Part 8
“There was that Algeciras business,” he says vaguely, not knowing in the least what he is talking about. “It should all have been settled then.”
He knows Viscount Grey personally, so he says, but--“he never would take my advice”--and as for Kitchener--ah!--“That’s a man who had immense possibilities!--immense!--but he was obstinate--he wouldn’t listen to a word I told him!”
Here, impressed with the reflections awakened by this melancholy fact, he writes a letter to the _Times_--a letter which happens to be just the proper quantity of “stuff” to fill up the end of a column: so it goes in. No one pays any attention to it. Snooks shows it to his friends at the club--they smile, half read it, don’t understand it and don’t want to understand it. After some difficulty he gets an old deaf gentleman to look at it.
“What’s this, what’s this!” says the old deaf gentleman nervously--“Something happened to our Allies!”
“No, no!” roars Snooks--“It’s a letter!--a letter I’ve written; I, myself--to the _Times_ about Kitchener!”
“Ah, I wouldn’t do it if I were you!” mildly replies the old gentleman, with one hand up to his ear--“We don’t know anything about his work----”
“_I_ know!” shouts Snooks--“If he had taken _my_ advice----”
“Ah, ah! Did you know him?” inquires the old gentleman, evidently surprised and unconvinced.
“_Know_ him!” Snooks snorts defiance, as much as to imply that if he knows the inside of his own pocket he knew Kitchener still better! In irritable impatience he watches the old gentleman’s leisurely perusal of his epistolary effusion.
“Ah! Yes--er--yes! I don’t agree with you,” says the old gentleman at last, putting aside the paper. “I’m not quite sure that I understand it, but it’s not the way I’d put it.”
“Oh, all right!” and Snooks turns on his heel with a superior air of disdain. “I suppose you’re for the wasting of millions! Everybody is, that doesn’t study the subject. Now _I_----”
Here a stray man comes to the rescue of the deaf old gentleman, the conversation changes, and the famous _Times_ letter is forgotten.
Often Snooks seems to be ubiquitous. His letters appear in numerous papers, especially the provincial ones. Sometimes a Snooks’s “opinion” is squeezed just under the “Space for Special News,” which in many halfpenny rags is not “Special News” at all, but merely the results of--Football!
When all the intelligent world was waiting for war news, a Birmingham paper had a “Space for Special News” in which football results were printed first and the war news second! The absurd folly and incongruity of this sort of thing never seems to strike the syndicated Press. The effect of it on the minds of our French and other Allies is too humiliating to be written. It might draw forth a letter from Snooks, if only Snooks’s opinion carried weight. But it doesn’t. The greatest “opinion” that could be imagined, even that of Plato or Shakespeare, doesn’t much matter to any one. It is not a time for individual criticism; it is only time for inspiration and action. A strong thought is always silent; it resolves itself into deeds rather than words. There has been altogether too much talk during the progress of the war; too many “Snookses” in too many newspapers. Snooks has even cropped up in the House of Lords, to say nothing of the House of Commons. And it should be borne in mind that Snooks _does_ nothing; he is not in the smallest degree useful to his country; he merely stands, like an old washerwoman leaning over her tub, and talks. He talks to any one who is idle and stupid enough to listen. He finds out all sorts of “queer things” about General this or Colonel that, and for women he has scarcely a good word to say.
“_They’re_ no use!” he declares contemptuously. “All their sick nursing and sewing was done just for sheer man-trapping! Show them some new hats and they’d forget all about their patients!”
When this heresy is indignantly refuted, he snaps his mouth in a firm, hard line, as though it were a steel box.
“I’d bet you a hundred pounds,” he says, “that if it were women who were wounded in the war instead of men, you’d hardly find one of their own sex to wait upon them! They love fussing round a man! It’s a perfect godsend to them, especially the old maids! There’s an excitement about it; a sort of morbid interest! They delight in washing a Tommy’s face and brushing his hair. If it were one of themselves they’d scrub the face till the skin was ruined and brush the hair the wrong way! _I_ know ’em, I tell you! You give a pretty woman who is ill to an ugly woman who is well, to be nursed, and she’ll ‘nurse’ her! You’ll see what she’ll make of her in twenty-four hours! I tell you I take a calm, common-sense view of all this sort of bunkum!”
Unfortunately for Snooks, his “calm, common-sense view” does not appeal to the world in general. It does not even impress the Premier, who, up to the present, has failed to consult Snooks respecting the “conduct of the war,” or to offer him a “portfolio.” He longs to be consulted. He yearns to be displayed on the headlines of the halfpenny dailies or Sunday pictorials in flamboyant beauty, or as,--
“MR. SNOOKS SPEAKS OUT”; or “THE GREAT MESSAGE OF MR. SNOOKS.”
But these things don’t happen. He has still to content himself with letters to the Press, which sometimes get read, but more often are passed over and forgotten altogether. Nevertheless, his “opinion” is in all the newspapers, whether read or unread, and though the King has not sent for him yet, and he has no “portfolio,” he is admittedly and visibly “SNOOKS.” So that when any particularly mischievous comment on affairs in general appears in print, or any “calm and common-sense view,” which gives useful “points” to the enemy, and irritates the patience of the public, we know who it is, and we don’t much mind! We merely say “SNOOKS again!” or “Another powerful letter from Mr. Snooks will appear next week!”
SEA POWER, 1805–1918
I
Glory and terror and splendid joy of the Sea! Thunderous Sentinel-Guard of our flowering Isles of the Free! Fortress impregnable, built with the mountainous waves Toppling in fury of laughter sheer over our enemies’ graves! God!... It is all we can ask for!... that still we ever may be Saved by the glory and terror and conquering joy of the Sea!
II
Sea that sprang to the keels of the ships of Nelson and Drake, Billows that leap’d for delight in the battles for England’s sake-- Will ye fail us now? Nay, never! Ye are strong as ye were of yore, And Victory’s voice rings clearly out in your rush on the rocky shore-- And shark-like Death, at the enemy’s cry, to meet him swiftly runs, For your swirl and sucking sands are as sure as the fire of a thousand guns!
III
Glory and terror and conquering love of the Sea, Circling our Fortunate Isles of Fame, more famous still to be! Let us praise the Giver of Life for the silver and azure band He hath set between us and our foes on the other side of the land. Break, it cannot! Yield, it shall not! England, home of the free, God keep thee safe in the strength and light and conquering love of the Sea!
THE SPLENDID SERVICE OF THE SEA
(_Written by request for the Navy League_)
In this greatest War of all history, a War which in extent, in terrifying armaments, and in massed millions of men surpasses in fearful slaughter and incalculable results all the battles ever chronicled from earliest times to now, why is it that in these Isles of Britain, the nucleus of the Empire most concerned, there is so much indifference, apathy, and real ignorance displayed among the general public of the “man-in-the-street” type concerning the silent but ever vigilant work of our Navy? There is no use in denying the fact--indifference, apathy, and ignorance exist; and all taken together constitute an extraordinary, wellnigh alarming national phenomenon. Carelessness arises from what is sometimes called “cock-sureness,” and we are amazingly “cock-sure” of ourselves, especially in naval matters. The levity of our women, apart from those who are engaged in sick nursing and charitable works, and who are happily numerous, is almost unbelievable; their outrageous, not to say positively crazy “new fashions” in dress, their “dinner dances” at London restaurants, their “bridge parties,” and their “night clubs” make one think of the warning words of the prophet Isaiah:--
“Rise up, ye women that are at ease; hear my voice, ye careless daughters; give ear unto my speech. Many days and years shall ye be troubled, ye careless women; for the vintage shall fail, the gathering shall not come!”
For truly the “vintage” of prosperity and the “gathering” of good for this country of ours would fail, and fail utterly, if it were not for our resolved and invincible guardianship of the sea--a guardianship which must never be relaxed, and which every one of us should learn to appreciate and help to strengthen by every means that we may.
We are assured by many sagacious essayists and historians that it is the women of the nation who make and who influence the men; and if this be the case, at least one-half of our British women have cause to be proud of the splendid fellows they have sent forth to take part in the vast contest on which such mighty issues depend. But the other half seem deaf to the roar of the guns, or to the call of the Sea. The land forces occupy all the attention of newspaper readers, and very little information can be gleaned about our seamen. The women prattle pleasantly about the grim struggle at Neuve Chapelle or at Ypres; one hardly ever hears them talk about the long, long hours of long, long days and nights spent by our silent mariners, watching from every great battleship and cruiser for the treacherous foe. Yet every woman should, at the present moment, be well on the alert; eager, enthusiastic, and ready to inspire, even to command the youth of the rising generation; and among other duties falling to their lot is distinctly that of teaching their own boys, and other women’s boys too, the inestimable value of service in the Navy.
That grand protector of our islands, the Sea, is to Great Britain more than a hundred million of men; and every boy should learn the history of what it has been to us, what it is, and what it ever will be, held by a Fleet which has never been conquered! Every brave lad’s heart is bound to thrill when he is told of the magnificent deeds of daring performed by our naval heroes whose names are household words; but it is to be feared that of latter years boys have been encouraged both at home and at school to think more of “sport” and games of skill than patriotism, and the special training which would help them also to be heroic and to “make history.” Lawn tennis is now regarded as a serious business, but it is only a game, and a country will never be saved by it. Cricket and football are equally “games”; neither one nor the other will drive the foe from our shores should he invade us. Games are good as “games,” but when they become a national obsession the hard and fast line must be drawn before it is too late.
The Sea is our fortress, and so long as that is kept and guarded by a perfectly trained and efficient Navy, we need not fear. Nevertheless, to keep that training and efficiency up to the mark we must show no slackness, no falling-off; there must be a perpetual addition of new, youthful, and ardent blood; brave boys and young men for whom the ever glorious lines of Shakespeare express life’s utmost truth and meaning:--
“This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise; This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world; This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings Fear’d by their breed, and famous by their birth, Renownèd for their deeds as far from home-- For Christian service and true chivalry-- As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world’s ransom, blessèd Mary’s Son; This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world,
* * * * *
England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune!”
I wish that every word of this magnificent outburst of noble patriotism were learned by every boy in Britain, and imprinted on his memory, as ineffaceably as his daily prayer. It is the heart’s utterance of the greatest poet and truest lover of his country England has ever produced, and inspires the soul with the same emotion as that expressed by Sir Humphrey Gilbert, of Shakespeare’s time and spirit:--
“Give me leave, therefore, without offence to live and die in this mind, that he is not worthy to live at all that for fear or danger of death, shunneth his country’s service and his own honour, seeing that death is inevitable, and the fame of virtue immortal.”
Great as were the responsibilities and labours of the Navy in the past, they were nothing compared to those of the present. In the days of the brilliant and sagacious Queen Elizabeth, there were no submarines, mines, or torpedoes, and the historian Camden tells us:--
“This great Armada which had been three complete years in rigging and preparing with infinite expense, was within one month’s space many times fought with, and at the last overthrown, with the slaughter of many men, not an hundred of the English being missing, nor any large ship lost.... Whereupon several monies were coined in memory of the victory, some with a fleet flying with full sail; others in honour of the Queen, with fireships and a fleet all in confusion, inscribed _Dux Fœmina facti_, that is, A Woman was conductor in the Fight.”
At that time the enemy Spanish Fleet came forth and showed battle, but up to the present the German Fleet, which took much longer than “three years” to prepare, has not been much in evidence till its humble surrender, and its only exhibited warfare was the treacherous method of torpedoing unsuspecting and mostly neutral vessels, some of which had no means of defence. My own heart thrills when I think of our splendid naval men, whose spirits still respond to Nelson’s undying signal--“England expects that every man will do his duty!” The Germans are not a seafaring race. The British are born and bred “of the sea”; the salt and savour of it are mixed with their blood, and for a thousand years they have been accustomed to it in all its wildest moods.
Herein our Navy has an immense advantage, but because we are thus fortunately bred, there is no need that we should forget that breeding, or neglect the long education we have had, and allow the youth of the country to imagine there is no need of their service. On the contrary, there is more need of their service than ever, and for the furtherance of this purpose we are all anxious that as many of our hopeful lads, who have a turn for seafaring and adventure, should join the Navy League at once, and “train” to be defenders of their country as young and smart “sea-dogs” of the old, dauntless, unconquerable mettle. Every help should be given to this end, especially through the women, the mothers of strong and gallant boys, who can influence their sons and imbue them with the true spirit of patriotism, and while we work to strengthen and replenish this vital and necessary force on which we depend so much for our defence and our means of existence, we should think--we who “sit at home at ease,” of the long periods of watchfulness endured by the men of our Fleet at sea in waiting at every turn for each fresh move of an insidious and unscrupulous foe. We should manage to let them know that their work is not all in vain; that there are plenty of young fellows ready to follow them when the time comes, and join in their splendid service of the guardianship of the sea.
In this effort, the Navy League is a fine and necessary institution. It keeps the youthful spirit of the Navy alive and enthusiastic, and it reminds us of what might otherwise be forgotten, that far more than all other defences we rely on the Sea and our Fleet to preserve our existence and protect us from invasion.
We can help them at home by spreading the Spirit of the Navy--the spirit of Drake, Frobisher, and Nelson among all our growing lads who are, in their hearts, eager to be “up and doing.” I should like to see an active branch of the Navy League established in every town and village all over Britain--a centre where ambitious boys can be sure of receiving sympathetic attention and assistance for their training; and I think it would be good and serviceable if women would help more than they at present do in this work, by teaching their boys to honour and love the Service, and encouraging them to read the stories of naval heroism and naval conquest, so that their minds may be turned constantly towards ideas of their country’s defence, their country’s safety, their country’s glory. None of these things will, or can, be assisted by football, cricket, or lawn tennis, except as games for physical development; but by discipline, study of the art of navigation, and the wonderful ways of Nature in wind and wave, and by that sincere devotion to duty which brings a man’s life into safe port as surely as a well-piloted, well-guarded vessel. A sea-girt land should breed seamen; we cannot have too many of them. And by early training such powers may be attained as may build a bright British lad into his land’s history as an unforgettable hero. For, as the famous song tells us:--
“Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o’er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep!”
THE LILIES OF FRANCE
(_Written by request for “The Golden Book of France”_)
Glorious Lilies! Stainless and sweet, they spring from a sacred soil, wet with the life-blood of brave men and the tears of noble women! They are the Children of France and of the Future!--the gracious youth of a happier day, when tyranny and fear are past, and when Peace of the highest and purest is the canopy of safety and honour, under which the nation may rest after long and bitter strife! The Lilies of girlhood and boyhood; the Children, some of them deprived of fathers and mothers, but never entirely orphaned because France is their closest parentage! Oh, beautiful human blossoms, growing up like buds of snow from the black smoke and ashes of battle fires!--we thank God for you, and we pray that you may expand in happy fragrance, nourished by the fresh air of freedom, so that the sufferings your heroic fathers have endured for France may be transformed into joys for you! You are the hope and glory of your land, you fair flowers which even now are beginning to bloom innocently in the dust of many graves; you will be the radiant and triumphant France of coming years, when your wealth of splendid youth and victory shall flame a white aurora against skies of heavenly blue, undarkened by any cloud of treachery! Children of France!--Lilies that grow around the standard of Liberty!--we commend you to the Future in faith and in hope! Not without some natural sorrow, for, alas! your garden is the graveyard of many loves!--but though we weep, our tears are tears of pride that those whom we have lost are fallen in honour, and that the blood from which you draw your sustenance is unpolluted by so much as one drop of traitor’s gall! So shall you rise nobly, on stately stems of heroic ancestry and memory to make France once more an earthly paradise, and in the very fairness of your youth we shall see reflected the light of the dauntless spirits that have fought and passed away, leaving you with us as their most precious legacy, which we accept with gratitude--which we keep with all tenderness--holding you reverently to our hearts as the “Annunciation” Lilies of a New Gospel!
“WHOSO SHALL RECEIVE ONE SUCH LITTLE CHILD!”
(_Written on behalf of St. Nicholas Home for “Raid-shock” Children at Chailry, Sussex_)