When I began my tour it was in the early winter of 1917.  America had not come into the war yet, wi’ her full strength, but in London they had reason to think she’d be in before long—­and gude reason, tae, as it turned oot.  There was little that we didna ken, I’ve been told, aboot the German plans; we’d an intelligence system that was better by far than the sneaking work o’ the German spies that helped to mak’ the Hun sae hated.  And, whiles I canna say this for certain, I’m thinking they were able to send word to Washington frae Downing street that kept President Wilson and his cabinet frae being sair surprised when the Germans instituted the great drive in the spring of 1918 that came sae near to bringing disaster to the Allies.

Weel, this was the way o’ it.  I’ll name no names, but there were those who knew what they were talking of came tae me.

“It’s hard, Harry,” they said.  “But you’ll be doing your country a good service if you’ll be in America the noo.  There’s nae telling when we may need all her strength.  And when we do it’ll be for her government to rouse the country and mak’ it realize what it means to be at war wi’ the Hun.  We think you can do that better than any man we could be sending there—­and you can do it best because you’ll no be there just for propaganda.  Crowds will come to hear you sing, and they’ll listen to you if you talk to them after your performance, as they’d no be listening to any other man we might send.”

In Washington, when I was there before Christmas, I saw President Wilson, and he was maist cordial and gracious tae me.  Yon’ a great man, for a’ that’s said against him, and there was some wise men he had aboot him to help him i’ the conduct of the war.  Few ken, even the noo, how great a thing America did, and what a part she played in ending the war when it was ended.  I’m thinking the way she was making ready saved us many a thousand lives in Britain and in France, for she made the Hun quit sooner than he had a mind to do.

At any rate, they made me see in Washington that they agreed wi’ those who’d persuaded me to make that tour of America.  They, too, thought that I could be usefu’, wi’ my speaking, after what I’d seen in France.  Maybe, if ye’ll ha’ heard me then, ye’ll ha’ thought I just said whatever came into my mind at the moment.  But it was no so.  The things I said were thought oot in advance; their effect was calculated carefully.  It was necessary not to divulge information that micht ha’ been of value to the enemy, and there were always new bits of German propoganda that had tae be met and discounted without referring to them directly.  So I was always making wee changes, frae day to day.  Sometimes, in a special place, there’d be local conditions that needed attention; whiles I could drop a seemingly careless or unstudied suggestion that would gain much more notice than an official bulletin or speech could ha’ done.

There’s an art that conceals art, I’m told.  Maybe it was that I used in my speaking in America during the war.  It may be I gave offence sometimes, by the vehemence of my words, but I’m hoping that all true Americans understood that none was meant.  I’d have to be a bit harsh, whiles, in a toon that hadna roused itself to the true state of affairs.  But what’s a wee thing like that between friends and allies?