Chapter XVII: War 323 (13)

Such were the virile statements used many times during the following campaign. One of the most interesting human documents connected with Theodore Roosevelt during this period was written by a young reporter, Edwin N. Lewis, in private letters to his own family, from the special train upon which Theodore Roosevelt travelled for one of the most active ten days of his active life, during which he urged the American people to accept the Republican candidate. With Mr. Lewis’s permission, I am quoting from these interesting letters, written by the kind of young American for whom my brother had the warmest and most friendly feeling, the kind of young American whose family life had been such that he wished to share with his family whatever was of interest in his life.

The first letter, dated October 17, 1916, begins:

“Just getting into Rochester--7 P. M.--Dear Ma:--The big tour is on. I was presented to Colonel Roosevelt by his secretary before the train pulled out. Since there are only three correspondents in the party, he insists that we eat in his private car with him. The trip is going to be a little family party with the Colonel a sort of jovial master of ceremonies. He permits me, a stranger, to take part in the conversation with the group. In fact, I feel, now, after my experiences at luncheon, that I have known him a long while. He is just as remarkable, energetic, mentally alert and forcible as his chroniclers picture him. I could entertain you and pa for an evening with the stories he told this noon, and dinner is coming in a half hour! Wonderful meals too,--with the New York Central chefs straining every effort to give Theodore Roosevelt something fine to eat. Cronin of _The Sun_ and Yoder of the United Press are the only other newspaper men along.... Tomorrow we face a busy day. From Cincinnati, we turn down through a mountain section of Kentucky which has never seen a President, an ex-President or a Presidential candidate. Mountaineers will drive from miles around to see the man they have worshipped for years. The Colonel makes thirteen stops between Falmouth and Louisville. I realize how you are thinking of me on this trip. It helps me to make good.”

Leaving Louisville, Ky., October 18, 11 P. M.:

“This has been a long day with hundreds of miles travelled by our special train through the valleys of Kentucky in a steady run. I wrote about 2000 words but do not imagine that all of it will get in the first edition which you will see in New England. Tonight, “T. R.” pulled one of his familiar stunts with his changing the whole introduction to his speech at one-half hour’s notice. He spoke for half an hour on the Adamson law and what he would have done to prevent the threatened railroad strikes. I had to shoot in 500 words additional just as we pulled out. It was written in long hand while the Colonel delivered the tail end of his talk. Louisville went wild over him. As we climbed down in the mud and rain, red fire burned, rockets glared in the mist, and the factory whistles screeched their welcome. As the New York correspondents travelling with the Colonel, we are members of his personal body-guard. You can imagine how seriously we take the job, when you remember that Mr. Roosevelt was shot and severely wounded when speaking at Milwaukee a few years ago; a man of such intense affections and such stirring convictions always has venomous enemies. For this reason, when we take the Colonel through a crowd as we did tonight, we completely surround him and use our elbows and fists if need be to protect him. If any harm should come to him, we would all be crushed. Tonight, however, he was only liable to be hurt by the overwhelming love of Louisville citizens.... Our relations with him could not be more cordial and democratic. This noon Colonel Roosevelt was terribly excited because Cronin and I did not get luncheon with him owing to the prevalence of Kentucky politicians who swarmed on the train like rats caught in a flood. He swore that he would eat nothing tonight until we had been fed. Tonight at 7 P. M. the porter came into my compartment and announced that Mr. Roosevelt was waiting dinner for Mr. Lewis and Mr. Cronin. He still apologized although we protested that the chef had filled our most prominent cavity successfully with sandwiches and coffee at 3 P. M. This gives you just one little glimpse of this remarkable man. I could write all night along this line. Mind you, he is taking all these precautions not for old friends but for two newspaper men whom he has never seen before and whose articles he has never read.

“Tonight as he left the hall, I jumped around to his right side, grabbed him by the arm and offered to act as a bumper against his admirers who fought like bears to shake his hand. He still remains the great idol of the American people. He smiled at me, drew his arm through mine and we swayed, pushed, and shoved our way out.

“The Colonel is a little older than he used to be. I think he will be fifty-eight the day we return to New York. At times, in the thick of the excitement, an expression of fatigue flashes across his features. There is a touch of sadness too, I believe, in his face, as he looks out over these crowds of people who have come for miles just to see him. He is not a candidate for President, thanks to the Chicago Convention,--but in spite of all these things which would discourage an ordinary man, he is travelling four thousand miles to win the election.... If the Colonel likes a person, he loves them with gigantic affection. His favorite character in literature is Great Heart from ‘Pilgrim’s Progress.’

“We fought our way into the hall tonight after passing through miles of streets lined with black and white people, standing patiently in the rain just to see the Colonel go by. We had a difficult time getting him out by the rear entrance for the larger crowd which could not get inside insisted on a brief speech from a bandstand outside. Then, we hustled back through the rain to the railroad station, climbed on the train and now we are approaching the Indiana border en route to Arizona through Missouri and Kansas. We are to take our meals with the Colonel three times a day. He promises that this rule will be lived up to. He relies on us to read the daily newspapers, giving him material. He never reads the papers as near as I can make out. We look forward to these next days with great pleasure. We are to tour the plains and run almost to the rim of the Grand Canyon. The Colonel expects to present us to some of the old horse thieves and other respectable men with whom he associated in his cow-punching days!”

October 21, 1916, near Phœnix:

“The trip has been a wonderful experience for me in every way. Think of chatting with the Colonel three times a day at meals,--Mr. Roosevelt personally explaining the significance of every adobe, cactus, pinyon tree, or prairie dog! When we go by a piece of desert, scorching in the white heat of sun-baked alcali, T. R. recalls an experience thirty years ago, when he lost some cattle that had sunk in quicksand in a dry river channel. He has taken us into his absolute confidence. He tells us stories and gives us opinions which if put on the telegraph would convulse the country. We are all convinced that not only is he the greatest American citizen, but also the greatest American humorist. His sense of humor is as marvelous as his physical and mental energy. To show you how thoughtful the Colonel is, ... listen to this:--two of his friends climbed aboard at Prescott early this morning when I was shaving. That made two extra for breakfast, so Cronin and I insisted upon waiting for a second table. As we munched our toast and looked out at the giant cacti swiftly flowing by our window, who should come back to the table but T. R. ‘Are you boys getting enough to eat?’ he asked, sitting down. ‘I am so sorry that this inconvenience occurred. If my visitors had not been old friends who had not breakfasted, I should never have permitted it.’ How can a fellow help admiring a fellow like that, especially when he is an ex-President and one of the most famous characters in the world today?”

October 24, near Albuquerque:

“... It was nearly 100 sitting in the afternoon sun in front of the speaking stand today. My cloth touring hat was too hot for the occasion, but without it I imagine I would have keeled over from prostration or gradually melted away under the press-stand. When the Colonel got through, his face was dripping. He delivered a corking talk. There was no heckling because he had been tipped off to answer at the beginning, the question as to what he would have done in Mexico had he been President. After he got into his proper speech, and he read every word of it, there were no interruptions except cheers of approval. My confidential opinion is, however, that he realizes that while these western crowds are for him personally, and cheer whenever he shows his familiar face, they do not understand,--they are not in down-right serious accord with, the doctrine he preaches. The Republicans are up against a hopeless situation.... The Roosevelt plan for compulsory military service, and preparedness are not practical _this year_ because they have not wide-spread public support. The crowds come to hear _Roosevelt_.... The crowds in this country are too busy making money and planning how to make that money make some more, to realize the deep-rooted appeal of Theodore Roosevelt to their Americanism. Perhaps, through this hasty review of my impressions in Arizona, you dear folks at home can enter into this opportunity with me. I will have an interesting yarn to spin when I return to vote.”

October 25, leaving Denver for Chicago:

“We are swinging down from the lofty Denver plateau surrounded with white-topped mountain peaks, through the sugar-beet and cattle farms to Nebraska. We shall wake up in Chicago tomorrow morning on the last leg of our tour. Colonel Roosevelt makes two or three speeches in Chicago and then pulls out for New York. Everything was rush-rush-rush in Denver.... We came by Colorado Springs and Pike’s Peak at night but were all up, dressed and shaved when the enthusiastic Denverites descended on the Colonel with bands, bombs, bandannas, and general noise. Here was an old-fashioned, wild demonstration for the ex-President. He had not been in Denver for nearly six years. At one big meeting of 8000 women he showed them the fallacy of Mr. Wilson’s argument, ‘I have kept you out of war.’ He told them why he was for suffrage. He had them with him from the start. All of this stuff was extemporaneous and I had to write 1000 words on it. The night meeting was a near-riot. We had a stiff fight to get the Colonel out of the auditorium which is one of the largest halls in the country. They have an excellent arrangement for getting the speakers in--wide doors open like a circus and the automobile with the Colonel and ourselves was driven close to the speaker’s platform. Such a bedlam of noise I never heard. On the platform were the women speakers from the women’s special train. When they tried to speak, however, the crowd hooted them down with cries of ‘We want Teddy--Give us Teddy and Sit down,’ etc. Then as soon as he began to speak, the Wilson hecklers started shouting, ‘Hurrah for Wilson’--it was all very exciting.... ‘Let me shake hands with the greatest President since Lincoln,’ one old chap bawled, while I kept my fist under his chin as we formed a ring around the Colonel, and half-shoved and half-carried him to his automobile. The Colonel reached his hand around back of his neck and grasped the old man’s finger-tips, whereupon he subsided and fell back to tell his children that this had been the greatest moment in his life.

“There is no antagonism to the Colonel out here. Even the Wilson supporters love Roosevelt. We have to protect him against his friends, however.... There is a chap on the train now, an old friend of the Colonel who has been collecting pictures along the Mexican border. Some of the atrocities, particularly the burning of bodies and the execution of soldiers are the most gruesome sights I have ever seen. The Colonel mentions them when he ridicules the cry that ‘Wilson has kept peace in Mexico.’ He told me today that some day next week he will entertain the four of us fellows at Oyster Bay at luncheon in his home. He wants to show us the trophies room, filled with relics from his African explorations and his early western life. That will be a compliment to us as newspaper men on this trip.”

Friday, October 27, Pullman private car leaving Buffalo.

“We have just turned our watches ahead an hour, making it 10:15, and signifying that we are back in the home zone of eastern time. The trip is almost over. The rush and hustle of the trip, and the speed with which we have had to write and file our stories, make it seem a moving picture hodge-podge, now that it is over. Take yesterday, for instance,--we pulled into Chicago at 2 P. M. and were greeted by one of the wildest street demonstrations I have ever seen. The Colonel never sat down in his seat from the time he left the station until we arrived at the Congress Hotel. He was up waving his wide-brimmed black hat and bowing to the cheering mob. Every minute there was a flash, ‘some miscreant photographer,’ as T. R. calls them, had taken a bang at the Colonel. We had less than an hour to check our baggage in our rooms, wash up, arrange with the Western Union for filing stories, and get ready to accompany the Colonel to the Auditorium Theatre across the street.

“Thanks to the excellent police arrangements, we were able to walk unmolested through a human line of admirers who had been pushed into place by the mounted police. At 8 P. M. we called to interview the Colonel just before he left for the stock-yards. After the Women’s meeting Cronin and I had to run for the Western Union to get a start on our story. We taxicabbed back to the Congress Hotel, omitted dinner, and joined the Roosevelt auto procession to the stock-yards pavilion which is six miles out of Chicago. How those cars did shoot through the wide Chicago streets, preceded by a motor squad police patrol with the mufflers on the machines wide open. It seemed more like going to a fire than riding to a political meeting.

“In the mêlée of getting the Colonel into the hall, I got separated from the party and found myself confronted with six wooden-headed Chicago cops who refused to recognize the official ticket of admission, distributed to members of the Roosevelt party. I got by one of them by telling him that I had been all the way to Arizona with the Colonel. ‘Well, I’ll be damned’ he ejaculated. ‘If you’ve been in Arizona, there is no reason in h---- why you can’t get in here.’ After I got inside, however, there were more difficulties. The cops and ushers refused to let me up on the platform with the Colonel and the other correspondents. While I was fighting, pushing, and kicking around in the crowd, I heard someone shout down from above, ‘We want Mr. Lewis up here right away. Make way for Mr. Lewis.’ I looked up and saw that James R. Garfield, son of President Garfield, himself former Secretary of the Interior, had come to my rescue. Mr. Garfield had been travelling with us for two days, and with his assistance the rest was easy. I was almost carried reverently to the platform and placed on a perfectly good chair where I could see everything.

“By the way,--Mr. Garfield, next to the Colonel, is the most likeable, lovable man I met on this trip. He has a face that you like to watch silently, and contemplate, because you know how fine and corking he must be. I never heard such a long demonstration as the one which greeted the Colonel as he stepped out before 18,000 men and women, each of whom seemed to have a small flag. It began at three minutes before eight and it stopped at thirty-two minutes past eight. In that long interim you could hear nothing but one continuous roar of cheering shouts and stamping feet. There was nothing articulate, no special cries distinguishable from others, just one blast as though some Titan engineer had tied down the heavy chain which released the whistle of 100,000 voice power. All efforts to stop it were futile. There was nothing to do but to let it run down. The band played ‘Gary Owen’ and the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ and other selections,--T. R. beating time with a large replica of a ‘Big Stick’ which had been handed to him. Meanwhile, in this bedlam, Cronin and I were writing new ‘leads’ to our story on pads in our laps. A Western Union man was sneaking up to the platform every ten minutes to get copy which was placed on wires on the pavilion. By writing this way, we got the story into New York before eleven o’clock, that is, when the meeting was over, by ten o’clock in Chicago; then there was the rapid shooting ride back to the hotel, a little grub and bath, and to bed. I _was_ tired.

“We left Chicago at 6.25 A. M., the Colonel’s car being hitched behind a regular train on the New York Central. The Colonel is fifty-eight years old today, as you will know, doubtless, before this letter reaches New Britain. I discovered the fact in reading his autobiography. He has been so fine to all of us; he has gone out of his way to make sure that we were treated like members of his own family; he has entertained us, as correspondents never were entertained; because what can excel the most interesting American, if not the greatest, telling anecdotes by the dozen of one of the most interesting, democratic, dynamic, forcible careers in American History? A thought that we ought to give him something to remember us by sprang simultaneously into the minds of Yoder and myself.... Our suggestions included a fountain-pen, pocket knife, or silver pencil--something that he could use. We elected Yoder to scout through the Colonel’s pocket. He went out on the observation platform and casually asked the Colonel if he could borrow his knife. ‘Yes--Yoder,’ T. R. said, digging into his pocket, ‘but I am ashamed of it. The blades are rusty, the handle is cracked. By George, I must get a new one.’ We decided after hearing Yoder’s report, that a knife was the thing. A handsome, little, flat, gold knife was picked out and the presentation came at luncheon today. Odell, in his solemn way, said that I had found out that he was born on October 27th. ‘Now, Colonel, you have been telling us of many desperate characters you met in the Southwest.... We decided, therefore, that you should have a weapon. We have taken counsel and have determined to give you a little reminder of our pleasure on this trip....’ The Colonel took the little box, pulled forth the knife, and smiling a more than Roosevelt smile, ‘By George, isn’t that fine!’ he exclaimed. ‘I have never had a good pocket knife in all my life, and I was going to buy one tomorrow. I shall always cherish this gift,--I shall always carry it with me,’ whereupon he attached it to the chain with his Phi Beta Kappa key and his little pencil;--‘and I want to say that I have enjoyed immensely having you with me, and the trip has been a pleasure to me mainly because you young men have been such good company. I am too old at the political game to enjoy making speeches. I do not like it, but we have had a bully good time on this tour, and we have met a lot of my old friends,--and now, gentlemen, remember this, if Mr. Hughes is elected on November 7th, I shall never be seen in politics again. I am through.’ I felt rather sorry to hear the Colonel say this. He is so energetic and courageous, so full of the fighting spirit that we need to tone up the national affairs, that it seems a pity to contemplate his retirement before he attains 60. Of course, he will write his views for the benefit of the reading public, but if he follows his inclination, he will become a quiet figure in the background, leaving younger men to carry through the ideas he created. We do not believe that the American people, however, will ever permit him to retire. Just as sure as Wilson is re-elected, there will be a demand for Theodore Roosevelt in 1920. He knows it and he is trying to start the talk now through us to show that it is the last thing on earth he cares to do. He would, I think, have liked to run _this year_; he would have liked to grapple with the problems which will arise after the war is over, but he took his licking at the hands of the old-line Republicans, and he really wants to see their candidate elected.”

On my brother’s return from this trip, so graphically described by the young and able correspondent whose prophecy that America would not let Theodore Roosevelt retire into obscurity was so soon to come true, he continued, up to the evening of the election, to hammer his opinions in strong, virile sentences into the minds of the audiences before whom he spoke. I was present in the Brooklyn Theatre, where the crowd was so great that one of the newspapers reported the next day:

“Say what you will,--there is no other one man in this country that can draw as large a crowd as Theodore Roosevelt. He is always an interesting talker as well as an interesting personality. He is not running for _any_ office this Fall, though to hear some of the other speakers and to read some of the other newspapers, one might be pardoned for thinking that he was running for _all_ of them.”

It was at that great meeting in Brooklyn that he referred to a speech made a few days before by President Wilson in Cincinnati. In the Cincinnati speech Mr. Wilson had made the remark “that it would never be right for America to remain out of _another_ war.”

Colonel Roosevelt, after ringing the changes on the fact that what would be necessary in the future was in this case just as necessary in the present, ended with a stirring exhortation and the emphatic words: “Do it now, Mr. President.”

In spite of Colonel Roosevelt’s strong plea that we should take our stand shoulder to shoulder on the side of the Allies in the great cause for which they were fighting, it must not be thought for one moment that Theodore Roosevelt put internationalism above nationalism. All through the exciting campaign of 1916, he laid the greatest emphasis upon true Americanism. At Lewiston, Maine, in August, 1916, he said: “I demand as a matter of right that every citizen voting this year shall consider the question at issue, from the standpoint of America and not from the standpoint of any other nation.... The policy of the United States must be shaped to a view of two conditions only. First--with a view of the honor and interest of the United States, and second--with a view to the interest of the world as a whole. It is, therefore, our high and solemn duty, both to prepare our own strength so as to guarantee our own safety, and also to treat every foreign nation in every given crisis as its conduct in that crisis demands.... Americanism is a matter of the spirit, of the soul, of the mind; not of birthplace or creed. We care nothing as to where any man was born or as to the land from which his forefathers came, so long as he is whole-heartedly and in good faith an American and nothing else.... The policies of Americanism and preparedness taken together mean applied patriotism. Our first duty as citizens of the nation is owed to the United States, but if we are true to our principles, we must also think of serving the interests of mankind at large. In addition to serving our own country, we must shape the policy of our country so as to secure the cause of international right, righteousness, fair play and humanity. Our first duty is to protect our own rights; our second, to stand up for the rights of others.”

The above quotation seems to me to answer indisputably the mistaken affirmation that “America First” could ever be a selfish slogan.

On October 24, 1916, a letter had been sent, directed to “The Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, en route, Denver, Colorado.” This missive was received on the special train from which young Edwin Lewis had just written to his family the stirring letters which I have quoted above. It is an interesting fact that the letter which I am about to give was signed by men the majority of whom had not followed Theodore Roosevelt on his great crusade for a more progressive spirit in American politics. Some of them had agreed with him in 1912, but the majority had felt it their duty to remain inside of the political party to which they had given their earlier faith. Now, in the moment of the great crisis of our nation, these very men turned for leadership to the man whom they realized was in truth the “noblest Roman of them all.” The communication ran as follows:

“It is our conviction that no other Presidential campaign in the history of the nation ever presented graver issues or more far-reaching problems than does this. Not only is the domestic welfare of the nation profoundly to be affected by the result, but the honor and the very safety of the Republic are at stake.... In this momentous hour, the vital need is for such a presentation of the issues as will arrest the widest attention and carry the clearest message to the public mind, and this task we commend to your hands. No living American has a greater audience. You have done memorable service to your country in awakening it to a sense of its perils and obligations and you have revealed an unselfish patriotism that makes your voice singularly potent in councils and inspiration. Will you not lend it to the cause once more by addressing the people of the nation from a vantage ground of a great mass meeting in the metropolis? Under these circumstances, a message from Theodore Roosevelt on America’s crisis would ring from coast to coast.... The undersigned suggest Cooper Union as the place....”

The signatures included many of the most distinguished citizens of the various States of America. My brother accepted this call to duty, although he had hoped to speak but little after his exhausting campaign in the West. I regret to say that I was not present at that meeting, at which, from what I have heard, he spoke with a conviction and a spiritual intensity rare even in him. The speech was called “The Soul of the Nation.”

With burning words Theodore Roosevelt tried to arouse the nation’s soul; with phrases hot from a heart on fire he portrayed the place we should take by the side of the countries who were fighting for the hope of the world, but the ears of the people were closed to all but the words that we had been kept “out of war.” The day of the Lord was not yet at hand.

XVII.

WAR

Thou gavest to party strife the epic note,
And to debate the thunder of the Lord;
To meanest issues fire of the Most High.
Hence eyes that ne’er beheld thee now are dim,
And alien men on alien shores lament.

--Stephen Phillips on Gladstone.

Election Day, 1916, dawned with the apparent success of the Republican party at the polls, but it eventually proved that the slogan, “He kept us out of war,” had had its way, and that the Democrats were returned to power.

Needless to say, the disappointment both to the followers of Charles E. Hughes and of Theodore Roosevelt was keen beyond words. My brother, however, following his usual philosophy, set himself to work harder than ever to arouse his countrymen to the true appreciation of the fact that, with Europe aflame, America could hardly long remain out of the conflagration.

During the following winter, however, in spite of the great cloud that hung over the whole world, in spite of the intimate knowledge that we all shared that neither would we nor could we avoid the horror that was to come, occasionally there would be brief moments of old-time gaiety in our family life, little intervals of happy companionship, oases in the desert of an apprehension that was in itself prophetic. I remember saying to my brother one day: “Theodore, you know that I belong to the Poetry Society of America, and a great many of its members wish to meet you. I have really been very considerate of you, and although this wish has been frequently expressed for some years in the society, I have spared you heretofore, but the moment has come!” “Must I meet the poets, Pussie?” he said laughingly and rather deprecatingly. “Yes,” I replied firmly. “The poets have their rights quite as much as the politicians, and the time for the poets is at hand.” “All right--name your day,” he answered, and so a day was named, and I invited a number of my friends amongst the poets to take tea with me on a certain afternoon to meet Colonel Roosevelt. I remember I asked him to try to come from his office early enough for me to jog his memory about some of the work of my various poet friends, but a large number of verse writers had already gathered in my sitting-room before he arrived. I placed him by my side and asked a friend to bring up my various guests so that I might introduce them to him. I remember the care with which I tried to connect the name of the person whom I introduced with some one of his or her writings, and I also remember the surprise with which I realized how unnecessary was all such effort on my part, for, as I would say, “Theodore, this is Mr. So-and-So, who wrote such and such,” he would rapidly respond, “But you need not tell me that. I remember that poem very well, indeed,” and turning with that delightful smile of his to the flattered author, he would say, “I like the fifth line of the third verse of that poem of yours. It goes this way,” and with that, in a strong, ringing voice, he would repeat the line referred to. As each person turned away from the word or two with him, which evidently gave him almost as much pleasure as it gave them, I could hear them say to each other, “How did he know that poem of mine?” When I myself questioned him about his knowledge of modern American poetry, he answered quite simply: “But you know I like poetry and I try to keep up on that line of literature too.” He was very fond of some of Arthur Guiterman’s clever verse, and quoted with special pleasure a sarcastic squib which the latter had just published on the navy, apropos of Mr. Daniels’s attitude: “We are sitting with our knitting on the twelve-inch guns!”

Robert Frost, who was with us that afternoon, had shortly before published a remarkable poem called “Servant to Servants,” which had attracted my brother’s attention, and of which he spoke with keen interest to the author. Nothing distressed him more than the realization of the hard work performed by the farmer’s wife almost everywhere in our country, and in this poem of Mr. Frost’s that situation was painted with his forceful pen.

This remarkable memory of my brother’s was shown not only that afternoon amongst the poets, but shortly afterward by an incident in connection with an afternoon at the Three Arts Club, where he also generously consented to spend an hour amongst the young girls who had come from various places in our broad country to study one of the three arts--drama, music, or painting--in our great metropolis. My friend Mrs. John Henry Hammond, the able president of the Three Arts Club, was anxious that he should meet her protégées and mine, for I was a manager of the club. I remember we lined the girls up in a row and had them pass in front of him in single file--several hundred young girls. Each was to have a shake of the hand and a special word from the ex-President, but none was supposed to pause more than a moment, as his time was limited. About fifty or sixty girls had already passed in front of him and received a cordial greeting, when a very pretty student, having received her greeting, paused a little longer and, looking straight at him, said: “Colonel Roosevelt, don’t you remember me?” This half-laughingly--evidently having been dared to ask the question. Holding her hand and gazing earnestly at her, he paused a moment or two and then, with a brilliant flashing smile, said: “Of course I do. You were the little girl, seven years ago, on a white bucking pony at El Paso, Texas, where I went down to a reunion of my Rough Riders. I remember your little pony almost fell backward into the carriage when it reared at the noise of the band.” There never was a more surprised girl than the one in question, for seven years had made a big difference in the child of twelve, the rider of the bucking white pony, and it had really not occurred to her that he could possibly remember the incident, but remember it he did, and one very happy heart was carried away that day from the Three Arts Club.

As the winter of 1917 slipped by, there was evidence on all sides that the slogan on which the Democratic party had based its campaign efforts must soon be falsified; nothing could keep the American people longer from their paramount duty, and on April 2, 1917, President Wilson appeared before the united bodies of the House and the Senate in Washington, and asked that Congress should declare a state of war between Germany and ourselves. Colonel Roosevelt, always anxious to back up the President in any action in which he thought he was right, went to Washington, or rather stopped in Washington, for he was in the South at the time, to congratulate him on his decision and to offer his services to assist the President in any way that might be possible.

Within a few weeks of the actual declaration of war, Mr. Roosevelt was already begging that he might be allowed to raise a volunteer division, and urging that the administration Army Bill should be supplemented with legislation authorizing the raising of from one hundred to five hundred thousand volunteers to be sent to the firing-line in Europe at the earliest possible moment. In a letter to Senator George E. Chamberlain, of Oregon, Colonel Roosevelt writes as follows:

“I most earnestly and heartily support the administration bill for providing an army raised on the principle of universal obligatory military training and service, but meanwhile, let us use volunteer forces in connection with a portion of the Regular army, in order, at the earliest possible moment,--within a few months,--to put our flag on the firing line. We owe this to humanity; we owe it to the small nations who have suffered such dreadful wrong from Germany. Most of all, we owe it to ourselves; to our national honor and self-respect. For the sake of our own souls, for the sake of the memories of the great Americans of the past, we must show that we do not intend to make this merely a dollar war. Let us pay with our bodies for our souls’ desire. Let us, without one hour’s unnecessary delay, put the American flag at the battle-front in this great world war for Democracy and civilization, and for the reign of Justice and fair-dealing among the nations of mankind.

“My proposal is to use the volunteer system not in the smallest degree as a substitute for, but as the, at present, necessary supplement to the obligatory system. Certain of the volunteer organizations could be used very soon; they could be put into the fighting in four months.... I therefore propose that there should be added to the proposed law, a section based on Section 12 of the Army Act of March 2nd, 1899....”

At the same time Representative Caldwell made an open statement as follows: “The Army Bill suggested by Secretary Baker will, in all probability, be introduced in the House on Wednesday. There have been suggestions made that a clause be placed in the proposed bill which would give Colonel Roosevelt the power to take an army division to Europe. Colonel Roosevelt outlined his plans to me.... I am a Democrat and intend to abide by the wishes of President Wilson and told Colonel Roosevelt so. We agreed that there was no politics in this matter, and from my talk with Mr. Roosevelt, I believe him to be sincere in his purpose. He gave me the names of men throughout the country who signified their intention of joining his division. They include a number of men who served as officers with him in the Spanish War, many college students, former officers and members of the National Guard, all of whom are in the best of physical condition and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Colonel Roosevelt said that a large majority of the men whom he hoped to take with him are from the south and west.”

Already, at the first intimation that Colonel Roosevelt might lead a division into France, there had flocked to his standard thousands of men, just as had been the case in the old days of the Rough Riders. As immediate as was the rallying to his standard were also the attacks made upon him for having wished to dedicate himself to this patriotic enterprise, and one of the most acrimonious debates that ever occurred in the Senate of the United States was on the subject of the amendment to that Army Bill. The Democrats, led by Senator Stone, had much to say about the unfitness of the Colonel. They did not seem to realize how strong was the desire of France to have America’s best-known citizen go to her shores at the moment when her morale was at the ebb; nor did they realize, apparently, the promise for the future that there would be in the rapid arrival of a large body of ardent American soldiers, well equipped to tide over the period of waiting before a still larger force could come to the assistance of the Allies.

Senator Hiram Johnson, orator and patriot, made a glowing defense of Colonel Roosevelt in answering Senator Stone. It is interesting to realize at this moment, when former Senator Harding is the President of the United States, that it was he who offered the amendment to the Army Bill, making it possible for Colonel Roosevelt to lead that division into France. Senator Johnson said:

“... I listened with surprise--indeed, as a senator of the United States, with humiliation--to the remarks of the senior senator from Missouri as he excoriated Theodore Roosevelt and as he held up to scorn and contumely what he termed contemptuously ‘The Roosevelt Division.’ What is it that is asked for The Roosevelt Division? It is asked only by a man who is now really in the twilight of life that he may finally lay down his life for the country that is his. It is only that he asks that he may serve that country, may go forth to battle for his country’s rights, and may do all that may be done by a human being on behalf of his nation. My God! When was it that a nation denied to its sons the right to fight in its behalf? We have stood shoulder to shoulder both sides of this Chamber in this war. To say that Roosevelt desires, for personal ambition and political favor hereafter, to go to war is to deny the entire life of this patriot.... Our distinguished senator has said that Roosevelt has toured the land in the endeavor to do that which he desires. Aye, he has toured the land; he toured the land for preparedness two and a half years ago, and he was laughed at as hysterical. He toured the land two and a half years ago and continuously since for undiluted Americanism, and you said he was filled with jingoism. To-day _you_ have adopted _his_ preparedness plan; to-day _his_ undiluted Americanism that he preached to many, to which but few listened, has become the slogan of the whole nation. He toured the land for patriotism!... After all, my friends, Roosevelt fought in the past and he fought for the United States of America; after all, he asks only that he be permitted to fight to-day for the United States of America. He is accused of a lack of experience.... There is one thing this man has--one thing that he has proven in the life he has lived in the open in this nation--he has red blood in his veins and he has the ability to fight and he has the tenacity to win when he fights, and that is the sort of an American that is needed and required in this war. I say to you, gentlemen of this particular assemblage, that if a man can raise a division, if he wishes to fight, die, if need be, for his country, it is a sad and an awful thing that his motive shall be questioned and his opinions assailed in the very act that is indeed the closing act of his career.

“Oh! for more Roosevelts in this nation; oh! for more men who will stand upon the hustings and go about the country preaching the undiluted Americanism that all of us claim to have! Oh! for more Roosevelts and more divisions of men who will follow Roosevelt! With more Roosevelts and more Roosevelt divisions, the flag of the United States will go forth in this great world conflict to the victory that every real American should desire and demand.”

Part of the afternoon just before the final vote on the above amendment to that Army Bill was spent by Theodore Roosevelt in my library in New York. Those were the days when Mr. Balfour, M. Viviani, and General Joffre were receiving the acclamation and the plaudits of the American people. At several of the great ovations given to them, Theodore Roosevelt was also on the platform, and it was frequently brought to my notice by others that the tribute to him when he entered or left the assemblage was equal in its enthusiasm to that for the distinguished guests. On the afternoon to which I have referred, the French ambassador came for a quiet cup of tea with me and my brother, and to his old friend and his sister the Colonel was willing to unbosom his heart. He spoke poignantly of his desire to lead his division into France. Over and over again he repeated: “The President need not fear me politically. No one need fear me politically. If I am allowed to go, I could not last; I am too old to last long under such circumstances. I should _crack_ [he repeated frequently: “I should _crack_”] but [with a vivid gleam of his white teeth] I _could_ arouse the belief that America was coming. I could show the Allies what was on the way, and then if I did crack, the President could use me to come back and arouse more enthusiasm here and take some more men over. That is what I am good for now, and what difference would it make if I cracked or not!”

The amendment _was_ passed that made it possible for volunteers to go to France, but the beloved wish of his heart was denied by those in authority to that most eager of volunteers, Colonel Theodore Roosevelt.

In July my brother wrote an open letter of farewell, disbanding the division for which there had been tentatively so many volunteers. After a correspondence with the secretary of war, a correspondence which Theodore Roosevelt himself has given to the world, the definite decision was made that he would not be allowed to “give his body for his soul’s desire,” and shortly after that decision I sent him the following poem, which had been shown to me by one of his devoted admirers, the poet Marion Couthouy Smith. It ran as follows:

FAREWELLS

“In old Fraunces Tavern,
Once I was told
Of Washington’s farewell to his generals,
Generals crowned with victory,
And tears filled my eyes.--

“But when I read
Roosevelt’s letter disbanding his volunteers,--
Volunteers despised and rejected,--
Tears filled my heart!”

In acknowledging the poem on July 3, 1917, from Sagamore Hill, my brother writes:

“I loved your letter; and as for the little poem, I prize it more than anything that has been written about me; I shall keep it as the epitaph of the division and of me. We have just heard that Ted and Archie have landed in France. Lord Northcliffe wired me this morning that Lord Derby offered Kermit a position on the staff of the British army in Mesopotamia. [After hard fighting in Mesopotamia, Kermit was later transferred to the American forces in France.] I do not know when he will sail. Quentin has passed his examinations for the flying corps. He hopes to sail this month. Dick [Richard Derby, his son-in-law] is so anxious to go down to Camp Oglethorpe that Ethel is almost as anxious to have him go. Eleanor [young Theodore’s wife] sails for France on Saturday to do Y. M. C. A. work. _I_ remain, as a slacker ‘malgré lui!’ Give my love to Corinne and Joe and Helen and Teddy. I am immensely pleased about Dorothy’s baby. [Dorothy, my son Monroe’s wife.] Edith asked Fanny to come out on Friday with our delightful friend, Beebe the naturalist. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Beebe is a great friend of mine.”

The “slacker malgré lui” accepted the gravest disappointment of his life as he did any other disappointment--eyes forward, shoulders squared, and head thrown back. It was hard for him, however, to busy himself, as he said, with what he considered “utterly pointless and fussy activities,” when his whole soul was in the great conflict on the far side of the water, from which one of his boys was not to return, and where two of the others were to be seriously wounded.

Writing on October 5, 1917, he says: “Of course I stood by Mitchel.” This refers to a hot campaign which was waging around the figure of the young mayor of New York City, John Purroy Mitchel, who had given New York City the best administration for many a long year and was up for re-election but, unfortunately, due to many surprising circumstances, was later defeated. My brother had the greatest admiration for the fearlessness and ability of the young mayor, and later, when that same gallant American entered the flying service and was killed in a trial flight, no one mourned him more sincerely than did the man who always recognized courage and determination and patriotism in Democrat or Republican alike.

About the same time, in speaking of General Franklin Bell, who was in charge of Camp Upton, he says: “The latter is keenly eager to go abroad. He says that if he is not sent, he will retire and go abroad as a volunteer.” By a strange chance, a snapshot was taken of the first division of drafted men sent to Camp Upton just as they were passing the reviewing-stand, on which stood together Franklin Bell, John Purroy Mitchel, and Theodore Roosevelt. The expression on my brother’s face was one so spiritual, so exalted in aspect, that I am reproducing the picture.

_From a photograph, copyright by Underwood and Underwood._

A review of New York’s drafted men before going into training in September, 1917.

Neither Colonel Roosevelt nor his companions to the left and right, General Bell and Mayor Mitchel, lived to see the final review.]

All through that autumn he gave himself unstintedly to war work of all kinds, and amongst other things came, at my request, to a “Fatherless Children of France” booth at the great Allied Bazaar. The excitement in front of the booth as he stood there was intense, and as usual the admirers who struggled to shake his hand were of the most varied character. We decided to charge fifty cents for a hand-shake, and we laughed immoderately at the numbers of repeaters. One man, however, having apparently approached the booth from curiosity, said “it wasn’t worth it.” The indignation of the crowd was so great that immediately there were volunteers to pay for three and four extra hand-shakes to shame the delinquent!

Shortly before that, a friend of Colonel John W. Vrooman’s wrote to him about a certain meeting at the Union League Club called to witness a send-off to some of the soldiers. The writer says:

“The moment Colonel Roosevelt appeared on the reviewing stand he was recognized and the vicinity of the Club was in an uproar. Later on when visiting a party in the private dining room, he had only been in the room about three minutes when he was recognized by the girls and boys who were looking at the review from a building on the opposite side of the street. Just to show you how he reaches the heart of the people, they cheered and waved at him until his attention was attracted and he had to go to the window and salute them. Although he was an hour and a half in conversation in the club, he did not forget his little friends across the way but on leaving, went to the window and waved goodbye to them. Every youngster present will relate this incident, I am sure, for a long time to come. In leaving the Club house, he was set upon, it seemed to me, by the youngsters of the East Side so that he had to beg his way through the crowd that had been waiting in the rain three hours just to see him, and in getting into the automobile, they appeared to an on-looker to be clambering all over him, and I would not be surprised if he carried a few of them away in his pockets as he carried most of their little hearts with him.”

In the midst of all the excitement, we occasionally snatched a moment for a quiet luncheon. “Fine!” he writes me on November 5. “Yes,--Thursday,--the Langdon at 1:30. It will be fine to see Patty Selmes.” How he did enjoy seeing our mutual friend Patty Selmes that day! As “Patty Flandrau” of Kentucky she had married Tilden Selmes just about the time that Theodore Roosevelt had taken up his residence in the Bad Lands of Dakota, where the young married couple had also migrated. Nothing was ever more entertaining than to start the “don’t you remember” conversations between my brother and his old friend Mrs. Selmes. Each would cap some wild Western story of the other with one equally wild and amusing, and the tales of their adventures with the Marquis de Morés would have shamed Dumas himself!