So, all the way across the continent, I spoke, in every town we visited, on that subject of preparedness.  I had seen Britain, living in just such a blissful anticipation of eternal peace as America then dreamed of.  I had heard, for years, every attempt that was made to induce Britain to increase her army met with the one, unvarying reply.

“We have our fleet!” That was the answer that was made.  And, be it remembered, that at sea, Britain was prepared!  “We have our fleet.  We need no army.  If there is a Continental war, we may not be drawn in at all.  Even if we are, they can’t reach us.  The fleet is between us and invasion.”

“But,” said the advocates of preparedness, “we might have to send an expeditionary force.  If France were attacked, we should have to help her on land as well as at sea.  And we have sent armies to the continent before.”

“Yes,” the other would reply.  “We have an expeditionary force.  We can send more than a hundred thousand men across the channel at short notice—­the shortest.  And we can train more men here, at home, in case of need.  The fleet makes that possible.”

Aye, the fleet made that possible.  The world may well thank God for the British fleet.  I do not know, and I do not like to think, what might have come about save for the British fleet.  But I do know what came to that expeditionary force that we sent across the channel quickly, to the help of our sore stricken ally, France.  How many of that old British army still survive?

They gave themselves utterly.  They were the pick and the flower of our trained manhood.  They should have trained the millions who were to rise at Kitchener’s call.  But they could not be held back.  They are gone.  Others have risen up to take their places—­ten for one—­a hundred for one!  But had they been ready at the start!  The bonnie laddies who would be living now, instead of lying in an unmarked grave in France or Flanders!  The women whose eyes would never have been reddened by their weeping as they mourned a son or a brother or a husband!

So I was thinking as I set out to talk to my American friends and beg them to prepare—­prepare!  I did not want to see this country share the experience of Britain.  If she needs must be drawn into the war—­ and so I believed, profoundly, from the time when I first learned the true measure of the Hun—­I hoped that she might be ready when she drew her mighty sword.

They thought I was mad, at first, many of those to whom I talked.  They were so far away from the war.  And already the propaganda of the Germans was at work.  Aye, they thought I was raving when I told them I’d stake my word on it.  America would never be able to stay out until the end.  They listened to me.  They were willing to do that.  But they listened, doubtingly.  I think I convinced few of ought save that I believed myself what I was saying.