Now indeed we began to get real news of the war. We heard of how that
little British army had flung itself into the maw of the Hun. I came
to know something of the glories of the retreat from Mons, and of how
French and British had turned together at the Marne and had saved
Paris. But, alas, I heard too of how many brave men had died--had
been sacrificed, many and many a man of them, to the failure of
Britain to prepare.
That was past and done. What had been wrong was being mended now.
Better, indeed--ah, a thousand times better!--had Britain given heed
to Lord Roberts, when he preached the gospel of readiness and prayed
his countrymen to prepare for the war that he in his wisdom had
foreseen. But it was easier now to look into the future.
I could see, as all the world was beginning to see, that this war was
not like other wars. Lord Kitchener had said that Britain must make
ready for a three year war, and I, for one, believed him when others
scoffed, and said he was talking so to make the recruits for his
armies come faster to the colors. I could see that this war might
last for years. And it was then, back in 1914, in the first winter of
the war, that I began to warn my friends in America that they might
well expect the Hun to drag them into the war before its end. And I
made up my mind that I must beg Americans who would listen to me to
prepare.
So, all the way across the continent, I spoke, in every town we
visited, on that subject of preparedness. I had seen Britain, living
in just such a blissful anticipation of eternal peace as America then
dreamed of. I had heard, for years, every attempt that was made to
induce Britain to increase her army met with the one, unvarying reply.
"We have our fleet!" That was the answer that was made. And, be it
remembered, that at sea, Britain _was_ prepared! "We have our fleet.
We need no army. If there is a Continental war, we may not be drawn
in at all. Even if we are, they can't reach us. The fleet is between
us and invasion."
"But," said the advocates of preparedness, "we might have to send an
expeditionary force. If France were attacked, we should have to help
her on land as well as at sea. And we have sent armies to the
continent before."
"Yes," the other would reply. "We have an expeditionary force. We can
send more than a hundred thousand men across the channel at short
notice--the shortest. And we can train more men here, at home, in
case of need. The fleet makes that possible."
Aye, the fleet made that possible. The world may well thank God for
the British fleet. I do not know, and I do not like to think, what
might have come about save for the British fleet. But I do know what
came to that expeditionary force that we sent across the channel
quickly, to the help of our sore stricken ally, France. How many of
that old British army still survive?
They gave themselves utterly. They were the pick and the flower of
our trained manhood. They should have trained the millions who were
to rise at Kitchener's call. But they could not be held back. They
are gone. Others have risen up to take their places--ten for one--a
hundred for one! But had they been ready at the start! The bonnie
laddies who would be living now, instead of lying in an unmarked
grave in France or Flanders! The women whose eyes would never have
been reddened by their weeping as they mourned a son or a brother or
a husband!
So I was thinking as I set out to talk to my American friends and beg
them to prepare--prepare! I did not want to see this country share
the experience of Britain. If she needs must be drawn into the war--
and so I believed, profoundly, from the time when I first learned the
true measure of the Hun--I hoped that she might be ready when she
drew her mighty sword.
They thought I was mad, at first, many of those to whom I talked.
They were so far away from the war. And already the propaganda of the
Germans was at work. Aye, they thought I was raving when I told them
I'd stake my word on it. America would never be able to stay out
until the end. They listened to me. They were willing to do that. But
they listened, doubtingly. I think I convinced few of ought save that
I believed myself what I was saying.
I could tell them, do you ken, that I'd thought, at first, as they
did! Why, over yon, in Australia, when I'd first heard that the
Germans were attacking France, I was sorry, for France is a bonnie
land. But the idea that Britain might go in I, even then, had laughed
at. And then Britain _had_ gone in! My own boy had gone to the war.
For all I knew I might be reading of him, any day, when I read of a
charge or a fight over there in France! Anything was possible--aye,
probable!
I have never called myself a prophet. But then, I think, I had
something of a prophet's vision. And all the time I was struggling
with my growing belief that this was to be a long war, and a
merciless war. I did not want to believe some of the things I knew I
must believe. But every day came news that made conviction sink in
deeper and yet deeper.
It was not a happy trip, that one across the United States. Our
friends did all they could to make it so, but we were consumed by too
many anxieties and cares. How different was it from my journey
westward--only nine months earlier! The world had changed forever in
those nine months.
Everywhere I spoke for preparedness. I addressed the Rotary Clubs,
and great audiences turned out to listen to me. I am a Rotarian
myself, and I am proud indeed that I may so proclaim myself. It is a
great organization. Those who came to hear me were cordial, nearly
always. But once or twice I met hostility, veiled but not to be
mistaken. And it was easy to trace it to its source. Germans, who
loved the country they had left behind them to come to a New World
that offered them a better home and a richer life than they could
ever have aspired to at home, were often at the bottom of the
opposition to what I had to say.
They did not want America to prepare, lest her weight be flung into
the scale against Germany. And there were those who hated Britain.
Some of these remembered old wars and grudges that sensible folk had
forgotten long since; others, it may be, had other motives. But there
was little real opposition to what I had to say. It was more a good
natured scoffing, and a feeling that I was cracked a wee bit,
perhaps, about the war.
I was not sorry to see New York again. We stayed there but one day,
and then sailed for home on the Cunarder _Orduna_--which has since
been sunk, like many another good ship, by the Hun submarines.
But those were the days just before the Hun began his career of real
frightfulness upon the sea--and under it. Even the Hun came gradually
to the height of his powers in this war. It was not until some weeks
later that he startled the world by proclaiming that every ship that
dared to cross a certain zone of the sea would be sunk without warning.
When we sailed upon the old _Orduna_ we had anxieties, to be sure.
The danger of striking a mine was never absent, once we neared the
British coasts. There was always the chance, we knew, that some
German raider might have slipped through the cordon in the North Sea.
But the terrors that were to follow the crime of the _Lusitania_ still
lay in the future. They were among the things no man could foresee.
The _Orduna_ brought us safe to the Mersey and we landed at Liverpool.
Even had there been no thought of danger to the ship, that voyage would
have been a hard one for us to endure. We never ceased thinking of John,
longing for him and news of him. It was near Christmas, but we had small
hope that we should be able to see him on that day.
All through the voyage we were shut away from all news. The wireless
is silenced in time of war, save for such work as the government
allows. There is none of the free sending, from shore to ship, and
ship to ship, of all the news of the world, such as one grows to
welcome in time of peace. And so, from New York until we neared the
British coast, we brooded, all of us. How fared it with Britain in
the war? Had the Hun launched some new and terrible attack?
[ILLUSTRATION: "I did not stop at sending out my recruiting band. I
went out myself.". (See Lauder02.jpg)]
But two days out from home we saw a sight to make us glad and end our
brooding for a space.
"Eh, Harry--come and look you!" someone called to me. It was early in
the morning, and there was a mist about us.
I went to the rail and looked in the direction I was told. And there,
rising suddenly out of the mist, shattering it, I saw great, gray
ships--warships--British battleships and cruisers. There they were,
some of the great ships that are the steel wall around Britain that
holds her safe. My heart leaped with joy and pride at the sight of
them, those great, gray guardians of the British shores, bulwarks of
steel that fend all foemen from the rugged coast and the fair land
that lies behind it.
Now we were safe, ourselves! Who would not trust the British navy,
after the great deeds it has done in this war? For there, mind you,
is the one force that has never failed. The British navy has done
what it set out to do. It has kept command of the seas. The
submarines? The tin fish? They do not command the sea! Have they kept
Canada's men, and America's, from reaching France?
When we landed my first inquiry was for my son John. He was well, and
he was still in England, in training at Bedford with his regiment,
the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders. But it was as we had feared.
Our Christmas must be kept apart. And so the day before Christmas
found us back in our wee hoose on the Clyde, at Dunoon. But we
thought of little else but the laddie who was making ready to fight
for us, and of the day, that was coming soon, when we should see him.