View source for XXVI LAST DAYS IN ENGLAND

<p align="right">
[[Main Page | WWI Document Archive]] > [[Diaries, Memorials, Personal Reminiscences]] > [[The_Life_and_Letters_of_Walter_H._Page|Walter H. Page]] > '''Chapter XXVI'''
</p><hr>


<center>[[Image: Walter_H._Page_Signature.gif]]</center> <br><br>


<CENTER><FONT  SIZE="+2">CHAPTER XXVI</FONT></center><br><br>

<center><FONT SIZE="+2">LAST DAYS IN ENGLAND</FONT></center>

<br><br>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 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
<I>Lusitania </I>days. The one absorbing subject of contemplation
now was that America was &quot;in.&quot; 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.

<br><br>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.

<br><br>&quot;Congratulations!&quot; he exclaimed. &quot;The Americans
have done it! They have met the Prussian guard and defeated them!&quot;

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

<br><br>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 1918, became rapid. His old
friend, Dr. Wallace Buttrick, had noted the change for the worse
and had attempted to persuade him to go home.

<br><br>&quot;Quit your job, Page,&quot; he urged. &quot;You have other
big tasks waiting you at home. Why don't you go back?&quot;

<br><br>&quot;No---no---not now.&quot;

<br><br>&quot;But, Page,&quot; urged Dr. Buttrick, &quot;you are going
to lay down your life.&quot;

<br><br>&quot;I have only one life to lay down,&quot; was the reply.
&quot;I can't quit now.&quot;

<br><br>.


<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">To Mary E. Page</FONT></I><ref>Of Aberdeen, N. C, the Ambassador's sister.</ref></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE>  
  <br><br>London, May 12,1918.
  <br><br>DEAR MARY:
  <br><br>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 <I>very </I>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:
  <br><br>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 <I>in</I> <I>the house </I>(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.
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>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 &quot;Eagle.&quot; Meantime I'll be trying
  to get outdoor life at Sandwich.
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>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. &quot;Bad luck, bad luck,&quot; they said, &quot;on
  none of our long patrol trips have we seen a single Hun ship!
  &quot;
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>With my love to everybody on the Hill,</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Affectionately yours,
    <br><br>W. H. P.</BLOCKQUOTE>


<br><br>.

<br><br>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.

<br><br>.


<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">Memorandum</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>Sandwich, Kent, Sunday, 19 May, 1918.
  <br><br>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?
  <br><br>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 <I>quite </I>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.
  <br><br>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.
<br><br>.</BLOCKQUOTE>

<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">To Ralph W. Page</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>Rest Harrow, Sandwich, Kent.<BR>
  May 19, 1918.
  <br><br>DEAR RALPH:
  <br><br>I felt -very proud yesterday when I read T. R.'s good word
  in the <I>Outlook</I> about your book.<ref>"Dramatic Moments in American Diplomacy," by Ralph W. Page, 1918.</ref>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.
  <I>We've been in the world---and right in the middle of the world---the
  whole time.</I>
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>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 &quot;to bind the two nations
  closer together&quot; 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.
  <br><br>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 tried of anything since I
  had the measles as I've become of London.
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>Ray Stannard Baker is spending a few days with us, much to
  our pleasure.
  <br><br>With love to Leila and the babies,</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Yours affectionately,
    <br><br>W. H. P.</BLOCKQUOTE>
<br><br>.
  
<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">To Arthur W. Page</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>Rest Harrow, Sandwich Beach, Sandwich, Kent, England.<BR>
  May 20, 1918.
  <br><br>DEAR ARTHUR:
  <br><br>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 medi&aelig;val. I could write
  several volumes in criticism of them. So I could also in criticism
  of anybody else.
  <br><br>But Jefferson's<ref>The reference is to a letter written in 1823 by Thomas Jefferson to President Monroe at the time when the Holy Alliance was threatening the independence of South America. "With Great Britain," Jefferson wrote, "we should most sedulously cherish a cordial friendship and nothing would tend more to knit our affections than to be fighting once more, side by, side, in the same cause."</ref>
  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?
  <br><br>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.</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Affectionately,
    <br><br>W. H. P.</BLOCKQUOTE>
<br><br>.

<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">To the President</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>Sandwich, May 24, 1918.
  <br><br>DEAR MR. PRESIDENT.'
  <br><br>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 &quot;drive&quot; in France had in a sense
  forgotten Russia. You woke them up. And your &quot;Why set a
  limit to the American Army?&quot; 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 &quot;good press&quot;
  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.
  <br><br>In private, too, thoughtful Englishmen by their fears pay
  us high tribute. I hear more and more constantly such an opinion
  as this: &quot;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?&quot;
  <br><br>The best answer I can give is: &quot;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.&quot; That's what I most fear in the decades following
  the end of the war---trade clashes.
  <br><br>The Englishman's pride will be hurt. I recall a speech made
  to me by the friendliest of the British---Mr. Balfour himself:
  &quot;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.
<br><br>.</BLOCKQUOTE>

<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">To Edward M. House</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>May 27, 1918.
  <br><br>MY DEAR HOUSE:
  <br><br>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 &quot;peace-by-negotiation&quot;
  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.
  <br><br>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 right understanding of the United States and
  our people.
  <br><br>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 &quot;lecture&quot; the British. No typical, earnest, sound
  American who has been here has &quot;lectured&quot; 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 &quot;lecturing.&quot; 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.</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Yours sincerely,
    <br><br>WALTER H. PAGE.</BLOCKQUOTE>
<br><br>.

<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">To Arthur W. Page</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>Sandwich, May 27, 1918.
  <br><br>DEAR ARTHUR:
  <br><br>. . . 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.
  <br><br>. . . 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.
  <br><br>Thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks, old man. It'll all work
  out right.
  <br><br>. . . 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.
  <br><br>Your mother's well and spry---very, and the best company in
  the world. We're having a great time.
  <br><br>Bully for the kids! Kiss 'em for me and Mollie too. </BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Affectionately,
    <br><br>W. H. P.</BLOCKQUOTE>

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

<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">To Ralph W. Page</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>Rest Harrow, Sandwich, Kent.<BR>
  June 7, 1918.
  <br><br>MY DEAR RALPH:
  <br><br>. . . 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.
  <br><br>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.
  <br><br>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.</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Affectionately,
    <br><br>W. H. P.</BLOCKQUOTE>


<br><br>.

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

<br><br>.

<BLOCKQUOTE>
  <br><br>Sandwich, Kent.<BR>
  June 10, 1918.
  <br><br>The Germans continue to gain ground in France---more slowly,
  but still they gain. The French and British papers now give space
  to plans for the final defense---the desperate defense---of Paris.
  The Germans are only forty miles away. Slocum, military attach&eacute;,
  thinks they will get it and he reports the same opinion at the
  War Office---because the Germans have taken such a large number
  of guns and so much ammunition. Some of these guns were meant
  for the American troops, and they cannot now be replaced in time
  if the German advance continues. But I do not know enough facts
  at first hand to form an opinion. But, if Paris be taken, the
  war will go on a long time ---unless the English-speaking rulers
  make a compromise. And, then, in another form---and forms---it'll
  go on indefinitely. There has been no more perilous or uncertain
  or anxious time than now.
  <br><br>The United States too late, too late, too late: what if it
  should turn out so?</BLOCKQUOTE>

<br><br>.

<br><br>But it did not turn out so. Even while Page was penning these
lines great events were taking place in France and the American
troops were having a large share in them. In June the Americans
stopped the German troops at Belleau Wood---a battle which proved
the mettle of these fresh levies not only for the benefit of the
Germans but of the Allies as well. Thus Page had the great satisfaction
of returning to London while the city was ringing with the praise
of these achievements. He found that the atmosphere had materially
changed since he had last been in the British capital; when he
had left for Sandwich there had been a general expectation that
the Germans would get Paris or the Channel ports; now, however,
there was every confidence of victory. Greatly as Page rejoiced
over the new prospect, however, the fight at Belleau Wood brought
him his last great sorrow. His nephew, Allison M. Page, of Aberdeen,
North Carolina, the son of his youngest brother, Frank, lost his
life in that engagement. At first the young man was reported &quot;missing&quot;;
the investigation set afoot by the Ambassador for some time brought
no definite information. One of the most pathetic of Page's papers
is a brief note addressed by him to Allison Page, asking him for
news: &quot;It's been a long time since we heard from you,&quot;
Page wrote his nephew. &quot;Write how it goes with you. Affectionately,
Uncle Wat.&quot; After travelling over a considerable part of
France, this note found its way back to the Embassy. The boy---he
was only 19---had been killed in action near Belleau Wood, on
June 25th, while leading his detachment in an attack on a machine
gun. Citations and decorations for gallantry in action were given
posthumously by General Pershing, Marshal P&eacute;tain, Major
General Omar Bundy, and Major-General John A. LeJeune.

<br><br>And now the shadows began to close in rapidly on Page. In early
July Major Frank C. Page, the Ambassador's youngest son, came
over from France. A brief glance at his father convinced him that
he was dying. By this time the Ambassador had ceased to go to
the Chancery, but was transacting the most imperative business
propped up in a chair at home. His mind was possessed by two yearnings:
one was to remain in London until the end of the war, the other
was to get back to his childhood home in North Carolina. Young
Page urged his father to resign, but the weary invalid insisted
on sticking to his post. On this point it seemed impossible to
move him. Knowing that his brother Arthur had great influence
with his father, Frank Page cabled, asking him to come to England
immediately. Arthur took the first boat, reaching London late
in July.

<br><br>The Ambassador's two sons then gently pressed upon their father
the fact that he must resign. Weak as he was, the Ambassador was
still obdurate.

<br><br>&quot;No,&quot; he said. &quot;It's quitting on the job. I
must see .the war through. I can't quit until it's over.&quot;

<br><br>But Sir William Osler, Page's physician and devoted friend,
exercised his professional authority and insisted on the resignation.
Finally Page consented.

<br><br>.


<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">To the President</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>American Embassy, London,<BR>
  August 1, 1918.
  <br><br>MY DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:
  <br><br>I have been struggling for a number of months against the
  necessity to write you this note; for my doctors now advise me
  to give up all work for a period---my London doctor says for
  six months. I have a progressive digestive trouble which does
  not yield to the usual treatment. It's the war, five London winters,
  and the unceasing labour which is now the common lot. I am ashamed
  to say that these have brought me to something near a breakdown.
  I have had Sir William Osler as well as two distinguished London
  physicians for several months. The digestive trouble has brought
  other ills in its train; and I am assured that they will yield
  to freedom from responsibility and complete rest for a time in
  a dry, warm climate and that they are not likely to yield to
  anything else.
  <br><br>I see nothing else to do then but to bow to the inevitable
  and to ask you to be kind enough to relieve me and to accept
  my resignation to take effect as soon as I can go to Washington
  and make a somewhat extended report on the work here, which,
  I hope, will be of some use to the Department; and I ought to
  go as soon as possible---say, in September. I cannot tell you
  how great my disappointment is that this request has become necessary.
  <br><br>If the world and its work were so organized that we could
  do what we should like to do, I should like a leave of absence
  till winter be broken and then to take up my duties here again
  till the war end. But that, of course, is impracticable. And
  it is now a better time to change Ambassadors than at any time
  since the war began. My five years' service has had two main
  phases---the difficult period of our neutrality and the far easier
  period since we came into the war. But when the war ends, I fear
  that there will be again more or less troublesome tasks arising
  out of commercial difficulties.
  <br><br>But for any reasonable period the Embassy's work fortunately
  can now go on perfectly well with Mr. Laughlin as Charg&eacute;---until
  my successor can get here. The Foreign Office like him, he <I>is
  persona grata </I>to all other Departments of the Government,
  and he has had a long experience; and he is most conscientious
  and capable. And the organization is in excellent condition.
  <br><br>I venture to ask you to have a cable message sent to me (to
  be deciphered by me alone). It will require quite a little time
  to pack up and to get away.
  <br><br>I send this, Mr. President, with more regret than I can express
  and only after a struggle of more than six months to avoid it.</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Yours sincerely,
    <br><br>WALTER H. PAGE.</BLOCKQUOTE>


<br><br>.

<br><br>Arthur Page took his father to Banff, in Scotland, for a little
rest in preparation for the voyage. From this place came Page's
last letter to his wife:

<br><br>.


<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">To Mrs. Page</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>Duff House, Banff, Scotland.<BR>
  Sunday, September 2, 1918.
  <br><br>MY DEAR:
  <br><br>. . . I've put the period of our life in London, in my mind,
  as closed. That epoch is ended. And I am glad. It was time it
  ended. My job <I>(that </I>job) is done. From the letters that
  Shoecraft has sent me and from what the papers say, I think I
  couldn't have ended it more happily ---or---at a better time.
  I find myself thinking of the winter down South---of a Thanksgiving
  Day dinner for the older folks of our family, of a Christmas
  tree for the kids, of frolics of all sorts, of Rest, of some
  writing (perhaps not much), going over my papers with Ralph---that's
  what he wants, you know; etc., etc., etc.
  <br><br>And I've got to eat more. I myself come into my thinking and
  planning in only two ways---(1) I'm going to have a suit like
  old Lord N.'s and (2) I'm going to get all the good things to
  eat that there are!
  <br><br>Meantime, my dear, how are you? Don't you let this getting
  ready wear you out. Let something go undone rather. Work Miss
  Latimer and the boys and the moving and packing men, and Petherick
  and the servants. Take it very easy yourself.
  <br><br>Nine and a half more days here---may they speed swiftly. Comfortable
  as I am, I'm mortal tired of being away from you---dead tired.
  <br><br>Praise God it's only 91 days. If it were 91, I should not
  stand it, but break for home prematurely.</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Yours, dear Allie, with all my love,
    <br><br>W. H. P.</BLOCKQUOTE>


<br><br>.

<br><br>On August 24th came the President's reply:

<br><br>.

<BLOCKQUOTE>
  <br><br>I have received your communication of August 1st. It caused
  me great regret that the condition of your health makes it necessary
  for you to resign. Under the circumstances I do not feel I have
  the right to insist on such a sacrifice as your remaining in
  London. Your resignation is therefore accepted. As you request
  it will take effect when you report to Washington. Accept my
  congratulations that you have no reason to fear a permanent impairment
  of your health and that you can resign knowing that you have
  performed your difficult duties with distinguished success.</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>WOODROW WILSON.</BLOCKQUOTE>


<br><br>.

<br><br>The news of Page's resignation inspired tributes from the British
press and from British public men such as have been bestowed upon
few Americans. The London <I>Times</I> headed its leader, &quot;A
Great Ambassador&quot; and this note was echoed in all sections
of Great Britain. The part of Page's career which Englishmen chiefly
recalled was his attitude during the period of neutrality. This,
the newspapers declared, was Page's great contribution to the
cause. The fact, that it had had such far-reaching influences
on history was the one especially insisted on. His conciliatory
and skillful behaviour had kept the United States and Great Britain
friends at a time when a less tactful ambassador might easily
have made them enemies; the result was that, when the time came,
the United States could join forces against the common enemy,
with results that were then daily unfolding on the battlefields
of France. &quot;I really believe,&quot; wrote the Marquess of
Crewe, &quot;that there were several occasions when we might have
made it finally impossible for America to join us in the war;
that these passed by may have been partly due to some glimmering
of common sense on our part, with Grey as its main exponent; but
it was more largely owing to your patience and courtesy and to
the certainty which the Foreign Office always enjoyed that its
action would be set before the Secretary of State in as favourable
a light as it conscientiously could be.&quot; That, then, was
Page's contribution to the statesmanship of this crisis---that
of holding the two countries together so that, when the time came,
the United States could join the Allies. A mass of private letters,
all breathing the same sentiment, began to pour in on Page. There
was hardly an illustrious name in Great Britain that was not represented
among these leave-takings. As illustrating the character and spirit
animating them, the following selections are made:

<br><br>.


<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">From the King</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>The information communicated to me yesterday through Mr. Laughlin
  of Your Excellency's resignation of the Post of Ambassador and
  the cause of this step fill me<I> </I>with the keenest regret.
  During your term of office in days of peace and of war your influence
  has done much to strengthen the ties of friendship and good-will
  which unite the two English-speaking nations of the world. I
  trust your health will soon be restored and that we may have
  the pleasure of seeing you and Mrs. Page before your departure.</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>GEORGE R. I.</BLOCKQUOTE>
<br><br>.

<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">From the Prime Minister</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>10, Downing Street, Whitehall, S. W. 1, <BR>
  30th August, 1918.
  <br><br>MY DEAR AMBASSADOR:
  <br><br>It is with the deepest regret that my colleagues and I have
  received the news that you have been forced by ill health to
  resign your office and that the President has consented to your
  relinquishing your ambassadorial duties. We are sorry that you
  are leaving us, all the more because your tenure of office has
  coincided with one of the greatest epochs in the history of our
  two countries and of the world, and because your influence and
  counsel throughout this difficult time have been of the utmost
  value to us all.
  <br><br>The power for good or evil which can be exerted by the occupant
  of your high position is at all times necessarily very great.
  That our peoples are now fighting side by side in the cause of
  human freedom and that they are manifesting an ever growing feeling
  of cordiality to one another is largely attributable to the exceptional
  wisdom and good-will with which you have discharged your duties.
  For the part you have played during the past five years in bringing
  about this happy result we owe you our lasting gratitude.
  <br><br>May I add that while you have always firmly presented the
  point of view of your own country, you have succeeded in winning,
  not only the respect and admiration of official circles, but
  the confidence, and I can say without hesitation, the affection
  of all sections of our people? It will be with universal regret
  that they will learn that, owing to the strain of the great responsibilities
  you have borne, you are no longer to remain among us. I earnestly
  trust that a well-earned rest will speedily restore you to complete
  health, and that you have many years of public service still
  in store for you.
  <br><br>I should like also to say how much we shall miss Mrs. Page.
  She has won a real place in all our hearts. Through her unfailing
  tact, her genuine kindliness, and her unvarying readiness to
  respond to any call upon her time and energy, she has greatly
  contributed to the success of your ambassadorship.</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Ever sincerely,
    <br><br>D. LLOYD GEORGE.</BLOCKQUOTE>
<br><br>.

<CENTER><I><FONT SIZE="+1">From Viscount Grey of Fallodon</FONT></I></center>
<BLOCKQUOTE><br><br>Glen Innerleithen, Scotland. <BR>
  September 2, 1918.
  <br><br>DEAR MR. PAGE:
  <br><br>I have been out of touch with current events for a few days,
  but yesterday I read the two articles in the <I>Times </I>on
  your retirement. I am very grieved to think that you are going.
  There was not a word of eulogy in the <I>Times </I>articles that
  was not under rather than over-stated, and reflecting thus I
  thought how rare it is in public life to have an occasion that
  justifies the best that can be said. But it is so now, and I
  am filled with deep regret that you are going and with deep gratitude
  that you came to us and were here when the war broke out and
  subsequently. If the United States had been represented here
  by any one less decided as to the right and wrong of the war
  and less firm and courageous than yourself, the whole of the
  relations between your country and ours would have been in peril.
  And if the two countries had gone apart instead of coming together
  the whole fate of the world would be very different from what
  I hope it will now be.
  <br><br>I have often thought that the forces behind public affairs
  are so tremendous that individuals have little real, even when
  much apparent, influence upon the course of events. But in the
  early years of the war I think everything might have gone wrong
  if it had not been that certain men of strong moral conviction
  were in certain places. And you were preeminently one of these.
  President Wilson I am sure was another, though I know him only
  through you and Colonel House and his own public utterances.
  Even so your influence must have counted in his action, by your
  friendship with him as well as by the fact of your being the
  channel through which communications passed between him and us.
  <br><br>I cannot adequately express what it was to me personally in
  the dark days of 1914, 1915, and 1916 to know how you felt about
  the great issues involved in the war.
  <br><br>I go to Fallodon at the end of this week and come to London
  the first week of September---if you and Mrs. Page have not left
  by then I hope I may see you. I long to do so before you go.
  I wish you may recover perfect health. My eyesight continues
  to fail and I shall soon be absolutely dependent upon other eyes
  for reading print. Otherwise I feel as well as a schoolboy, but
  it is depressing to be so well and yet so crippled in sight.
  <br><br>Please do not trouble to answer this letter---you must have
  too many letters of the kind to be able to reply to them separately---but
  if there is a chance of my seeing you before you 90. Please let
  me have a message to say when and where.</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Yours sincerely,
    <br><br>GREY OF F.</BLOCKQUOTE>


<br><br>.

<br><br>A few months before his resignation Page had received a letter
from Theodore Roosevelt, who was more familiar than most Americans
with Page's work in London. This summed up what will be probably
the judgment of history upon his ambassadorship. The letter was
in reply to one written to the Ex-President, asking him to show
hospitality to the Archbishop of York,<ref>See Vol. II, page 307.</ref>who was about to visit the United
States.

<br><br>.

<BLOCKQUOTE>
  <br><br>(Office of the Metropolitan Magazine) <BR>
  342 Fourth Ave., New York,<BR>
  March 1st, 1918.
  <br><br>MY DEAR MR. AMBASSADOR:
  <br><br>I am very much pleased with your letter, and as soon as the
  Archbishop arrives, he will be addressed by me with all his titles,
  and I will get him to lunch with me or dine with me, or do anything
  else he wishes! I shall do it for his own sake, and still more,
  my dear fellow, I shall do it for the sake of the Ambassador
  who has represented America in London during these trying years
  as no other Ambassador in London has ever represented us, with
  the exception of Charles Francis Adams, during the Civil War.</BLOCKQUOTE>
  
<BLOCKQUOTE>
    <br><br>Faithfully yours,
    <br><br>THEODORE ROOSEVELT.</BLOCKQUOTE>


<br><br>.

<br><br>The seriousness of Page's condition was not understood in London;
consequently there were many attempts to do him honour in which
he was unable to participate. Custom demands that a retiring Ambassador
shall go to Windsor Castle to dine and to sleep; but King George,
who was very solicitous about Page's health, offered to spare
the Ambassador this trip, and to come himself to London for this
leave-taking. However, Page insisted on carrying out the usual
programme; but the visit greatly tired him and he found it impossible
personally to take part in any further official farewells. The
last ceremony was a visit from the Lord Mayor and Council of Plymouth,
who came to the Ambassador's house in September to present the
freedom of the city. Ever since Page's speech of August 4, 1917,
Plymouth had been planning to do him this honour; when the Council
heard that the Ambassador's health would make it impossible for
him to visit Plymouth, they asked if they might not come to London.
The proceeding was most impressive and touching and the Ambassador's
five-minute speech, the last one which he made in England, had
all his old earnestness and mental power, though the physical
weakness of the man saddened everybody present. The Lord Mayor
presented the freedom of the ancient borough in a temporary holder,
explaining that a more permanent receptacle would follow the Ambassador
to America. When this arrived, it proved to be a beautiful silver
model of the <I>Mayflower. </I>Certainly there could have been
no more appropriate farewell gift to Page from the English town
whose name so closely links the old country with the United States.

<br><br>The last scene took place at Waterloo Station. Sir Arthur Walsh
came representing the King, while Mr. Balfour, Lord Robert Cecil,
and other ministers represented the cabinet. The Government had
provided a special railway carriage, and this was stationed at
a convenient place as Page's motor drew up. So weak was the Ambassador
that it was with difficulty that his companions, the ever devoted
Mr. Laughlin, on one side, and Page's secretary, Mr. Shoecraft,
on the other, succeeded in supporting him to his chair. Mr. Balfour,
Lord Robert Cecil and the others then entered the carriage, and,
with all that sympathetic dignity in which Englishmen of this
type excel, said a few gracious and affectionate words of good-bye.
They all stood, with uncovered heads, as the train slowly pulled
out of the station, and caught their final glimpse of Page as
he smiled at them and faintly waved his hand.

<br><br>Perhaps the man most affected by this leave-taking was Mr.
Balfour. He knew, as did the others, that that frail and emaciated
figure had been one of the greatest friends that Britain had had
at the most dreadful crisis in her history. He has many times
told of this parting scene at Waterloo Station and always with
emotion.

<br><br>&quot;I loved that man,&quot; he once said to an American friend,
recalling this event. &quot;I almost wept when he left England.&quot;


<hr>

<references/>


<hr>
<p align="right">
[[Main Page | WWI Document Archive]] > [[Diaries, Memorials, Personal Reminiscences]] > [[The_Life_and_Letters_of_Walter_H._Page|Walter H. Page]] > '''Chapter XXVI'''
</p><hr>