CHAPTER XXV.

WHAT ENGLAND FEELS.

BY

HON. JUSTIN MCCARTHY, M. P.

T

HE close of the War between the United States and

Spain took the general public of England even more

by surprise than the opening of the war had done. The blowing up of the Maine made almost every one here feel well assured that an appeal to arms must follow. Even among those who had little means of forming an opinion as to whether the explosion was the result of mere accident or not, it seemed to be accepted as a kind of omen that something serious would come next. For a long time, for a whole generation, in fact, the English public had a vague general knowledge that there were constant troubles between the United States and Spain, owing to the fact that Cuba was in a state of perpetual insurrection, and that Cuba lay almost within gunshot of the shores of one of the American States. But most people here had grown accustomed to the vague general knowledge that such a condition of things could not last for ever, and were content with the assumption that it would probably last for their time, and, therefore, turned their attention away to other subjects. Of course, I am now speaking of what I may call the outer public, of the man in the streets, as that public has been described by one English writer; of the bald man on the top of an omnibus, as he has been described by another English writer. The bald man on the top of the omnibus knew that there was trouble in America because of the condition of Cuba; but the trouble had been going on so long without coming to a crisis that he had ceased to look out for a crisis as a possibility of immediate concern. But when the blowing up of the Maine was made

known to the world, the English public suddenly became prepared for an immediate crisis. Then a quick revulsion of feeling set in, and the general public began to think that the preparations were moving slowly, and that the war, somehow, was hanging fire. At last, the actual business of battle began, and then the impression of our friend on the top of the omnibus distinctly was that the war was destined to last for a considerable time; and, at the moment when he had made up his mind to this opinion, there came the news that the Spanish fleets were destroyed, that Spain had lost Cuba and the Philippines, and that the war was all over.

How were the sympathies of the people of England in general affected by the war and by its conclusion? I think it is not too much to say that the sympathies of the vast majority of the people in Great Britain and Ireland were thoroughly with the American cause and with the American triumph. Now, I do not desire to make this statement without some serious reservations. Among a certain minority of Englishmen, there was still a sort of oldfashioned, traditional attachment to Spain, which misled the judgment of many. Those who were thus misled regarded Spain as a grand, old, historic state, the existence of which was an important element in the dignity of Europe; a state which had at one time divided the empire of the world with England herself; a state which had waged big war with England, and been honorably defeated; a state which, later still, had been rescued from a foreign conqueror by the arms. of England. Now, we must make allowance for feelings or prejudices of this kind. They are not ignoble in themselves; and even when they are unreasonable they have a sort of claim on our sympathy. Then, again, there comes in the question of religion. A certain proportion of the English aristocracy is made up of Catholics, and of Catholics who, for the most part, are inclined to old-world Tory views where political questions are concerned. Therefore, to a certain number of Englishmen, the struggle between America and Spain became a subject for the sentiment of religion to work upon, or the traditional feeling of reverence for the old order of things, and an idea that the new order was asserting itself

as an unwelcome intruder. I am far from saying that the Catholic population of England were generally in sympathy with Spain; for I know that any such saying could be founded only on a strange misapprehension; but what I do wish to convey is that a considerable number of the Catholic aristocracy gave their good wishes to Spain simply on the ground that Spain was a Catholic country and that America

was not.

In Ireland, also, there was a certain difference of opinion— I am now speaking of national Ireland, not the Ireland of Dublin Castle and the vice-regal lodge. Ireland had been attached to Spain by old ties of affection; Spain, from whatever motive, had endeavored at more than one period of her history to give help to the Irish national cause. Thomas Moore, the Irish national poet, had coupled, in one of his songs, the shamrock of Erin and olive of Spain. Irish exiles had risen to great distinction in the military and civil ser vice of Spain. I can myself remember the days when Marshal O'Donnell, Duke of Tetuan, an Irishman by descent, was Prime Minister of Spain; and it used to be commonly said at the time, that O'Donnell refused to learn English because he could not consent to converse in the tongue of his country's conquerors. Naturally, therefore, there was a feeling among a small minority of Irishmen that Spain was entitled to their special sympathy; but I can say with confidence that the minority was very small indeed. The vast majority of Nationalist Irishmen everywhere gave their cordial good wishes to America, the country which had been the shelter and the home of so many millions of their race. I believe the whole of the Irish Nationalists in the House of Commons, save for two exceptions, openly and formally proclaimed their sympathy with the United States; and if I were to mention the names of the two exceptions, the names would probably convey no manner of idea to the ordinary American reader. I am entitled, therefore, to say that the vast majority of people in these Islands admitted the justice of the American cause, acknowledged that America had forborne to the utmost limits of forbearance, and sincerely rejoiced in America's swift

success.

I have very little doubt that, when the diplomatic history of the crisis comes to be given to the world, it will be made plain that the diplomatic influence of England had its important effect in warning certain European states against the dangers of any policy that might seem like intervention. I have not been a great admirer of Lord Salisbury's foreign policy in general, and do not often feel drawn into much sympathy with the conduct of a Tory Government; but I am well convinced that in this instance Lord Salisbury and the Tory Government did play a fair, a friendly and a manly part towards the United States. It might have been thought, and undoubtedly it was thought by some, that by her victory over Spain and her obtaining possession, under whatever qualifications, of Cuba and the Philippine Islands, America was taking a new and perilous departure in her political life, and might become hereafter a new and portentous element of unsettlement in the politics of the civilized world. Such a feeling as this did undoubtedly find expression here and there; but it had no real effect on the general feelings of the public. Those who were fairly well acquainted with the history of the whole question had long known that if Spain were to persevere in her methods of governing Cuba, it would at last become impossible for the United States to look with a cold neutrality at the scenes that were going on within easy reach of her own shores. A whole generation had passed away since one of our most popular writers, Anthony Trollope, who, besides being one of our foremost novelists, was a keen and sound observer of political events, gave warning to all his public that the policy of Spain in Cuba would one day force the United States to intervene. Many other English writers, newspaper correspondents among the rest, who had studied the subject from personal observation, had told the same story to their English readers.

Most of us, therefore, who take any continuous interest in foreign affairs, had long been filled with the knowledge that the time must come when the antiquated policy of Spain would have to give way to the growing influence of enlightenment and civilization. This was, in fact, the feeling of all, or nearly all, of those who belonged to what I may call the politically-instructed classes in these islands. When I speak of