Admiral Sims, U.S.N.

The talk was to the point--good and earnest. Baker went straight
back to France and our _whole_ coöperation began. With the first
group of four he had conferences besides for two days. His coming
was an admirable move.

Yours affectionately,
W.H.P.

_To Ralph W. Page_

London, April 13, 1918.

DEAR RALPH:

Your cheery letters about entertaining governors, planting trees
and shrubbery and your mother's little orchard give us much
pleasure. The Southern Pines paper brings news of very great damage
to the peach crop. I hope it is much exaggerated. Is it?

We haven't any news here, and I send you my weekly note only to
keep my record clear. The great battle--no one talks or thinks of
anything else. We have suffered and still suffer a good deal of
fear and anxiety, with real reason, too. But the military men are
reassuring. Yet I don't know just how far to trust their judgment
or to share their hopes. Certainly this is the most dangerous
situation that modern civilization was ever put in. If we can keep
them from winning any _great_ objective, like Paris or a channel
port, we ought to end the war this year. If not, either they win or
at the least prolong the war indefinitely. It's a hazardous and
trying time.

There were never such casualties on either side as now. Such a
bloody business cannot keep up all summer. But before everybody is
killed or a decisive conclusion is reached, the armies will, no
doubt, dig themselves in and take a period of comparative rest.
People here see and feel the great danger. But the extra effort now
_may_ come too late. Still we keep up good hope. The British are
hard to whip. They never give up. And as for the French army, I
always remember Verdun and keep my courage up.

The wounded are coming over by the thousand. We are incomparably
busy and in great anxiety about the result (though still pretty
firm in the belief that the Germans will lose), and luckily we keep
very well.

Affectionately,
W.H.P.

_To Ralph W. Page_

London, April 7, 1918.

DEAR RALPH:

There used to be a country parson down in Wake County who, when
other subjects were talked out, always took up the pleasing topic
of saving your soul. That's the way your mother and I do--with the
subject of going home. We talk over the battle, we talk over the
boys, we talk over military and naval problems, we discuss the
weather and all the babies, and then take up politics, and talk
over the gossip of the wiseacres; but we seldom finish a
conversation without discussing going home. And we reach just about
as clear a conclusion on our topic as the country parson reached on
his. I've had the doctors going over me (or rather your mother has)
as an expert accountant goes over your books; and I tried to bribe
them to say that I oughtn't to continue my arduous duties here
longer. They wouldn't say any such thing. Thus that device
failed--dead. It looks as if I were destined for a green old age
and no _martyr_ business at all.

All this is disappointing; and I don't see what to do but to go on.
I can't keep from hoping that the big battle may throw some light
on the subject; but there's no telling when the big battle will
end. Nothing ends--that's the trouble. I sometimes feel that the
war may never end, that it may last as the Napoleonic Wars did, for
20 years; and before that time we'll all have guns that shoot 100
miles. We can stay at home and indefinitely bombard the enemy
across the Rhine--have an endless battle at long range.

So, we stick to it, and give the peach trees time to grow up.

We had a big day in London yesterday--the anniversary of our entry
into the war. I send you some newspaper clippings about it.

The next best news is that we have a little actual sunshine--a very
rare thing--and some of the weather is now almost decent....

Affectionately,
W.H.P.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 68: Mr. Henry Morgenthau, American Ambassador to Turkey,
1913-16, an American of Jewish origin who opposed the Zionist movement
as un-American and deceptive.]

[Footnote 69: American member of the Supreme War Council. Afterward
member of the American Commission to Negotiate Peace.]

[Footnote 70: Sir Henry Wilson had recently succeeded Sir William
Robertson as Chief of the Imperial General Staff.]

[Footnote 71: First Lord of the Admiralty.]

[Footnote 72: Secretary of Agriculture.]

[Footnote 73: See Chapter XXIV.]

[Footnote 74: This meeting, on April 6, 1918, was held at the Mansion
House. Page and Mr. Balfour were the chief speakers.]




CHAPTER XXVI

LAST DAYS IN ENGLAND


In spite of the encouraging tone of the foregoing letters, everything
was not well with Page. All through the winter of 1917-1918 his
associates at the Embassy had noticed a change for the worse in his
health. He seemed to be growing thinner; his face was daily becoming
more haggard; he tired easily, and, after walking the short distance
from his house to his Embassy, he would drop listlessly into his chair.
His general bearing was that of a man who was physically and nervously
exhausted. It was hoped that the holiday at St. Ives would
help him; that he greatly enjoyed that visit, especially the
westward--homeward--outlook on the Atlantic which it gave him, his
letters clearly show; there was a temporary improvement also in his
health, but only a temporary one. The last great effort which he made in
the interest of the common cause was Secretary Baker's visit; the
activities which this entailed wearied him, but the pleasure he obtained
from the resultant increase in the American participation made the
experience one of the most profitable of his life. Indeed, Page's last
few months in England, though full of sad memories for his friends,
contained little but satisfaction for himself. He still spent many a
lonely evening by his fire, but his thoughts were now far more
pleasurable than in the old _Lusitania_ days. The one absorbing subject
of contemplation now was that America was "in." His country had
justified his deep confidence. The American Navy had played a
determining part in defeating the submarine, and American shipyards
were turning out merchant ships faster than the Germans were destroying
them. American troops were reaching France at a rate which necessarily
meant the early collapse of the German Empire. Page's own family had
responded to the call and this in itself was a cause of great
contentment to a sick and weary man. The Ambassador's youngest son,
Frank, had obtained a commission and was serving in France; his
son-in-law, Charles G. Loring, was also on the Western Front; while from
North Carolina Page's youngest brother Frank and two nephews had sailed
for the open battle line. The bravery and success of the American troops
did not surprise the Ambassador but they made his last days in England
very happy.

Indeed, every day had some delightful experience for Page. The
performance of the Americans at Cantigny especially cheered him. The day
after this battle he and Mrs. Page entertained Mr. Lloyd George and
other guests at lunch. The Prime Minister came bounding into the room
with his characteristic enthusiasm, rushed up to Mrs. Page with both
hands outstretched and shook hands joyously.

"Congratulations!" he exclaimed. "The Americans have done it! They have
met the Prussian guard and defeated them!"

Mr. Lloyd George was as exuberant over the achievement as a child.

This was now the kind of experience that had become Page's daily
routine. Lively as were his spirits, however, his physical frame was
giving way. In fact Page, though he did not know it at the time, was
suffering from a specific disease--nephritis; and its course, after
Christmas of 1917, became rapid. His old friend, Dr. Wallace Buttrick,
had noted the change for the worse and had attempted to persuade him to
go home.

"Quit your job, Page," he urged. "You have other big tasks waiting you
at home. Why don't you go back?"

"No--no--not now."

"But, Page," urged Dr. Buttrick, "you are going to lay down your life."

"I have only one life to lay down," was the reply. "I can't quit now."

_To Mary E. Page_[75]

London, May 12, 1918.

DEAR MARY:

You'll have to take this big paper and this paint brush pen--it's
all the pen these blunt British have. This is to tell you how very
welcome your letter to Alice is--how very welcome, for nobody
writes us the family news and nothing is so much appreciated. I'll
try to call the shorter roll of us in the same way:

After a miserable winter we, too, are having the rare experience of
a little sunshine in this dark, damp world of London. The constant
confinement in the city and _in the house_ (that's the worst of
it--no outdoor life or fresh air) has played hob with my digestion.
It's not bad, but it's troublesome, and for some time I've had the
feeling of being one half well. It occurred to me the other day
that I hadn't had leave from my work for four years, except my
short visit home nearly two years ago. I asked for two months off,
and I've got it. We are going down by the shore where there is
fresh air and where I can live outdoors and get some exercise. We
have a house that we can get there and be comfortable. To get away
from London when the weather promises to be good, and to get away
from people seemed a joyous prospect. I can, at any time I must,
come to London in two hours.

The job's too important to give up at this juncture. This, then, is
the way we can keep it going. I've no such hard task now as I had
during the years of our neutrality, which, praise God! I somehow
survived, though I am now suffering more or less from the physical
effects of that strain. Yet, since I have had the good fortune to
win the confidence of this Government and these people, I feel that
I ought to keep on now until some more or less natural time to
change comes.

Alice keeps remarkably well--since her influenza late in the
winter; but a rest away from London is really needed as much by her
as by me. They work her to death. In a little while she is to go,
by the invitation of the Government and the consent of the King, to
christen a new British warship at Newcastle. It will be named the
"Eagle." Meantime I'll be trying to get outdoor life at Sandwich.

Yesterday a regiment of our National Army marched through the
streets of London and were reviewed by the King and me; and the
town made a great day of it. While there is an undercurrent of
complaint in certain sections of English opinion because we didn't
come into the war sooner, there is a very general and very genuine
appreciation of everything we have done and of all that we do.
Nothing could be heartier than the welcome given our men here
yesterday. Nor could any men have made a braver or better showing
than they made. They made us all swell with pride.

They are coming over now, as you know, in great quantities. There
were about 8,000 landed here last week and about 30,000 more are
expected this week. I think that many more go direct to France
than come through England. On their way through England they do not
come to London. Only twice have we had them here, yesterday and one
day last summer when we had a parade of a regiment of engineers.
For the _army_ London is on a sidetrack--is an out of the way
place. For our navy, of course, it's the European headquarters,
since Admiral Sims has his headquarters here. We thus see a good
many of our sailors who are allowed to come to London on leave. A
few days ago I had a talk with a little bunch of them who came from
one of our superdreadnaughts in the North Sea. They had just
returned from a patrol across to the coast of Norway. "Bad luck,
bad luck," they said, "on none of our long patrol trips have we
seen a single Hun ship!"

About the war, you know as much as I know. There is a general
confidence that the Allies will hold the Germans in their
forthcoming effort to get to Calais or to Paris. Yet there is an
undercurrent of fear. Nobody knows just how to feel about it.
Probably another prodigious onslaught will be made before you
receive this letter. It seems to me that we can make no intelligent
guess until this German effort is finished in France--no guess
about the future. If the Germans get the French ports (Calais, for
example) the war will go on indefinitely. If they are held back, it
_may_ end next autumn or winter--partly because of starvation in
Germany and partly because the Germans will have to confess that
they can't whip our armies in France. But, even then, since they
have all Russia to draw on, they may keep going for a long time.
One man's guess is as good as another's.

One sad thing is certain: we shall at once begin to have heavy
American casualties. Our Red Cross and our army here are getting
hospitals ready for such American wounded as are brought over to
England--the parts of our army that are fighting with the British.

We have a lot of miserable politics here which interfere with the
public feeling. The British politician is a worse yellow dog than
the American--at times he is, at least; and we have just been going
through such a time. Another such time will soon come about the
Irish.

Well, we have an unending quantity of work and wear--no very acute
bothers but a continuous strain, the strain of actual work, of
uneasiness, of seeing people, of uncertainty, of great expense, of
doubt and fear at times, of inability to make any plans--all which
is only the common lot now all over the world, except that most
persons have up to this time suffered incomparably worse than we.
And there's nothing to do but to go on and on and on and to keep
going with the stoutest hearts we can keep up till the end do at
last come. But the Germans now (as the rest of us) are fighting for
their lives. They are desperate and their leaders care nothing for
human life.

The Embassy now is a good deal bigger than the whole State
Department ever was in times of peace. I have three buildings for
offices, and a part of our civil force occupies two other
buildings. Even a general supervision of so large a force is in
itself a pretty big job. The army and the Navy have each about the
same space as the Embassy proper. Besides, our people have huts and
inns and clubs and hospitals all over the town. Even though there
be fewer vexing problems than there were while we were neutral,
there is not less work--on the contrary, more. Nor will there be an
end to it for a very long time--long after my time here. The
settling of the war and the beginning of peace activities, whenever
these come, will involve a great volume of work. But I've no
ambition to have these things in hand. As soon as a natural time of
relief shall come, I'll go and be happier in my going than you or
anybody else can guess.

Now we go to get my digestion stiffened up for another long
tug--unless the Germans proceed forthwith to knock us out--which
they cannot do.

With my love to everybody on the Hill,

Affectionately yours,
W.H.P.

Mr. and Mrs. Waldorf Astor--since become Viscount and Viscountess
Astor--had offered the Pages the use of their beautiful seaside house at
Sandwich, Kent, and it was the proposed vacation here to which Page
refers in this letter. He obtained a six weeks' leave of absence and
almost the last letters which Page wrote from England are dated from
this place. These letters have all the qualities of Page at his best:
but the handwriting is a sad reminder of the change that was
progressively taking place in his physical condition. It is still a
clear and beautiful script, but there are signs of a less steady hand
than the one that had written the vigorous papers of the preceding four
years.

_Memorandum_

Sandwich, Kent, Sunday, 19 May, 1918.

We're at Rest Harrow and it's a fine, sunny early spring Carolina day.
The big German drive has evidently begun its second phase. We hear the
guns distinctly. We see the coast-guard aeroplanes at almost any time
o'day. What is the mood about the big battle?

The soldiers--British and French--have confidence in their ability to
hold the Germans back from the Channel and from Paris. Yet can one rely
on the judgment of soldiers? They have the job in hand and of course
they believe in themselves. While one does not like in the least to
discount their judgment and their hopefulness, for my part I am not
_quite_ so sure of their ability to make sound judgments as I wish I
were. The chances are in favour of their success; but--suppose they
should have to yield and give up Calais and other Channel ports? Well,
they've prepared for it as best they can. They have made provision for
commandeering most of the hotels in London that are not yet taken
over--for hospitals for the wounded now in France.

And the war would take on a new phase. Whatever should become of the
British and American armies, the Germans would be no nearer having
England than they now are. They would not have command of the sea. The
combined British and American fleets could keep every German ship off
the ocean and continue the blockade by sea--indefinitely; and, if the
peoples of the two countries hold fast, a victory would be won at
last--at sea.

_To Ralph W. Page_

Rest Harrow, Sandwich, Kent.
May 19, 1918.

DEAR RALPH:

I felt very proud yesterday when I read T.R.'s good word in the
_Outlook_ about your book[76]. If I had written what he said
myself--I mean, if I had written what I think of the book--I should
have said this very thing. And there is one thing more I should
have said, viz.:--All your life and all my life, we have cultivated
the opinion at home that we had nothing to do with the rest of the
world, nothing to do with Europe in particular--and in our
political life our hayseed spokesmen have said this over and over
again till many people, perhaps most people, came really to believe
that it was true. Now this aloofness, this utterly detached
attitude, was a pure invention of the shirt-sleeve statesman at
home. I have long concluded, for other reasons as well as for this,
that these men are the most ignorant men in the whole world; more
ignorant--because they are viciously ignorant--than the Negro boys
who act as caddies at Pinehurst; more ignorant than the inmates of
the Morganton Asylum; more ignorant than sheep or rabbits or
idiots. They have been the chief hindrances of our country--worse
than traitors, in effect. It is they, in fact, who kept our people
ignorant of the Germans, ignorant of the English, ignorant of our
own history, ignorant of ourselves. Now your book, without
mentioning the subject, shows this important fact clearly, by
showing that our aloofness has all been a fiction. _We've been in
the world--and right in the middle of the world--the whole time_.

And our public consciousness of this fact has enormously slipped
back. Take Franklin, Madison, Monroe, Jefferson; take Hay,
Root--and then consider some of our present representatives! One
good result of the war and of our being in it will be the
restoration of our foreign consciousness. Every one of the half
million, or three million, soldiers who go to France will know more
about foreign affairs than all Congress knew two years ago.

A stay of nearly five years in London (five years ago to-day I was
on the ship coming here) with no absence long enough to give any
real rest, have got my digestion wrong. I've therefore got a real
leave for two months. Your mother and I have a beautiful house here
that has been lent to us, right on the Channel where there's
nothing worth bombing and where as much sunshine and warmth come
as come anywhere in England. We got here last night and to-day is
as fine an early spring day as you ever had in the Sandhills. I
shall golf and try to find me an old horse to ride, and I'll stay
out in the sunshine and try to get the inside machinery going all
right. We may have a few interruptions, but I hope not many, if the
Germans leave us alone. Your mother has got to go to Newcastle to
christen a new British warship--a compliment the Admiralty pays her
"to bind the two nations closer together" etc. etc. And I've got to
go to Cambridge to receive an LL.D. for the President. Only such
things are allowed to interrupt us. And we are very much hoping to
see Frank here.

We are in sound of the battle. We hear the big guns whenever we go
outdoors. A few miles down the beach is a rifle range and we hear
the practice there. Almost any time of day we can hear aeroplanes
which (I presume) belong to the coast guard. There's no danger of
forgetting the war, therefore, unless we become stone deaf. But
this decent air and sunshine are blessings of the highest kind. I
never became so tired of anything since I had the measles as I've
become of London. My Lord! it sounded last night as if we had
jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Just as we were about to
go to bed the big gun on the beach--just outside the fence around
our yard--about 50 yards from the house, began its thundering
belch--five times in quick succession, rattling the windows and
shaking the very foundation of things. Then after a pause of a few
minutes, another round of five shots. Then the other guns all along
the beach took up the chorus--farther off--and the inland guns
followed. They are planted all the way to London--ninety miles. For
about two hours we had this roar and racket. There was an air raid
on, and there were supposed to be twenty-five or thirty German
planes on their way to London. I hear that it was the worst raid
that London has had. Two of them were brought down--that's the only
good piece of news I've heard about it. Well, we are not supposed
to be in danger. They fly over us on the way to bigger game. At any
rate I'll take the risk for this air and sunshine. Trenches and
barbed wire run all along the beach--I suppose to help in case of
an invasion. But an invasion is impossible in my judgment. Holy
Moses! what a world!--the cannon in the big battle in France
roaring in our ears all the time, this cannon at our door likely to
begin action any night and all the rest along the beach and on the
way to London, and this is what we call rest! The world is upside
down, all crazy, all murderous; but we've got to stop this barbaric
assault, whatever the cost.

Ray Stannard Baker is spending a few days with us, much to our
pleasure.

With love to Leila and the babies,

Yours affectionately,
W.H.P.

_To Arthur W. Page_

Rest Harrow, Sandwich Beach,
Sandwich, Kent, England.
May 20, 1918.

DEAR ARTHUR:

... I can't get quite to the bottom of the anti-English feeling at
Washington. God knows, this people have their faults. Their social
system and much else here is mediæval. I could write several
volumes in criticism of them. So I could also in criticism of
anybody else. But Jefferson's[77] letter is as true to-day as it
was when he wrote it. One may or may not have a lot of sentiment
about it; but, without sentiment, it's mere common sense, mere
prudence, the mere instinct of safety to keep close to Great
Britain, to have a decent respect for the good qualities of these
people and of this government. Certainly it is a mere
perversity--lost time--lost motion, lost everything--to cherish a
dislike and a distrust of them--a thing that I cannot wholly
understand. While we are, I fear, going to have trade troubles and
controversies, my feeling is, on the whole, in spite of the
attitude of our official life, that an increasing number of our
people are waking up to what England has done and is and may be
depended on to do. Isn't that true?

We've no news here. We see nobody who knows anything. I am far from
strong--the old stomach got tired and I must gradually coax it back
to work. That's practically my sole business now for a time, and
it's a slow process. But it's coming along and relief from seeing
hordes of people is as good as medicine.

Affectionately,
W.H.P.

_To the President_

Sandwich, May 24, 1918.

DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:

Your speeches have a cumulative effect in cheering up the British.
As you see, if you look over the mass of newspaper clippings that I
send to the Department, or have them looked over, the British press
of all parties and shades of opinion constantly quote them
approvingly and gratefully. They have a cumulative effect, too, in
clearing the atmosphere. Take, for instance, your declaration in
New York about standing by Russia. All the allied governments in
Europe wish to stand by Russia, but their pressing business with
the war, near at hand, causes them in a way to forget Russia; and
certainly the British public, all intent on the German "drive" in
France had in a sense forgotten Russia. You woke them up. And your
"Why set a limit to the American Army?" has had a cheering effect.
As leader and spokesman of the enemies of Germany--by far the best
trumpet-call spokesman and the strongest leader--your speeches are
worth an army in France and more, for they keep the proper moral
elevation. All this is gratefully recognized here. Public opinion
toward us is wholesome and you have a "good press" in this Kingdom.
In this larger matter, all is well. The English faults are the
failings of the smaller men--about smaller matters--not of the
large men nor of the public, about large matters.

In private, too, thoughtful Englishmen by their fears pay us high
tribute. I hear more and more constantly such an opinion as this:
"You see, when the war is over, you Americans will have much the
largest merchant fleet. You will have much the largest share of
money, and England and France and all the rest of the world will
owe you money. You will have a large share of essential raw
materials. You will have the machinery for marine insurance and for
foreign banking. You will have much the largest volume of
productive labour. And you will know the world as you have never
known it before. What then is going to become of British trade?"

The best answer I can give is: "Adopt American methods of
manufacture, and the devil take the hindmost. There will be for a
long time plenty for everybody to do; and let us make sure that we
both play the game fairly: that's the chief matter to look out
for." That's what I most fear in the decades following the end of
the war--trade clashes.

The Englishman's pride will be hurt. I recall a speech made to me
by the friendliest of the British--Mr. Balfour himself: "I confess
that as an Englishman it hurts my pride to have to borrow so much
even from you. But I will say that I'd rather be in your debt than
in anybody else's."

_To Edward M. House_

May 27, 1918.

MY DEAR HOUSE:

... I can write in the same spirit of the Labour Group which left
for home last week. Nobody has been here from our side who had a
better influence than they. They emphatically stuck by their
instructions and took pleasure, against the blandishments of
certain British Socialists, in declaring against any meeting with
anybody from the enemy countries to discuss "peace-by-negotiation"
or anything else till the enemy is whipped. They made admirable
speeches and proved admirable representatives of the bone and sinew
of American manhood. They had dead-earnestness and good-humour and
hard horse-sense.

This sort of visit is all to the good. Great good they do, too, in
the present English curiosity to see and hear the right sort of
frank, candid Americans. Nobody who hasn't been here lately can
form an idea of the eagerness of all classes to hear and learn
about the United States. There never was, and maybe never will be
again, such a chance to inform the British and--to help them toward
a rights understanding of the United States and our people. We are
not half using the opportunity. There seems to be a feeling on your
side the ocean that we oughtn't to send men here to "lecture" the
British. No typical, earnest, sound American who has been here has
"lectured" the British. They have all simply told facts and
instructed them and won their gratitude and removed misconceptions.
For instance, I have twenty inquiries a week about Dr. Buttrick. He
went about quietly during his visit here and talked to university
audiences and to working-men's meetings and he captured and
fascinated every man he met. He simply told them American facts,
explained the American spirit and aims and left a grateful memory
everywhere. Buttrick cost our Government nothing: he paid his own
way. But if he had cost as much as a regiment it would have been
well spent. The people who heard him, read American utterances,
American history, American news in a new light. And most of his
talk was with little groups of men, much of it even in private
conversation. He did no orating or "lecturing." A hundred such men,
if we had them, would do more for a perfect understanding with the
British people than anything else whatsoever could do.

Yours sincerely,
WALTER H. PAGE.

_To Arthur W. Page_

Sandwich, May 27, 1918.

DEAR ARTHUR:

... I do get tired--my Lord! how tired!--not of the work but of the
confinement, of the useless things I have to spend time on, of the
bad digestion that has overtaken me, of London, of the weather, of
absence from you all--of the general breaking up of the world, of
this mad slaughter of men. But, after all, this is the common lot
now and I am grateful for a chance to do what I can. That's the
true way to look at it.

... Worry? I don't worry about anything except the war in general
and this mad world so threatened by these devil barbarians. And I
have a feeling that, when we get a few thousand flying machines,
we'll put an end to that, alas! with the loss of many of our brave
boys. I hear the guns across the channel as I write--an unceasing
boom! boom! boom! That's what takes the stuff out of me and gets my
inside machinery wrong. Still, I'm gradually getting even that back
to normal. Golf and the poets are fine medicine. I read Keats the
other day, with entire forgetfulness of the guns. Here we have a
comfortable house, our own servants (as many as we need), a
beautiful calm sea, a perfect air and for the present ideal
weather. There's nobody down here but Scottish soldiers. We've
struck up a pleasant acquaintance with them; and some of the
fellows from the Embassy come down week ends. Only the murderous
guns keep their eternal roar.

Thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks, old man. It'll all work out
right.

... I look at it in this way: all's well that ends well. We are now
doing our duty. That's enough. These things don't bother me,
because doing our duty now is worth a million years of past errors
and shortcomings.

Your mother's well and spry--very, and the best company in the
world. We're having a great time.

Bully for the kids! Kiss 'em for me and Mollie too.

Affectionately,
W.H.P.

Make Shoecraft tell you everything. He's one of the best boys and truest
in the world.

_To Ralph W. Page_

Rest Harrow, Sandwich, Kent.
June 7, 1918.

MY DEAR RALPH:

... I have all along cherished an expectation of two things--(1)
That when we did get an American Army by conscription, if it should
remain at war long enough to learn the game, it would become the
best army that the world ever saw, for the simple reason that its
ranks would contain more capable men than any other country has
ever produced. The proof of this comes at once. Even our new and
raw troops have astonished the veterans of the French and British
armies and (I have no doubt) of the German Army also. It'll be our
men who will whip the Germans, and there are nobody else's men who
could do it. We've already saved the Entente from collapse by our
money. We'll save the day again by our fighting men. That is to
say, we'll save the world, thank God; and I fear it couldn't have
been saved in any other way. (2) Since the people by their mood
command and compel efficiency, the most efficient people will at
last (as recent events show) get at the concrete jobs, in spite of
anybody's preferences or philosophy. And this seems at last to be
taking place. What we have suffered and shall suffer is not failure
but delays and delays and bunglings. But they've got to end by the
sheer pressure of the people's earnestness. These two things, then,
are all to the good.

I get the morning papers here at noon. And to-day I am all alone.
Your mother went early on her journey to launch a British
battleship. I haven't had a soul to speak to all day but my
servants. At noon, therefore, I was rather eager for the papers. I
saw at a glance that a submarine is at work off the New Jersey
coast! It's an awful thing for the innocent victims, to be
drowned. But their deaths have done us a greater service than 100
times as many lives lost in battle. If anybody lacked earnestness
about the war, I venture to guess that he doesn't lack it any
longer. If the fools would now only shell some innocent town on the
coast, the journey to Berlin would be shortened.

If the Germans had practised a chivalrous humanity in their war for
conquest, they'd have won it. Nothing on earth can now save them;
for the world isn't big enough to hold them and civilized people.
Nor is there any room for pacifists till this grim business is
done.

Affectionately,
W.H.P.

The last piece of writing from Sandwich is the following memorandum:

Sandwich, Kent.