by John Masters
‘Poor Johnny,’ she said; and then, a little later, ‘Lucky Stella.’
They relapsed into a close silence; crossed Hogencamp, went down through the Lemon Squeezer and rested and ate sandwiches by Island Pond. They knew the pond well. In fall they had seen it circled by the flames of maple and dogwood, in winter by snow and ice and the white columns of the birch; and this day they saw two beavers at work on their house in the centre of it; and three deer – two does and a fawn – drinking at the edge; and as they watched the deer Betty said softly, ‘I’m not questioning you, Johnny, but don’t you feel that this … all this, all over our country … is worth preserving too, as it is … untouched by war, its young men here to enjoy it, and later, their children?’
Johnny found his voice hoarse, as he answered her: and he was on the edge of tears – ‘Of course, I do. But – at the price of other young men’s lives? Foreigners’ lives? If we are to keep this, it’s up to us to do it. It’s a matter of honour.’
She took his hand and squeezed it, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered, ‘Johnny, Johnny, why can’t I be a man, and come with you?’
Then they strode quickly down to Arden, long familiarto their family, and Averell himself drove them back to their car at Tuxedo.
As they started off, Harriman waving to them from thestation yard, Betty said, ‘When are you going to tell Dad?’
Johnny said, ‘Tonight.’
The house was built into the slope, so the basement den and games room had windows and doors opening out on to the lawn. The three of them were in there now, the windows open, moths fluttering against the screens, katydids noisily warning of early frost, the moon high over the Hudson. Johnny’s father paced up and down, hands behind his back. Betty sat in a big chair, her feet curled up under her, a magazine face down on her lap. Johnny stood by the fireplace, resting his elbow on the mantel: his Harvard oar slanted across the brick wall above the fireplace behind him.
Stephen Merritt said, ‘While you were hiking, I telephonedSarnoff, the cable man, in New York. The battle in East Germany seems to be over, disastrously for the Russians.’
‘That’s what the Germans say, I suppose,’ Johnny said. ‘Has there been any news from the Russians?’
‘I don’t know. But think what it might mean! If the Russians have indeed been heavily defeated, and the Germans do reach Paris within the week … the war will be over! What point will there then be in you going to England?’
Johnny said, ‘I don’t think the British will give up. And it takes more than one defeat to knock the Russians out. Napoleon learned that. They’ll just keep on retreating until they are ready to turn again. And the British will always be at the Germans’ back, starving them of all supplies from overseas. And I think there ought to be at least one American over there to show the Britishers that we don’t all think of nothing but our profits.’
Betty noted her brother’s tight jaw; he was obstinate – always had been, and sometimes hot tempered; but usually very sensible. Their father obviously didn’t think so now.
‘I am not thinking of profits,’ Stephen said, flushing, ‘I am trying to use common sense – which you seem to have thrown out of the window.’
He walked back and forth a few more times across the pine floor, scattered here and there with Navajo rugs. He stopped, facing his son. ‘Look, Johnny, take a month. It’s August 30th today. If I’m right … if all the news is pointing the right way … the war will be over within two weeks. If I’m wrong … if some miracle saves the British and French before the end of September – then go by all means. In fact, well …’ he stopped and ended, ‘How about it?’
Johnny looked at his sister. She said, ‘I think Dad’s right, Johnny. However soon you go, you will never get to France soon enough to help in this battle … but if the British and French do survive, they’ll need all the help they can get, afterwards.’
‘All right,’ Johnny said suddenly, ‘I’ll wait till September 30th.’
Stephen said, ‘Good man!’ He shook his son’s hand warmly. Betty jumped up and threw her arms round his neck, the magazine fluttering to the floor. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased!’ She stood back. ‘And when you do go to England, I’m coming with you. Life’s too exciting these days to moulder away in Northampton.’
‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Stephen said indignantly.
She pouted. ‘I want to meet this Guy Rowland Johnny has been talking about. He has one blue eye and one brown, is very good at cricket, and has his nerve. And he has a face like a hawk.’
Johnny said, ‘He’s only a schoolboy, Bet. Isn’t that called cradle robbing?’
Stephen said, ‘You’re going to finish your four years at Smith, young lady. This country needs educated women just as much as educated men.’
She tossed her head. ‘I could learn more useful things in England. They are going to need women for all sorts of positions they’ve never been in before – if they survive this next month.’
Stephen paced up and down his spacious office as, a month ago, he had paced up and down the big den in Nyack, trying to persuade Johnny not to rush off to England. Now Johnny sat at the desk, making notes as Stephen talked. It was September 25th, and the board meeting was due to start in an hour.
Stephen said, ‘Gentlemen, last time we met there was a big battle taking place on the Russian front. We know now that it was the Battle of Tannenberg, a disastrous defeat for the Russians. They had 30,000 killed and 92,000 captured. The Russian army commander, Samsonov, committed suicide. But …’
‘How many did the Germans lose, Dad? Shouldn’t you say that, too?’
‘Right … something over 10,000 killed and wounded. But the Russian threat had seemed large enough, before the battle, for the Germans to remove two army corps from the Western Front and ship them by train to reinforce their general in the east – Hindenburg. Those two corps did not arrive in time for the battle of Tannenberg, and they were not, of course, present to fight on the Western Front. Their absence was one of the factors that resulted in what the French are now calling the Miracle of the Marne, and …’
‘A little slower, Dad. I’m not Miss Levinson, you know. All right.’
Stephen said, ‘From the outbreak of the war until September 5th, the British, Belgians, and French either retreated, tried unsuccessfully to advance, or, as at Le Cateau and several other places, fought brief delaying actions. But in Berlin the Chief of the German General Staff, Moltke, kept receiving reports of huge German victories, which were in fact imaginary, or at least exaggerated.’
‘Dad, what about putting in here what The New York Times correspondent in Berlin wrote – that the more sober Germans were asking, “Where are the captured guns?” There were some, he said, but not enough to justify the talk of smashing victories.’
‘Good idea. Ready? The Allies were indeed in the process of being overwhelmed – but it had not happened yet, and Moltke made the fatal mistake of thinking that it had. Confident that final victory was close at hand, he sent the two army corps to the east. He also weakened von Kluck’s First Army, the outer end of the great wheeling movement that was to encircle Paris; so much so that von Kluck turned inward across the front of Paris, instead of sweeping behind it.’
He walked to the war map hung on the wall, and pointed – ‘The army next to his, von Bülow’s Second, also swung further inward. These movements left a gap between the German First and Second Armies, and they exposed von Kluck’s right to attack from the garrison of Paris, and from a new French army – the Sixth – recently formed to the west.’
‘I’ll take this map through to the Board Room,’ Johnny said. ‘There isn’t one in there.’
‘Right. Slowly the opportunities were seen, and the movements necessary to take advantage of the situation were ordered. The French Sixth Army attacked von Kluck in flank. General Gallieni sent out the Paris troops, some of them in a fleet of a thousand commandeered taxicabs. The British, moving cautiously at first for fear of wal
king into a giant trap, turned and advanced into the gap between von Kluck and von Bülow. Further east two more French Armies advanced … crossed the Morins, reached the Marne – here – and crossed it.’
‘Paris was saved,’ Johnny murmured.
‘And a long war assured. Russia has been severely wounded, but not killed. The German strategic plan has failed. The French casualties have been staggering – nearly a million so far. There can be no quick, final victory, anywhere.’
They sat round the same board table, high above Broadway and the Upper Bay. They sat in the same places. Stephen Merritt faced the directors, all swivelled round in their chairs to look at him and the map, and ended his summary: ‘There can be no quick, final victory, anywhere.’ He sat down, and after taking a drink of water, said, ‘Now, we must take up the business we postponed at our last meeting – the question of investing in the production of commercial automobiles in Great Britain, specifically with Mr Richard Rowland … What’s your position now, Morgan?’
Morgan Fairfax said, ‘I don’t know how the Germans managed to throw away their opportunity, but it seems obvious that they have. Now the battle lines have almost reached the sea. There’s war from Switzerland to the North Sea!’ …
Another director said, ‘I agree with you, Stephen. I see no chance of quick victory for either side now … though of course I do not pretend to be a military man.’
Neidorf said, ‘The longer it lasts, the more need there will be for commercial vehicles. As a railroad man I hate them – they’ll be the death of us one day – but they’re here to stay and they’re profitable. I think we should go ahead.’
One after another the other directors agreed. Stephen said, ‘Good. You’ll be glad to know, I imagine, that your decision will have the approval of Mr Morgan and Mr Mellon. I spoke to both of them yesterday on this matter. They are confident that the Allies will defeat the Central Powers, though it will take a long time, unless Germany quickly sees the light, and gets what terms she can, while she still has a huge army. I believe that that is what Mr Wilson is even now urging them to do, while simultaneously pressing the British and French to accept any reasonable terms for ending the conflict. I shall word this motion so that we are committed to investigate the possibility of producing commercial automobiles in Great Britain, working through a British company to be formed there. I propose to go over myself … but how much are we willing to put into this – maximum – if we eventually go ahead?’
Fairfax said, ‘That will depend in part on what you recommend, Stephen. But a couple of years ago Studebaker bought EMF for five million, and that was a successful, profitable company. I suggest you should be thinking in terms of three million dollars or so to get this company started – from us, that is – and perhaps two million more from the British bankers. Later, we could, of course, put more in.’
Neidorf said, ‘I agree. We’re not actually committing money if we say we’re thinking in terms of three million – we’re giving Stephen information he’s going to need.’
Stephen said, ‘I propose to get the General Motors people to give me a production expert, to come with me. One of the men they stole from Ford, who knows production-line technique. GM owes us a favour – they’ll do it.’
The directors agreed, and so it was carried.
Half an hour later, in the office of the Chairman of the Board, Johnny burst out, ‘Is the President really trying to get the British and French to go easy on the Germans, if they ask for peace?’
‘I believe so,’ his father answered.
‘I hope they don’t go for it,’ Johnny said. ‘After all the suffering the Germans have caused, they’ve got to be made to pay.’
His father sat down heavily, looking up at him. ‘With young men’s lives, Johnny? Women’s happiness, children’s futures? Cities, churches, factories? All these must be weighed in the balance. What have you decided to do?’
‘I still want to go over and join the British army.’
‘You’re not cut out to be a soldier, Johnny, especially not a British soldier. Oh, I know you have the belly for it. You want to help the British, right? They have plenty of young men of the right sort to officer their armies, And, of course, their navy. But they don’t produce enough automobiles … trucks. So come over with me, and learn something of the business. I can only stay a month or so, but then I’ll leave you behind, with the production man, as our representatives with Rowland … if we decide to go ahead, that is.’
After a long silence Johnny said, ‘It seems pretty tame when I’ve been talking big about going off to fight.’
His father said seriously, ‘If this war goes on as long as I think, and now fear, that it will – you too may be fighting, in time. If not from choice, from necessity. Let the war come to you, Johnny, if you can, rather than going out to find it. You’ll be close to Stella, and that’s what you really want, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Johnny said slowly, ‘up to a point. But I also want to keep my self-respect. I’ll go with you, and work with you for a time, but if after a few months over there, living among a people at war, I feel that I have to fight with them, I’ll join up.’
‘Good enough, Johnny,’ his father said, holding out his hand.
The New York Times, Friday, October 9, 1914
THE DOOR OF OPPORTUNITY
In the long periods of trade dullness and slow recuperation that follow upon the world’s wars, the talk of bankers and financial writers about repairing the wastes of war has a doleful sound in the ears of the great and small captains of industry. According to all economic experience the period of trade arrest and depression following upon this war will be unusually prolonged, it will be a severe trial of the patience and the stability of the world’s men of business. We shall suffer with the rest, for neutrals as well as belligerents must join in the task of repair. But there are very good reasons for the belief that, if we will, we can materially lighten the burden upon our industries and can put ourselves in the fortunate position of enjoying a good deal of prosperity at a time when the European nations will be straining at the hard task the war will impose upon them. It depends upon ourselves whether we occupy this exceptional position or take our place at the treadmill with the rest.
Our opportunity is further pointed out by Mr Schwab’s order for $5,000,000 worth of motor trucks for the Allies; by the figures of the enormous decrease in England’s exportation of cotton manufactures, by reports from Louisiana that the sugar planters are again cheerful because of the demand for their product due to the cutting off of the supplies of German beet sugar. It is unnecessary to multiply instances.
It depends upon ourselves. There is nothing underhanded, there is nothing unfair or ungenerous in reaching out to possess ourselves of a larger share of the trade world. There will be great needs to be supplied and for a long time our commercial competitors across the Atlantic will be unable to supply them. It is our opportunity, it is the open door for the United States.
It is a question of courage and capacity. If we have lost both the outlook is gloomy indeed. If we prove that we are self-reliant and resourceful we can beyond doubt take a greater place in the world’s markets than we ever before filled and profit generously by the venture.
Johnny Merritt looked up at his father. ‘Have you seen the editorial, Dad?’
Stephen nodded, continuing to read his own copy of the newspaper.
Johnny said, ‘That’s the most transparent exhortation to make money out of other people’s misfortunes that I’ve ever read. We really ought to be ashamed of ourselves.’
His father lowered his paper. ‘Not ashamed, I think, Johnny … sad, perhaps, that these are the hard facts of economics. Are you suggesting that we should not sell the Allies motor trucks? Refuse to take Uruguay’s wool crops for processing – which used to go to England? Refuse to sell cane sugar to replace the beet sugar?’
‘We’d have some moral justification if we were also doing our share of fighting,’ Johnny sai
d. ‘As it is, I feel that any money we make, any prosperity we enjoy, will be tainted with blood – the blood of people who are fighting our battle.’
His father stood up, folding his paper. ‘We sail in a week, Johnny. It may look different from the other side, to both of us. Meantime, whom do you think will take the World Series? It starts today, remember.’
‘The Athletics,’ Johnny said, brightening in spite of himself. ‘The Braves don’t believe they can beat them, so they won’t.’
13 At Sea: Monday, September 14, 1914
‘Bear off forra’rd!’ the midshipman in command of the pinnace called. ‘Full ahead!’ The boat chugged out of the lee of Monmouth’s wall-like steel side, and into the open water off Santa Catherina. Tom Rowland, sitting in the sternsheets, did not look back. The formalities had been observed. Captain Brandt had stood nearby when he went over the side, between the quartermaster, boatswain, and sideboys. He had saluted the captain, and been saluted in turn by the man who was taking his place. Brandt had acknowledged his salute, and as soon as Tom was safely over the side, turned back to pacing the quarterdeck. He was a good sailor, a good captain, and an easier disciplinarian than many post captains, Tom thought. It was a pity that he did not like Tom. They had served together once before, and during that battleship commission of ten years ago Brandt had developed a deep dislike to Tom, founded on what, Tom had no idea. It was just something a man had to live with – all men, in all walks of life; but in the navy, when in the normal course of events the two were likely to be thrown together again, at any time, to spend three or four years cramped against each other in the steel hull of a warship – it was hard.
