Early in the winter of 1914-1915 President Wilson apparently foresaw something of the complications likely to arise from the measures and counter-measures taken by the belligerents to secure control of overseas commerce, and sent his personal adviser, Colonel House, across the Atlantic to study the possibilities of reaching a modus vivendi. There was no man so well qualified for the mission. Edward Mandell House was a Texan by birth, but a cosmopolitan by nature. His hobby was practical politics; his avocation the study of history and government. His catholicity of taste is indicated by the nature of his library, which includes numerous volumes not merely on the social sciences but also on philosophy and poetry. His intellectual background was thus no less favorable than his political for the post which he assumed as Wilson's personal adviser. Disqualified by physical delicacy from entering the political arena himself and consistently refusing office, he had for years controlled the political stage in his own State; in 1912, exercising strong influence in the national party organization, he had done much to crystallize sentiment in favor of Wilson as presidential candidate. Slight in stature, quiet in manner and voice, disliking personal publicity, with an almost uncanny instinct for divining the motives that actuate men, he possessed that which Wilson lacked—the capacity to "mix," to meet his fellow mortals, no matter what their estate, on a common ground.

Courteous and engaging, Colonel House was an unexcelled negotiator: he had a genius for compromise, as perfect a control of his emotions as of his facial expression, and a pacific magnetism that soothed into reasonableness the most heated interlocutor. His range of acquaintance in the United States was unparalleled. Abroad, previous to the war, he had discussed international relations with the Kaiser and the chief statesmen of France and England. His experience of American politics and knowledge of foreign affairs, whether derived from men or from books, were matched by an almost unerring penetration in the analysis of a political situation, domestic or European. As a liberal idealist and pacifist, he saw eye to eye with Wilson; his sense of political actualities, however, was infinitely more keen.

But even the skill of Colonel House was not sufficient to induce Germany to hold her hand, and, as spring advanced, it became increasingly clear that she was resolved to carry her threats of unrestricted submarine warfare into effect. The quality of Wilson's pacifism was about to be put to the test. In March a British steamer, the Falaba, was sunk and an American citizen drowned; some weeks later an American boat, the Cushing, was attacked by a German airplane; and on the 1st of May, another American steamer, the Gulflight, was sunk by a submarine with the loss of two American lives. When was Wilson going to translate into action his summary warning of "strict accountability?" Even as the question was asked, we heard that the Germans had sunk the Lusitania. On the 7th of May, 1915, at two in the afternoon, the pride of the British merchant marine was struck by two torpedoes fired from a German submarine. She sank in half an hour. More than eleven hundred of her passengers and crew were drowned, among them one hundred and twenty-four Americans, men, women, and children.The cry that went up from America was one of anguish, but still more one of rage. This attack upon non-combatant travelers, citizens of a neutral state, had been callously premeditated and ruthlessly executed in cold blood. The German Government had given frigid warning, in a newspaper advertisement, of its intention to affront the custom of nations and the laws of humanity. A wave of the bitterest anti-German feeling swept down the Atlantic coast and out to the Mississippi; for the first time there became apparent a definite trend of opinion demanding the entrance of the United States into the war on the side of the Entente. On that day Wilson might have won a declaration of war, so strong was popular sentiment; and despite the comparative indifference of the Missouri valley and the Far West, he might have aroused enthusiasm if not unity.

But a declaration of war then would, in all probability, have been a mistake. Entrance into the war at that time would have been based upon neither judgment nor ideals, but merely upon emotion. The American people were in no way prepared to bring material aid to the cause of justice, nor did the nation yet appreciate the moral issues involved. It would have been a war of revenge for American lives lost. The President was by temperament disinclined to listen to the passionate demands for intervention, and, as historian, he must have had in mind the error committed by McKinley when he permitted the declaration of war on Spain, after the sinking of the Maine in 1898. Sober afterthought has generally agreed that Wilson was right. But he was himself led into a serious error that produced consequences which were not soon to be dissipated. Speaking three days after the event, when the world looked to him to express the soul of America, and dealing with the spirit of Americanism, he permitted an unfortunate phrase to enter his address and to cloud his purpose. "There is such a thing," he said, "as a man being too proud to fight." The phrase was by no means essential to the main points of his address; it was preceded by one of greater importance, namely that "the example of America must be a special example ... of peace because peace is the healing and elevating influence of the world and strife is not." It was followed by another of equal importance, that a nation may be so much in the right "that it does not need to convince others by force that it is right." These two phrases expressed what was in the President's mind clearly and definitely: the United States was consecrated to ideals which could not be carried into effect through force, unless every other method dictated by supreme patience had failed. But the world did not notice them. All that it remembered was that the United States was "too proud to fight." What did this mean to the average man except that the country was afraid to fight? The peoples of the Entente powers were contemptuous; Germans were reassured; Americans were humiliated.

Wilson the phrase-maker was betrayed by a phrase, and it was to pursue him like a Fury. The chorus of indignation and shame aroused by this phrase covered completely the determination and skill with which he entered upon the diplomatic struggle with Germany. His purpose was definite. He had gone on record in February that the United States Government would protect the rights of American citizens, and he was bound to secure from Germany a promise that merchant ships should not be torpedoed without warning or assuring the lives of crew and passengers. And yet by virtue of his pacific principles this promise could not be forcibly extracted until every other possible method had been attempted in vain. Unquestionably he was supported in his policy by many, perhaps most, thoughtful people, although wherever support was given him in the East it was generally grudging. Such a representative and judicial mind as that of ex-President Taft favored cool consideration and careful action. But the difficulties encountered by the President were tremendous. On the one hand he met the bitter denunciations of the group, constantly increasing in numbers, which demanded our immediate intervention on the side of the Entente. Led by Roosevelt, who no longer felt as in the previous September, that the United States had no immediate interest in the war, this group included influential men of business and many writers. They had lost patience with Wilson's patience. His policy was, in their opinion, that of a coward. On the other hand, Wilson was assailed by pro-Germans and die-hard pacifists; the former believed that the British blockade justified Germany's submarine warfare; the latter were afraid even of strong language in diplomatic notes, lest it lead to war. At the very outset of the diplomatic controversy with Germany, before the second Lusitania note was dispatched, the Secretary of State, William Jennings Bryan, resigned, in the belief that the President's tone was too peremptory. For Bryan was willing to arbitrate even Germany's right to drown American citizens on the high seas. The defection of this influential politician a year previous would have weakened Wilson seriously, but by now the President had won secure control of the party. He was, indeed, strengthened diplomatically by Bryan's resignation, as the latter, in a conversation with the Austrian Ambassador, had given the impression that American protests need not be taken over-seriously. His continuance in office might have encouraged German leaders to adopt a bolder tone.

From the very beginning of his attempts to obtain from Germany a disavowal for the sinking of the Lusitania and a promise not to sink without warning, the President took his stand upon high ground. Not merely did he insist upon the rights guaranteed to neutrals by the law of nations; he took the controversy out of the class of ordinary subjects of diplomatic discussion and contended "for nothing less high and sacred than the rights of humanity." To this he recurred in each of his notes. Germany avoided the issue. At first she insisted that the Lusitania was armed, carrying explosives of war, transporting troops from Canada, and thus virtually acting as a naval auxiliary. After the falsity of this assertion was shown, she adduced the restrictions placed by Great Britain on neutral trade as excuse for submarine operations, and contended that the circumstances of naval warfare in the twentieth century had so changed that the principles of international law no longer held good.

Each time Wilson returned to his point that the "rights of neutrals are based upon principle, not upon expediency, and the principles are immutable. Illegal and inhuman acts ... are manifestly indefensible when they deprive neutrals of their acknowledged rights, particularly when they violate the right to life itself. If a belligerent cannot retaliate against an enemy without injuring the lives of neutrals, as well as their property, humanity, as well as justice and a due regard for the dignity of neutral powers should dictate that the practice be discontinued." Wilson terminated his third note to Germany with a warning, which had the tone, if not the form, of an ultimatum: there must be a scrupulous observance of neutral rights in this critical matter, as repetition of "acts in contravention of those rights must be regarded by the Government of the United States, when they affect American citizens, as deliberately unfriendly."

The exchange of notes consumed much time and proved a severe test for American patience. The first Lusitania note was sent on the 13th of May and it was not until the 1st of September that the German Government finally gave a pledge that was acceptable to Wilson. In the meantime there had been continued sinkings, or attempts to sink, in clear violation of the principles for which the President was contending. The Nebraskan, the Armenian, the Orduna, were subjected to submarine attacks. On the 19th of August the Arabic was sunk and two Americans lost. The ridicule heaped upon the President by the British and certain sections of the American press, for his writing of diplomatic notes, was only equaled by the sense of humiliation experienced by pro-Entente elements in this country. Punch issued a cartoon in which Uncle Sam pointed to Wilson as having outstripped the record made by Job for patience. Nevertheless Wilson obtained the main point for which he was striving. On September 1, 1915, the German Government gave the definite pledge that "Liners will not be sunk by our submarines without warning and without safety of the lives of non-combatants, provided that the liners do not try to escape or offer resistance." Wilson had sought to safeguard a principle by compelling from Germany a written acknowledgment of its validity. So much he had won and without the exercise of force. Even those whose nerves were most overwrought by the long-drawn-out negotiations, admitted that it was a diplomatic victory.

The victory was not clean-cut, for Germany had not yet disavowed the sinking of the Lusitania, nor did the category "liners" seem to include all merchant vessels. How real was even the partial victory remained to be seen. Within three days of the German pledge the Hesperian was sunk and an American citizen drowned. On the 7th of November the Ancona was torpedoed in the Mediterranean by an Austrian submarine with the loss of more American lives. It is true that after each case a disavowal was made and a renewal of promises vouchsafed. But it seemed obvious that Germany was merely playing for time and also that she counted upon pro-German and pacifist agitation in this country. For a brief period it appeared as if her hopes were not to be entirely disappointed. British merchant vessels, following long-established custom, had for some months been armed for purposes of defense. The German Government on February 10, 1916, announced that henceforward such armed merchantmen would be regarded as auxiliary cruisers and would be sunk without warning. It was unfortunate that Robert Lansing, who had succeeded Bryan as Secretary of State, had proposed on January 18, 1916, to the diplomatic representatives of the Allied forces that they cease the arming of merchantmen as a means of securing from Germany a pledge which would cover all merchantmen as well as passenger liners; this proposal gave to Germany a new opportunity for raising the issue of the submarine. But either Lansing's proposal had been made without Mr. Wilson's sanction or the President changed his mind, since on the 10th of February Wilson declared that he intended to recognize the right of merchantmen to arm for purposes of defense. Once more he insisted that the rules of war could not be changed during war for the advantage of one side.

His declaration led at once to something like a revolt of Congress. Already some of those who especially feared intervention had been suffering from an attack of panic as a result of Wilson's recent decision to support the preparedness movement. They were further terrified by the possibility that some American citizen traveling on an armed merchantman might lose his life and that the demand for entrance into the war might thus become irresistible. Bryanites, pro-German propagandists, and Irish combined against the President, and were reinforced by all the discontented elements who hoped to break Wilson's control of the Democratic party. The combination seemed like a new cave of Adullam. Resolutions were introduced in the Senate by Thomas P. Gore and in the House by Jeff McLemore, based upon suggestions made by Bryan nine months before, that American citizens should be warned not to travel on armed merchant vessels. Senator Stone, of the Foreign Relations Committee, supported these resolutions and it appeared probable that Germany would find her strongest support in the American Congress.

Wilson struck sharply. Not merely his leadership of the party and the country was at stake, but also that moral leadership of neutral nations and the world toward which the struggle with Germany was to take him. Refusing to receive Senator Stone, he sent him a letter in which the cardinal points of his position were underlined. "Once accept a single abatement of right," he insisted, "and many other humiliations would certainly follow, and the whole fine fabric of international law might crumble under our hands piece by piece. What we are now contending for in this matter is the very essence of the things that have made America a sovereign nation. She cannot yield them without conceding her own impotency as a Nation and making virtual surrender of her independent position among the nations of the world." This definite enunciation was in effect an appeal to the American people, which came as a relief to those who had suffered from presidential patience under German outrages. The storm of public feeling aroused against the rebellious Congressmen was such that Wilson's victory became assured. Demanding concrete justification of his stand, he insisted that the resolutions be put to the vote. The issue was somewhat confused in the Senate so that the vote was not decisive; but in the House the McLemore resolution was defeated by a vote of 276 to 142.

And yet the submarine issue was not finally closed. Less than a month after the rights of American citizens were thus maintained, the British passenger steamer Sussex, crossing the English Channel, was torpedoed without warning. It was the clearest violation of the pledge given by the German Government the previous September. Once again Wilson acted without precipitancy. He waited until the Germans should present explanations and thereafter took more than a week in which to formulate his decision. Finally, on April 19, 1916, he called the two houses of Congress in joint session to lay before them his note to Germany. Unlike his Lusitania notes, this was a definite ultimatum, clearly warranted by the undeniable fact that Germany had broken a solemn pledge. After recounting the long list of events which had so sorely tried American patience, Wilson concluded that "unless the Imperial German Government should now immediately declare and effect an abandonment of its present methods of warfare against passenger and freight carrying vessels this Government can have no choice but to sever diplomatic relations with the Government of the German Empire altogether." The force of the ultimatum was emphasized by the general tone of the note, in which, as in the Lusitania notes, the President spoke not so much for the legal rights of the United States, as in behalf of the moral rights of all humanity. He stressed the "principles of humanity as embodied in the law of nations," and excoriated the "inhumanity of submarine warfare"; he terminated by stating that the United States would contemplate a diplomatic break with reluctance, but would feel constrained to take the step "in behalf of humanity and the rights of neutral nations." This note of emphasis upon America's duty to mankind rather than to herself formed the main theme of a speech delivered two days previous: "America will have forgotten her traditions whenever upon any occasion she fights merely for herself under such circumstances as will show that she has forgotten to fight for all mankind. And the only excuse that America can ever have for the assertion of her physical force is that she asserts it in behalf of the interests of humanity."

Germany yielded before Wilson's ultimatum, though with bad grace, and promised that no more merchant ships would be sunk "without warning and without saving human lives." But she also tried to make her promise conditional upon the cessation by Great Britain of methods of warfare which Germany called illegal, implying that her pledge might be withdrawn at her pleasure: "the German Government ... must reserve itself complete liberty of action." This condition Wilson, in taking note of Germany's pledge, definitely waved aside: "the Government of the United States notifies the Imperial Government that it cannot for a moment entertain, much less discuss, a suggestion that respect by German naval authorities for the rights of American citizens upon the high seas should in any way or in the slightest degree be made contingent upon the conduct of any other government affecting the rights of neutrals and non-combatants. Responsibility in such matters is single, not joint; absolute, not relative." By its silence the German Government seemed to acquiesce and the crisis was over. The country had been close to war, but intervention might yet be avoided if Germany kept her word. That, however, was a condition upon which people were learning not to rely.

It is obvious that by the early summer of 1916 President Wilson's attitude on foreign affairs had undergone a notable transformation from that parochial spirit of 1914 which had led him to declare that the war was no concern of America; he had given over completely the tradition that if we keep our own hands clean we fulfill our duty. He had begun to elaborate an idealistic policy of service to the world, not unreminiscent of the altruistic schemes of Clay and Webster for assisting oppressed republicans in Europe during the first third of the nineteenth century. Wilson, like those statesmen, had always felt that the position of the United States in the world was of a special sort, quite different from that of the European states, and circumstances were forcing him to take the stand that the nation must assume the lead in the world in order to ensure the operation of the principles that Americans believe in. "We are in some sort and by the force of circumstances the responsible spokesman of the rights of humanity." He still opposed active intervention in the war; the mission of the United States was a higher one than could adequately be fulfilled through war; the kind of service we could best give was not fighting. Yet he was brought to admit, even before the Sussex crisis (February 26, 1916), that in the last instance war might be necessary if the American people were to assume the rÔle of champion of liberty in the world at large, as they had championed it in the Americas; for the rights of humanity must be made secure against menace: "America ought to keep out of this war ... at the expense of everything except this single thing upon which her character and history are founded, her sense of humanity and justice.... Valor withholds itself from all small implications and entanglements and waits for the great opportunity, when the sword will flash as if it carried the light of heaven upon its blade." Thus the possibility of ultimate force was implied. Eighteen months previous, peace had been for Wilson an end in itself. Now it was subordinated to the greater end implied in maintaining the principle of justice in the world.

During this period popular sentiment also underwent a notable development. Americans reacted sharply to German threats and outrages, and were thrown off their comfortable balance by the events which touched American honor and safety so closely. Like Wilson, they were shaken out of that sense of isolation which enveloped them in 1914, and they were thus prepared for the reception of broader ideals. The process of education was slow and difficult. It was hampered by the confusion of foreign issues. Propagandists took advantage of the controversy with Great Britain in order to obscure the principles upon which the discussions with Germany were based. The increasing stringency of British control of commerce and the blacklisting of various American firms by the British authorities resulted in numerous American protests and to some warmth of feeling. Wilson was no particular friend of the British, but he rightly insisted upon the distinction between the dispute with Germany, which involved the common right of humanity to life, and that with Great Britain, which involved merely rights of property. Nevertheless that distinction was blurred in the minds of many Americans, and their perception of the new ideals of foreign policy was necessarily confused.

The education of the American people to the significance of the issue was also hampered by the material change that came over the country during the latter part of 1915 and the spring of 1916. The influx of gold and the ease with which fortunes were accumulated could not but have widespread effects. The European war came at a moment when the United States was passing through a period of comparatively hard times. Stringency was naturally increased by the liquidation of foreign investments in 1914 and the closing of European markets to American commerce. Business was dull. But this condition was rapidly altered through the placing of large contracts by the Entente Governments and the most extensive buying by foreign purchasers. New markets were found among the neutral states, which were unable to buy in Europe. Naturally there developed a rapid extension of industrial activities. New manufacturing concerns grew up, large and small, as a result of these adventitious conditions, which paid enormous returns. Activities upon the stock market were unparalleled. New and sudden fortunes were made; millionaires became common. The whole world was debtor to America and a golden stream flowed across the Atlantic. Prices rose rapidly and wages followed.

Inevitably materialism conquered, at least for the moment. The demand for luxuries was only equaled by the craze for entertainment. Artisans and shopgirls invaded the jewelry stores of Fifth Avenue. Metropolitan life was a succession of luncheons and teas, where fertile brains were busied with the invention of new dancing steps rather than the issues of the European war. Cabarets were crowded and seats for midnight beauty shows must be secured well in advance or by means of gargantuan tips to plutocratic head waiters. Much of the materialism was simply external. In every town American women by the thousand gave lavishly of their time and strength to knit and roll bandages for the fighters and wounded overseas. America was collecting millions for the relief of Belgium, Serbia, and for the Red Cross. The American Ambulance in France was served by men imbued with the spirit of sacrifice. Thousands of American youths enlisted in the Canadian forces. The general atmosphere of the country, however, was heavy with amusement and money-making. Not yet did America fully realize that the war was a struggle of ideals which must concern every one closely. In such an atmosphere the idealistic policy of Wilson was not easily understood.

The President himself cannot escape a large share of the blame for America's blindness to the issue. During the first twelve months of the war, when the country looked to him for leadership, he had, purposely or otherwise, fostered the forces of pacifism and encouraged the advocates of national isolation. He had underlined the separation of the United States from everything that went on in Europe and insisted that in the issues of the war the American people had no interest. In deference to the spirit of pacifism that engrossed the Middle West, he had opposed the movement for military preparedness. When, late in 1915, Wilson changed his attitude and attempted to arouse the country to a sense of American interest in world affairs and to the need of preparing to accept responsibility, he encountered the opposition of forces which he himself had helped to vitalize.

Popular education, especially upon the Atlantic coast, was further hampered by the personal irritation which the President aroused. Disliked when inaugurated, he had attracted bitter enmity among the business men who dominate opinion in New England and the Eastern States. They accused him of truckling to labor. They were wearied by his idealism, which seemed to them all words and no deeds. They regarded his handling of foreign affairs, whether in the Mexican or submarine crises, as weak and vacillating. He was, in Rooseveltian nomenclature, a "pussyfooter." Hence grew up the tradition, which was destined to endure among many elements of opinion, that everything advocated by Wilson must, simply by reason of its authorship, be essentially wrong. The men of Boston, New York, and Philadelphia were beginning to give over their attitude of isolation and admit with Roosevelt that the United States ought to stand with the Entente. The Wilsonian doctrine of service to the world, however, was not to their taste, partly because they did not like Wilson.

It was to the rural districts of the upper Mississippi and to the South that the President looked most eagerly for support of his new policy. These were the regions where indifference to and ignorance of foreign affairs had been most conspicuous, but they were also the regions where the President's personal influence was strongest; finally they were the districts where extreme pacifism was most deeply embedded. If Wilson's championship of the rights of liberty throughout the world could be accomplished by pacific methods, they would follow him; but if it meant war, no one could guarantee what their attitude might be. Bryan was popular in those parts. As yet Wilson, while he had formulated his policy in broad terms, had not indicated the methods or mechanism by which his principles were to be put into operation. He would without question encounter strong opposition among the German-Americans; he would find the attitude of the Irish foes of the Entente hostile; he would find the Pacific coast more interested in Japanese immigration than in the ideals of the European war. Fortunately events were to unify the heterogeneous elements of the country, at least for the moment, in a way that simplified greatly the President's problem. Not the least of the unifying forces was to be found in German psychology, which led the Imperial Government to believe that the United States could be rendered helpless through the intrigues of German spies.