But out of this failure of logic on the part of “deep-thinking Germany”
a danger came to us from nearer home than the battlefield. One of the
most vivid flashes as of lightning whereby we have seen the drama of
the past 365 days was that which, immediately after the sinking of the
_Lusitania_, showed us the full depths of the “alien peril.” Before the
war we had had fifty thousand German-born persons living in our midst.
They had enjoyed the whole freedom of our commerce, the whole justice of
our law courts, and the whole protection of our police. Many of them had
married our British women, who had borne them British children. Most of
them had learned to speak our language, and some of us had learned to
understand their own. A few had become British subjects, and many had
been honoured by our King. Our music, literature, and art had become
theirs. Shakespeare had, in effect, become a German poet, and Wagner
a British composer. The barriers between our races had seemed to break
down, and even such of us as had small hope of a golden age of universal
brotherhood had begun to believe that marriage, mutual interest,
education, and environment were making us one with these strangers
within our gates.
Then came a startling awakening. We realized beyond possibility of doubt
that many thousands of our German aliens had been keeping up a dual
responsibility, and that the chief of their two duties had been duty
to their own country. We found beyond question that a settled system
of espionage was at work in Great Britain, under the direction of the
German authorities; that information which could only be of use in the
event of invasion had for many years been gathered up by some of the
people whom we had called our friends, and that day by day and hour
by hour, as the war went on, secrets valuable to our enemy had been
filtering through to Germany from influential places in this country.
What a shock to our sense of security, our pride, and even our
self-respect! The horror of the discovery reached its highest point at
the time of the sinking of the great liner, for then it was realized
that there could be no limit to the expression of German cruelty. It is
one of the effects of the spirit of cruelty to strike its victims with
moral blindness. If it were possible that the German conscience could
justify murder on the sea, why should it not justify it on land? Why
should not our German governesses burn down the houses in which our
children lay asleep? Why should not a German secretary attempt to
assassinate one of our public ministers? War was war, and whatever was
necessary was right.
“We are doing wrong, but it is necessary to do wrong, and necessity
knows no law.”