Bethlehem, U. S. A., February 28, 1917.
So William of Hohenzollern the war lord, the high priest of God, has decided that this extremely unpleasant war shall cease. Over here we all agree that nothing would suit us better; only we are quite certain that we do not want the war to end in the particular way desired by His Imperial Highness. We admit, of course, that his methods display a high state of efficiency in every direction, and that his organization of men and things is perfectly wonderful, but, fools that we are, we have become attached to our own muddling ways and we don't want to change. In other words, we rather enjoy our freedom. We admit that we ought to like His Imperial Highness since he is so very much the intimate friend of God, but possibly our souls have fallen so far from grace that when we examine our minds we find there nothing but contempt and dislike mixed with just a little pity. We cannot be altogether arch sinners because we are unable to muster up a decent hatred, no matter how hard we try, because William seems to us a poor sort of creature.
I cannot understand the Prussian point of view. It was quite unnecessary to drag Uncle Sam into the war. His nature is so kindly that he is always willing to give the other man the benefit of the doubt, but there are limits to his good nature. The threat to sink the merchant ships of America without warning is well beyond the limit of his patience. The Germans must have forgotten the travail that accompanied the birth of this great nation. To them, Uncle Sam would seem to be merely a very wealthy merchant prince, with but one object—to get rich as quickly as possible; a merchant prince without honour where his pockets are concerned. If they had decided that he was merely enjoying a rather nice after luncheon sleep they would have been a little nearer the truth. They would then have avoided waking him up. As it is, he is now very wide awake, and he is also examining his soul very carefully and wondering just a little. His eyes too are very wide open and he can see very plainly, and one of the things he can see is a very unpleasant little emperor over in Germany daring to issue orders to his children. He also realizes that since God has given him the wonderful gift of freedom, it is his duty to see that other people are allowed to enjoy the same privileges. As a child, it was necessary for him to avoid "entangling alliances," but he is now a man with a man's privileges and a man's duties.
So he has called across the water to France: "I'm coming to help you, Lafayette," and he has shouted across the water to Great Britain: "John, I have never been quite sure of you, but I guess you're on the right track, and if you can wait a little I expect to be able to help you quite a lot."
Of course, Germany expects to starve Great Britain into subjection before Uncle Sam is ready to do much. She also, in her overwhelming pride, believes that her own nationals in the States possess sufficient power to stultify any great war effort. She also believes that the American people are naturally pacifists and that the President will have a big job in front of him. And indeed he might have had a difficult job, too, for great prosperity tends to weaken the offensive power of a democracy and there were many men here who disliked intensely the idea of sending an army of American men to France to fight side by side with England, but his job has become child's play since Zimmermann's wily scheme to ally Mexico and Japan against the States has been exposed. This exposure united the people as if by magic. The people began to scent danger, and danger close at home, and they saw at once that the only enemy they possessed was Kaiser William. When the Kaiser dies, and I suppose he will die some day, it would be interesting to be present (just for a second, of course) when he meets his grandfather's greatfriend, Bismarck. One would not desire to stay long on account of the climate but it would be interesting nevertheless. Would Bismarck weep or laugh?
Of course, the Zimmermann scheme counted for very little with the great minds at the helm of state here, but it did rouse the ordinary people and settled many arguments.
So the war lord is going to drown thousands of sailors in order that a million lives may be saved on the battlefields of Europe! What a pity that we inefficient and contemptible British, American, and French people cannot agree with him. What fools we all must seem to him to prefer death a thousand times rather than to spend a single second in the world with His Imperial Highness as our lord and master.
Thank heaven we can see him as he is really—just a mad chauffeur with his foot on the accelerator dashing down a very steep hill with not a chance in the world of getting around that nasty turning at the bottom. The car he is driving to destruction is a very fine machine, too. It is a great pity. Perhaps it will break down suddenly before he gets to the bottom and the mad chauffeur will come an awful cropper, but there will be something left of the machine.
I have now left the hotel and am established in a very happy home. It was difficult to get lodgings,but I applied to J—— C—— for help and he sent me down to Harry's wife. Harry is the butler of a friend of mine, one of the head steel officials. Anyone who applies to J—— C—— for help always gets it. He is an Irishman who has not been in Ireland for half a century, but he has still got a brogue. I called on Harry's wife and found a sweet faced English girl with a small young lady who made love to me promptly. I decided to move as soon as possible, and now I am perfectly happy. Harry's wife will do anything in the world to make a fellow comfortable and "himself" keeps my clothes pressed in his spare time. They both do nice little things for me. I can do precisely what I please and I know that the two of them are very interested.
One night, four cheery people came in; one seized a mandolin, another a guitar, while a third played the piano. It was quite late and I wondered what my gentle landlord and his lady would think. While the music was still going on I stole out to reconnoitre and saw the two of them fox-trotting round the kitchen like a couple of happy children, just loving the music. Harry's wife's father and her brothers are all soldiers and she was brought up at Aldershot. When I write things for magazines she listens to me in the middle of her work while I read them and she always expresses enthusiasm. When the ominous package returns she is as depressed as I am about it.
A friend offered me what he alleged to be a well-bred Western Highland terrier in Philadelphia, and I, of course, fell, for Becky, Harry's little girl, wanted a dog. My friend called up his daughter and told her to send one of the puppies along. I observed that I wanted a male puppy and he said: "Yep." Communications must have broken down somewhere, for a tiny female puppy arrived in a pink basket. The person who said that my puppy was a Western Highland terrier was an optimist, or a liar. I fear that her family tree would not bear close inspection. However, she hopped out of the basket and expressed a good deal of pleasure. She ought to have been at least another month with her mother. We gave her milk and she at once grew so stout in front of our eyes that we all shuddered, wondering what would happen next. She couldn't walk, but after a time her figure became more normal. She had very nice manners on the whole, and had a clinging disposition and would worm her way right round a person's back under his coat and emerge from under his collar close up to his neck. In a few days she became perfectly nude and Jack, calling, mistook her for a rat, but was disappointed. She mistook him for a relation and too actively showed her affection. He refused to look at her, placed both feet on my shoulders, looked with astonishment at me, and left the house. He has refused to enter ever since. Sally, as we had named her,got even more nude, so I got some anti-eczema dope and rubbed her with it. This had the desired effect and her hair grew again. I wish you could see her and her young mistress together, mixed up with six rabbits.
Sally refuses to look like a Western Highland terrier, and follows me about looking like a tiny rat. A man pointed to us one day and said: "Wots that?" His friend, thinking he meant an automobile that was passing said: "Just a flivver." So we have decided upon Sally's breed and she is called a flivver dog. Like all dogs of mixed breed she is wonderfully intelligent, and her young mistress and her mistress's mother would not sell her for a million dollars. She has more friends throughout this town than we can ever have. Her greatest friend is a fat policeman who lives opposite. I took her to a picnic once and she buried all our sausages which they call "Frankfurters" here. We saw her disappearing with the last one almost as big as herself.
I am very lucky to have secured such a wonderful home in Bethlehem. No woman enjoys having strange men ruining her carpets and making themselves a nuisance generally, and as the Bethlehem people are mostly well off, few of them desire to take in lodgers. Harry's wife has taken me in because she has soldier blood and royal artillery blood in her veins and she wants to do her bit.
Bethlehem, U. S. A., April 25, 1917.
In the days of the Boer war we used to sing a patriotic song which commenced with the words "War clouds gather over every land." War clouds have gathered over this land all right, but they haven't darkened the minds of the people in any way. With a quickness and a keenness that is surprising, the people have realized that the war clouds hovering over the United States have a very beautiful silver lining, and they haven't got to worry about turning them inside out either, because they know the silver lining is there all right. Of course, the womenfolk are very worried, naturally. I don't blame them, when I look at their sons.
I think that Uncle Sam's action in deciding to fight Germany is a golden lining to the very dark cloud of war in England. I am hoping that the folk over here will realize all our suffering during the past three years. I know that soon they will understand that the so-called "England's mistakes" were not mistakes really, at least not mistakes made since August, 1914, but just the great big composite mistake of unpreparedness. It seems to me that UncleSam was just as guilty. He himself believes that he was much more guilty because hedidhave nearly three years to think about the matter.
He will realize that we could not save Serbia, because we simply had not trained men or the guns to equip them with. He will know that the Dardanelles business, although apparently a failure, was an heroic effort to help Russia since she needed help. He will realize that right from the start we have been doing our "damnedest." He knows, of course, that, like the United States, we are a democracy, a form of government which was never designed with the object of making war outside its own council chamber. I dare say he will understand the whole thing finally; I hope that he will grow to understand us as a nation and that we will learn to understand him. It is about time that we did.
It is very interesting over here to watch the development of popular feeling. Before the United States broke with Germany the President, of course, came in for his share of criticism. Now the man who says a word against Mr. Wilson gets it "in the neck." All the people realize that he is a very great man and both Democrats and Republicans are united in one object—to stand by the President. This is not mere war hysteria, but the display of common sense. While the country was at peace the two great parties enjoyed their arguments, and I dare say after the warthey will once more indulge in this interesting pastime, but not until Mr. Hohenzollern is keeping a second-hand shop in a small street in Sweden somewhere.
All my men friends have rushed off from Bethlehem to become soldiers. It is a fine thing to think of these American fellows fighting beside us. You will realize this when you discover that an American belies absolutely his British reputation of being a boaster, with little to boast about. However, there is one phrase that I wish he would not use and that is "in the world." It causes misunderstanding often. I believe that the American fellow that I meet will make a wonderful soldier when he has learned a few things. It seems to me that we British had to learn quite a lot of things from the Germans in the way of modern warfare at the start.
I hate to think of an anæmic German with spectacles turning his machine gun on these fellows, as with much courage and much inexperience they expose themselves, until they learn that personal courage allied to inexperience make an impossible combination against the Huns. But one sees them learning difficult lessons for their temperament, and finally being as good soldiers as our own. I can also see them willing to acknowledge that they are no better.
We have discovered that Count Bernstorff wasrather an impossible person, although plausible, and altogether it is quite unsafe to be a German sympathizer here these days. I am a little afraid of German propaganda, which will surely take subtle steps to interfere with the friendship that can be seen arising between us and our brothers over here. I dare say England will be very severely attacked in all kinds of cunning ways. Will she take equally subtle steps to combat it?
The Russian revolution is rather a blow. The Slavs ought to have stuck to the Czar and made him into an ornamental constitutional monarch for the people to gape at and to be duly thrilled with. The trouble is that Germany will have a wonderful opportunity during the birth of constitutional rule in Russia, and I dare say she will try to arrange to have Nicholas once more on the throne. Germany dislikes revolutions close to her borders, and a Russian republic next door will be very awkward for her if not dangerous. Perhaps in this revolution lies a little hope for the rest of the world. Perhaps the German people may catch the "disease" and we may have peace some day. The revolutionary spirit is very "catching."
Marshal Joffre and Mr. Balfour have arrived and both of them have made a wonderful impression over here. It is interesting to know that British genius could reach such heights as to choose such a veryproper gentleman as Mr. Balfour for the job. Some of my friends are a little apologetic because more attention seems to be paid to the great French general than to Mr. Balfour, but I say: "Lord bless your soul, why we sent Mr. Balfour over here to join in your huzzahs to Marshal Joffre. He will shout 'Vive La France!' to Joffre with any one of you."
Thank heaven that our folk realized that the American people want our very best sent over to them, and that they love very dearly that type of old world courteousness and gentility that Mr. Balfour represents. It is good thing that they did not send a "shirt-sleeved" politician. Altogether I know that Mr. Balfour's mission will help to form a foundation stone to a lasting friendship between America and ourselves. He has belted knights and all kinds of superior officers with him. They are very decorative, and, of course, very useful to the folk over here, since they are armed with much information that will surely help; but if Mr. Balfour had arrived on an ordinary liner alone and had walked down the gangway with his bag of golf clubs, his welcome would have been just as fervent, and the effect he has already produced just as great; for the thing that America fell for was his calm simplicity and gentleness. I wish that the American people could know that Mr. Balfour represents the type of British gentleman that we all hold as an ideal. Of course, wecannot all possess his personality, nor his brilliant intellect, but I am certain that we could try to copy his method of dealing with our cousins over here.
Sometimes I think that before a representative of our Empire is allowed to land in this country he should be forced to pass an examination held by the best humourists who work for theLondon Punch. Anentente cordialewith America would then be perfectly simple. Perhaps it would be a good thing if our folk realized that they don't know anything about this country.
When American people see two Frenchmen and a couple of Englishmen misbehaving themselves, and treading on people's toes—not an unusual sight, especially in regard to the last named—they don't shrug their shoulders and say: "These Europeans, aren't they perfectly awful?" They merely remark: "English manners." Unfortunately that seems to be enough.
American people do not seem to understand what they call our "class distinctions." However, I am sure that they have not the slightest difficulty in understanding the type represented by Mr. Balfour. Christ died in order that we should be neighbourly. All nations have been affected by Christianity to a greater or to a less degree; in fact, at the back of all our minds there is still the Christian ideal of gentleness. When a man has attained that state ofmind which prevents him from offending another by thought, word, or deed without decent provocation; and when by self discipline and training he has attained what Mathew Arnold called "sweet reasonableness" to me it seems he has approached very closely to the Christian ideal.
And so the word "gentleman" denotes something which cannot be in the least affected by birth or class distinctions. The only thing is that people of birth and fortune are able to study up the question a bit more thoroughly, and having time to read, they are influenced by the thousands of "gentlefolk" who have left their record upon the pages of history. Still amongst the very poor of Whitechapel and Battersea I have met some wonderful gentlemen and gentlewomen who would find great difficulty in reading even the editorial page of theNew York Journal.
We are certainly living in thrilling times over here. Great Britain has a tremendous opportunity methinks. I hope that she will seize hold of it. It will be fine to have a great big strong friend beside us throughout the coming centuries. At the moment John Bull is a little puffed up with pride and so is Uncle Sam. Neither possesses much humility, but after the war they will both be a little thinner and the matter ought not to be difficult, though there will still be a few difficulties in the way.
Of course, to talk like this may seem a littlestrange when the British flag is flying all over America side by side with the Stars and Stripes. But flag waving and the bursting forth of sentimental oratory mean nothing, really. It is the foundation of a structure that counts, and the foundation of Anglo-American friendship must be a firm one. Perhaps one or two bricks in the present foundation could be removed with good results. I'm not going to talk about the American side of the business, but I do think that if some of the Britishers who arrive here would realize that they have got extremely irritating manners it might be a good thing.
If we are going to criticise our cousins, we should spend at least three years in their country; that would allow us to spend about a month in each state. Frankly, I believe that after a little experience here, if we should be normal persons wanting to find out things, all desire to criticise unkindly would leave us. At any rate we should take an intelligent line. We might learn a little, too. This would be a great help. Of course, the "Colonel's lady" would still perform surgical operations but she would do her work cleverly. Of course, America with its mighty size and variety of climates has been long enough inhabited to allow the formation of differing groups of people.
In England the people have a vague idea that a member of the Four Hundred, with a mansion onFifth Avenue, represents a typical American. Tell that to a lady with a long list of polite ancestors and quite a lot of money who lives in Maryland. Tell it to an aristocratic New Englander whose ancestors braved the elements in theMayflower. Mention it casually to some of the people living not too far from Rittenhouse Square, and then expect another invitation to dinner. You won't get one. TheMayflowerbusiness is very interesting. Some pretty funny people arrived in England with the Conqueror, judging by their descendants. His followers were very prolific, I am sure; but they had very small families when compared with pilgrims who arrived in theMayflower.
I don't know very much about Washington, but I went to a party there not long ago which I shall never be able to forget. It was marvellous, and the most wonderful part about the function was my hostess, whose diamonds would ransom a king, but her jewels formed merely a setting to her own charming natural self. That's what I thought, at any rate, as I sat and chatted to her about the island in the west of Scotland from where her children's forebears came.
Like us and the Chinese, American people sometimes worship their ancestors, but they never burn this incense in front of their own folk, as far as I can see, except, of course, when they are related to thegreat Americans of the past. Some have wonderful crests of which they seem a little proud, and, of course, a good looking crest is a great help on the whole, especially in matters that don't count a scrap.
To the ordinary snob, things over here are a little difficult because you simply cannot place a person in his or her social sphere by studying the accent. In Great Britain we have this worked out in the most perfect manner so that from the moment of introduction almost, we can tell whether the person introduced is guilty of the terrible crime of being a "provincial," poor chap!
Frankly, I am going to dare to say that I think it would be a jolly good idea if some of the people I know and love did worry a little more about the way they pronounce their words, because a lot of them are simply too lazy to worry. However, the things they say are awfully nice and that is what counts in the long run, so I suppose it doesn't matter very much.
Talking about ancestors, a great friend of mine here in Bethlehem was faintly interested in his forebears, and visiting the place from where his father came he inquired from the lady of the inn if there were any Johnstones living in those parts. She replied: "Did you come up to the house in a hansom cab?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Well, that was a Johnstone that drove ye."
"Are there any others?" he asked.
"Yes, but they're all thieves."
She told him the story of a man wandering through the village seeking a "ludgin," and being exhausted, finally shouted: "Isn't there a 'Chreestian' living in this toon?" Up went a window, and a woman's voice shrieked: "Do ye no ken that there are only Johnstones and Jardines living in the place, ye feckless loon!" Down went the window.
Bethlehem, U. S. A., July 23, 1917.
A stray Englishman dropped in to see me the other night in New York. I know rather well the girl he had hoped to marry. He seemed rather depressed, and told me that she had written in reply to his proposal of marriage that if he thought that Providence had brought her to her by no means inconsiderable numbers of years especially to be reserved for him, it was obvious that he must regard as extremely shortsighted the Supreme Being guarding the lives of us poor mortals. He seems to have become very depressed and regarded all women as hard hearted tyrants. This lasted for some days and the moving pictures with a love-interest lost all their wonted charm. It was very sad because the lady is an extremely nice girl and very good looking, although she has been to Girton.
I don't know anything about the Cambridge women but I have seen a perfectly priceless suffragette from Girton, it was alleged, addressing a crowd in the market square at Cambridge, while a large throng of undergraduates looked at her with much admiration. I remember a low townee fellow said"rats" to one of her statements. She replied with the sweetest smile in the world: "That'san intelligent remark," while a large football player took revenge on the chap.
From all this you will gather that I know but little about the womenfolk of Blighty. I have never thought very much about them nor studied their habits. However, over here in America our countrywomen are well known by their female cousins. The American girl does not think much about the English girl, except to admire and like her accent, but the mature American women who thinks at all wonders a little at the docility towards their men folk shown by our women. I love to tease them about it. An American man observed to me once that England was "heaven for horses, but hell for women."
Yesterday I was coming from New York in a train with a lady from a small and very charming American town. We talked about many things and then about our women. I told her some "woppers" and she became steadily furious. I said to her that all women really liked "cave men," that they liked a man who could control them, someone big and strong and fine. I said that women were a little like horses; they invariably got rid of the fellow who could not control them, and that this explained the number of divorces in America. I pointed out, however, that the really brutal man was equallyuseless; but the fellow a woman liked best was the chap who took complete control and loved her an awful lot as well. "You know yourself that you love to do little things for your husband, to light his study lamps for him—perhaps when he is tired after a day's work while you have been to an interesting tea, to place his slippers by the study fire ready for him to put on before he dresses for dinner," I continued. The conversation became dangerous for she thought I was serious. Perhaps I was a little. But I could not have been altogether serious for I know nothing about the subject. However, I do remember once, years ago, staying at a country parsonage. The vicar was not at all poor. I was sitting in his study awaiting his return. As darkness commenced to creep over the countryside my hostess came in and removed from the chimney piece two large lamps which she proceeded to trim and finally to light. She then brought in and placed by the fire two soft house-shoes, and then examined the cushions on his chair. I wondered a little for there seemed an awful lot of servants about, but she explained that she had done the same thing for twelve years and liked to do it. "The poor boy is often so very tired after he returns from visiting, and servants never seem able to do these little things really well," she said. Then the vicar arrived and I was not at all astonished at the devotion shown by his wife.
But the lady from the little town, a very fashionable little American town, could not understand this at all. She got a little excited as she said: "If my husband were ill and could not walk I would gladly get his slippers for him": and across her face there crept a resigned and helpless look as though her husband were already ill. Of course, I was merely joking with her, but it was all very interesting and I got her point of view.
Now far be it from me to say a word against the girls of America. I think that they are perfectly wonderful. But why do they whiten their noses? That is a settled habit. However, it is interesting to study their habits. I think it is a fact that they do really control their husbands, and it seems to me a very good thing, too. I should not like to be controlled by a lady from New England, however, of the superior working class. One tried to control me once and I hated it, and used to thank a merciful Providence that she was not my wife. I would have committed suicide or escaped or something.
But let me tell you about Miss America as I see her. The subject is a dangerous one for a mere man to attempt, but I have abon courageas a French lady once said after I had spoken much French.
Just after America broke off diplomatic relations with Germany we were all waiting for an "overt act." A fellow at lunch said that the only overt act thatwould stir the American heart to its depths would be the shelling of Atlantic City and the consequent death of all the "chickens." "Is Atlantic City the great poultry centre of the States?" I asked innocently. Everybody yelled at once, "Yes, Mac"; and then they all laughed. I wondered that if the great American heart could be stirred by the death of many hens what on earth would happen if the Boche shelled Broadway? But there seemed more in it than met the eye. I have since learnt what a "chicken" is.
When a girl of the working classes dresses herself particularly smartly (and, believe me, the American girl knows how to turn herself out very well), and also powders and paints her pretty little face, and then goes about the city seeking whom she may find she is then called a "chicken." She is not necessarily an immoral person as far as I can see. There is something fluffy and hop-skip-and-jumpy in her deportment. She believes that the world was made to enjoy one's self in and she thinks that necessarily to wait for an introduction to every nice boy one sees about is a waste of opportunities. I rather agree with her. So she does her very best to look charming. I hate the word, but she develops "cuteness" rather than anything else. Her shoes (white shoes, high heeled) are generally smartly cut and her frock well up to the fashion; but it is generally her hat that gives her more opportunities to display her powers. There is atilt about it, something, I don't quite know what, that catches the eye. She seems to develop a hat that will agree with her eyes which are often very pretty and lively. Sometimes a curl or a wisp of hair just does the trick. She rather loves colours, but I think she knows how to make the very best of her appearance. One can imagine her spending hours at home making her own frocks and trimming her own hats. She often appears more smartly turned out than her sister higher up, the social leader. You see her by the hundreds in New York. I rather admire her attitude of mind. She certainly decorates the streets. At first I thought that a chicken was really an immoral young person, but as far as I can gather she is not necessarily more immoral than any other woman in any other class. I cannot tell you whether she is amusing or not. American men seem to find them very diverting.
The other type of hard working American girl I like very much. She works fearfully hard, and although her wages may be good, living in this country is relatively high. Unfortunately it is a little difficult for me to tell you very much about her. She can seldom understand my effort at English and she thinks I am a fool mostly, or an actor. When I have finished my business and have turned my back to go out she joins her friends and laughs. I find this offensive, but I suppose she means littleharm. Even if she has to support a poor mother she will never let you know it by her personal appearance, which is never dowdy but always smart. She is very competent and clever, as far as I can see, and shoulders her burden with a fine spirit. I have at least four great friends in a store in Philadelphia whom I not only admire, but like very much. You see I am falling into the error of judging the women of a huge nation by the few persons I have met.
If I have not actually said so, I have nevertheless perhaps suggested to your mind that I regard Madame America as the survival of the fittest in domestic relations. Monsieur America has enough battles to fight in the business world without bothering about domestic politics and so Madame reigns supreme. You see, when a fellow over here seeks a wife he doesn't enjoy the process of courting unless he has to strive. A girl has got to be "rushed." I believe that there must be fewer women than men over here because every nice girl I know has several admirers. However, he has really a hectic time and has got to be very humble. Now in England I will admit that a fellow has also to be humble unless he is a conceited ass or very handsome, but his humility ends with the honeymoon and he assumes his position as lord of creation. This is expected of him. But Madame America refuses to regard her husband as anything else but her lover or her slave and she takesthe necessary steps to keep him in his proper place. Sometimes she loses her intelligence and takes the pathetic attitude but no more often than her cousin in England does. This is very effective and causes some husbands to take a drink when they are more easily though less satisfactorily kept in subjection. Perhaps they develop a love for bowling alleys and other vices, and spend most of their time at the club.
More often Madame America succeeds by her efficiency in every direction. She refuses to grow old and lets her husband see that her affection and friendship are still worth striving for. She also sees that her household is run on thoroughly efficient lines and that the cooking is always satisfactory. I don't quite know how to describe it, but the very appearance of an American woman suggests fitness. By Jove, she certainly dresses well. I think that she expects to be amused rather than to amuse and in this she loses a little of woman's greatest power. I fear I am on dangerous ground. However, in my experience over here most of the married folk I have met seem just as happy as married folk anywhere else. Still I think that the woman in America is very much the head of the house. She has attained her position through her efficiency, so I suppose she deserves to maintain it. Politically it has interesting results. In some ways it may explain America's former peaceful attitudetowards the Germans at the beginning of the war. Women don't like war outside their own houses, and they hate losing their sons. I would not dare to say it myself, but it has been alleged by someone or other that women have their sense of sympathy more developed than their sense of honour. They certainly are very loving persons and it does not matter to them whether the Kaiser insults the nation as long as he does not hurt their boys. I rather think that they would have not the slightest objection to fighting themselves if the flag were insulted. I suspect that they might enjoy it almost, but in regard to their sons they are indeed veritable cowards by proxy.
When an American man is away from his wife, I care not how respectable he be or how happily married, a change seems to creep all over him and he becomes at once the most boyish, lively, cheery person imaginable, even if he is sixty. He is not a dull person with Madame, but when he gets off by himself things begin to move. We British get hopelessly married, and our clubs never strike me as being particularly hilarious or buoyant sort of places. They always seem a little dull. I have been put up at a famous club in Philadelphia. Here mere man is supreme. No women may enter its sacred portals, no matter who she may be. Let me tell you about itshabitués. Of course, it is impossible to say what sort of club it is in peace time; but, at the moment, all itsmembers are well on the wrong side of thirty. The others have gone long ago.
The war has caused a great deal of depression amongst the remaining men of this club. When war broke out all the members from fifty downwards were thrilled. At last they were going to get a chance to fight for their country. Were they not all members of the City Troop? Certainly some of them needed pretty large horses to carry them, and some indeed found it difficult to button all the tiny buttons on their tunics. Still this would soon be made all right. Gee! it was fine to get a chance to fight those Huns.
Alas, the cold blooded doctor failed to pass some of them and the joy of belonging to the City Troop has left them. It is useless for the doctor to explain that unless a man is in the pink of condition it is impossible for him to last long in trench warfare. He collapses. They say that they don't object to this a bit, and then he has got to say brutally that a sick man costs the country at the front more money and more trouble than a single man is worth. So they are now convinced, but they hate it and go about helping all they can, but sadly. One day I was sitting in the club talking to three interesting men who were endeavouring to get as many horrors of war out of me as possible, when a cheery-faced gentleman appeared coming over towards us. The elderly man next to me brightened up and said: "Here comesa ray of sunshine down the cañon." He certainly was a ray of sunshine as he commenced to say quick, rapid funny things.
At this club there is a beautiful swimming pool with Turkish baths and other fancies attached. On the banks of the pool, so to speak, there are comfortable lounges and one can order anything one requires. There are generally several others there. On these occasions I always think that this world would have fewer wrecked homes if we went about dressed like Fijians. Just outside the pool is the dressing room with cubicles. It is a good idea to treat with respect all the members one sees here dressed in towels, especially during these military days.
But to return to the ladies—we had an interesting young person attached to our battery in France once. I'd like to tell you about her. Unfortunately she was merely a dream, an inspiration, or perhaps a rather vulgar, good-natured fairy who came from the "Never Never Land" to amuse and to interest the small group of officers living in the Vert Rue not very far from the city called by Thomas Atkins "Armon Tears."
One night after dinner the major, Wharton the senior subaltern, Taunton the junior subaltern, and I were sitting around the mess table in our billet. Suddenly in a thoughtful manner the major readaloud the following notice from one of the small batch of antique copies of the LondonTimeswhich had been sent to him by a kindly wife: "Lady, young, would like to correspond with lonely subaltern. Address Box 411, LondonTimes." After looking round at the three of us he remarked: "That seems to present possibilities; I think that Taunton had better answer it." The major, a wily person and one who never missed an opportunity to get something for his beloved battery, saw in the advertisement some amusement, and an opportunity to exploit kindness of heart on the part of some romantic young person. Taunton, young, good looking, nineteen, and woefully inexperienced inles affaires de cœurwas obviously the man.
So the major commenced to dictate what seemed to us at the time to be a rather amusing letter. Taunton wrote rather slowly, as well as badly, so the major seized the pen and paper and did the job himself. As far as I remember the letter ran as follows:
"Dear Friend:
"The mail arrived this evening at the small hamlet from where my guns endeavour to kill and disturb the horrid Germans. I cannot, I fear, give you the exact geographical location, but you will doubtlessly regard our position as what 'our Special Correspondent, John Fibbs,' so originally calls 'Somewhere in France.'
"The mail arrived in a large canvas bag, and soon its sacred contents were safely deposited upon the ground by a gentle corporal, who seemed but little disturbed by the impatience displayed by sundry officers, as he endeavoured to sort the letters. Of course, I was there. I always am, but as usual there was nothing for me. Although I am hardened to such disappointments I felt my loneliness more keenly than ever to-night. I don't quite know why. Perhaps it was the obvious glee displayed by Sergeant Beetlestone as he unfolded a package of what he described as 'Tabs.' (You, dear friend, would call them cigarettes.) Perhaps it was the happiness on the face of Corporal Warner as he shared an anæmic meat pie with two friends.
"However, after dinner I sat disconsolate while the others, I mean my brother officers, held joyful converse with many sheets of closely written note paper. It is true that I was eating some frosted fruit sent to the major by his loving wife. Very near me on the table stood a large box of green sweets called "Crême de Mint," but they were sent to Wharton by his fiancée. I was very sad, and my mind rushed back to that famous picture of an aged lady twanging a harp with her eye fixed upon the portrait of her dead husband.
"Suddenly a look of hope must have crept over my features, as my eyes became fixed upon the tablecloth, for thereon I read your charming notice. We always prefer the LondonTimesas a table cloth. The paper is of good quality. One officer we had seemed to prefer theDaily Telegraph, but he got badly wounded and so prevented the recurrence of many arguments.
"You can have no idea what that little notice meant to me. It was the dawn of hope. A lady, young, desired to correspond with me; yes, with me. No longer should I stand alone and isolated during the happiest five minutes of the day, when the mail bag arrived from dear old England. No longer should I enjoy the sweets and candy purchased by another man's loved one. No longer should I be compelled to borrow and wear the socks, sweaters, mufflers, and mittens knitted by hands uninterested in me. All would soon be changed. Oh, the joy of it!
"Dear friend, I hope that soon I shall receive a photograph of your charming self so that my dugout may become a paradise. I intend to write regularly to you and I expect you to prove likewise constant.
"When the sun starts to sink from my sight,When the birds start to roost 'neath the eaves,There's one thing that's to me a delight—The mail bag from Blighty.
"When the sun starts to sink from my sight,When the birds start to roost 'neath the eaves,There's one thing that's to me a delight—The mail bag from Blighty.
"Already, you will see, I am breaking into verse, but when I receive your photograph I may even writea sonnet. And now I will close my letter and retire to my dugout buoyed up with hope and confidence.
"Yours very sincerely,"Hector Clarke-Stuart."
The major seemed to like the letter and we agreed that it ought to produce results. None of us dared to acknowledge our ignorance in regard to the famous picture he had described. Our major was a fashionable person who went to the opera always and had even been known to attend the Royal Academy.
At this moment I had an inspiration and confided it to Wharton. We both knew the major's wife well. Among many charms she possessed a sparkling sense of humour, both active and passive. I correspond with her regularly. I wrote a long letter upon this evening.
The next day the major took Taunton and a couple of guns to a position several miles away to prepare for the battle of Loos, so he was not at the battery when two letters arrived addressed to Lieutenant Clarke-Stuart, Wharton and I therefore retired to a dugout with the two letters and steamed them open. One was from a very respectable English miss who lived in a south coast town. She described her daily life with some detail and the view from her bedroom window "across the bay," but when she remarked that she and her brothers had always "kept themselves to themselves," therebyshowing consideration for others but a mean spirit, we decided to kill her for the time being. Wharton, very respectable, and a typical Englishman, had certain doubts but we carried on.
The other letter was delightful and ran as follows:
"Dear Mr. Clarke-Stuart:
"I was indeed glad to receive your charming letter and to know that my little notice had cheered the aching heart of a lonely subaltern. I am now learning to knit and soon, very soon, I shall send you some socks which will have been knitted by a hand, an inexperienced hand, alas, but one that is interested in you. I have not as yet made any cakes, but indeed I will try, and most certainly I will send you a photograph of myself. I am a blonde with blue eyes but am not very tall, in fact, I am but five feet two inches high. Are you fair or dark? Something seems to tell me that you are very dark with brown eyes. Am I right? I am sure that you are tall and slenderly though gracefully built.
"I should be awfully glad to receive a photograph of you. Officers' photographs lend tone to a girl's rooms these days, even if one does not know them.
"Up to the present my life has been an empty one, consisting of teas, dinners, theatre parties, and so on; but now with you to look after I am sure that things will change.
"I was interested in your little verse. It reminds me very much of the great poet who contributes verse to theLondon Daily Fogeach Saturday. You perhaps know him. I shall look forward with interest to your sonnet.
"Yours very sincerely,"Rosalie De Silva."
Rosalie's letter was written on pink paper and was enclosed in a large pink envelope with a large "S" on the top right hand corner. We therefore sent her letter on to the major and Taunton by a special orderly.
It would take me a long time to tell you of the correspondence that ensued. Wet cakes, dry cakes, pink socks, green socks, purple socks, as well as a photograph arrived in quick succession. The photograph was mounted on a large cardboard and was always regarded with great interest by the officers who dropped in to see us. All our friends knew about the correspondence, and they had all been taken into the confidence of Wharton and myself except Taunton and the major.
One day the photograph came unstuck and we discovered written upon the back of it the following words: "This is a true photograph of Miss Iris Hoey."
"I knew she was merely a Scivvy," remarked Taunton, when this happened. The maids are called"Scivvies" at Taunton's school. The major thought that she was really a lady's maid. I remarked that I thought Rosalie must be a very amusing and delightful lady. The major was going home on leave in a few days.
He returned from leave and my first glimpse of him was while I was inspecting my men at the nine o'clock parade. I was a little nervous. Senior officers become even more rude than usual after they return from leave. He gave me one look, and in spite of the stateliness of the occasion we both collapsed, much to the surprise of my men who had never seen the major really hilarious before. He might have been angry for he had lost five guineas to Tich, a gunner captain who lived near us. Tich had bet the major that he would take lunch with Rosalie De Silva during his leave. He had had six lunches with Rosalie De Silva, for his wife spent the whole six days leave with him. Rosalie De Silva may have been merely a myth, but she supplied us all with an unlimited amount of fun.