hung over the whole world, in spite of the intimate knowledge that we
all shared that neither would we nor could we avoid the horror that was
to come, occasionally there would be brief moments of old-time gaiety
in our family life, little intervals of happy companionship, oases in
the desert of an apprehension that was in itself prophetic. I remember
saying to my brother one day: “Theodore, you know that I belong to
the Poetry Society of America, and a great many of its members wish
to meet you. I have really been very considerate of you, and although
this wish has been frequently expressed for some years in the society,
I have spared you heretofore, but the moment has come!” “Must I meet
the poets, Pussie?” he said laughingly and rather deprecatingly. “Yes,”
I replied firmly. “The poets have their rights quite as much as the
politicians, and the time for the poets is at hand.” “All right--name
your day,” he answered, and so a day was named, and I invited a number
of my friends amongst the poets to take tea with me on a certain
afternoon to meet Colonel Roosevelt. I remember I asked him to try to
come from his office early enough for me to jog his memory about some
of the work of my various poet friends, but a large number of verse
writers had already gathered in my sitting-room before he arrived. I
placed him by my side and asked a friend to bring up my various guests
so that I might introduce them to him. I remember the care with which
I tried to connect the name of the person whom I introduced with some
one of his or her writings, and I also remember the surprise with which
I realized how unnecessary was all such effort on my part, for, as I
would say, “Theodore, this is Mr. So-and-So, who wrote such and such,”
he would rapidly respond, “But you need not tell me that. I remember
that poem very well, indeed,” and turning with that delightful smile
of his to the flattered author, he would say, “I like the fifth line
of the third verse of that poem of yours. It goes this way,” and with
that, in a strong, ringing voice, he would repeat the line referred
to. As each person turned away from the word or two with him, which
evidently gave him almost as much pleasure as it gave them, I could
hear them say to each other, “How did he know that poem of mine?” When
I myself questioned him about his knowledge of modern American poetry,
he answered quite simply: “But you know I like poetry and I try to keep
up on that line of literature too.” He was very fond of some of Arthur
Guiterman’s clever verse, and quoted with special pleasure a sarcastic
squib which the latter had just published on the navy, apropos of
Mr. Daniels’s attitude: “We are sitting with our knitting on the
twelve-inch guns!”
Robert Frost, who was with us that afternoon, had shortly before
published a remarkable poem called “Servant to Servants,” which
had attracted my brother’s attention, and of which he spoke with
keen interest to the author. Nothing distressed him more than the
realization of the hard work performed by the farmer’s wife almost
everywhere in our country, and in this poem of Mr. Frost’s that
situation was painted with his forceful pen.
This remarkable memory of my brother’s was shown not only that
afternoon amongst the poets, but shortly afterward by an incident in
connection with an afternoon at the Three Arts Club, where he also
generously consented to spend an hour amongst the young girls who had
come from various places in our broad country to study one of the three
arts--drama, music, or painting--in our great metropolis. My friend
Mrs. John Henry Hammond, the able president of the Three Arts Club,
was anxious that he should meet her protégées and mine, for I was a
manager of the club. I remember we lined the girls up in a row and
had them pass in front of him in single file--several hundred young
girls. Each was to have a shake of the hand and a special word from
the ex-President, but none was supposed to pause more than a moment,
as his time was limited. About fifty or sixty girls had already passed
in front of him and received a cordial greeting, when a very pretty
student, having received her greeting, paused a little longer and,
looking straight at him, said: “Colonel Roosevelt, don’t you remember
me?” This half-laughingly--evidently having been dared to ask the
question. Holding her hand and gazing earnestly at her, he paused a
moment or two and then, with a brilliant flashing smile, said: “Of
course I do. You were the little girl, seven years ago, on a white
bucking pony at El Paso, Texas, where I went down to a reunion of my
Rough Riders. I remember your little pony almost fell backward into the
carriage when it reared at the noise of the band.” There never was a
more surprised girl than the one in question, for seven years had made
a big difference in the child of twelve, the rider of the bucking white
pony, and it had really not occurred to her that he could possibly
remember the incident, but remember it he did, and one very happy heart
was carried away that day from the Three Arts Club.
As the winter of 1917 slipped by, there was evidence on all sides
that the slogan on which the Democratic party had based its campaign
efforts must soon be falsified; nothing could keep the American people
longer from their paramount duty, and on April 2, 1917, President
Wilson appeared before the united bodies of the House and the Senate
in Washington, and asked that Congress should declare a state of war
between Germany and ourselves. Colonel Roosevelt, always anxious to
back up the President in any action in which he thought he was right,
went to Washington, or rather stopped in Washington, for he was in the
South at the time, to congratulate him on his decision and to offer his
services to assist the President in any way that might be possible.
Within a few weeks of the actual declaration of war, Mr. Roosevelt was
already begging that he might be allowed to raise a volunteer division,
and urging that the administration Army Bill should be supplemented
with legislation authorizing the raising of from one hundred to five
hundred thousand volunteers to be sent to the firing-line in Europe
at the earliest possible moment. In a letter to Senator George E.
Chamberlain, of Oregon, Colonel Roosevelt writes as follows:
“I most earnestly and heartily support the administration bill for
providing an army raised on the principle of universal obligatory
military training and service, but meanwhile, let us use volunteer
forces in connection with a portion of the Regular army, in order, at
the earliest possible moment,--within a few months,--to put our flag
on the firing line. We owe this to humanity; we owe it to the small
nations who have suffered such dreadful wrong from Germany. Most of
all, we owe it to ourselves; to our national honor and self-respect.
For the sake of our own souls, for the sake of the memories of the
great Americans of the past, we must show that we do not intend to make
this merely a dollar war. Let us pay with our bodies for our souls’
desire. Let us, without one hour’s unnecessary delay, put the American
flag at the battle-front in this great world war for Democracy and
civilization, and for the reign of Justice and fair-dealing among the
nations of mankind.
“My proposal is to use the volunteer system not in the smallest degree
as a substitute for, but as the, at present, necessary supplement to
the obligatory system. Certain of the volunteer organizations could be
used very soon; they could be put into the fighting in four months....
I therefore propose that there should be added to the proposed law, a
section based on Section 12 of the Army Act of March 2nd, 1899....”
At the same time Representative Caldwell made an open statement as
follows: “The Army Bill suggested by Secretary Baker will, in all
probability, be introduced in the House on Wednesday. There have been
suggestions made that a clause be placed in the proposed bill which
would give Colonel Roosevelt the power to take an army division to
Europe. Colonel Roosevelt outlined his plans to me.... I am a Democrat
and intend to abide by the wishes of President Wilson and told Colonel
Roosevelt so. We agreed that there was no politics in this matter,
and from my talk with Mr. Roosevelt, I believe him to be sincere in
his purpose. He gave me the names of men throughout the country who
signified their intention of joining his division. They include a
number of men who served as officers with him in the Spanish War, many
college students, former officers and members of the National Guard,
all of whom are in the best of physical condition and ready to go at a
moment’s notice. Colonel Roosevelt said that a large majority of the
men whom he hoped to take with him are from the south and west.”
Already, at the first intimation that Colonel Roosevelt might lead a
division into France, there had flocked to his standard thousands of
men, just as had been the case in the old days of the Rough Riders. As
immediate as was the rallying to his standard were also the attacks
made upon him for having wished to dedicate himself to this patriotic
enterprise, and one of the most acrimonious debates that ever occurred
in the Senate of the United States was on the subject of the amendment
to that Army Bill. The Democrats, led by Senator Stone, had much to say
about the unfitness of the Colonel. They did not seem to realize how
strong was the desire of France to have America’s best-known citizen
go to her shores at the moment when her morale was at the ebb; nor did
they realize, apparently, the promise for the future that there would
be in the rapid arrival of a large body of ardent American soldiers,
well equipped to tide over the period of waiting before a still larger
force could come to the assistance of the Allies.
Senator Hiram Johnson, orator and patriot, made a glowing defense of
Colonel Roosevelt in answering Senator Stone. It is interesting to
realize at this moment, when former Senator Harding is the President of
the United States, that it was he who offered the amendment to the Army
Bill, making it possible for Colonel Roosevelt to lead that division
into France. Senator Johnson said:
“... I listened with surprise--indeed, as a senator of the United
States, with humiliation--to the remarks of the senior senator from
Missouri as he excoriated Theodore Roosevelt and as he held up to scorn
and contumely what he termed contemptuously ‘The Roosevelt Division.’
What is it that is asked for The Roosevelt Division? It is asked only
by a man who is now really in the twilight of life that he may finally
lay down his life for the country that is his. It is only that he
asks that he may serve that country, may go forth to battle for his
country’s rights, and may do all that may be done by a human being
on behalf of his nation. My God! When was it that a nation denied to
its sons the right to fight in its behalf? We have stood shoulder to
shoulder both sides of this Chamber in this war. To say that Roosevelt
desires, for personal ambition and political favor hereafter, to go to
war is to deny the entire life of this patriot.... Our distinguished
senator has said that Roosevelt has toured the land in the endeavor
to do that which he desires. Aye, he has toured the land; he toured
the land for preparedness two and a half years ago, and he was laughed
at as hysterical. He toured the land two and a half years ago and
continuously since for undiluted Americanism, and you said he was
filled with jingoism. To-day _you_ have adopted _his_ preparedness
plan; to-day _his_ undiluted Americanism that he preached to many, to
which but few listened, has become the slogan of the whole nation. He
toured the land for patriotism!... After all, my friends, Roosevelt
fought in the past and he fought for the United States of America;
after all, he asks only that he be permitted to fight to-day for the
United States of America. He is accused of a lack of experience....
There is one thing this man has--one thing that he has proven in the
life he has lived in the open in this nation--he has red blood in his
veins and he has the ability to fight and he has the tenacity to win
when he fights, and that is the sort of an American that is needed
and required in this war. I say to you, gentlemen of this particular
assemblage, that if a man can raise a division, if he wishes to fight,
die, if need be, for his country, it is a sad and an awful thing that
his motive shall be questioned and his opinions assailed in the very
act that is indeed the closing act of his career.
“Oh! for more Roosevelts in this nation; oh! for more men who will
stand upon the hustings and go about the country preaching the
undiluted Americanism that all of us claim to have! Oh! for more
Roosevelts and more divisions of men who will follow Roosevelt! With
more Roosevelts and more Roosevelt divisions, the flag of the United
States will go forth in this great world conflict to the victory that
every real American should desire and demand.”
Part of the afternoon just before the final vote on the above amendment
to that Army Bill was spent by Theodore Roosevelt in my library in
New York. Those were the days when Mr. Balfour, M. Viviani, and
General Joffre were receiving the acclamation and the plaudits of
the American people. At several of the great ovations given to them,
Theodore Roosevelt was also on the platform, and it was frequently
brought to my notice by others that the tribute to him when he entered
or left the assemblage was equal in its enthusiasm to that for the
distinguished guests. On the afternoon to which I have referred, the
French ambassador came for a quiet cup of tea with me and my brother,
and to his old friend and his sister the Colonel was willing to unbosom
his heart. He spoke poignantly of his desire to lead his division into
France. Over and over again he repeated: “The President need not fear
me politically. No one need fear me politically. If I am allowed to go,
I could not last; I am too old to last long under such circumstances. I
should _crack_ [he repeated frequently: “I should _crack_”] but [with
a vivid gleam of his white teeth] I _could_ arouse the belief that
America was coming. I could show the Allies what was on the way, and
then if I did crack, the President could use me to come back and arouse
more enthusiasm here and take some more men over. That is what I am
good for now, and what difference would it make if I cracked or not!”
The amendment _was_ passed that made it possible for volunteers to go
to France, but the beloved wish of his heart was denied by those in
authority to that most eager of volunteers, Colonel Theodore Roosevelt.
In July my brother wrote an open letter of farewell, disbanding the
division for which there had been tentatively so many volunteers.
After a correspondence with the secretary of war, a correspondence
which Theodore Roosevelt himself has given to the world, the definite
decision was made that he would not be allowed to “give his body for
his soul’s desire,” and shortly after that decision I sent him the
following poem, which had been shown to me by one of his devoted
admirers, the poet Marion Couthouy Smith. It ran as follows:
FAREWELLS
“In old Fraunces Tavern,
Once I was told
Of Washington’s farewell to his generals,
Generals crowned with victory,
And tears filled my eyes.--
“But when I read
Roosevelt’s letter disbanding his volunteers,--
Volunteers despised and rejected,--
Tears filled my heart!”
In acknowledging the poem on July 3, 1917, from Sagamore Hill, my
brother writes:
“I loved your letter; and as for the little poem, I prize it more than
anything that has been written about me; I shall keep it as the epitaph
of the division and of me. We have just heard that Ted and Archie have
landed in France. Lord Northcliffe wired me this morning that Lord
Derby offered Kermit a position on the staff of the British army in
Mesopotamia. [After hard fighting in Mesopotamia, Kermit was later
transferred to the American forces in France.] I do not know when he
will sail. Quentin has passed his examinations for the flying corps. He
hopes to sail this month. Dick [Richard Derby, his son-in-law] is so
anxious to go down to Camp Oglethorpe that Ethel is almost as anxious
to have him go. Eleanor [young Theodore’s wife] sails for France on
Saturday to do Y. M. C. A. work. _I_ remain, as a slacker ‘malgré lui!’
Give my love to Corinne and Joe and Helen and Teddy. I am immensely
pleased about Dorothy’s baby. [Dorothy, my son Monroe’s wife.] Edith
asked Fanny to come out on Friday with our delightful friend, Beebe
the naturalist. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Beebe is a great friend of
mine.”
The “slacker malgré lui” accepted the gravest disappointment of his
life as he did any other disappointment--eyes forward, shoulders
squared, and head thrown back. It was hard for him, however, to busy
himself, as he said, with what he considered “utterly pointless and
fussy activities,” when his whole soul was in the great conflict on the
far side of the water, from which one of his boys was not to return,
and where two of the others were to be seriously wounded.
Writing on October 5, 1917, he says: “Of course I stood by Mitchel.”
This refers to a hot campaign which was waging around the figure of the
young mayor of New York City, John Purroy Mitchel, who had given New
York City the best administration for many a long year and was up for
re-election but, unfortunately, due to many surprising circumstances,
was later defeated. My brother had the greatest admiration for the
fearlessness and ability of the young mayor, and later, when that same
gallant American entered the flying service and was killed in a trial
flight, no one mourned him more sincerely than did the man who always
recognized courage and determination and patriotism in Democrat or
Republican alike.
About the same time, in speaking of General Franklin Bell, who was
in charge of Camp Upton, he says: “The latter is keenly eager to go
abroad. He says that if he is not sent, he will retire and go abroad as
a volunteer.” By a strange chance, a snapshot was taken of the first
division of drafted men sent to Camp Upton just as they were passing
the reviewing-stand, on which stood together Franklin Bell, John Purroy
Mitchel, and Theodore Roosevelt. The expression on my brother’s face
was one so spiritual, so exalted in aspect, that I am reproducing the
picture.
[Illustration:
_From a photograph, copyright by Underwood and Underwood._
A review of New York’s drafted men before going into training in
September, 1917.
Neither Colonel Roosevelt nor his companions to the left and right,
General Bell and Mayor Mitchel, lived to see the final review.]
All through that autumn he gave himself unstintedly to war work of
all kinds, and amongst other things came, at my request, to a
“Fatherless Children of France” booth at the great Allied Bazaar. The
excitement in front of the booth as he stood there was intense, and as
usual the admirers who struggled to shake his hand were of the most
varied character. We decided to charge fifty cents for a hand-shake,
and we laughed immoderately at the numbers of repeaters. One man,
however, having apparently approached the booth from curiosity, said
“it wasn’t worth it.” The indignation of the crowd was so great that
immediately there were volunteers to pay for three and four extra
hand-shakes to shame the delinquent!
Shortly before that, a friend of Colonel John W. Vrooman’s wrote to him
about a certain meeting at the Union League Club called to witness a
send-off to some of the soldiers. The writer says:
“The moment Colonel Roosevelt appeared on the reviewing stand he was
recognized and the vicinity of the Club was in an uproar. Later on when
visiting a party in the private dining room, he had only been in the
room about three minutes when he was recognized by the girls and boys
who were looking at the review from a building on the opposite side of
the street. Just to show you how he reaches the heart of the people,
they cheered and waved at him until his attention was attracted and he
had to go to the window and salute them. Although he was an hour and a
half in conversation in the club, he did not forget his little friends
across the way but on leaving, went to the window and waved goodbye to
them. Every youngster present will relate this incident, I am sure, for
a long time to come. In leaving the Club house, he was set upon, it
seemed to me, by the youngsters of the East Side so that he had to beg
his way through the crowd that had been waiting in the rain three hours
just to see him, and in getting into the automobile, they appeared
to an on-looker to be clambering all over him, and I would not be
surprised if he carried a few of them away in his pockets as he carried
most of their little hearts with him.”
In the midst of all the excitement, we occasionally snatched a
moment for a quiet luncheon. “Fine!” he writes me on November 5.
“Yes,--Thursday,--the Langdon at 1:30. It will be fine to see Patty
Selmes.” How he did enjoy seeing our mutual friend Patty Selmes that
day! As “Patty Flandrau” of Kentucky she had married Tilden Selmes
just about the time that Theodore Roosevelt had taken up his residence
in the Bad Lands of Dakota, where the young married couple had also
migrated. Nothing was ever more entertaining than to start the “don’t
you remember” conversations between my brother and his old friend Mrs.
Selmes. Each would cap some wild Western story of the other with one
equally wild and amusing, and the tales of their adventures with the
Marquis de Morés would have shamed Dumas himself!
Another little note came to me shortly after the above, suggesting
that he should spend the night and have one of the old-time breakfasts
that he loved. “Breakfast is really the meal for long and intimate
conversation.” He writes the postscript which he adds he knew would
please my heart, for one of my sons, owing to a slight defect in one
eye, had had difficulty in being accepted in the army, but through
strong determination had finally achieved a captaincy in the ammunition
train of the 77th Division. My brother says in the postscript: “I
genuinely admire and respect Monroe.” About New Year’s eve a letter
came to my husband from him in answer to a congratulatory letter on the
fine actions of my brother’s boys. “Of course, we are very proud of
Archie, and General Duncan has just written us about Ted in terms that
make our hearts glow. Well, there is no telling what the New Year has
in store. The hand of Fate may be heavy upon us, but we can all be sure
that it will not take away our pride in our boys. [My son Monroe was
expecting to be sent soon to France in the 77th Division, and my eldest
son, who had broken his leg, was hoping to get into a camp when the leg
had recovered its power.] I cannot tell you, my dear Douglas, how much
you and Corinne have done for us and have meant to us during the last
six months. Ever yours, T. R.”
In the “Life and Letters of George Eliot” she dwells upon the fact
that so many people lose the great opportunity of giving to others the
outward expression of their love and appreciation, and as I re-read
my brother’s treasured letters, I realize fully what the authoress
meant, and how much the giver of such honest and loving expression wins
in return from those to whom the happiness of appreciation has been
rendered.
The year 1917 was over; the American people once more could look with
level eyes in the faces of their allies in the great world effort for
righteousness. In the midst of thoughts of war, in the midst of clamor
of all sorts, in the midst of grave anxiety for the sons of his heart,
wearing a service pin with five stars upon it--for he regarded his
gallant son-in-law Doctor Richard Derby as one of his own flesh and
blood--Theodore Roosevelt still had time to speak and write on certain
subjects close in another way than war to the hearts and minds of the
people. Writing for the _Ladies’ Home Journal_ an article called “Shall
We Do Away with the Church?” he says certain things of permanent import
to the nation.
“In the pioneer days of the West, we found it an unfailing rule that
after a community had existed for a certain length of time, either a
church was built or else the community began to go downhill. In these
old communities of the Eastern States which have gone backward, it is
noticeable that the retrogression has been both marked and accentuated
by a rapid decline in church membership and work, the two facts being
so interrelated that each stands to the other partly as a cause and
partly as an effect.” After reviewing the self-indulgent Sunday in
contradistinction to the church-going Sunday, he says:
“I doubt whether the frank protest of nothing but amusement has
really brought as much happiness as if it had been alloyed with and
supplemented by some minimum meeting of obligation toward others.
Therefore, on Sunday go to church. Yes,--I know all the excuses; I know
that one can worship the Creator and dedicate oneself to good living
in a grove of trees or by a running brook or in one’s own house just
as well as in a church, but I also know that as a matter of cold fact,
the average man _does not_ thus worship or thus dedicate himself. If he
stays away from church he does not spend his time in good works or in
lofty meditation.... He may not hear a good sermon at church but unless
he is very unfortunate he will hear a sermon by a good man who, with
his good wife, is engaged all the week long in a series of wearing and
hum-drum and important tasks for making hard lives a little easier;
and both this man and this wife are, in the vast majority of cases,
showing much self-denial, and doing much for humble folks of whom few
others think, and they are keeping up a brave show on narrow means.
Surely, the average man ought to sympathize with the work done by such
a couple and ought to help them, and he cannot help them unless he is a
reasonably regular church attendant. Besides, even if he does not hear
a good sermon, the probabilities are that he will listen to and take
part in reading some beautiful passages from the Bible, and if he is
not familiar with the Bible, he has suffered a loss which he had better
make all possible haste to correct. He will meet and nod to or speak
to good, quiet neighbors. If he doesn’t think about himself too much,
he will benefit himself very much, especially as he begins to think
chiefly of others....