"This is indeed extraordinary!" exclaimed Lord Maybury, the Premier, at
last.
"An amazing development--most amazing!" the Foreign Minister cried,
unusually excited.
"What is the best course?" asked the head of the Government.
"There is but one," his colleague answered. "I shall wire to St
Petersburg at once and await confirmation."
"The situation is becoming absolutely bewildering," observed the
Premier. "It may be best, I think, to convene another meeting of the
Cabinet."
Lord Warnham, with that involuntary caution that he had developed during
long years of office as Minister of Foreign Affairs, at once dismissed
Frank Lawley, but allowed me to remain. As his confidential secretary I
had been present on many occasions when delicate matters of diplomacy
had been adjusted and plans arranged which, if divulged, would have
caused an upheaval throughout Europe.
"No, I don't think another Council is necessary, at least not to-night,"
answered Lord Warnham, when the cosmopolitan messenger had closed the
door behind him.
"But the whole thing is at present a mystery," said the Prime Minister,
standing astride with his broad back to the empty grate.
"Exactly. We must have news from the Embassy in St Petersburg before
long. Until then, I think we should be patient."
"But hark!" exclaimed the Premier, quite calmly, and as we all three
listened we could hear the dull roar of the crowd becoming louder. The
popular excitement outside was intense, and the eager multitude
increased each moment. "They are clamouring for news. It is, I think,
time that another statement should be made in the House."
"As you wish," Lord Warnham answered, with ill grace. It was part of
his creed to tell the public absolutely nothing. The Premier was for
publicity--he for secrecy always.
"But whatever statement is made regarding the receipt of intelligence it
cannot compromise our position at St Petersburg," the Marquis argued.
"Very well. Let the statement be made. But, personally, I cannot see
what we can say at present."
"Say something. It will reassure the public that we are endeavouring to
readjust diplomatic negotiations. Already we are being hounded down on
all sides by wild-haired agitators as having been asleep. Let us show
our opponents that we are now fully alive to England's peril."
"Ah, Maybury," laughed the Foreign Minister, "it is always my opinion
that the less the public know the easier it is for us to carry on the
business of the country. The irresponsible journals are really the
cause of nine-tenths of our diplomatic ruptures."
"But the Press assist us in many ways, and if you are averse to a
statement in the House why not make one to _The Times_, or to a news
agency? Perhaps the latter course would be best, for it will
re-establish public confidence."
"But that will not be official," Lord Warnham demurred.
"Nevertheless, we can make the official statement later, when we have
received confirmation of this extraordinary dispatch."
"Is the dispatch from Paris very remarkable?" I asked, unable to any
longer bear their tantalising conversation, so anxious was I to
ascertain the latest development of this conspiracy against our country.
"Read it for yourself," Lord Warnham answered, glancing at the Premier
to ascertain whether this course received his approbation, and finding
that it did, he handed me the dispatch, which I found a moment later
read as follows:--
"_From Marquis of Worthorpe, Paris, to Earl of Warnham, Her Majesty's
Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.--My Lord,--In further
continuation of my dispatch of this morning, I have the honour to report
to your Lordship that the war preparations actively commenced here on
receipt of a telegram from St Petersburg (copy of which was enclosed in
my last dispatch) have, owing to a later telegram from Russia, been
entirely stopped. The orders for mobilisation have everywhere been
countermanded. According to a statement just made to me by our secret
agent in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the French Government have
to-day received word that the Tzar's declaration of war will not, for
some unexplained reason, be published. I send this by special messenger
in the hope that it will reach your Lordship this evening_.--Worthorpe."
"This is remarkable!" I cried. "It appears as if Russia has already
repented." But the Premier and his colleague, at that moment in
consultation regarding the steps to be taken should this astounding and
reassuring news prove correct, did not notice my remark. Presently,
however, the Prime Minister, turning to me, asked,--
"Are any of the reporters your personal friends, Deedes?"
"Yes, I know several."
"To whom shall we make our statement?" he inquired. "We want it spread
throughout the country."
"In that case I should suggest Mr Johns, of the agency that supplies the
club tapes and newspapers."
"Then send for him."
At once I went to the door and dispatched the messenger waiting outside
to find that well-known figure of the Reporters' Gallery, who makes it
his boast that for years without a break he had sat through every
sitting of the House of Commons, and whose friends have a legend that he
can enjoy a sleep in his "box" over the Speaker's chair and awake at the
very moment any question of public interest arises. Ten minutes had
elapsed when the chosen representative of the Press entered, hot and
breathless, bowing to their Lordships. He was spare, dark-haired, with
sharp, aquiline features, a breadth of forehead that denoted
considerable learning, a pointed, dark-brown beard, and a pair of sharp,
penetrating eyes. He spoke with a broad Scotch accent, his sallow face
betraying signs of considerable excitement.
"I desire, Mr Johns, to make a statement to the Press, and have sent for
you with that object," exclaimed the Minister for Foreign Affairs,
glancing up at him.
"With pleasure, my Lord," exclaimed the reporter, taking from his pocket
a pencil and a few loose sheets of "copy paper." "I'm quite ready."
Then, as Lord Warnham dictated his message to the public, the
representative of the news agency took it down in a series of rapid
hieroglyphics. The words the Minister uttered were as follows:--
"In order to allay undue public alarm, I wish it to be known that,
according to advices I have received, the statement in the _Novoe
Vremya_ to-day, at first believed to be correct, is without foundation."
"Then war is not declared?" interrupted the reporter, excitedly.
"No. The alarming report reproduced by the English Press from the St
Petersburg journal is apparently totally incorrect."
"And I presume I may say that there is no rupture of diplomatic
negotiations with St Petersburg?"
Lord Warnham, smiling that sphinx-like smile which might be construed
into anything the interlocutor chose, turned to the Prime Minister for
his opinion upon the point.
"Of course," exclaimed the Marquis. "We have received no intimation of
any diplomatic difficulty. Further, you may reassure the public that
the Government will do everything in its power to avert any catastrophe;
but as no catastrophe has occurred, all this excitement is quite
uncalled for."
"May I use your own words, your Lordship?" inquired the reporter,
quickly. "I want to reproduce this in the form of an interview."
"You can act as you please about that," the Premier said, smiling as he
added, "I suppose we shall see it in every newspaper in England
to-morrow, headed, `The War Against England: Interview with the Prime
Minister'--eh?"
"Not to-morrow, your Lordship--to-night," laughed the reporter,
fidgeting in his eagerness to get away with the finest bit of "copy"
that ever his pencil wrote.
The Premier turned to speak with Lord Warnham, but my friend Johns was
not to be delayed, even by the discussion of the nation's peril. If the
Archangel had suddenly appeared he would have calmly "taken a note" of
how such an occurrence affected the onlookers.
"Is there anything more I can say, your Lordship?" he asked, impatiently
interrupting their conversation.
"No, I think not at present," Lord Warnham answered. "If you have any
further statement to make, I shall hold myself in readiness," he said,
the journalistic spirit of greed being aroused to have the whole of this
exclusive information to himself.
"We will send for you if we have anything further to communicate," Lord
Warnham answered, and wishing him good evening, intimated that at least
for the present the interview was at an end.
After he had left, it was desired, upon the suggestion of the Premier,
to slightly amend one of the sentences used by Lord Warnham, and with
that object I rushed after the excited interviewer. After a little
search I found him in the small room behind the Press Gallery, dictating
in breathless haste to the clerk, who sat resting his head on one hand
while with the other he worked the telegraph-key. As I approached, I
heard him exclaim in broad Scotch,--"Now, then, Ford, look sharp, my
lad, look sharp! Send this along, `Our representative has just
interviewed the Marquis of Maybury and the Earl of Warnham on the
situation. The exclusive information imparted is of the greatest
possible importance, as it shows'--"
Here I interrupted him, and having requested him to reconstruct the
sentence, as desired by Lord Warnham, left him, and returned to where
the two Ministers were still in earnest consultation.
Having busied myself with some correspondence lying upon the Foreign
Minister's table, while the pair discussed a critical point as to the
instructions to be sent to Lord Worthorpe in Paris, there presently came
another loud knock at the door. One of the clerks, who had rushed over
from the Foreign Office, entered, bearing a telegraphic dispatch.
"Where from?" inquired Lord Warnham, noticing the paper in his hand as
he came in.
"From St Petersburg, your Lordship," he answered, handing him the
telegram.
The Premier and Foreign Secretary read it through together in silence,
expressions of satisfaction passing at once across both their
countenances.
"Then we need have no further apprehension," exclaimed the Premier at
last, looking up at his colleague.
"Apparently not," observed Lord Warnham. "This is certainly sufficient
confirmation of Worthorpe's dispatch," and he tossed it across to the
table whereat I sat, at the same time dismissing the clerk who had
brought it.
Taking up the telegram, I saw at a glance it was from our secret agent
in the Russian Foreign Office, and that it had been re-transmitted from
Hamburg. Although he had stated that all cipher messages were refused,
this was in our private code, and its transcription, written beneath,
was as follows:--
"_Remarkable development of situation has occurred. Ministers held a
Council this afternoon, and after conferring with the Tzar, the latter
decided to withdraw his proclamation of war, which was to be issued
to-night. The reason for this sudden decision to preserve peace is a
mystery, but the Tzar left half-an-hour ago on his journey south, two of
the Ministers have left for their country seats, and telegraphic orders
have been issued countermanding the military preparations, therefore it
is certain that all idea of war is entirely abandoned. Immediately at
the conclusion of the Council, a telegram was sent to the Russian
Minister in Paris, informing him of the decision not to commence
hostilities against England. The_ Novoe Vremya, _in order to allay
public feeling, is to be prosecuted for publishing false news_."
When I had read this astounding dispatch, congratulating myself that,
after all, our country need not fear a foreign foe, I sat listening to
the discussion between the two great statesmen. The Premier advocated
an immediate statement in the House in order to reassure the public, but
Lord Warnham, with that love of secrecy apparent in all his actions,
personal or political, was strenuously opposed to such a course.
"Let us wait until to-morrow," he said. "To-night the papers will
publish special editions containing the interview we have just given the
Press representative, and this certainly ought to calm the crowd
outside." He spoke with a sneer of contempt of the multitude of excited
citizens in fear of their lives and property.
"But they are patriots, many of them, Warnham," the Premier protested.
"Who have placed us in power but that public?"
"Oh, of course," the other snapped impatiently. "You go in for
popularity with the masses. I don't. I've never been popular, not even
in my own Department. But I can't help it. I do my duty, and perhaps
it is my very unpopularity that has secured me a reputation as head of
Foreign Affairs."
"It may be, Warnham. It may be," said the Premier, slowly. "But you
are more popular than you imagine."
"In the Press, yes. These modern journals will lick the boots of
anybody in power. It is not as it used to be in the old days, when you
and I received a sound rating nearly every morning in _The Times_."
"I do not allude to the Press, but contend that you are popular with the
public. You would increase that popularity by allowing a statement to
be made to-night."
"Let them wait until the morning," he growled. "I haven't the slightest
wish to be regarded as the people's saviour. An immediate statement
will appear too much like a bid for cheap notoriety."
"Is it not your duty to the people to allay their apprehensions of a
coming war?"
"It is my duty to Her Majesty alone," he exclaimed, suddenly remembering
that he had forgotten to dispatch the reassuring news to Osborne, and
turning, he thereupon dictated to me a telegram, which I quickly reduced
to cipher.
"Then you decline to allow any explanation to be given?" said the
Premier, in a tone of reproach, stroking his full beard thoughtfully.
"You would go home comfortably to bed and allow these thousands of
half-scared citizens to remain in fear and doubt throughout the night."
"Why not?" he laughed. "I tell you I am unpopular, therefore a little
secrecy more or less does not matter. If a Foreign Minister allowed the
Press and public to know all his doings, how could diplomacy be
conducted? The first element of success in dealing with foreign affairs
is to preserve silence, and not allow one's self to be drawn."
"But in this instance silence is quite unnecessary," exclaimed the Prime
Minister, growing impatient at the dogged persistence of his eccentric
colleague, whose delight was to be designated as harsh, unrelenting and
ascetic. In private life Lord Warnham lived almost alone in his great,
gloomy mansion, scarcely seen by any other person save his valet, the
telegraph clerk and myself. Some said that a strange romance in his
youth had soured him, causing him to become misanthropic and eccentric;
but it was always my opinion that the blow which fell upon him years
ago; the early death of his young and beautiful wife, whom he loved
intensely, was responsible for his slavish devotion to duty, his
eccentricity, and the cool cynicism with which he regarded everybody,
from his Sovereign to his secretary. As a Foreign Minister, every
Government in Europe admired, yet feared him. He was, without doubt,
the most shrewd and clever statesman the present century had known.
"I shall preserve silence until to-morrow," he said, decisively, at
last.
"If Her Majesty were consulted, she would, I feel sure, advocate an
immediate declaration of the exact position of affairs," Lord Maybury
said. "She has the welfare of her people at heart. Remember, both you
and I are her servants."
"Of course, of course," he said, commencing to pace the room slowly.
"Well," he added, after a pause, "suppose we made a statement in the
Commons to-night, and to-morrow we find the outlook still threatening
and gloomy--what then?"
"Listen!" cried the Prime Minister, at last losing patience, and
throwing open the window wide. "Listen! The people of London are
clamouring for news. Give it to them, and let them depart."
"They'll be able to read it in the papers presently. Let them pay their
pennies for it," he sneered.
"But that is not official," the Premier argued, and before his colleague
had time to reply, the messenger stationed outside the door entered,
bearing a telegram, which he took to Lord Warnham.
"The representative of Reuter's Agency has brought this telegram, just
received from St Petersburg, and desires to know whether you have any
confirmation of the abandonment of the proposed hostilities against us,"
the man said.
"Oh, tell him I have nothing to communicate," cried his Lordship,
hastily. "And, look here, don't bother me again with any inquiries from
the Press."
"Very well, your Lordship," the messenger answered, and at once
withdrew.
"Why not make an official declaration?" the Marquis urged. "It would
avoid a great deal of unnecessary worry and anxiety."
For a long time the Foreign Minister held out, until at length he became
convinced by Lord Maybury's forcible arguments in favour of publicity,
and gave his sanction to a statement being made in the House of Commons.
Presently we all three proceeded there, and at once the news spread
like wildfire, within Parliament and without, that the latest news from
St Petersburg was to be officially announced. From the glass swing door
of the Press gallery I watched the House rapidly fill to overflowing,
even to its galleries, and when all had assembled the excitement for
about ten minutes was intense. It was a memorable scene, more
impressive, perhaps, than any of the many that have taken place within
those sombre-panelled walls.
Presently, prefaced by the Speaker's loud "Order-r-r! Order!" a slim,
grey-haired figure rose from the Government bench and explained that the
news contained in the _Novoe Vremya_ was entirely false, and assured the
House that war had not been, and would not be, declared against England.
The final sentences of this welcome announcement were lost in a terrific
outburst of applause. So excited were some of the younger members that
they tossed their hats high in the air like schoolboys, and the
vociferous cheering of the Foreign Secretary was continued, loud and
long, notwithstanding the Speaker's dignified and formal efforts to
suppress it. The scene was the most enthusiastic and stirring that I
had ever witnessed, but even this was eclipsed by the terrific
enthusiasm I found prevailing among the multitude when, a quarter of an
hour later, I fought my way though the throng to gaze outside.
The great concourse of citizens, wildly-excited, were almost mad with
delight. Publicly, from the steps of St Stephen's Hall, the official
statement had been shouted, and the multitude sent up such an outburst
of applause that it echoed far and wide from the dark walls of
Parliament and Abbey, church and hospital. The more enthusiastic ones
yelled themselves hoarse with joyful shouts, while others started to
sing "God save the Queen" until, taken up by all, the National Anthem
echoed through the streets again and again. Then cheer upon cheer was
given for "Warnham" and for "Good old Maybury," the women joining in
honouring England's greatest statesman. It was popularly believed that
by the efforts of these two men war had been averted, and it was not
therefore surprising when they both left together and entered a carriage
to drive to Downing Street, that the crowd unharnessed the horses, and
fifty stalwart patriots dragged the carriage in triumph to its
destination, while such an ovation was accorded them on every side, that
even the excitement of the declaration of the poll at their election was
paltry in comparison.
I sat with them on the carriage, and as we were dragged onward through
the dense, surging crowd, the Marquis turned to the Foreign Minister and
exclaimed, with a smile,--
"Surely you can never regard yourself as unpopular after this?"
"Ah!" exclaimed the other, sadly, with a heavy sigh. "It is you they
are cheering, not myself. The people call you `good old Maybury,' but
they have never called me `good old Warnham,' and will never do so. I
am still unpopular, and shall be always."