you have thought it over.
I feel you could not do otherwise. I, too, have been thinking, and I
wish to say that your place will await you here and your salary will go
on so long as you are at the war. No! not a word! There is not much we
Americans can do as yet, but I shall count it a privilege as an American
sympathising with the Allies in their great cause to do this much
at least. And you need not worry about that coal mine. Dean has been
telling me about it. We will see it through.”