Page:Ian Hay - The New America - The Times - 1917-07-21.jpg



The American Regular Army is a small, but highly efficient body of roughly a hundred thousand men, many of whom have recently been undergoing an uncomfortable but useful experience upon the Mexican border. This, the Federal Army, is supplemented by the Militia, or National Guard, of the various States. These bodies naturally vary in numbers and efficiency with the State.

For officers the country relies on various military colleges. The greatest of these—one of the most famous institutions of its kind in the world—is the United States Military Academy at West Point, on the Hudson. The course here is extremely thorough, and most 'severe. A West Point cadet seldom leaves the Academy throughout his whole curriculum of three or four years; he possesses no bedroom or private apartment of his own; his fare is of Spartan simplicity; and alcohol is unknown. It would be interesting to hear the comments upon such a régime of our young gentlemen from Sandhurst and Woolwich, who are—or were—accustomed to mitigate the rigours of military training by periods of regular leave, supplemented by sundry week-ends in town. But such is the system at West Point, and certainly the system is justified by its results. The physique of the cadets is superb, their traditions are of the proudest—the Academy was founded in 1802—and their efficiency as leaders and fighters is a matter of history.

But, as in our own case in 1914, the demand in America for officers now exceeds the supply a hundredfold. This contingency was foreseen long ago by a body of patriotic and farsighted men, conspicuous among whom stands that very distinguished American soldier, Major-General Leonard Wood—a man who has occupied a place in American public life for many years curiously similar to that held so long and so honourably by our own Lord Roberts. For years General Wood strove, by voice and pen, to arouse his countrymen to their plain duty of Preparedness; and, like Lord Roberts, he was publicly slighted for his pains. But he did not labour altogether in vain. It was chiefly owing to his efforts that a self-supporting and voluntary body, known as the Officers' Training Camps Association—a sort of unofficial O.T.C.—was enabled to open a training camp at Plattsburg, on Lake Champlain. Hither hundreds of young men of the requisite means and leisure repaired during the summer months, to live the hard life of a private soldier (or "enlisted man," as they call him in America) and assimilate the elements of military training and the duties of an officer. "The Plattsburg idea" grew and prospered other camps were formed upon the same model,and to-day, in justification of General Wood's courage and tenacity, his plan has been adopted by the American Government as the basis for a scheme of officer-training. To-day there are great camps not only at Plattsburg, but at Fort Myer, near Washington, the Presidio at San Francisco, and in almost every State in the Union. These camps contain representatives of all grades of American life. The first to join, as usual, were the young men of means and leisure—the despised Idle Rich—all, that is, who had not enlisted in the Regular Army as privates. Later, as patriotism awoke, or business interests were adjusted, other walks of life contributed their share-farmers, commercial men, and members of various professions. It should be noted that commissions are not guaranteed to these cadets. All of them, some forty thousand, are merely undergoing a rigorous probationary course. At the end of that time the most suitable and promising will be granted commissions, and will form the nucleus of a highly trained body of officers, who have already received the popular designation of "The First Ten Thousand." These in their turn will embark upon the task of training the recruits of the first draft, which will be called up, on the selective principle, in September. Such is America's scheme for officering America's new Armies. It is infinitely more effective and far less wasteful than the method adopted by us at the outbreak of the war.

As a matter of friendly interest, how does the American officer, of whom so little is known in this country, compare with our own familiar, happy-go-lucky, beloved subaltern? At the outset it should be noted that in America soldiering is essentially a serious and absorbing profession, but it is not a socially exalted profession, as in most of the countries of Europe. Families of birth and position do not contribute a son to the Services as a matter of course, like ourselves; neither is a year or two in a crack regiment regarded as a fitting conclusion to the education of a young man in American society. The American soldier is a professional man pure and simple, and he lives on his pay. His profession absorbs the whole of his time, and frequently consigns him during the best years of his life to an arid existence in some outlying fort or depôt. And-the American soldier must have a genuine affection for his calling. Too often, in a country where wealth is almost the sole passport to social distinction, the soldier, with his scant leisure and comparatively humble income, ranks lower in the eyes of the unthinking than a successful commercial traveller. To a certain type of mind there is something not quite right about a man who deliberately practises the arts- of war in time of peace; to another, there is something not quite normal, not quite economic, about a man in full possession of his money-making faculties who. deliberately buries himself in business which is incapable of yielding him more than a couple of hundred dollars a month. As for the ordinary Broadway loafer, he regards the "enlisted man" as one of the lowest members of creation. But the American officer reeks nothing of that. His profession is its own reward; a little close corporation with its own ideals and traditions; a happy few, a band of brothers. And now he has come to his own. It is the old story of "'Saviour of his country' when the guns begin to shoot."

And he is ready. He is intensely efficient. He is entirely free from that peculiarly British habit of mind which affects an indifference to close study and earnest application. Before the war a dispassionate critic would have said that he was a more capable officer than the Britisher; certainly he was better grounded. But experience has taught us to be wary, these days, of challenging the efficiency of any British officer, however flippant or callow. This war is being won by second lieutenants. So neither type need fear comparisons. Indeed, no comparison is necessary; for a country instinctively forges the weapons that will serve it best. It is sufficient to say here that the American Regular officer cannot be bettered from the point of view of bravery and competence; and he must incur our additional respect as a man who has had the courage and breadth of vision to follow the calling of a soldier in a country where regular soldiering is—or was—popularly regarded as a superfluous and socially unremunerative profession.

As yet we only stand upon the edge of the consequences of America's entry into the war, and prophecy is dangerous. But, as Mr. Lloyd George finely observed the other day, America has never yet gone into a war except for the cause of freedom. Her people are not a military people, but they are a warlike people, which means that they do not make war without good reason. Their reluctance to enter the present struggle sooner has been largely founded upon a suspicion that this war was not a war for freedom. The Russian Revolution has cleared away many doubts on that score; so has the gradual exposure of German atrocity and intrigue. Finally the President, striking as usual at exactly the right moment, has clinched the matter. with a slogan that has gone straight to the American heart:-"Help to make the world safe for democracy!"

So we are all in it at last. And one thing seems certain. As the war progresses towards its appointed end, the chief burden, which was borne in the first instance with almost superhuman endurance by the people of France—to be subsequently transferred in ever-growing measure to the broadening shoulders of the British Army—will ultimately come to rest, until the finish, upon the shoulders, jointly, of the British Empire and the United States. Their reserves of strength are greater; their soil is not invaded; their industrial resources are unimpaired; and their wealth seems inexhaustible. So upon our two peoples will rest the responsibility of bringing this war to a conclusion which will for all time render the world "safe for Democracy." That is a great honour. It is also a portent. For it means the end of British and American misunderstandings. Rivalry there will always be, but it will be healthy; criticism there will always be, but it will not be malicious. There will at times be passing resentments,rendered more acute by the fact that we share the blessings of a common tongue, and are therefore debarred from wrapping up our private reflections upon one another's conduct in the decent obscurity of a foreign language. But we have got together—at last.

Such is the situation to-day. In the beginning of 1915 we were fighting for existence; in the beginning of 1916 we were fighting for time. Now we are fighting for one thing only—victory. And throughout the Allied countries to-day there is a strengthening of arms and an uplifting of hearts at the thought that France, glorious France, as she goes forward to the deliverance of her sacred soil from the desecration of the invader, is supported on either hand by the two English-speaking races of the world.