There is talk of conscription in England to-day. Why? Ask the British
people. Ask the London _Times_. Ask rural England where, away from the
tramp of soldiers in the streets, the roll of drums, the visual
evidence of a great struggle, patriotism is asked to feed on the ashes
of war.

Self-depreciation in a nation is as great an error as
over-complacency. Lack of full knowledge is the cause of much of the
present British discontent.

Let the British people be told what their army is doing. Let Lord
Kitchener announce its deeds, its courage, its vast unselfishness. Let
him put the torch of publicity to the national pride and see it turn
to a white flame of patriotism. Then it will be possible to tear the
recruiting posters from the walls of London, and the remotest roads of
England will echo to the tramp of marching men.

CHAPTER XXIX

ALONG THE GREAT BETHUNE ROAD

Again and again through these chapters I have felt apologetic for the
luxurious manner in which I frequently saw the war. And so now I
hesitate to mention the comfort of that trip along the British lines;
the substantial and essentially British foresight and kindness that
had stocked the car with sandwiches wrapped in white paper; the good
roads; the sense of general well-being that spread like a contagion
from a well-fed and well-cared-for army. There is something about the
British Army that inspires one with confidence. It is a pity that
those people who sit at home in Great Britain and shrug their
shoulders over the daily papers cannot see their army at the front.

It is not a roast beef stolidity. It is rather the steadiness of calm
eyes and good nerves, of physically fit bodies and clean minds. I felt
it when I saw Kitchener's army of clear-eyed boys drilling in Hyde
Park. I got it from the quiet young officer, still in his twenties,
who sat beside me in the car, and who, having been in the war from the
beginning, handling a machine gun all through the battle of Ypres,
when his regiment, the Grenadier Guards, suffered so horribly, was
willing to talk about everything but what he had done.

We went first to Bethune. The roads as we approached the front were
crowded, but there was no disorder. There were motor bicycles and
side-cars carrying dispatch riders and scouts, travelling kitchens,
great lorries, small light cars for supplies needed in a hurry--cars
which make greater speed than the motor vans--omnibuses full of
troops, and steam tra