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In dealing with the subsequent stage of affairs in this country, I feel myself at a loss. Matters of fact, sequences of events, definite incidents in a chain of affairs: all these can be described without much difficulty and with a certain detachment on the part of the narrator. But when it comes to indicating the transition from one psychological state to another, the task is one which would require for its proper fulfilment a more practised pen than mine; and it is precisely this transitional period which I must now attempt to make clear in retrospect; for without an understanding of it my narrative would lack one of its corner-stones.

Apart from the mere question of narration, however, there is a further difficulty which cannot be evaded. I myself passed through this crisis and underwent day by day these changes in outlook which I shall have to portray; so that the personal factor cannot be eliminated from my account. Yet my own feelings and views must not be allowed to monopolise the field; since they had not the slightest influence upon the main current of popular feeling.

I have used the word “current,” and perhaps it is the best one which I could have chosen to express the thing which baffles me. As a man walks by the side of a mountain stream, he sees the volume of the water change as it grows from rill to rivulet and from rivulet to river; yet no single tributary is of any notable size. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the banks diverge, the sound of the running water grows louder and yet louder: until at last comes a sweep over the rapids and the thunder of the fall below.

It was in this way that events merged into each other between the outbreak and the complete realisation of our fears. The transition from security to panic was not made in one swift step. Rather it came little by little, and at no point could one indicate precisely how the public feeling had changed from that of the previous day. A whole series of tiny impulses, each in itself almost negligible, served to drive us from one mental position to the next; and a complete analysis of the psychology of the time would be an impossible task. I propose, therefore, merely to indicate some of these innumerable factors which played upon our spirits; so that this blank in my narrative may be filled in some way, even if only roughly.

It was not until the Blight had spread far over the Home Counties that the general public became interested in the matter at all; and at this period the mass of people in the country districts were almost the only ones who saw any cause for alarm. The town-dwellers seldom came in direct contact with the sources of their food-supply; in fact it is doubtful if the lower-class Londoner of the old days could have answered a direct question as to the date of harvesting. Food came to them daily in a form which suggested very little with regard to its original nature. Wheat they knew only in the form of bread or flour; meat was divorced almost entirely from the shapes of the animals from which it was derived; tea, coffee and sugar brought with them no visions of tea-gardens on the Indian hills or sugar plantations under the West Indian sun. The furthest traceable point of origin of these things, as far as most of the population was concerned, was to be found in the retail shops. Thus there was a certain sluggishness in apprehension among the main bulk of the people when they read in the newspapers that the crops had failed. To them, it simply meant that we should have to buy in another market; just as they had to go to a fresh grocer when their own dealer ran short of some commodity which they required.

In the country districts, and especially in the great centres of the agricultural portions of the kingdom, the outlook was different, but still restricted in its scope. Failure of the crops to them meant financial loss, hard times, stringency, urgent personal economy and the hope of better luck in the following season. Though closer to the soil, the country folk were unmoved by any outlook wider than that which included the direct effects of the Blight upon their industry. And, indeed, they had little time in which to speculate upon ultimate reactions, for their attention was concentrated almost wholly upon their efforts to remedy the damage already done or to protect from injury any portions of the crop which had not yet been attacked.

Thus at this stage the mental surface of the country as a whole remained unruffled. Here and there, of course, a few of us had grasped what might be entailed if the Blight destroyed the whole of the home supplies; but I doubt if even the most far-sighted had imagined that anything but a local shortage was in prospect.

With the arrival of the American cables, the situation changed slightly. The tone of the newspapers became graver, and they endeavoured to awake their readers to the fact that the possibility of a serious shortage had become a certainty. Edition after edition poured out from the printing-presses and the headlines grew in magnitude from hour to hour. “The Blight in America” was the first type of intimation, which attracted but little interest and was placed in the “third-class” column of the papers. Then came appreciation of the importance of the news; the headlines increased in size and moved up nearer the centre of readers’ interest: “Spread of the Blight in the Wheat Districts.” Next came a sudden jump to the first place on the page and heavily leaded type in the headlines: “Failure of Wheat Crop in America.”

Even at this stage, the readers as a whole failed to connect the news with anything in their daily life. Gradually it was borne in upon their minds that the collapse of the American crops—including the Canadian—meant a very rapid rise in the price of cereal food-stuffs; but further than this they refused to look. At that time the cattle question had not been noticed at all; and the general feeling simply resolved itself into a decision to avoid bread as far as possible and eat meat instead.

With the arrival of reports from the remaining wheat-growing districts, the newspapers increased their efforts to awaken their readers to the gravity of the situation. “The World Shortage” occupied the place of honour in their columns, and was supported by telegrams and cables from all parts of the globe telling the same tale of crop failure with a steady monotony.

As I look back upon these days I can only marvel at the ingrained conservatism of the human mind. It is true that on the whole the public were at last beginning to understand the situation. They had grasped the fact that almost all the known regions of wheat-growing land had been attacked; and that a shortage was inevitable. But, none the less, in their inmost thoughts they still clung to the fixed idea that somewhere in the world there was bound to be a store of wheat—or if not wheat, then rice or some other edible grain—which would enable us to pass through the coming winter without undue restriction of our food supplies. It was perhaps a manifestation of that eternal optimism which is necessary if the race is to survive at all; or possibly it represented a trust in the Government’s capacity to arrange some means whereby supplies would be forthcoming in due course. Whatever its origin, it was among the most marked features of that strange time.

I remember that one of the side-issues of the disaster created at that stage far deeper impressions than the catastrophe itself. With the failure of the American supplies over a huge area, the Wheat Pit became convulsed with an outbreak of gambling such as had never been seen before. Chicago went crazy; and legitimate business gave place to a fury of speculation which grew ever more intense as the news came in of further extensions of the devastated areas. Before the Blight appeared in America, December wheat had been offered at 233¼; but in the earlier stages of the game of speculation it rushed up to 405: and before the end came it was dealt with at prices which were purely illusory, since they corresponded to nothing tangible in commodities. Thousands of bears were ruined in the preliminary moves; and in the end the whole machinery of the Pit was brought to a standstill owing to there being no sellers.

Of course that series of transactions had no real influence upon the course of events; but the public, both here and in America, failed to see this; and the bitterest feelings found vent concerning “gambling in the food of the people.” It is quite possible that the anger uselessly expended on this subject served to keep the public from concentrating their attention upon the real problem of the world shortage. Huge quantities of wheat were dealt with on paper; and the people, being unfamiliar with the methods of Chicago speculation, assumed that these enormous transactions actually represented the transfer of millions of bushels of real grain from seller to buyer. The sharp upward trend of flour and bread prices at home served to confirm their impression that the gambling in the Pit was responsible for their troubles; and Rodman’s attempt—which was practically successful—to corner wheat, led to violent criticism and even, at one time, to an effort to lynch him.

It was not only in the wheat market that this fever of speculation showed itself. Maize, oats, barley and cotton also became counters in the game and rose to incredible prices. Unknown men appeared in the world of finance and for days maintained their positions as controllers of the markets. Many of the great firms in America ventured their capital rashly and suffered disaster.

In its ultimate effects also, the gamble in food-stuffs exerted a profound influence on the stream of public opinion. The news of the speculations in Chicago, the descriptions of the turbulent scenes in the Wheat Pit, where at one time revolvers were fired by super-excited members, the tales of huge fortunes won and lost in a day, the deep under-current of resentment at this callous trading upon the world’s necessities, all tended in the end to bring into view the real state of the wheat question. And now the newspapers were printing the single word FAMINE as a headline; and the people were beginning to ask in ominous tones: “What is the Government doing?”

It was at this time that, to my profound surprise, I received a private letter from the Prime Minister requesting my attendance at a meeting which he had arranged.