The Life of Mrs. Humphry Ward Part 19

"I was rather more than half an hour with them. Sir Edward took me downstairs, said it was 'good of me' to be willing to undertake it, and I went off feeling the die was cast."

A luncheon with Mr. Lloyd George--then Minister of Munitions--who gladly offered her every possible facility for seeing the great munition-centres that had by that time altered the face of England, and the plan for carrying out her task began to shape itself in her mind. A tour of ten days or so through the princ.i.p.al munition-works, ranging from Birmingham to the Clyde, then a dash to the Fleet, lying in the Firth of Cromarty, then south once more and across the Straits to see the "back of the Army" in France. It may be imagined what busy co-ordination of arrangements was necessary between the Ministry of Munitions, the Admiralty and the War Office, before all the details of the tour were settled, but by the aid of "Wellington House" all was hustled through in a short time, so that Mrs. Ward was off on her round of the great towns by January 31. To her, of course, the human interest of the scene was the all-important thing--the spectacle of the mixture of cla.s.ses in the vast factories, the high-school mistresses, the parsons, the tailors' and drapers' a.s.sistants handling their machines as lovingly as the born engineers--the enormous sheds-full of women and girls of many diverse types working together with one common impulse, and protesting against the cutting down of their twelve hours' day! She was taken everywhere and shown everything (accompanied this time by Miss Churcher), seeing in the s.p.a.ce of ten days the munition-works at Birmingham, Leeds, Sheffield, Darlington, Middlesbrough, Newcastle and the Clyde. Then she returned home for a few days, to fix her impressions in an ordered ma.s.s of notes, before leaving again on February 15 for the far north, armed with an Admiralty permit and an invitation from Sir John Jellicoe to spend a couple of nights in his house at Invergordon.

It was, of course, an unheard-of thing for a woman to visit the Fleet in war-time, but, once the barriers pa.s.sed, the sailors were so glad to see her! Withdrawn from the common life in their iron, sleepless world, they welcomed this break in their routine as much as she did the chance it gave her of a wholly unique experience. She told the tale of her adventures both in a letter to Mr. Ward and in notes written down at the time:

"_February 16, 1916._

"Such a journey! Heavy snow-storm in the night, and we were held up for three hours on the highest part of the line between Kingussie and Aviemore. But at Invergordon a group of naval officers appeared. A great swell [Sir Thomas Jerram] detached himself and came up to me. 'Mrs. Ward? Sir John has asked me to look after you.' We twinkled at each other, both seeing the comedy of the situation. 'Now then, what can I do for you? Will you be at Invergordon pier to-morrow at eleven? and come and lunch with me on the Flags.h.i.+p? Then afterwards you shall see the destroyers come in and anything else we can show you. Will that suit you?' So he disappears and I journey on to Kildary, five miles, with a jolly young sailor just returned from catching contraband in the North Sea, and going up to Thurso in charge of the mail."

She spent a quiet evening at Sir John Jellicoe's house (the Admiral himself being away). Her notes continue the story:

"Looked out into the snowy moonlight--the Frith steely grey--the hills opposite black and white--a pale sky--black shapes on the water--no lights except from a s.h.i.+p on the inlet (the hospital s.h.i.+p).

"Next day--an open car--bitterly cold--through the snow and wind.

At the pier--a young officer, Admiral Jerram's Flag Lieutenant.

'The Admiral wished to know if you would like him to take you round the Fleet. If so, we will pick him up at the Flags.h.i.+p.' The barge--very comfortable--with a cabin--and an outer seat--sped through the water. We stopped at the Flags.h.i.+p and the Admiral stepped in. We sped on past the _Erin_--one of the Turkish cruisers impounded at the beginning of the war--the _Iron Duke_, the _Centurion_, _Monarch_, _Thunderer_--to the hospital s.h.i.+p _China_.

The Admiral pointed out the three cruisers near the entrance to the harbour--under Sir Robert Arbuthnot--also the hull of the poor _Natal_--with buoys at either end--two men walking on her.

"At luncheon--Vice-Admiral Sir Thomas Jerram on my left, Sir Robert Arbuthnot, commanding the cruiser squadron, on my right. Captain Field and Mrs. Field. Commander Goldie--Flag Lieutenant Boissier, and a couple of other officers and their wives.

"In the barge I had shown the Admiral Roosevelt's letter. Sir Robert Arbuthnot spoke to me about it at luncheon, and very kindly.

They all seemed to feel that it was a tough task, not of my seeking, and showed wonderful sympathy and understanding. After lunch Captain Field was told off to show me the s.h.i.+p. Thrilling to see a s.h.i.+p in war-time, that might be in action any moment. The loading of the guns--the wireless rooms--the look down to the engine deck--the anchor held by the three great chains--the middies' quarters--the officers' ward-room. The brains of the s.h.i.+p--men trained to transmit signals from the fire-control above to all parts of the s.h.i.+p, directing the guns. The middies'

chests--great black and grey boxes--holding all a middy's worldly goods. He opens one--shows the photos inside.--The senior middy, a fair-haired boy, like Humphry Sandwith--the others younger. Their pleasant room, with its pictures, magazines and books. s.p.a.ces where the wounded can be temporarily placed during action.

"The chart of the North Sea, and the s.h.i.+p-stations. Lines radiating out in all directions--every dot on them a s.h.i.+p.

"After going through the s.h.i.+p we went to look at the destroyer which the Admiral had ordered alongside. Commanded by Mr.

Leveson-Gower, son of the Lord Granville who was Foreign Secretary, and nephew of 'Freddy.' The two torpedo tubes on the destroyer are moved to the side, so that we see how it discharges them. The guns very small--the whole s.h.i.+p, which carries 100 men, seems almost on the water-line--is constantly a-wash except for the cabin and the bridge. But on a dark night in the high seas, 'we are always so glad to see them!--they are the guards of the big s.h.i.+ps--or we are the hens, and they are the chickens.'

"Naval character--the close relations between officers and men necessitated by the s.h.i.+p's life. 'The men are splendid.' How good they are to the officers--'have a cup of coffee, sir, and lie down a bit.'--Splendidly healthy--in spite of the habitually broken sleep. Thursday afternoons (making and mending)--practically the naval half-holiday.

"Talk at tea with Captain and Mrs. Field and Boissier and Commander Goldie. They praise the book, _Naval Occasions_. No sentiment possible in the Navy--_in speech_. The life could not be endured often, unless it were _jested through_. Men meet and part with a laugh--absurdity of sentimental accounts. Life on a destroyer--these young fellows absolute masters--their talk when they come in--'By Jove, I nearly lost the s.h.i.+p last night--awful sea--I was right on the rocks.'--Their life is always in their hands."

Writing a week later to "Aunt Fan," she added one further remark about the Captain of the s.h.i.+p--"so quietly full of care for his men--and so certain, one could see, that Germany would never actually give in without trying something desperate against our fleet." Little more than three months later, Germany tried her desperate stroke, tried it and lost, but at what a cost to English sailormen! The n.o.ble officer who had sat next to Mrs. Ward at luncheon in the Admiral's flags.h.i.+p, Sir Robert Arbuthnot, went down with his battle-cruiser, while on either side of him occurred the losses which shook, for one terrible day, England's faith in her fleet. Mrs. Ward wrote on June 6 to Katharine Lyttelton:

"Yes, indeed, Sir Robert Arbuthnot's cruiser squadron was at Cromarty when I was there, and he sat next me at luncheon on the Flags.h.i.+p. I _particularly_ liked him--one of those modest, efficient naval men whose absolute courage and nerve, no less than their absolute humanity, one would trust in any emergency. I remember Sir Thomas Jerram, on my other side, saying in my ear--'The man to your right is one of the most rising men in the Navy.' And the line of cruisers in front of the Dreadnoughts, as I saw them in the February dawn, stretching towards the harbour entrance, will always remain with me."

Meanwhile the preparations for her journey to France had been pushed forward by "Wellington House," so that only four days after her return from Invergordon all was ready for her departure for Le Havre. She went (this time with Dorothy) as the guest of the Foreign Office, recommended by them to the good offices of the Army. She was first to be given some idea of the vast organization of the Base at Le Havre, and then sent on by motor to Rouen, Abbeville, etaples and Boulogne. A programme representing almost every branch of the unending activities of the "Back of the Army" had been worked out for her, but she was warned that she could not be allowed to enter the "War Zone." Once in France, however, it was not long before this prohibition broke down, though not through any importunity of hers.

The marvellous spectacle unrolled itself before her, quietly and methodically, while her guides expounded to her the meaning of what she saw and the bearing of every movement at the Base upon the lives of the men in the front line. General a.s.ser himself, commanding at Le Havre, devoted a whole afternoon to taking her through the docks and store-sheds of the port, "so that one had a dim idea," as she wrote to her husband, "of the amazing organization that has sprung up here. It explains a good deal, too, of the five millions a day!" But as a matter of fact, the thing which impressed her most at Le Havre was the 'make-over department,' where all the rubbish brought down from the Front, from bully-beef tins to broken boots, was collected together and boiled down (metaphorically speaking) into something useful, so that many thousands a week were thus saved to the taxpayer at home. "All the creation of Colonel Davies, who has saved the Government thousands and thousands of pounds. Such a thing has never been done before!"

Similarly, at Rouen (whither she drove on February 26--fifty miles--through blinding snow) she was fascinated by the motor-transport department--"the biggest thing of its kind in France--the creation of one man, Colonel Barnes, who started with 'two b.a.l.l.s of string and a packet of nails,' and is now dealing with 40,000 vehicles."

Another snowy and Arctic drive from Rouen to Dieppe, and on to Abbeville, where a wonderful piece of news awaited them.

_To T. H. W._

"_February 29, 1916._

..."After lunch Colonel Schofield [their guide] went out to find the British Headquarters and report. Dorothy and I went up to the cathedral, and on emerging from it met the Colonel with another officer, who introduced himself as Colonel Dalrymple White, M.P. 'I have news for you, Mrs. Ward, which I think will change your plans!' I looked at him rather aghast, wondering if I was to be suddenly sent home! 'There is an invitation for you from G.H.Q., and we have been telephoning about, trying to find you. Great luck that Colonel Schofield looked in just now.' Whereupon it appeared that 'by the wish of the Foreign Office,' G.H.Q. had invited me for two days, and that an officer would call for me at Boulogne on Wednesday morning, and take me to the place which no one here mentions but with bated breath, and which I will not write! [St.

Omer.] I was naturally thrilled, but I confess I am in terror of being in their way, and also of not being able to write anything the least adequate to such an opportunity. However it could not of course be refused."

A long day at etaples intervened between this little scene and the arrival at G.H.Q.--a day devoted not only to an inspection of some of the great hospitals, but also to a more unusual experience. etaples was the scene of a huge training-camp where troops from England received their final "polish" before going up to the Front; amongst other things, they were taught how to throw bombs, and Mrs. Ward was taken to see them do it. "We climb to the very top of the slope," she wrote in her journal at the time, "and over its crest to see some live bomb-practice. A hollow in the sand, three dummy figures twenty yards away--a parapet and a young soldier with three different bombs, that explode by a time-fuse. He throws--we crouch low behind the parapet of sand-bags--a few seconds, then a fierce report. We rise. One of the dummy figures is half wrecked, only a few fragments of the bomb surviving. One thinks of it descending in a group of men, and one remembers the huge hospitals behind us. War begins to seem to me more and more horrible and intolerable."

The next day, March 1, they were taken in charge at Boulogne by Captain H. C. Roberts, sent thither by G.H.Q. to fetch them, and motored through a more spring-like land to St. Omer, where they took up their quarters for two nights in the "Visitors' Chateau" (the Chateau de la Tour Blanche). Captain Roberts said that his orders were to take them as near to the battle-line as he safely could, and accordingly they started out early in the afternoon in the direction of Richebourg St. Vaast, calling on the way at Merville, the headquarters of General Pinney and the 35th Division. The General came out to see his visitors and said that, having an hour to spare, he would take them to the Line himself. He and Mrs.

Ward went ahead in the General's car, Dorothy and Captain Roberts following behind. At Richebourg St. Vaast the road became so much broken by sh.e.l.l-holes that they got out and walked, and General Pinney informed Mrs. Ward calmly that she was now "actually in the battle," for the British guns were bellowing from behind them. Early the next morning she wrote down the following notes of what ensued:

"Richebourg St. Vaast--a ruined village, the church in fragments--a few walls and arches standing. The crucifix on a bit of wall untouched. Just beyond, General Pinney captured a gunner and heard that a battery was close by to our right. We were led there through seas of mud. Two bright-faced young officers. One gives me a hand through the mud, and down into the dug-out of the gun. There it is--its muzzle just showing in the dark, nine or ten sh.e.l.ls lying in front of it. One is put in. We stand back and put our fingers in our ears. An old artillery-man says 'Look straight at the gun, ma'am.' It fires--the cartridge-case drops out. The shock not so great as I had imagined. Has the sh.e.l.l fallen on a German trench, and with what result! They give us the cartridge-case to take home.

"After firing the gun we walked on along the road. General Pinney talks of taking us to the entrance of the communication-trench. But Captain Roberts is obviously nervous. The battery we have just left crashes away behind us, and the firing generally seems to grow hotter. I suggest turning back, and Captain Roberts approves. 'You have been nearer the actual fighting than any woman has been in this war--not even a nurse has been so close,' says the General.

Neuve Chapelle a mile and a half away to the north behind some tall poplars. In front within a mile, first some ruined buildings--immediately beyond them our trenches--then the Germans, within a hundred yards of each other.

"As we were going up, we had seen parties of men sitting along the edge of the fields, with their rifles and field kit beside them, waiting for sunset. Now, as we return, and the sun is sinking fast to the horizon, we pa.s.s them--platoon after platoon--at intervals--going up towards the trenches. The s.p.a.cing of these groups along the road, and the timing of them, is a difficult piece of staff-work. The faces of the men quiet and cheerful, a little subdued whistling here and there--but generally serious. And how young! 'War,' says the General beside me, 'is cra.s.s folly! _cra.s.s_ folly! nothing else. We want new forms of religion--the old seem to have failed us. Miracle and dogma are no use. We want a new prophet, a new Messiah!'"

Mrs. Ward left her new friend with a feeling of astonishment at having found so kindred a spirit in so strange a scene.

The next day they were up betimes and on their way to Ca.s.sel and Westoutre, there to obtain permits, at the Canadian headquarters, for the ascent of the Scherpenberg Hill, in order that Mrs. Ward might behold Ypres and the Salient. There had been a British attack, that morning, in the region of the Ypres-Comines Ca.n.a.l; it had succeeded, and there was a sense of elation in the air. But, by an ironic chance, Mrs. Ward had heard by the mail that reached the Chateau a far different piece of news, and as she drove through the ruined Belgian villages--through Poperinghe and Locre--dodging and turning so as to avoid roads recently sh.e.l.led, her mind was filled with one overmastering thought--the death of Henry James, her countryman.[34]

But now they are at the foot of the Scherpenberg Hill. Her journal continues:

"A picket of soldiers belonging to the Canadian Division stops us, and we show our pa.s.ses. Then we begin to mount the hill (about as steep as that above Stocks Cottage), but Captain Roberts pulls me up, and with various halts at last we are on the top, pa.s.sing a dug-out for shelter in case of sh.e.l.ls on the way. At the top a windmill--some Tommies playing football. Two stout la.s.ses driving a rustic cart with two horses. We go to the windmill and, sheltering behind its supports (for n.o.body must be seen on the sky-line), look out north-east and east. Far away on the horizon the mists lift for a moment, and a great ghost looks out--the ruined tower of Ypres.

You see that half its top is torn away. A flas.h.!.+ from what seem to be the ruins at its base. Another! It is the English guns speaking from the lines between us and Ypres--and as we watch, we see the columns of white smoke rising from the German lines as they burst.

Then it is the German turn, and we see a couple of their sh.e.l.ls bursting on our lines, between Vlamertinghe and d.i.c.kebusch.

Hark--the rattle of the machine-guns from, as it were, a point just below us to the left, and again the roar of the howitzers. There, on the horizon, is the ridge of Messines, Wytschte, and near by the hill and village of Kemmel, which has been sh.e.l.led to bits.

Along that distant ridge run the German trenches, line upon line.

One can see them plainly without a gla.s.s. At last we are within actual sight of the _Great Aggression_--the nation and the army which have defied the laws of G.o.d and man, and left their fresh and d.a.m.ning mark to all time on the history of Europe and on this old, old land on which we are looking. In front of us the Zillebeke Lake, beyond it Hooge--Hill 60 lost in the shadows, and that famous spot where, on the afternoon of November 11, the 'thin red line'

withstood the onset of the Prussian Guard. The Salient lies there before us, and one's heart trembles thinking of all the gallant life laid down there, and all the issues that have hung upon the fight for it."

So, with gas-helmets in hand, they retraced their steps down the hill, finding at the bottom that the kind Canadian sentries had cut steps for Mrs. Ward down the steep, slippery bank, and on to see General Plumer at Ca.s.sel. With him and with Lord Cavan--the future heroes of the Italian War--Mrs. Ward had half an hour's memorable talk, returning afterwards to the Visitors' Chateau in time to pack and depart that same evening for Boulogne. Next day they sailed in the "Leave boat"--"all swathed in life-belts, and the good boat escorted (so wrote D. M. W.) by a destroyer and a torpedo-boat, and ringed round with mine-sweepers!" In such pomp of modern war did Mrs. Ward return.

It now remained for her to put into shape the impressions gathered in these five breathless weeks, and this she did during some forty-five days of work at very high pressure, putting what she had to say into the form of "Letters to an American Friend." The Letters were sent hot to the Press on the American side as quickly as Mrs. Ward could mail them, appearing in a number of newspapers controlled by one of the great "Syndicates"; then Scribner's published them in book form at the end of May, with a preface by Mr. Choate. Here, with a little more leisure for revision, the little book, under the t.i.tle of _England's Effort_, came out on June 8, incidentally giving to Mrs. Ward the pleasant opportunity of a renewal of her old acquaintance with Lord Rosebery, whom she had invited to write a preface to it. She went over, full of doubt, to Mentmore one May afternoon, having heard that he was there, "quite alone" (as she wrote to M. Chevrillon), "driving about in a high mid-Victorian phaeton, with a postilion!" Knowing that he was never strong, she fully expected a refusal, but found instead that he had already done what she asked, being deeply moved by the proofs that she had sent him. She was much touched, and the friends.h.i.+p was cemented, a few days later, by a return visit that he paid to Stocks, all in its May green, when he could not contain himself on the beauty of the place, or the incomparable advantages it possessed over "such a British Museum as Mentmore!"

_England's Effort_ reached a dejected world in the nick of time. Our national habit of "grousing" in public, and of hanging our dirty linen on every possible clothes-line, had naturally disposed both ourselves and the outer world to under-estimate our vast achievements. This little book set us right both with the home front and with our foreign critics.

It penetrated into every corner of the world and was translated into every civilized language, while Mrs. Ward constantly received letters about it, not only from friends, but from total strangers--from dwellers in Mexico, South America, j.a.pan, Australia and India, not to mention France and Italy, thanking her for her immense service, and expressing astonishment at the facts that she had brought to light. The _Preussische Jahrbucher_ reviewed it with great respect; the j.a.panese Amba.s.sador, Viscount Chinda, was urgently recommended by King George to read it, and afterwards contributed a preface to the j.a.panese edition.

And, as Princ.i.p.al Heberden of Brasenose reported to her, the burden of comment among his friends always ended with the feeling that "the most remarkable fact about the book is Mrs. Humphry Ward's own astonis.h.i.+ng effort. Certainly the nation owes her much, for no other author could have attracted so much attention in America." A year later, it was a.s.serted by many Americans, with every accent of conviction, that but for _England's Effort_ and the public opinion that it stirred, President Wilson might have delayed still longer than he did in bringing America in.

In all the business arrangements made for the "little book" in America, Mrs. Ward had had the constant help and support of her beloved cousin, Fred Whitridge, while in England not only the publication, but the voluminous arrangements for translation, were in the hands of Reginald Smith. By a cruel stroke of fate, both these devoted friends were taken from her in the same week--the last week of December, 1916--and Mrs.

Ward was left to carry on as best she might, without "the tender humour and the fire of sense" in the "good eyes" of the one, or the wisdom, strength and kindness that had always been her portion in so rich a measure from the other. To Mrs. Smith (herself the daughter of George Murray Smith), she wrote after the funeral of "Mr. Reginald":

"I watched in Oxford Street, till the car had pa.s.sed northwards out of sight, and said good-bye with tears to that good man and faithful friend it bore away.... Your husband has been to me shelter and comfort, advice and help, through many years. I feel as if a great tree had fallen under whose boughs I had sheltered...."

Never was the writing of books the same joy to Mrs. Ward after this.

Other publishers arose with whom she established, as was her wont, good and friendly relations, but with the death of Reginald Smith it was as if a veil had descended between her and this chief solace of her declining years.

Already, in the autumn of 1916, Mrs. Ward was thinking--in consultation with Wellington House--of a possible return to France, mainly in order, this time, to visit some of the regions behind the French front which had suffered most cruelly in 1914. She wished to bring home to the English-speaking world, which was apt to forget such things, some of the undying wrongs of France. M. Chevrillon obtained for her the ear of the French War Office, and meanwhile Mrs. Ward applied once more to Sir Edward Grey and to General Charteris, head of the British Intelligence Department in France (with whom she had made friends on her first journey) for permission to spend another two or three days behind the British front. Here, however, the difficulty arose that since Mrs.