SOME HISTORICAL REFLECTIONS
Prior to the present war the chief bugbears encountered by Lord
Roberts, and indeed by all others whose aim it was to provide this
country with an army numerically fit to support its policy, were the
objections, real or imaginary, of the British race to compulsory
service, and more particularly to compulsory service in foreign lands.
These prejudices were true types of the bugbear; for they were born out
of opinion and not out of the facts.
The smaller fry of politicians, whose fears--like those of the
monkeys--are more easily excited by the front-row of things which are
visible, than by the real dangers which lurk behind in the shadow, are
always much more terrified of opinion than of the facts. This is
precisely why most politicians remain all their lives more unfit than
any other class of man for governing a country. Give one of these his
choice--ask him whether he will prefer to support a cause where the
facts are with him, but opinion is likely for many years to be running
hard against him, or another cause where these conditions are
reversed--of course he will never hesitate a moment about choosing the
latter. And very probably his manner {402} of answering will indicate,
that he thinks you insult his intelligence by asking such a question.
It is only the very rare type of big, patient politician, who realises
that the facts cannot be changed by opinion, and that in the end
opinion must be changed by the facts, if the two happen to be opposed.
Such a one chooses accordingly, to follow the facts in spite of
unpopularity.
The little fellows, on the contrary, with their large ears glued
anxiously to the ground, keep ever muttering to themselves, and
chaunting in a sort of rhythmical chorus, the most despicable
incantation in the whole political vocabulary:--"We who aspire to be
leaders of the People must see to it that we are never in advance of
the People.... The People will never stand this: the People will never
stand that.... Away with it therefore; and if possible attach it like
a mill-stone round the necks of our enemies."
Of course they are quite wrong. The People will stand anything which
is necessary for the national welfare, if the matter is explained to
them by a big enough man in accents of sincerity.
A defensive force which will on no account cross the frontier is no
defensive force at all. It is only a laughing-stock.
A frontier is sometimes an arbitrary line drawn across meadow and
plough; sometimes a river; sometimes a mountain range; sometimes, as
with ourselves, it is a narrow strip of sea--a 'great ditch,' as
Cromwell called it contemptuously.
The awful significance, however, of the word 'frontier' seems to deepen
and darken as we pass {403} from the first example to the fourth. And
there is apparently something more in this feeling than the terrors of
the channel crossing or of a foreign language. Territorials may be
taken to Ireland, which is a longer sea-journey than from Dover to
Calais; but to be 'butchered abroad'--horrible!
It is horrible enough to be butchered anywhere, but why more horrible
in the valley of the Rhine than in that of the Thames? If national
safety demands butchery, as it has often done in the past, surely the
butchery of 50,000 brave men on the borders of Luxemburg is a less evil
than the butchery of twice that number in the vicinity of Norwich? And
if we are to consider national comfort as well as safety, it is surely
wise to follow the German example and fight in any man's country rather
than in our own. The only question of real importance is this:--At
what place will the sacrifice of life be most effective for the defence
of the country? If we can answer that we shall know also where it will
be lightest.[1]
[Sidenote: THE HONOUR OF THE ARMY]
The school of political thought which remained predominant throughout
the great industrial epoch (1832-1886) bitterly resented the
assumption, made by certain classes, that the profession of arms was
more honourable in its nature, than commerce and other peaceful
pursuits. The destruction of this supposed fallacy produced a great
literature, and even a considerable amount of poetry. It was a
frequent theme at the opening of literary institutes and technical
colleges, and also at festivals of chambers of commerce {404} and
municipalities. Professors of Political Economy expounded the true
doctrine with great vehemence, and sermons were preached without number
upon the well-worn text about the victories of peace.
This reaction was salutary up to a point. It swept away a vast
quantity of superannuated rubbish. International relations were at
this time just as much cumbered with old meaningless phrases of a
certain sort, in which vainglory was the chief ingredient, as they have
recently been cumbered with others of a different sort in which
indolence was the chief ingredient. Inefficiency, indifference,
idleness, trifling, and extravagance were a standing charge against
soldiers as a class; and though they were never true charges against
the class, they were true, for two generations following after
Waterloo, against a large number of individuals. But this reaction,
like most other reactions, swept away too much.
[Sidenote: THE PROFESSION OF ARMS]
A mercenary soldiery which looks to enrich itself by pay and plunder is
an ignoble institution. It has no right to give itself airs of honour,
and must be judged like company promotion, trusts, or any of the many
other predatory professions of modern times. It is also a national
danger, inasmuch as its personal interest is to foment wars. The
British Army has never been open to this charge in any period of its
history.
A profession in which it is only possible, by the most severe
self-denial and economy, for an officer--even after he has arrived at
success--to live on his pay, to marry, and to bring up a family, can
hardly be ranked as a money-making career. Pecuniary motives, indeed,
were never the charge against 'the military' except among the
stump-orator class. But {405} professional indifference and
inefficiency were, at that particular time, not only seriously alleged,
but were also not infrequently true. It was a good thing that
slackness should be swept away. That it has been swept away pretty
thoroughly, every one who has known anything about the Army for a
generation past, is well aware.
But the much-resented claim to a superiority in the matter of honour is
well founded, and no amount of philosophising or political-economising
will ever shake it. Clearly it is more honourable for a man to risk
his life, and what is infinitely more important--his reputation and his
whole future career--in defence of his country, than it is merely to
build up a competency or a fortune. The soldier's profession is beset
by other and greater dangers than the physical. Money-making pursuits
are not only safer for the skin, but in them a blunder, or even a
series of blunders, does not banish the hope of ultimate success. The
man of business has chances of retrieving his position. Many bankrupts
have died in affluence. In politics, a man with a plausible tongue and
a certain quality of courage, will usually succeed in eluding the
consequences of his mistakes, by laying the blame on other people's
shoulders. But the soldier is rarely given a second chance; and he may
easily come down at the first chance, through sheer ill-luck, and not
through any fault of his own. Such a profession confers honour upon
its members.
Law, trade, and finance are not in themselves, as was at one time
thought, dishonourable pursuits; but neither are they in themselves
honourable. They are neither the one nor the other. It casts no slur
upon a man to be a lawyer, a tradesman, or a banker; {406} but neither
does it confer upon him any honour. But military service does confer
an honour. The devotion, hardship, and danger of the soldier's life
are not rewarded upon a commercial basis, or reckoned in that currency.
Some people are inclined to mock at the respect--exaggerated as they
think--which is paid by conscript countries to their armies. For all
its excesses and absurdities, this respect is founded upon a true
principle--a truer principle of conduct than our own. In countries
where most of the able-bodied men have given some years of their lives
gratuitously to the service of their country, the fact is brought home
to them, that such service is of a different character from the
benefits which they subsequently confer upon the State by their
industry and thrift, or by growing rich.
[Sidenote: A THEORY OF BRITISH FREEDOM]
From the national point of view, it is ennobling that at some period of
their lives the great majority of citizens should have served the
commonwealth disinterestedly. This after all is the only principle
which will support a commonwealth. For a commonwealth will not stand
against the shocks, which history teaches us to beware of, merely by
dropping papers, marked with a cross, into a ballot-box once every five
years, or even oftener. It will not stand merely by taking an
intelligent interest in events, by attending meetings and reading the
newspapers, and by indulging in outbursts of indignation or enthusiasm.
It will only stand by virtue of personal service, and by the readiness
of the whole people, generation by generation, to give their lives
and--what is much harder to face--the time and irksome preparation
which are necessary for making the {407} sacrifice of their
lives--should it be called for--effective for its purpose.
If the mass of the people, even when they have realised the need, will
not accept the obligation of national service they must be prepared to
see their institutions perish, to lose control of their own destinies,
and to welcome another master than Democracy, who it may well be, will
not put them to the trouble of dropping papers, marked with a cross,
into ballot-boxes once in five years, or indeed at all. For a State
may continue to exist even if deprived of ballot-boxes; but it is
doomed if its citizens will not in time prepare themselves to defend it
with their lives.
The memories of the press-gang and the militia ballot are dim. Both
belong to a past which it is the custom to refer to with reprobation.
Both were inconsistent with equal comradeship between classes; with
justice, dignity, honour, and the unity of the nation; and on these
grounds they are rightly condemned.
But the press-gang and the militia ballot have been condemned, and are
still condemned, upon other grounds which do not seem so firm. Both
have been condemned as contravening that great and laudable principle
of British freedom which lays it down that those who like fighting, or
prefer it to other evils--like starvation and imprisonment--or who can
be bribed, or in some other way persuaded to fight, should enjoy the
monopoly of being 'butchered,' both abroad and at home. And it has
been further maintained by those who held these views, that people who
do not like fighting, but choose rather to stay at home talking,
criticising, enjoying {408} fine thrills of patriotism, making money,
and sleeping under cover, have some kind of divine right to go on
enjoying that form of existence undisturbed. Since the Wars of the
Roses the latter class has usually been in a great majority in England.
Even during the Cromwellian Civil War the numbers of men, capable of
bearing arms, who actually bore them, was only a smallish fraction of
the entire population.
The moral ideals of any community, like other things, are apt to be
settled by numbers. With the extension of popular government, and the
increase of the electorate, this tendency will assert itself more and
more. But providing the people are dealt with plainly and frankly,
without flattery or deceit--like men and not as if they were greedy
children--the moral sense of a democracy will probably be sounder and
stronger than that of any other form of State.
Even in England, however, there have been lapses, during which the
people have not been so treated, and the popular spirit has sunk, owing
to mean leadership, into degradation. During the whole of the
industrial epoch the idea steadily gained in strength, that those whose
battles were fought for them by others, approached more nearly to the
type of the perfect citizen than those others who actually fought the
battles; that the protected were worthier than the protectors.
According to this view the true meaning of 'freedom' was exemption from
personal service. The whole duty of the virtuous citizen with regard
to the defence of his country began and ended with paying a policeman.
With the disappearance of imminent and visible danger, the reprobate
qualities of the soldier became speedily a pain and a scandal {409} to
godly men. In time of peace he was apt to be sneered at and decried as
an idler and a spendthrift, who would not stand well in a moral
comparison with those steady fellows, who had remained at home, working
hard at their vocations and investing their savings.
[Sidenote: NINETEENTH CENTURY NOTIONS]
The soldier, moreover, according to Political Economy, was occupied in
a non-productive trade, and therefore it was contrary to the principles
of that science to waste more money upon him than could be avoided.
Also it was prudent not to show too much gratitude to those who had
done the fighting, lest they should become presumptuous and formidable.
This conception of the relations between the army and the civilian
population has been specially marked at several periods in our
history--after the Cromwellian wars; after the Marlborough wars; after
1757; but during the half century which followed Waterloo it seemed to
have established itself permanently as an article of our political
creed.
After 1815 there was an utter weariness of fighting, following upon
nearly a quarter of a century of war. The heroism of Wellington's
armies was still tainted in the popular memory by the fact that the
prisons had been opened to find him recruits. The industrial expansion
and prodigious growth of material wealth absorbed men's minds.
Middle-class ideals, middle-class prosperity, middle-class irritation
against a military caste which, in spite of its comparative poverty,
continued with some success to assert its social superiority, combined
against the army in popular discussions. The honest belief that wars
were an anachronism, and that the world was now {410} launched upon an
interminable era of peace, clothed the nakedness of class prejudice
with some kind of philosophic raiment. Soldiers were no longer needed;
why then should they continue to claim the lion's share of honourable
recognition?
Up to August 1914 the chief difficulties in the way of army reformers
were how to overcome the firmly-rooted ideas that preparations for war
upon a great scale were not really necessary to security, and that, on
those rare occasions when fighting might be necessary, it should not be
undertaken by the most virtuous class of citizens, but by others whose
lives had a lower value. If the citizen paid it was enough; and he
claimed the right to grumble even at paying. This was the old Liberal
faith of the eighteen-fifties, and it remained the faith of the
straitest Radical sect, until German guns began to batter down the
forts of Liège.
[Sidenote: A CHANGE OF TONE]
But any one who remembers the state of public opinion between 1870 and
1890, or who has read the political memoirs of that time, will realise
that a change has been, very slowly and gradually, stealing over public
opinion ever since the end of that epoch. In those earlier times the
only danger which disturbed our national equanimity, and that only very
slightly, was the approach of Russia towards the north-western frontier
of India. The volunteer movement came to be regarded more and more by
ordinary people in the light of a healthy and manly recreation, rather
than as a duty. A lad would make his choice, very much as if
volunteering were on a par with rowing, sailing, hunting, or polo. It
is probably no exaggeration to say that nine volunteers out of every
ten, who {411} enrolled themselves between 1870 and 1890, never
believed for a single moment that there was a chance of the country
having need of their services. Consequently, except in the case of a
few extreme enthusiasts, it never appeared that there was anything
unpatriotic in not joining the volunteers.
One has only to compare this with the attitude which has prevailed
since the Territorial Army came into existence, to realise that there
has been a stirring of the waters, and that in certain quarters a
change had taken place in the national mood. With regard to the
Territorials the attitude of those who joined, of those who did not
join, of the politicians, of the press, of public opinion generally was
markedly different from the old attitude. It was significant that a
man who did not join was often disposed to excuse and to justify his
abstention. The conditions of his calling, or competing duties made it
impossible for him; or the lowness of his health, or the highness of
his principles in some way interfered. There was a tendency now to
explain what previously would never have called for any explanation.
The causes of this change are not less obvious than its symptoms. It
is an interesting coincidence that Lord Kitchener had a good deal to do
with it. The destruction of the bloodthirsty tyranny of the Khalifa
(1898), and the rescue of a fertile province from waste, misery, and
massacre, caused many people to look with less disapproving eyes than
formerly upon the profession of the soldier. The long anxieties of the
South African War, and the levies of volunteers from all parts of the
Empire, who went out to take a share in it, forced men to think not
only more kindly of soldiers, but also to think {412} of war itself no
longer as an illusion but as a reality.[2]
The events which happened during the last decade--the creation of the
German Navy--the attempt and failure of the British Government to abate
the rivalry in armaments--the naval panic and the hastily summoned
Defence Conference in 1909--the Russo-Japanese war--the Agadir
crisis--the two Balkan wars--the military competition between Germany
and France--all these combined to sharpen the consciousness of danger
and to draw attention to the need for being prepared against it.
These events, which crowded the beginning of the twentieth century,
stirred and troubled public opinion in a manner which not only Mr.
Cobden, who died in 1865, but almost equally Mr. Gladstone, who
survived him by more than thirty years, would have utterly refused to
credit. Both these statesmen had been convinced that the world was
moving steadily towards a settled peace, and that before another
century had passed away--possibly even in a single generation--their
dreams of general disarmament would be approaching fulfilment.
And to a certain extent our own generation remains still affected by
the same notions. Amid the thunders of more than a thousand miles of
battle we still find ourselves clinging tenaciously to the belief, that
the world has entered suddenly, and unexpectedly, upon an abnormal
period which, from {413} its very nature, can only be of very brief
duration. This comforting conviction does not appear to rest upon
solid grounds. In the light of history it would not seem so certain
that we have not passed out of an abnormal period into the normal--if
lamentable--condition when a nation, in order to maintain its
independence, must be prepared at any moment to fight for its life.
It would be profitless to pursue these speculations. It is enough for
our own generation that we now find ourselves in a situation of the
gravest danger; and that it depends upon the efforts which we as a
nation put forth, more than upon anything else, whether the danger will
pass away or settle down and become chronic.
[Sidenote: NATURE OF GERMAN ENMITY]
Although we failed to perceive or acknowledge the danger until some
nine months ago, it had been there for at least fifteen years, probably
for twice that number.
German antagonism to England has been compounded of envy of our
possessions, contempt for our character, and hatred of our good
fortune. What galled our rival more than anything else, was the fact
that we enjoyed our prosperity, and held our vast Empire, upon too easy
terms. The German people had made, and were continuing to make,
sacrifices to maintain their position in the world, while the British
people in their view were making none. And if we measure national
sacrifices by personal service, and not merely in money payments, it is
difficult to see what answer is to be given to this charge.
It is clear that unless the result of this war be to {414} crush
Germany as completely as she herself hoped at the beginning of it, to
crush France, our own danger will remain, unless Germany's chief
grievance against us is meanwhile removed. It is not a paradox, but
merely a statement of plain fact, to say that Germany's chief grievance
against ourselves was, that we were not prepared to withstand her
attack. Her hatred, which has caused, and still causes us so much
amazement, was founded upon the surest of foundations--a want of
respect. The Germans despised a nation which refused to recognise that
any obligation rested on its citizens, to fit themselves, by serious
training, for defence of their inheritance. And they will continue to
despise us when this war is over if we should still fail to recognise
this obligation. Despising us, they will continue also to hate us; the
peace of the world will still be endangered; and we shall not, after
all our sacrifices, have reached the security at which we aimed.
[Sidenote: HEART-SEARCHINGS]
We may end this war without winning it, and at the same time without
being defeated. And although it appears to be still believed by some
persons that we can win, in some sort of fashion, without accepting the
principle of national service, even those who entertain this dangerous
confidence will hardly dare to deny that, after a war which ends
without a crowning victory, we shall have to accept conscription at
once upon the signature of peace.
For it should be remembered that we have other things to take into
account besides the mood of Germany. If we stave off defeat, only with
the assistance of allies--all of whom have long ago adopted universal
military service in its most rigorous {415} form--we shall have to
reckon with their appraisement of the value of our assistance. If we
are to judge by Germany's indomitable enterprise during the past two
generations, she is likely to recover from the effects of this war at
least as rapidly as ourselves. And when she has recovered, will she
not hunger again for our possessions, as eagerly as before, if she sees
them still inadequately guarded? And maybe, when that time comes,
there may be some difficulty in finding allies. For a Power which
declines to recognise the obligation of equal sacrifices, which refuses
to make preparations in time of peace, and which accordingly, when war
occurs, is ever found unready, is not the most eligible of comrades in
arms.
In a recent letter the Freiherr von Hexenküchen refers, in his sour
way, to some of the matters which have been discussed in this
chapter.... "The British People," he writes, "appear to be mightily
exercised just now about their own and their neighbours' consciences;
about what they may or may not do with decency; about whether or no
football matches are right; or race-meetings; or plays, music-hall
entertainments, concerts, the purchase of new clothes, and the drinking
of alcohol; whether indeed any form of enjoyment or cheerfulness ought
to be tolerated in present circumstances.
"But although you vex yourselves over these and other problems of a
similar kind, you never seem to vex yourselves about the abscess at the
root of the tooth.
"The Holy Roman Empire, which was not holy, nor Roman, nor yet an
empire, reminds me not a little of your so-called voluntary military
system, {416} which is not voluntary, nor military, nor yet a system.
It is only a chaos, a paradox, and a laughing-stock to us Germans.
"It is our army, and not yours, which really rests on a voluntary
basis. Our whole people for a century past have voluntarily accepted
the obligation of universal military service. Those amongst us who
have raised objections to this system are but an inconsiderable
fraction; negligible at any time, but in this or any other great
crisis, not merely negligible, but altogether invisible and inaudible.
"Our people desire their army to be as it is, otherwise it would not be
as it is. No Kaiser, or Bureaucracy, or General Staff could impose
such a system against the public will and conscience. Your people, on
the other hand, have refused _as a people_ to accept the military
obligation. By various devices they endeavour to fix the burden on the
shoulders of individuals. Is this the true meaning of the word
'voluntary'--_to refuse?_ ... Sir, I desire to be civil; but was there
ever a more conspicuous instance of cant in the whole history of the
world, than your self-righteous boastings about your 'voluntary'
military system?
"You may wonder why I bracket these two things together--your
soul-searchings about amusements of all kinds, and your nonsensical
panegyrics on the voluntary' principle.... To my eyes they are very
closely connected.
[Sidenote: THE DUTY OF CHEERFULNESS]
"Cheerfulness is a duty in time of war. Every man or woman who smiles,
and keeps a good heart, and goes about his or her day's work gaily,
helps by so much to sustain the national spirit. Not good, but harm,
is done to the conduct of the war, {417} by moping and brooding over
casualty lists, and by speculations as to disasters which have
occurred, or are thought to be imminent. But there is one essential
preliminary to national cheerfulness--before a nation can be cheerful
it must have a good conscience; and it cannot have a good conscience
unless it has done its duty.
"Your nation has a bad conscience. The reason is that, _as a nation_,
it has not done its duty. This may be the fault of the leaders who
have not dared to speak the word of command. But the fact remains,
that you well know--or at any rate suspect in your hearts--that you
have not done your whole duty. And consequently you cannot be really
cheerful about anything. As you go about your daily work or
recreations, you are all the while looking back over your shoulders
with misgiving. _As a nation_ you have not--even yet--dedicated
yourselves to this war. When you have done so--if ever you do--your
burden of gloom and mistrust will fall from your back, like that of
_Christian_ as he passed along the highway, which is fenced on either
side with the Wall that is called _Salvation_."
In the great American Civil War, the Southern States, which aimed at
breaking away from the Union, adopted conscription within a year from
the beginning. They were brave fighters; but they were poor, and they
were in a small minority. The Northern States--confident in their
numbers and wealth--relied at first upon the voluntary system. It gave
them great and gallant armies; but these was not enough; and as months
went by President Lincoln realised that they were not enough.
{418}
Disregarding the entreaties of his friends, to beware of asking of the
people 'what the people would never stand,' disregarding the clamours
of his enemies about personal freedom, he insisted upon conscription,
believing that by these means alone the Union could be saved. And what
was the result? A section of the press foamed with indignation. Mobs
yelled, demonstrated, and in their illogical fury, lynched negroes,
seeing in these unfortunates the cause of all their troubles. But the
mobs were not the American people. They were only a noisy and
contemptible minority of the American people, whose importance as well
as courage had been vastly over-rated. The quiet people were in deadly
earnest, and they supported their President.[3]
[Sidenote: LINCOLN AND CONSCRIPTION]
But the task which Lincoln set himself was one of the hardest that a
democratic statesman ever undertook. The demand which he determined to
make, and did make, may well have tried his heart as he sat alone in
the night watches. For compulsion was a violation of the habits and
prejudices of the old American stock, while it was even more
distasteful to new immigrants. It was contrary to the traditions and
theories of the Republic, and, as many thought, to its fundamental
principles. It was open to scornful attack on grounds of sentiment.
Against a foe who were so weak, both in numbers and wealth, how
humiliating to be driven to such desperate measures! But most of
all--outweighing all other considerations--this war of North and South
was not only war, but civil war. Families and lifelong friendships
were divided. What compulsion meant, therefore, in this case was, that
brothers were to be forced to {419} kill brothers, husbands were to be
sent out to slay the kinsmen of their wives, or--as they marched with
Sherman through Georgia--to set a light with their own hands to the old
homesteads where they had been born. Between the warring States there
were no differences of blood, tradition, or religion; or of ideas of
right and wrong; no hatred against a foreign race; only an acute
opposition of political ideals. Compulsion, therefore, was a great
thing to ask of the American people. But the American people are a
great people, and they understood. And Lincoln was a great man,--one
of the greatest, noblest, and most human in the whole of history,--and
he did not hesitate to ask, to insist, and to use force. What the end
was does not need to be stated here; except merely this, that a
lingering and bloody war was thereby greatly shortened, and that the
Union was saved.
The British Government and people are faced to-day with some, but not
all--and not the greatest--of Lincoln's difficulties. Our traditions
and theories are the same, to a large extent, as those which prevailed
in America in 1863. But unlike the North we have had recent experience
of war, and also of the sacrifices which war calls for from the
civilian population. By so much the shock of compulsion would find us
better prepared.
But the other and much greater difficulties which beset Lincoln do not
exist in the case of the British Government. We are not fighting
against a foe inferior in numbers, but against one who up till now has
been greatly superior in numbers--who has also been greatly superior in
equipment, and preparation, and in deeply-laid plans. We are fighting
against {420} a foe who has invaded and encroached; not against one who
is standing on the defensive, demanding merely to be let go free. The
family affections and friendships which would be outraged by
conscription in this war against Germany are inconsiderable; mere dust
in the balance. The present war is waged against a foreign nation; it
is not civil war. It is waged against an enemy who plainly seeks, not
his own freedom, but our destruction, and that of our Allies. It is
waged against an enemy who by the treacherous thoroughness of his
peace-time preparations, appears to our eyes to have violated good
faith as between nations, as in the conduct of the campaign he has
disregarded the obligations of our common humanity, We may be wrong; we
may take exaggerated views owing to the bitterness of the struggle; but
such is our mind upon the matter.
Lincoln's task would have been light had such been the mind of the
Northern States half a century ago, and had he been faced with nothing
more formidable than the conditions which prevail in England to-day.
It does not need the courage of a Lincoln to demand from our people a
sacrifice, upon which the safety of the British Empire depends, even
more certainly, than in 1863 did that of the American Union.
[1] Once more it is desirable to correct the erroneous impression that
the conscript armies of continental powers are under no liability to
serve outside their own territories or overseas.
[2] Influences of another kind altogether had much to do with the
cleansing of public opinion--the writings of Henley, of Mahan, and of
Mr. Rudyard Kipling. Though not so well known as the works of these,
Henderson's _Life of Stonewall Jackson_ has nevertheless changed many
courses of thought, and its indirect effect in removing false standards
has been very great. I can never sufficiently acknowledge my personal
debt to these four.
[3] Cf. _Round Table_, March 1915, 'The Politics of War.'
{421}