LAST DAYS IN ENGLAND
In spite of the encouraging tone of the foregoing letters, everything
was not well with Page. All through the winter of 1917-1918 his
associates at the Embassy had noticed a change for the worse in his
health. He seemed to be growing thinner; his face was daily becoming
more haggard; he tired easily, and, after walking the short distance
from his house to his Embassy, he would drop listlessly into his chair.
His general bearing was that of a man who was physically and nervously
exhausted. It was hoped that the holiday at St. Ives would
help him; that he greatly enjoyed that visit, especially the
westward--homeward--outlook on the Atlantic which it gave him, his
letters clearly show; there was a temporary improvement also in his
health, but only a temporary one. The last great effort which he made in
the interest of the common cause was Secretary Baker's visit; the
activities which this entailed wearied him, but the pleasure he obtained
from the resultant increase in the American participation made the
experience one of the most profitable of his life. Indeed, Page's last
few months in England, though full of sad memories for his friends,
contained little but satisfaction for himself. He still spent many a
lonely evening by his fire, but his thoughts were now far more
pleasurable than in the old _Lusitania_ days. The one absorbing subject
of contemplation now was that America was "in." His country had
justified his deep confidence. The American Navy had played a
determining part in defeating the submarine, and American shipyards
were turning out merchant ships faster than the Germans were destroying
them. American troops were reaching France at a rate which necessarily
meant the early collapse of the German Empire. Page's own family had
responded to the call and this in itself was a cause of great
contentment to a sick and weary man. The Ambassador's youngest son,
Frank, had obtained a commission and was serving in France; his
son-in-law, Charles G. Loring, was also on the Western Front; while from
North Carolina Page's youngest brother Frank and two nephews had sailed
for the open battle line. The bravery and success of the American troops
did not surprise the Ambassador but they made his last days in England
very happy.
Indeed, every day had some delightful experience for Page. The
performance of the Americans at Cantigny especially cheered him. The day
after this battle he and Mrs. Page entertained Mr. Lloyd George and
other guests at lunch. The Prime Minister came bounding into the room
with his characteristic enthusiasm, rushed up to Mrs. Page with both
hands outstretched and shook hands joyously.
"Congratulations!" he exclaimed. "The Americans have done it! They have
met the Prussian guard and defeated them!"
Mr. Lloyd George was as exuberant over the achievement as a child.
This was now the kind of experience that had become Page's daily
routine. Lively as were his spirits, however, his physical frame was
giving way. In fact Page, though he did not know it at the time, was
suffering from a specific disease--nephritis; and its course, after
Christmas of 1917, became rapid. His old friend, Dr. Wallace Buttrick,
had noted the change for the worse and had attempted to persuade him to
go home.
"Quit your job, Page," he urged. "You have other big tasks waiting you
at home. Why don't you go back?"
"No--no--not now."
"But, Page," urged Dr. Buttrick, "you are going to lay down your life."
"I have only one life to lay down," was the reply. "I can't quit now."
_To Mary E. Page_[75]
London, May 12, 1918.
DEAR MARY:
You'll have to take this big paper and this paint brush pen--it's
all the pen these blunt British have. This is to tell you how very
welcome your letter to Alice is--how very welcome, for nobody
writes us the family news and nothing is so much appreciated. I'll
try to call the shorter roll of us in the same way:
After a miserable winter we, too, are having the rare experience of
a little sunshine in this dark, damp world of London. The constant
confinement in the city and _in the house_ (that's the worst of
it--no outdoor life or fresh air) has played hob with my digestion.
It's not bad, but it's troublesome, and for some time I've had the
feeling of being one half well. It occurred to me the other day
that I hadn't had leave from my work for four years, except my
short visit home nearly two years ago. I asked for two months off,
and I've got it. We are going down by the shore where there is
fresh air and where I can live outdoors and get some exercise. We
have a house that we can get there and be comfortable. To get away
from London when the weather promises to be good, and to get away
from people seemed a joyous prospect. I can, at any time I must,
come to London in two hours.
The job's too important to give up at this juncture. This, then, is
the way we can keep it going. I've no such hard task now as I had
during the years of our neutrality, which, praise God! I somehow
survived, though I am now suffering more or less from the physical
effects of that strain. Yet, since I have had the good fortune to
win the confidence of this Government and these people, I feel that
I ought to keep on now until some more or less natural time to
change comes.
Alice keeps remarkably well--since her influenza late in the
winter; but a rest away from London is really needed as much by her
as by me. They work her to death. In a little while she is to go,
by the invitation of the Government and the consent of the King, to
christen a new British warship at Newcastle. It will be named the
"Eagle." Meantime I'll be trying to get outdoor life at Sandwich.
Yesterday a regiment of our National Army marched through the
streets of London and were reviewed by the King and me; and the
town made a great day of it. While there is an undercurrent of
complaint in certain sections of English opinion because we didn't
come into the war sooner, there is a very general and very genuine
appreciation of everything we have done and of all that we do.
Nothing could be heartier than the welcome given our men here
yesterday. Nor could any men have made a braver or better showing
than they made. They made us all swell with pride.
They are coming over now, as you know, in great quantities. There
were about 8,000 landed here last week and about 30,000 more are
expected this week. I think that many more go direct to France
than come through England. On their way through England they do not
come to London. Only twice have we had them here, yesterday and one
day last summer when we had a parade of a regiment of engineers.
For the _army_ London is on a sidetrack--is an out of the way
place. For our navy, of course, it's the European headquarters,
since Admiral Sims has his headquarters here. We thus see a good
many of our sailors who are allowed to come to London on leave. A
few days ago I had a talk with a little bunch of them who came from
one of our superdreadnaughts in the North Sea. They had just
returned from a patrol across to the coast of Norway. "Bad luck,
bad luck," they said, "on none of our long patrol trips have we
seen a single Hun ship!"
About the war, you know as much as I know. There is a general
confidence that the Allies will hold the Germans in their
forthcoming effort to get to Calais or to Paris. Yet there is an
undercurrent of fear. Nobody knows just how to feel about it.
Probably another prodigious onslaught will be made before you
receive this letter. It seems to me that we can make no intelligent
guess until this German effort is finished in France--no guess
about the future. If the Germans get the French ports (Calais, for
example) the war will go on indefinitely. If they are held back, it
_may_ end next autumn or winter--partly because of starvation in
Germany and partly because the Germans will have to confess that
they can't whip our armies in France. But, even then, since they
have all Russia to draw on, they may keep going for a long time.
One man's guess is as good as another's.
One sad thing is certain: we shall at once begin to have heavy
American casualties. Our Red Cross and our army here are getting
hospitals ready for such American wounded as are brought over to
England--the parts of our army that are fighting with the British.
We have a lot of miserable politics here which interfere with the
public feeling. The British politician is a worse yellow dog than
the American--at times he is, at least; and we have just been going
through such a time. Another such time will soon come about the
Irish.
Well, we have an unending quantity of work and wear--no very acute
bothers but a continuous strain, the strain of actual work, of
uneasiness, of seeing people, of uncertainty, of great expense, of
doubt and fear at times, of inability to make any plans--all which
is only the common lot now all over the world, except that most
persons have up to this time suffered incomparably worse than we.
And there's nothing to do but to go on and on and on and to keep
going with the stoutest hearts we can keep up till the end do at
last come. But the Germans now (as the rest of us) are fighting for
their lives. They are desperate and their leaders care nothing for
human life.
The Embassy now is a good deal bigger than the whole State
Department ever was in times of peace. I have three buildings for
offices, and a part of our civil force occupies two other
buildings. Even a general supervision of so large a force is in
itself a pretty big job. The army and the Navy have each about the
same space as the Embassy proper. Besides, our people have huts and
inns and clubs and hospitals all over the town. Even though there
be fewer vexing problems than there were while we were neutral,
there is not less work--on the contrary, more. Nor will there be an
end to it for a very long time--long after my time here. The
settling of the war and the beginning of peace activities, whenever
these come, will involve a great volume of work. But I've no
ambition to have these things in hand. As soon as a natural time of
relief shall come, I'll go and be happier in my going than you or
anybody else can guess.
Now we go to get my digestion stiffened up for another long
tug--unless the Germans proceed forthwith to knock us out--which
they cannot do.
With my love to everybody on the Hill,
Affectionately yours,
W.H.P.
Mr. and Mrs. Waldorf Astor--since become Viscount and Viscountess
Astor--had offered the Pages the use of their beautiful seaside house at
Sandwich, Kent, and it was the proposed vacation here to which Page
refers in this letter. He obtained a six weeks' leave of absence and
almost the last letters which Page wrote from England are dated from
this place. These letters have all the qualities of Page at his best:
but the handwriting is a sad reminder of the change that was
progressively taking place in his physical condition. It is still a
clear and beautiful script, but there are signs of a less steady hand
than the one that had written the vigorous papers of the preceding four
years.
_Memorandum_
Sandwich, Kent, Sunday, 19 May, 1918.
We're at Rest Harrow and it's a fine, sunny early spring Carolina day.
The big German drive has evidently begun its second phase. We hear the
guns distinctly. We see the coast-guard aeroplanes at almost any time
o'day. What is the mood about the big battle?
The soldiers--British and French--have confidence in their ability to
hold the Germans back from the Channel and from Paris. Yet can one rely
on the judgment of soldiers? They have the job in hand and of course
they believe in themselves. While one does not like in the least to
discount their judgment and their hopefulness, for my part I am not
_quite_ so sure of their ability to make sound judgments as I wish I
were. The chances are in favour of their success; but--suppose they
should have to yield and give up Calais and other Channel ports? Well,
they've prepared for it as best they can. They have made provision for
commandeering most of the hotels in London that are not yet taken
over--for hospitals for the wounded now in France.
And the war would take on a new phase. Whatever should become of the
British and American armies, the Germans would be no nearer having
England than they now are. They would not have command of the sea. The
combined British and American fleets could keep every German ship off
the ocean and continue the blockade by sea--indefinitely; and, if the
peoples of the two countries hold fast, a victory would be won at
last--at sea.
_To Ralph W. Page_
Rest Harrow, Sandwich, Kent.
May 19, 1918.
DEAR RALPH:
I felt very proud yesterday when I read T.R.'s good word in the
_Outlook_ about your book[76]. If I had written what he said
myself--I mean, if I had written what I think of the book--I should
have said this very thing. And there is one thing more I should
have said, viz.:--All your life and all my life, we have cultivated
the opinion at home that we had nothing to do with the rest of the
world, nothing to do with Europe in particular--and in our
political life our hayseed spokesmen have said this over and over
again till many people, perhaps most people, came really to believe
that it was true. Now this aloofness, this utterly detached
attitude, was a pure invention of the shirt-sleeve statesman at
home. I have long concluded, for other reasons as well as for this,
that these men are the most ignorant men in the whole world; more
ignorant--because they are viciously ignorant--than the Negro boys
who act as caddies at Pinehurst; more ignorant than the inmates of
the Morganton Asylum; more ignorant than sheep or rabbits or
idiots. They have been the chief hindrances of our country--worse
than traitors, in effect. It is they, in fact, who kept our people
ignorant of the Germans, ignorant of the English, ignorant of our
own history, ignorant of ourselves. Now your book, without
mentioning the subject, shows this important fact clearly, by
showing that our aloofness has all been a fiction. _We've been in
the world--and right in the middle of the world--the whole time_.
And our public consciousness of this fact has enormously slipped
back. Take Franklin, Madison, Monroe, Jefferson; take Hay,
Root--and then consider some of our present representatives! One
good result of the war and of our being in it will be the
restoration of our foreign consciousness. Every one of the half
million, or three million, soldiers who go to France will know more
about foreign affairs than all Congress knew two years ago.
A stay of nearly five years in London (five years ago to-day I was
on the ship coming here) with no absence long enough to give any
real rest, have got my digestion wrong. I've therefore got a real
leave for two months. Your mother and I have a beautiful house here
that has been lent to us, right on the Channel where there's
nothing worth bombing and where as much sunshine and warmth come
as come anywhere in England. We got here last night and to-day is
as fine an early spring day as you ever had in the Sandhills. I
shall golf and try to find me an old horse to ride, and I'll stay
out in the sunshine and try to get the inside machinery going all
right. We may have a few interruptions, but I hope not many, if the
Germans leave us alone. Your mother has got to go to Newcastle to
christen a new British warship--a compliment the Admiralty pays her
"to bind the two nations closer together" etc. etc. And I've got to
go to Cambridge to receive an LL.D. for the President. Only such
things are allowed to interrupt us. And we are very much hoping to
see Frank here.
We are in sound of the battle. We hear the big guns whenever we go
outdoors. A few miles down the beach is a rifle range and we hear
the practice there. Almost any time of day we can hear aeroplanes
which (I presume) belong to the coast guard. There's no danger of
forgetting the war, therefore, unless we become stone deaf. But
this decent air and sunshine are blessings of the highest kind. I
never became so tired of anything since I had the measles as I've
become of London. My Lord! it sounded last night as if we had
jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Just as we were about to
go to bed the big gun on the beach--just outside the fence around
our yard--about 50 yards from the house, began its thundering
belch--five times in quick succession, rattling the windows and
shaking the very foundation of things. Then after a pause of a few
minutes, another round of five shots. Then the other guns all along
the beach took up the chorus--farther off--and the inland guns
followed. They are planted all the way to London--ninety miles. For
about two hours we had this roar and racket. There was an air raid
on, and there were supposed to be twenty-five or thirty German
planes on their way to London. I hear that it was the worst raid
that London has had. Two of them were brought down--that's the only
good piece of news I've heard about it. Well, we are not supposed
to be in danger. They fly over us on the way to bigger game. At any
rate I'll take the risk for this air and sunshine. Trenches and
barbed wire run all along the beach--I suppose to help in case of
an invasion. But an invasion is impossible in my judgment. Holy
Moses! what a world!--the cannon in the big battle in France
roaring in our ears all the time, this cannon at our door likely to
begin action any night and all the rest along the beach and on the
way to London, and this is what we call rest! The world is upside
down, all crazy, all murderous; but we've got to stop this barbaric
assault, whatever the cost.
Ray Stannard Baker is spending a few days with us, much to our
pleasure.
With love to Leila and the babies,
Yours affectionately,
W.H.P.
_To Arthur W. Page_
Rest Harrow, Sandwich Beach,
Sandwich, Kent, England.
May 20, 1918.
DEAR ARTHUR:
... I can't get quite to the bottom of the anti-English feeling at
Washington. God knows, this people have their faults. Their social
system and much else here is mediæval. I could write several
volumes in criticism of them. So I could also in criticism of
anybody else. But Jefferson's[77] letter is as true to-day as it
was when he wrote it. One may or may not have a lot of sentiment
about it; but, without sentiment, it's mere common sense, mere
prudence, the mere instinct of safety to keep close to Great
Britain, to have a decent respect for the good qualities of these
people and of this government. Certainly it is a mere
perversity--lost time--lost motion, lost everything--to cherish a
dislike and a distrust of them--a thing that I cannot wholly
understand. While we are, I fear, going to have trade troubles and
controversies, my feeling is, on the whole, in spite of the
attitude of our official life, that an increasing number of our
people are waking up to what England has done and is and may be
depended on to do. Isn't that true?
We've no news here. We see nobody who knows anything. I am far from
strong--the old stomach got tired and I must gradually coax it back
to work. That's practically my sole business now for a time, and
it's a slow process. But it's coming along and relief from seeing
hordes of people is as good as medicine.
Affectionately,
W.H.P.
_To the President_
Sandwich, May 24, 1918.
DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:
Your speeches have a cumulative effect in cheering up the British.
As you see, if you look over the mass of newspaper clippings that I
send to the Department, or have them looked over, the British press
of all parties and shades of opinion constantly quote them
approvingly and gratefully. They have a cumulative effect, too, in
clearing the atmosphere. Take, for instance, your declaration in
New York about standing by Russia. All the allied governments in
Europe wish to stand by Russia, but their pressing business with
the war, near at hand, causes them in a way to forget Russia; and
certainly the British public, all intent on the German "drive" in
France had in a sense forgotten Russia. You woke them up. And your
"Why set a limit to the American Army?" has had a cheering effect.
As leader and spokesman of the enemies of Germany--by far the best
trumpet-call spokesman and the strongest leader--your speeches are
worth an army in France and more, for they keep the proper moral
elevation. All this is gratefully recognized here. Public opinion
toward us is wholesome and you have a "good press" in this Kingdom.
In this larger matter, all is well. The English faults are the
failings of the smaller men--about smaller matters--not of the
large men nor of the public, about large matters.
In private, too, thoughtful Englishmen by their fears pay us high
tribute. I hear more and more constantly such an opinion as this:
"You see, when the war is over, you Americans will have much the
largest merchant fleet. You will have much the largest share of
money, and England and France and all the rest of the world will
owe you money. You will have a large share of essential raw
materials. You will have the machinery for marine insurance and for
foreign banking. You will have much the largest volume of
productive labour. And you will know the world as you have never
known it before. What then is going to become of British trade?"
The best answer I can give is: "Adopt American methods of
manufacture, and the devil take the hindmost. There will be for a
long time plenty for everybody to do; and let us make sure that we
both play the game fairly: that's the chief matter to look out
for." That's what I most fear in the decades following the end of
the war--trade clashes.
The Englishman's pride will be hurt. I recall a speech made to me
by the friendliest of the British--Mr. Balfour himself: "I confess
that as an Englishman it hurts my pride to have to borrow so much
even from you. But I will say that I'd rather be in your debt than
in anybody else's."
_To Edward M. House_
May 27, 1918.
MY DEAR HOUSE:
... I can write in the same spirit of the Labour Group which left
for home last week. Nobody has been here from our side who had a
better influence than they. They emphatically stuck by their
instructions and took pleasure, against the blandishments of
certain British Socialists, in declaring against any meeting with
anybody from the enemy countries to discuss "peace-by-negotiation"
or anything else till the enemy is whipped. They made admirable
speeches and proved admirable representatives of the bone and sinew
of American manhood. They had dead-earnestness and good-humour and
hard horse-sense.
This sort of visit is all to the good. Great good they do, too, in
the present English curiosity to see and hear the right sort of
frank, candid Americans. Nobody who hasn't been here lately can
form an idea of the eagerness of all classes to hear and learn
about the United States. There never was, and maybe never will be
again, such a chance to inform the British and--to help them toward
a rights understanding of the United States and our people. We are
not half using the opportunity. There seems to be a feeling on your
side the ocean that we oughtn't to send men here to "lecture" the
British. No typical, earnest, sound American who has been here has
"lectured" the British. They have all simply told facts and
instructed them and won their gratitude and removed misconceptions.
For instance, I have twenty inquiries a week about Dr. Buttrick. He
went about quietly during his visit here and talked to university
audiences and to working-men's meetings and he captured and
fascinated every man he met. He simply told them American facts,
explained the American spirit and aims and left a grateful memory
everywhere. Buttrick cost our Government nothing: he paid his own
way. But if he had cost as much as a regiment it would have been
well spent. The people who heard him, read American utterances,
American history, American news in a new light. And most of his
talk was with little groups of men, much of it even in private
conversation. He did no orating or "lecturing." A hundred such men,
if we had them, would do more for a perfect understanding with the
British people than anything else whatsoever could do.
Yours sincerely,
WALTER H. PAGE.
_To Arthur W. Page_
Sandwich, May 27, 1918.
DEAR ARTHUR:
... I do get tired--my Lord! how tired!--not of the work but of the
confinement, of the useless things I have to spend time on, of the
bad digestion that has overtaken me, of London, of the weather, of
absence from you all--of the general breaking up of the world, of
this mad slaughter of men. But, after all, this is the common lot
now and I am grateful for a chance to do what I can. That's the
true way to look at it.
... Worry? I don't worry about anything except the war in general
and this mad world so threatened by these devil barbarians. And I
have a feeling that, when we get a few thousand flying machines,
we'll put an end to that, alas! with the loss of many of our brave
boys. I hear the guns across the channel as I write--an unceasing
boom! boom! boom! That's what takes the stuff out of me and gets my
inside machinery wrong. Still, I'm gradually getting even that back
to normal. Golf and the poets are fine medicine. I read Keats the
other day, with entire forgetfulness of the guns. Here we have a
comfortable house, our own servants (as many as we need), a
beautiful calm sea, a perfect air and for the present ideal
weather. There's nobody down here but Scottish soldiers. We've
struck up a pleasant acquaintance with them; and some of the
fellows from the Embassy come down week ends. Only the murderous
guns keep their eternal roar.
Thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks, old man. It'll all work out
right.
... I look at it in this way: all's well that ends well. We are now
doing our duty. That's enough. These things don't bother me,
because doing our duty now is worth a million years of past errors
and shortcomings.
Your mother's well and spry--very, and the best company in the
world. We're having a great time.
Bully for the kids! Kiss 'em for me and Mollie too.
Affectionately,
W.H.P.
Make Shoecraft tell you everything. He's one of the best boys and truest
in the world.
_To Ralph W. Page_
Rest Harrow, Sandwich, Kent.
June 7, 1918.
MY DEAR RALPH:
... I have all along cherished an expectation of two things--(1)
That when we did get an American Army by conscription, if it should
remain at war long enough to learn the game, it would become the
best army that the world ever saw, for the simple reason that its
ranks would contain more capable men than any other country has
ever produced. The proof of this comes at once. Even our new and
raw troops have astonished the veterans of the French and British
armies and (I have no doubt) of the German Army also. It'll be our
men who will whip the Germans, and there are nobody else's men who
could do it. We've already saved the Entente from collapse by our
money. We'll save the day again by our fighting men. That is to
say, we'll save the world, thank God; and I fear it couldn't have
been saved in any other way. (2) Since the people by their mood
command and compel efficiency, the most efficient people will at
last (as recent events show) get at the concrete jobs, in spite of
anybody's preferences or philosophy. And this seems at last to be
taking place. What we have suffered and shall suffer is not failure
but delays and delays and bunglings. But they've got to end by the
sheer pressure of the people's earnestness. These two things, then,
are all to the good.
I get the morning papers here at noon. And to-day I am all alone.
Your mother went early on her journey to launch a British
battleship. I haven't had a soul to speak to all day but my
servants. At noon, therefore, I was rather eager for the papers. I
saw at a glance that a submarine is at work off the New Jersey
coast! It's an awful thing for the innocent victims, to be
drowned. But their deaths have done us a greater service than 100
times as many lives lost in battle. If anybody lacked earnestness
about the war, I venture to guess that he doesn't lack it any
longer. If the fools would now only shell some innocent town on the
coast, the journey to Berlin would be shortened.
If the Germans had practised a chivalrous humanity in their war for
conquest, they'd have won it. Nothing on earth can now save them;
for the world isn't big enough to hold them and civilized people.
Nor is there any room for pacifists till this grim business is
done.
Affectionately,
W.H.P.
The last piece of writing from Sandwich is the following memorandum:
Sandwich, Kent.
June 10, 1918.
The Germans continue to gain ground in France--more slowly, but
still they gain. The French and British papers now give space to
plans for the final defense--the desperate defense--of Paris. The
Germans are only forty miles away. Slocum, military attaché, thinks
they will get it and he reports the same opinion at the War
Office--because the Germans have taken such a large number of guns
and so much ammunition. Some of these guns were meant for the
American troops, and they cannot now be replaced in time if the
German advance continues. But I do not know enough facts at first
hand to form an opinion. But, if Paris be taken, the war will go on
a long time--unless the English-speaking rulers make a compromise.
And, then, in another form--and forms--it'll go on
indefinitely.--There has been no more perilous or uncertain or
anxious time than now.
The United States too late, too late, too late: what if it should
turn out so?
* * * * *
But it did not turn out so. Even while Page was penning these lines
great events were taking place in France and the American troops were
having a large share in them. In June the Americans stopped the German
troops at Belleau Wood--a battle which proved the mettle of these fresh
levies not only for the benefit of the Germans but of the Allies as
well. Thus Page had the great satisfaction of returning to London while
the city was ringing with the praise of these achievements. He found
that the atmosphere had materially changed since he had last been in the
British capital; when he had left for Sandwich there had been a general
expectation that the Germans would get Paris or the Channel ports; now,
however, there was every confidence of victory. Greatly as Page rejoiced
over the new prospect, however, the fight at Belleau Wood brought him
his last great sorrow. His nephew, Allison M. Page, of Aberdeen, North
Carolina, the son of his youngest brother, Frank, lost his life in that
engagement. At first the young man was reported "missing"; the
investigation set afoot by the Ambassador for some time brought no
definite information. One of the most pathetic of Page's papers is a
brief note addressed by him to Allison Page, asking him for news: "It's
been a long time since we heard from you," Page wrote his nephew. "Write
how it goes with you. Affectionately, Uncle Wat." After travelling over
a considerable part of France, this note found its way back to the
Embassy. The boy--he was only 19--had been killed in action near Belleau
Wood, on June 25th, while leading his detachment in an attack on a
machine gun. Citations and decorations for gallantry in action were
given posthumously by General Pershing, Marshal Pétain, Major-General
Omar Bundy, and Major-General John A. LeJeune.
And now the shadows began to close in rapidly on Page. In early July
Major Frank C. Page, the Ambassador's youngest son, came over from
France. A brief glance at his father convinced him that he was dying. By
this time the Ambassador had ceased to go to the Chancery, but was
transacting the most imperative business propped up in a chair at home.
His mind was possessed by two yearnings: one was to remain in London
until the end of the war, the other was to get back to his childhood
home in North Carolina. Young Page urged his father to resign, but the
weary invalid insisted on sticking to his post. On this point it seemed
impossible to move him. Knowing that his brother Arthur had great
influence with his father, Frank Page cabled, asking him to come to
England immediately. Arthur took the first boat, reaching London late in
July.
The Ambassador's two sons then gently pressed upon their father the fact
that he must resign. Weak as he was, the Ambassador was still obdurate.
"No," he said. "It's quitting on the job. I must see the war through. I
can't quit until it's over."
But Sir William Osler, Page's physician and devoted friend, exercised
his professional authority and insisted on the resignation. Finally Page
consented.
_To the President_
American Embassy, London,
August 1, 1918.
MY DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:
I have been struggling for a number of months against the necessity
to write you this note; for my doctors now advise me to give up all
work for a period--my London doctor says for six months. I have a
progressive digestive trouble which does not yield to the usual
treatment. It's the war, five London winters, and the unceasing
labour which is now the common lot. I am ashamed to say that these
have brought me to something near a breakdown. I have had Sir
William Osler as well as two distinguished London physicians for
several months. The digestive trouble has brought other ills in its
train; and I am assured that they will yield to freedom from
responsibility and complete rest for a time in a dry, warm climate
and that they are not likely to yield to anything else.
I see nothing else to do then but to bow to the inevitable and to
ask you to be kind enough to relieve me and to accept my
resignation to take effect as soon as I can go to Washington and
make a somewhat extended report on the work here, which, I hope,
will be of some use to the Department; and I ought to go as soon as
possible--say, in September. I cannot tell you how great my
disappointment is that this request has become necessary.
If the world and its work were so organized that we could do what
we should like to do, I should like a leave of absence till winter
be broken and then to take up my duties here again till the war
end. But that, of course, is impracticable. And it is now a better
time to change Ambassadors than at any time since the war began. My
five years' service has had two main phases--the difficult period
of our neutrality and the far easier period since we came into the
war. But when the war ends, I fear that there will be again more or
less troublesome tasks arising out of commercial difficulties.
But for any reasonable period the Embassy's work fortunately can
now go on perfectly well with Mr. Laughlin as Chargé--until my
successor can get here. The Foreign Office like him, he is _persona
grata_ to all other Departments of the Government, and he has had
a long experience; and he is most conscientious and capable. And
the organization is in excellent condition.
I venture to ask you to have a cable message sent to me (to be
deciphered by me alone). It will require quite a little time to
pack up and to get away.
I send this, Mr. President, with more regret than I can express and
only after a struggle of more than six months to avoid it.
Yours sincerely,
WALTER H. PAGE.
Arthur Page took his father to Banff, in Scotland, for a little rest in
preparation for the voyage. From this place came Page's last letter to
his wife:
_To Mrs. Page_
Duff House, Banff, Scotland.
Sunday, September 2, 1918.
MY DEAR:
... I've put the period of our life in London, in my mind, as
closed. That epoch is ended. And I am glad. It was time it ended.
My job (_that_ job) is done. From the letters that Shoecraft has
sent me and from what the papers say, I think I couldn't have ended
it more happily--or at a better time. I find myself thinking of the
winter down South--of a Thanksgiving Day dinner for the older folks
of our family, of a Christmas tree for the kids, of frolics of all
sorts, of Rest, of some writing (perhaps not much), going over my
papers with Ralph--that's what he wants, you know; etc., etc.,
etc.--
And I've got to eat more. I myself come into my thinking and
planning in only two ways--(1) I'm going to have a suit like old
Lord N.'s and (2) I'm going to get all the good things to eat that
there are!
Meantime, my dear, how are you? Don't you let this getting ready
wear you out. Let something go undone rather. Work Miss Latimer and
the boys and the moving and packing men, and Petherick and the
servants. Take it very easy yourself.
Nine and a half more days here--may they speed swiftly. Comfortable
as I am, I'm mortal tired of being away from you--dead tired.
Praise God it's only 9-1/2 days. If it were 9-3/4, I should not
stand it, but break for home prematurely.
Yours, dear Allie, with all my love,
W.H.P.
On August 24th came the President's reply:
I have received your communication of August 1st. It caused me
great regret that the condition of your health makes it necessary
for you to resign. Under the circumstances I do not feel I have the
right to insist on such a sacrifice as your remaining in London.
Your resignation is therefore accepted. As you request it will take
effect when you report to Washington. Accept my congratulations
that you have no reason to fear a permanent impairment of your
health and that you can resign knowing that you have performed your
difficult duties with distinguished success.
WOODROW WILSON.
The news of Page's resignation inspired tributes from the British press
and from British public men such as have been bestowed upon few
Americans. The London _Times_ headed its leader "A Great Ambassador" and
this note was echoed in all sections of Great Britain. The part of
Page's career which Englishmen chiefly recalled was his attitude during
the period of neutrality. This, the newspapers declared, was Page's
great contribution to the cause. The fact that it had had such
far-reaching influences on history was the one especially insisted on.
His conciliatory and skillful behaviour had kept the United States and
Great Britain friends at a time when a less tactful ambassador might
easily have made them enemies; the result was that, when the time came,
the United States could join forces against the common enemy, with
results that were then daily unfolding on the battlefields of France. "I
really believe," wrote the Marquess of Crewe, "that there were several
occasions when we might have made it finally impossible for America to
join us in the war; that these passed by may have been partly due to
some glimmering of common sense on our part, with Grey as its main
exponent; but it was more largely owing to your patience and courtesy
and to the certainty which the Foreign Office always enjoyed that its
action would be set before the Secretary of State in as favourable a
light as it conscientiously could be." That, then, was Page's
contribution to the statesmanship of this crisis--that of holding the
two countries together so that, when the time came, the United States
could join the Allies. A mass of private letters, all breathing the same
sentiment, began to pour in on Page. There was hardly an illustrious
name in Great Britain that was not represented among these
leave-takings. As illustrating the character and spirit animating them,
the following selections are made:
_From the King_
The information communicated to me yesterday through Mr. Laughlin
of Your Excellency's resignation of the Post of Ambassador and the
cause of this step fill me with the keenest regret. During your
term of office in days of peace and of war your influence has done
much to strengthen the ties of friendship and good-will which unite
the two English-speaking nations of the world. I trust your health
will soon be restored and that we may have the pleasure of seeing
you and Mrs. Page before your departure.
GEORGE R.I.
_From the Prime Minister_
10, Downing Street, Whitehall, S.W. 1.
30th August, 1918.
MY DEAR AMBASSADOR:
It is with the deepest regret that my colleagues and I have
received the news that you have been forced by ill health to resign
your office and that the President has consented to your
relinquishing your ambassadorial duties. We are sorry that you are
leaving us, all the more because your tenure of office has
coincided with one of the greatest epochs in the history of our two
countries and of the world, and because your influence and counsel
throughout this difficult time have been of the utmost value to us
all.
The power for good or evil which can be exerted by the occupant of
your high position is at all times necessarily very great. That our
peoples are now fighting side by side in the cause of human freedom
and that they are manifesting an ever growing feeling of cordiality
to one another is largely attributable to the exceptional wisdom
and good-will with which you have discharged your duties. For the
part you have played during the past five years in bringing about
this happy result we owe you our lasting gratitude.
May I add that while you have always firmly presented the point of
view of your own country, you have succeeded in winning, not only
the respect and admiration of official circles, but the confidence,
and I can say without hesitation, the affection of all sections of
our people? It will be with universal regret that they will learn
that, owing to the strain of the great responsibilities you have
borne, you are no longer to remain among us. I earnestly trust that
a well-earned rest will speedily restore you to complete health,
and that you have many years of public service still in store for
you.
I should like also to say how much we shall miss Mrs. Page. She has
won a real place in all our hearts. Through her unfailing tact, her
genuine kindliness, and her unvarying readiness to respond to any
call upon her time and energy, she has greatly contributed to the
success of your ambassadorship.
Ever sincerely,
D. LLOYD GEORGE.
_From Viscount Grey of Fallodon_
Glen Innerleithen, Scotland.
September 2, 1918.
DEAR MR. PAGE:
I have been out of touch with current events for a few days, but
yesterday I read the two articles in the _Times_ on your
retirement. I am very grieved to think that you are going. There
was not a word of eulogy in the _Times_ articles that was not under
rather than over-stated, and reflecting thus I thought how rare it
is in public life to have an occasion that justifies the best that
can be said. But it is so now, and I am filled with deep regret
that you are going and with deep gratitude that you came to us and
were here when the war broke out and subsequently. If the United
States had been represented here by any one less decided as to the
right and wrong of the war and less firm and courageous than
yourself, the whole of the relations between your country and ours
would have been in peril. And if the two countries had gone apart
instead of coming together the whole fate of the world would be
very different from what I hope it will now be.
I have often thought that the forces behind public affairs are so
tremendous that individuals have little real, even when much
apparent, influence upon the course of events. But in the early
years of the war I think everything might have gone wrong if it had
not been that certain men of strong moral conviction were in
certain places. And you were preëminently one of these. President
Wilson I am sure was another, though I know him only through you
and Colonel House and his own public utterances. Even so your
influence must have counted in his action, by your friendship with
him as well as by the fact of your being the channel through which
communications passed between him and us.
I cannot adequately express what it was to me personally in the
dark days of 1914, 1915, and 1916 to know how you felt about the
great issues involved in the war.
I go to Fallodon at the end of this week and come to London the
first week of September--if you and Mrs. Page have not left by then
I hope I may see you. I long to do so before you go. I wish you may
recover perfect health. My eyesight continues to fail and I shall
soon be absolutely dependent upon other eyes for reading print.
Otherwise I feel as well as a schoolboy, but it is depressing to be
so well and yet so crippled in sight.
Please do not trouble to answer this letter--you must have too many
letters of the kind to be able to reply to them separately--but if
there is a chance of my seeing you before you go please let me
have a message to say when and where.
Yours sincerely,
GREY OF F.
A few months before his resignation Page had received a letter from
Theodore Roosevelt, who was more familiar than most Americans with
Page's work in London. This summed up what will be probably the judgment
of history upon his ambassadorship. The letter was in reply to one
written to the Ex-President, asking him to show hospitality to the
Archbishop of York[78], who was about to visit the United States.
(Office of the Metropolitan Magazine)
342 Fourth Ave., New York,
March 1st, 1918.
MY DEAR MR. AMBASSADOR:
I am very much pleased with your letter, and as soon as the
Archbishop arrives, he will be addressed by me with all his titles,
and I will get him to lunch with me or dine with me, or do anything
else he wishes! I shall do it for his own sake, and still more, my
dear fellow, I shall do it for the sake of the Ambassador who has
represented America in London during these trying years as no other
Ambassador in London has ever represented us, with the exception of
Charles Francis Adams, during the Civil War.
Faithfully yours,
THEODORE ROOSEVELT.
The seriousness of Page's condition was not understood in London;
consequently there were many attempts to do him honour in which he was
unable to participate. Custom demands that a retiring Ambassador shall
go to Windsor Castle to dine and to sleep; but King George, who was very
solicitous about Page's health, offered to spare the Ambassador this
trip and to come himself to London for this leave-taking. However, Page
insisted on carrying out the usual programme; but the visit greatly
tired him and he found it impossible personally to take part in any
further official farewells. The last ceremony was a visit from the Lord
Mayor and Council of Plymouth, who came to the Ambassador's house in
September to present the freedom of the city. Ever since Page's speech
of August 4, 1917, Plymouth had been planning to do him this honour;
when the Council heard that the Ambassador's health would make it
impossible for him to visit Plymouth, they asked if they might not come
to London. The proceeding was most impressive and touching and the
Ambassador's five-minute speech, the last one which he made in England,
had all his old earnestness and mental power, though the physical
weakness of the man saddened everybody present. The Lord Mayor presented
the freedom of the ancient borough in a temporary holder, explaining
that a more permanent receptacle would follow the Ambassador to America.
When this arrived, it proved to be a beautiful silver model of the
_Mayflower_. Certainly there could have been no more appropriate
farewell gift to Page from the English town whose name so closely links
the old country with the United States.
The last scene took place at Waterloo Station. Sir Arthur Walsh came
representing the King, while Mr. Balfour, Lord Robert Cecil, and other
ministers represented the cabinet. The Government had provided a special
railway carriage, and this was stationed at a convenient place as Page's
motor drew up. So weak was the Ambassador that it was with difficulty
that his companions, the ever devoted Mr. Laughlin, on one side, and
Page's secretary, Mr. Shoecraft, on the other, succeeded in supporting
him to his chair. Mr. Balfour, Lord Robert Cecil and the others then
entered the carriage, and, with all that sympathetic dignity in which
Englishmen of this type excel, said a few gracious and affectionate
words of good-bye. They all stood, with uncovered heads, as the train
slowly pulled out of the station, and caught their final glimpse of Page
as he smiled at them and faintly waved his hand.
* * * * *
Perhaps the man most affected by this leave-taking was Mr. Balfour. He
knew, as did the others, that that frail and emaciated figure had been
one of the greatest friends that Britain had had at the most dreadful
crisis in her history. He has many times told of this parting scene at
Waterloo Station and always with emotion.
"I loved that man," he once said to an American friend, recalling this
event. "I almost wept when he left England."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 75: Of Aberdeen, N.C., the Ambassador's sister.]
[Footnote 76: "Dramatic Moments in American Diplomacy," by Ralph W.
Page, 1918.]
[Footnote 77: The reference is to a letter written in 1823 by Thomas
Jefferson to President Monroe at the time when the Holy Alliance was
threatening the independence of South America. "With Great Britain,"
Jefferson wrote, "we should most sedulously cherish a cordial friendship
and nothing would tend more to knit our affections than to be fighting
once more, side by side, in the same cause."]
[Footnote 78: See Vol. II, page 307.]