If Lord Kitchener is not to be held primarily responsible for the delay in providing war material, just as little is he to be blamed for the methods of recruiting. For he had to take what the politicians told him. He had to accept their sagacious views of what the people would stand; of 'what they would never stand'; of what 'from the House of Commons' standpoint' was practicable or impracticable.

Lord Kitchener wanted men. During August and September he wanted them at once—without a moment's delay. Obviously the right plan was to ask in a loud voice who would volunteer; to take as many of these as it was possible to house, clothe, feed, and train; then to sit down quietly and consider how many more were likely to be wanted, at what dates, and how best they could be got. But as regards the first quarter of a million or so, which there were means for training at once, there was only one way—to call loudly for volunteers. The case was one of desperate urgency, and as things then stood, it would have been the merest pedantry to delay matters until a system, for which not even a scheme or skeleton existed before the emergency arose, had been devised. The rough and ready {365} method of calling out loudly was open to many objections on the score both of justice and efficiency, but the all-important thing was to save time.

NEED FOR A SYSTEM

Presumably, by and by, when the first rush was over, the Cabinet did sit down round a table to talk things over. We may surmise the character of the conversation which was then poured into Lord Kitchener's ears—how England would never stand this or that; how no freeborn Englishman—especially north of the Humber and the Trent,[1] whence the Liberal party drew its chief support—would tolerate being tapped on the shoulder and told to his face by Government what his duty was; how much less would he stand being coerced by Government into doing it; how he must be tapped on the shoulder and told by other people; how he must be coerced by other people; how pressure must be put on by private persons—employers by threats of dismissal—young females of good, bad, and indifferent character by blandishments and disdain. The fear of starvation for the freeborn Englishman and his family—at that time a real and present danger with many minds—or the shame of receiving a white feather, were the forces by which England and the Empire were to be saved at this time of trial. Moreover, would it not lead to every kind of evil if, at this juncture, the country were to become annoyed with the Government? Better surely that it should become annoyed with any one rather than the Government, whose patriotic duty, therefore, was to avoid unpopularity with more devoted vigilance than heretofore, if such a thing were possible.

One can imagine Lord Kitchener—somewhat weary {366} of discussions in this airy region, and sorely perplexed by all these cobwebs of the party system—insisting doggedly that his business was to make a New Army, and to come to the assistance of France, without a day's unnecessary delay. He must have the men; how was he to get the men?

And one can imagine the response. "Put your trust in us, and we will get you the men. We will go on shouting. We will shout louder and louder. We will paste up larger and larger pictures on the hoardings. We will fill whole pages of the newspapers with advertisements drawn up by the 'livest publicity artists' of the day. We will enlist the sympathies and support of the press—for this is not an Oriental despotism, but a free country, where the power of the press is absolute. And if the sympathies of the press are cool, or their support hangs back, we will threaten them with the Press Bureau. We will tell the country-gentlemen, and the men-of-business, that it is their duty to put on the screw; and most of these, being easily hypnotised by the word 'duty,' will never dream of refusing. If their action is resented, and they become disliked it will be very regrettable; but taking a broad view, this will not be injurious to the Liberal party in the long run.

"Leave this little matter, Lord Kitchener, to experts. Lend your great name. Allow us to show your effigies to the people. Consider what a personal triumph for yourself if, at the end of this great war, we can say on platforms that you and we together have won it on the Voluntary System. Trust in us and our methods. We will boom your {367} New Army, and we will see to it at the same time that the Government does not become unpopular, and also, if possible, that the Empire is saved."

THE ADVERTISEMENT CAMPAIGN

So they boomed the Voluntary System and the New Army in Periclean passages; touched with awe the solemn chords; shouted as if it had been Jericho.

Two specimens, out of a large number of a similar sort—the joint handiwork apparently of the 'publicity artists,' bettering the moving appeals of the late Mr. Barnum, and of the party managers, inspired by the traditions of that incomparable ex-whip, Lord Murray of Elibank—are given below.[2] It is of course impossible to do justice here to the splendour of headlines and leaded capitals; but the nature of the appeal will be gathered clearly enough. Briefly, the motive of it was to avoid direct compulsion by Government—which would have fallen equally and fairly upon all—and to substitute for this, indirect compulsion and pressure by private individuals—which must of necessity operate unequally, unfairly, and invidiously. To say that this sort of thing is not compulsion, is to say what is untrue. If, as appears to be the case, the voluntary system has broken down, and we are to have compulsion, most honest men and women will prefer that the compulsion should be fair rather than unfair, direct rather than indirect, and that it should be exercised by those responsible for the government of the country, rather than by private persons who cannot compel, but can only penalise.

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By these means, during the past six months, a great army has been got together—an army great in numbers,[3] still greater in spirit; probably one of the noblest armies ever recruited in an cause. And Lord Kitchener has done his part by training this army with incomparable energy, and by infusing into officers and men alike his own indomitable resolution.

The high quality of the New Army is due to the fact that the bulk of it consists of two kinds of men, who of all others are the best material for soldiers. It consists of men who love fighting for its own sake—a small class. It also consists of men who hate fighting, but whose sense of duty is their guiding principle—fortunately a very large class. It consists of many others as well, driven on by divers motives. But the spirit of the New Army—according to the {369} accounts of those who are in the best position to judge—is the spirit of the first two classes—of the fighters and the sense-of-duty men. It is these who have leavened it throughout.

ITS EFFECT ON PUBLIC OPINION

This magnificent result—for it is magnificent, whatever may be thought of the methods which achieved it—has been claimed in many quarters—Liberal, unionist, and non-party—as a triumph for the voluntary system. But if we proceed to question it, how voluntary was it really? Also how just? Did the New Army include all, or anything like all, those whose clear duty it was to join? And did it not include many people who ought never to have been asked to join, or even allowed to join, until others—whose ages, occupations, and responsibilities marked them out for the first levies—had all been called up?

There is also a further question—did the country, reading these various advertisements and placards—heroic, melodramatic, pathetic, and facetious—did the country form a true conception of the gravity of the position? Was it not in many cases confused and perplexed by the nature of the appeal? Did not many people conclude, that things could not really be so very serious, if those in authority resorted to such flamboyant and sensational methods—methods so conspicuously lacking in dignity, so inconsistent with all previous ideas of the majesty of Government in times of national peril?

The method itself, no doubt, was only unfamiliar in so far as it used the King's name. It was familiar and common enough in other connections. But a method which might have been unexceptionable for calling attention to the virtues of a shop, a soap, a {370} circus, or a pill, seemed inappropriate in the case of a great nation struggling at the crisis of its fate.[4]

Each of us must judge from his own experience of the effect produced. The writer has heard harsher things said of these appeals by the poor, than by the well-to-do. The simplest and least sophisticated minds are often the severest critics in matters of taste as well as morals. And this was a matter of both. Among townspeople as well as countryfolk there were many who—whether they believed or disbelieved in the urgent need, whether they responded to the appeal or did not respond to it—regarded the whole of this 'publicity' campaign with distrust and dislike, as a thing which demoralised the country, which was revolting to its honour and conscience, and in which the King's name ought never to have been used.[5]

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ON THE WORKING CLASSES

On the part of the working-classes there were other objections to the methods employed. They resented the hints and instructions which were so obligingly given by the 'publicity artists' and the 'party managers' to the well-to-do classes—to employers of all sorts—as to how they should bring pressure to bear upon their dependents. And they resented—especially the older men and those with family responsibilities—the manner in which they were invited by means of circulars to signify their willingness to serve—as they imagined in the last dire necessity—and when they had agreed patriotically to do so, found themselves shortly afterwards called upon to fulfil their contract. For they knew that in the neighbouring village—or in the very next house—there were men much more eligible for military {372} service in point of age and freedom from family responsibilities, who, not having either volunteered, or filled up the circular, were accordingly left undisturbed to go about their daily business.[6]


The attitude of the country generally at the outbreak of war was admirable. It was what it should have been—as on a ship after a collision, where crew and passengers, all under self-command, and without panic, await orders patiently. So the country waited—waited for clear orders—waited to be told, in tones free from all ambiguity and hesitation, what they were to do as classes and as individuals. There was very little fuss or confusion. People were somewhat dazed for a short while by the financial crisis; but the worst of that was soon over. They then said to themselves, "Let us get on with our ordinary work as hard as usual (or even harder), until we receive orders from those responsible for the ship's safety, telling us what we are to do."

BUSINESS AS USUAL

There was a certain amount of sparring, then and subsequently, between high-minded journalists, who {373} were engaged in carrying on their own business as usual, and hard-headed traders and manufacturers who desired to do likewise. The former were perhaps a trifle too self-righteous, while the latter took more credit than they deserved for patriotism, seeing that their chief merit was common sense. To have stopped the business of the country would have done nobody but the Germans any good, and would have added greatly to our national embarrassment.

At times of national crisis, there will always be a tendency, among most men and women, to misgivings, lest they may not be doing the full measure of their duty. Their consciences become morbidly active; it is inevitable that they should; indeed it would be regrettable if they did not. People are uncomfortable, unless they are doing something they have never done before, which they dislike doing, and which they do less well than their ordinary work. In many cases what they are inspired to do is less useful than would have been their ordinary work, well and thoughtfully done. At such times as these the Society for Setting Everybody Right always increases its activities, and enrols a large number of new members. But very soon, if there is leadership of the nation, things fall into their proper places and proportions. Neither business nor pleasure can be carried on as usual, and everybody knows it. There must be great changes; but not merely for the sake of change. There must be great sacrifices in many cases; and those who are doing well must give a helping hand to those others who are doing ill. But all—whether they are doing well or ill from the standpoint of their own private interests—must be prepared to do what the leader of the nation orders them to do. {374} This was fully recognised in August, September, October, and November last. The country expected orders—clear and unmistakable orders—and it was prepared to obey whatever orders it received.

But no orders came. Instead of orders there were appeals, warnings, suggestions, assurances. The panic-monger was let loose with his paint-box of horrors. The diffident parliamentarian fell to his usual methods of soothing, and coaxing, and shaming people into doing a very vague and much-qualified thing, which he termed their duty. But there was no clearness, no firmness. An ordinary man will realise his duty so soon as he receives a definite command, and not before. He received no such command; he was lauded, lectured, and exhorted; and then was left to decide upon his course of action by the light of his own reason and conscience.[7]

He was not even given a plain statement of the {375} true facts of the situation, and then left at peace to determine what he would do. He was disturbed in his meditations by shouting—more shouting—ever louder and louder shouting—through some thousands of megaphones. The nature of the appeal was emotional, confusing, frenzied, and at times degrading. Naturally the results were in many directions most unsatisfactory, unbusinesslike, and disorderly. The drain of recruiting affected industries and individuals not only unequally and unfairly, but in a way contrary to the public interest. If Government will not exercise guidance and control in unprecedented circumstances, it is inevitable that the country must suffer.

AN ORGIE OF SENSATIONALISM

To judge from the placards and the posters, the pictures and the language, a casual stranger would not have judged that the British Empire stood at the crisis of its fate; but rather that some World's Fair was arriving shortly, and that these were the preliminary flourishes. Lord Kitchener cannot have enjoyed the pre-eminence which was allotted to him in our mural decorations, and which suggested that he was some kind of co-equal with the famous Barnum or Lord George Sanger. Probably no one alive hated the whole of this orgie of vulgar sensationalism, which the timidity of the politicians had forced upon the country, more than he did.[8]

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Having stirred up good and true men to join the New Army, whether it was rightly their turn or not; having got at others in whom the voluntary spirit burned less brightly, by urging their employers to dismiss them and their sweethearts to throw them over if they refused the call of duty, the 'publicity artists' and the 'party managers' between them undoubtedly collected for Lord Kitchener a very fine army, possibly the finest raw material for an army which has ever been got together. And Lord Kitchener, thereupon, set to work, and trained this army as no one but Lord Kitchener could have trained it.

These results were a source of great pride and self-congratulation among the politicians. The voluntary principle—you see how it works! What a triumph! What other nation could have done the same?

Other nations certainly could not have done the same, for the reason that there are some things which one cannot do twice over, some things which one cannot give a second time—one's life for example, or the flower of the manhood of a nation to be made into soldiers.

Other nations could not have done what we were doing, because they had done it already. They had their men prepared when the need arose—which we had not. Other nations were engaged in holding the common enemy at enormous sacrifices until we made ourselves ready; until we—triumphing in our {377} voluntary system, covering ourselves in self-praise, and declaring to the world, through the mouths of Sir John Simon and other statesmen, that each of our men was worth at least three of their 'pressed men' or conscripts—until we came up leisurely with reinforcements—six, nine, or twelve months hence—supposing that by such time, there was anything still left to come up for. If the Germans were then in Paris, Bordeaux, Brest, and Marseilles, there would be—temporarily at least—a great saving of mortality among the British race. If, on the other hand, the Allies had already arrived at Berlin without us, what greater triumph for............