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Title: Lest We Forget - World War Stories
Author: Thompson, John Gilbert, 1862-1940, Bigwood, Inez
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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    God of our fathers, known of old,
      Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
    Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
      Dominion over palm and pine--
    Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
    Lest we forget--lest we forget!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Far-called, our navies melt away;
      On dune and headland sinks the fire:
    Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
      Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
    Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
    Lest we forget--lest we forget!

              RUDYARD KIPLING













Books and articles in astounding numbers have been published in the
past four years to explain the World War and to inform the public as to
its progress. Societies and agencies of the government have urged that
every available means be employed to inform the American people of the
reasons for the war and the issues at stake; and much has been done for

Little or no thought seems to have been given to youthful readers who
are beginning to think for themselves, and whose first thinking should
be properly guided, for they are at an age when tales of heroism and
daring make a strong appeal. In many homes the children are the only
readers, and in nearly all, their thinking and reading exercise a
powerful influence.

This volume of stories of the World War is prepared to meet this
important need, and to set before the pupils the war's unparalleled
deeds of heroism, with the aims and ideals which have inspired them,
and which have led American youth to look upon the sacrifice of life as
none too high a price to pay for the liberation of mankind.

It may be used as a reading book or as an historical reader for the
upper grammar grades. While great care has been employed to secure
accuracy of fact and to select material of permanent value, the stories
are written in a manner that will appeal to children.

The thanks of the authors and publishers are hereby expressed to those
who have kindly granted permission to use copyrighted material.



   1. THE SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD                            1

   2. A KING OF HEROES                                         20

   3. THE DEFENSE OF LIÉGE                                     31

   4. THE DESTRUCTION OF LOUVAIN                               38

   5. CARDINAL MERCIER                                         43

   6. AND THE COCK CREW               _Amelia Josephine Burr_  57

   7. A BELGIAN LAWYER'S APPEAL                                59

   8. EDITH CAVELL                                             61

   9. SON                                 _Robert W. Service_  66

  10. THE CASE OF SERBIA                 _David Lloyd George_  68

  11. THE MURDER OF CAPTAIN FRYATT                             71

  12. RUPERT BROOKE                                            76

  13. "LET US SAVE THE KIDDIES"                                81


  15. THE BATTLES OF THE MARNE                                 94

  16. THE QUEEN'S FLOWER                                      105

  17. AT SCHOOL NEAR THE LINES                                108

  18. A PLACE IN THE SUN                                      112

  19. MARSHAL JOFFRE                                          119

  20. THE HUN TARGET--THE RED CROSS                           129

  21. "THEY SHALL NOT PASS"                                   140

  22. VERDUN                                 _Harold Begbie_  146

  23. THE BEAST IN MAN                                        147

  24. WHEN GERMANY LOST THE WAR               _New York Sun_  155

  25. CARRY ON!                          _Robert W. Service_  162

  26. WAR DOGS                                                165

  27. THE BELGIAN PRINCE                                      175

  28. DARING THE UNDARABLE                                    182

  29. KILLING THE SOUL                                        189

  30. THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION                                  195

  31. A BALLAD OF FRENCH RIVERS         _Christopher Morley_  207

  32. BACILLI AND BULLETS                                     209

  33. THE TORCH OF VALOR                _Sir Gilbert Parker_  216

  34. MARSHAL FOCH                                            223

  35. THE MEXICAN PLOT                                        228

  36. WHY WE FIGHT GERMANY                _Franklin K. Lane_  242

  37. GENERAL PERSHING                                        245

  38. THE MELTING POT                                         252

  39. BIRDMEN                                                 256

  40. ALAN SEEGER                                             271

  41. CAN WAR EVER BE RIGHT?                                  275

  42. WHAT ONE AMERICAN DID                                   293

  43. RAEMAEKERS                                              301

  44. THE GOD IN MAN                                          309

  45. IN FLANDERS FIELDS    _Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae_  321

  46. THE WORLD WAR                                           322

  47. NATIONS AND THE MORAL LAW                _John Bright_  343

    _Copyright by G.V. Buck. From Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._]



On April 19, 1775, was fired "the shot heard round the world." It was
the shot fired for freedom and democracy by the Americans at Lexington
and Concord. In 1836, upon the completion of the battle monument at
Concord, the gallant deeds of those early patriots were commemorated by
Emerson in verse.

    By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
    Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
    Here once the embattled farmers stood,
    And fired the shot heard round the world.

This is not the only shot for freedom fired by America and Americans.
As President Wilson has said, "The might of America is the might of a
sincere love for the freedom of mankind." The shots of the Civil War
were fired for united democracy and universal freedom.

The soldiers and sailors of the United States fired upon the Spaniards
in the Spanish-American War, that an oppressed people might be
released and given an opportunity to live and work and grow in liberty.

That the Filipinos, like the Cubans, might learn to understand freedom,
to safeguard it, and to use it wisely, has been the whole purpose of
the United States in aiding them.

On April 6, 1917, the shot was heard again. The whole world had been
listening anxiously for it, and was not disappointed.

Those against whom the first American shot for freedom was fired in
1775 have now become the strongest defenders of liberty and democracy.
Their country is one of the three greatest democracies of the world.
Shoulder to shoulder, the Americans and British fight for the freedom
of mankind everywhere. They fight to defend the truth and to make this
truth serve down-trodden peoples as well as the mighty.

Indeed, President Wilson has wisely said, "The only thing that ever set
any man free, the only thing that ever set any nation free, is the
truth. A man that is afraid of the truth is afraid of life. A man who
does not love the truth is in the way of failure."

Germany has no love for the truth. The history of the empire is strewn
with broken promises and acts of deceitfulness. America stands for
something different. It stands for those ideals which President Wilson
saw when he looked at the flag.

"And as I look at that flag," he said, "I seem to see many characters
upon it which are not visible to the physical eye. There seem to move
ghostly visions of devoted men who, looking at that flag, thought only
of liberty, of the rights of mankind, of the mission of America to show
the way to the world for the realization of the rights of mankind; and
every grave of every brave man of the country would seem to have upon
it the colors of the flag; if he was a true American, would seem to
have on it that stain of red which means the true pulse of blood, and
that beauty of pure white which means the peace of the soul. And then
there seems to rise over the graves of those men and to hallow their
memory, that blue space of the sky in which stars swim, these stars
which exemplify for us that glorious galaxy of the States of the Union,
bodies of free men banded together to vindicate the rights of mankind."

At Mount Vernon, he said, in speaking of the work of George Washington,
"A great promise that was meant for all mankind was here given plan and
reality." So for the sake of many peoples of Europe who were wronged,
America has carried out that promise. When honorable Americans promise,
they would rather give up life than fail to keep their word. But when
the Germans promise it means only "a slip of the tongue," for this is
also the meaning of the German word which is translated "promise."

That the United States has to fulfill this special mission of
defending the truth is very clear. The great American leader said again
in behalf of his people:

"I suppose that from the first America has had one particular mission
in the world. Other nations have grown rich, other nations have been as
powerful as we are in material resources; other nations have built up
empires and exercised dominion. We are not alone in any of these
things, but we are peculiar in this, that from the first we have
dedicated our force to the service of justice and righteousness and

"The princes among us are those who forget themselves and serve
mankind. America was born into the world to do mankind's service, and
no man is an American in whom the desire to do mankind's service is not
greater than the desire to serve himself.

"Our life is but a little plan. One generation follows another very
quickly. If a man with red blood in him had his choice, knowing that he
must die, he would rather die to vindicate some right, unselfish to
himself, than die in his bed. We are all touched with the love of the
glory which is real glory, and the only glory comes from utter
self-forgetfulness and self-sacrifice. We never erect a statue to a man
who has merely succeeded. We erect statues to men who have forgotten
themselves and been glorified by the memory of others. This is the
standard that America holds up to mankind in all sincerity and in all

"We have gone down to Mexico to serve mankind, if we can find out the
way. We do not want to fight the Mexicans; we want to serve the
Mexicans if we can, because we know how we would like to be free and
how we would like to be served, if there were friends standing by ready
to serve us. A war of aggression is not a war in which it is a proud
thing to die, but a war of service is a thing in which it is a proud
thing to die."

The liberty-loving nations now fighting in the World War desire that
truth and freedom shall be secured even to the Germans along with all
other peoples. If the Germans had possessed these priceless virtues,
probably no World War would have been necessary. But the spirit of
militarism has bound down and deceived the German people.

President Wilson, at West Point, said: "Militarism does not consist in
the existence of any army, not even in the existence of a very great
army. Militarism is a spirit. It is a point of view. It is a system. It
is a purpose. The purpose of militarism is to use armies for
aggression. The spirit of militarism is the opposite of the civilian
spirit, the citizen spirit. In a country where militarism prevails, the
military man looks down upon the civilian, regards him as inferior,
thinks of him as intended for his, the military man's support and use,
and just as long as America is America that spirit and point of view is
impossible with us. There is as yet in this country, so far as I can
discover, no taint of the spirit of militarism."

The people of Germany have given up their sons, paid enormous taxes
which kept them poor but made landowners rich, all for the sake of the
military whims of their superiors.

Any American would say, like President Wilson, "I would rather belong
to a poor nation that was free than to a rich nation that had ceased to
be in love with liberty. But we shall not be poor if we love liberty,
because the nation that loves liberty truly sets every man free to do
his best and be his best, and that means the release of all the
splendid energies of a great people who think for themselves."

Thus, it is clear that America fights _to serve_. The Germans fight _to
get_, even as their word "kriegen," used by them to mean "make war,"
really means "to get." For them, making war is never with the idea of
service, but with the idea of getting. They desire many things for
Germany, and to get them, they have used the most brutal force. Not for
a moment would they stop to listen to the opinions of mankind
throughout the world.

President Wilson spoke with authority, when he said: "I have not read
history without observing that the greatest forces in the world and the
only permanent forces are the moral forces. We have the evidence of a
very competent witness, namely, the first Napoleon, who said that as he
looked back in the last days of his life upon so much as he knew of
human history, he had to record the judgment that force had never
accomplished anything that was permanent. Force will not accomplish
anything that is permanent, I venture to say, in the great struggle
which is now going on on the other side of the sea. The permanent
things will be accomplished afterward, when the opinion of mankind is
brought to bear upon the issues, and the only thing that will hold the
world steady is this same silent, insistent, all-powerful opinion of
mankind. Force can sometimes hold things steady until opinion has time
to form, but no force that was ever exerted except in response to that
opinion was ever a conquering and predominant force."

By the opinions of mankind, he meant ideals, of which he had already
said: "The pushing things in this world are ideals, not ideas. One
ideal is worth twenty ideas."

Thus, in behalf of the great American nation, he calls upon the young
Americans of to-day to follow the true spirit of their country. To them
all he says, "You are just as big as the things you do, just as small
as the things you leave undone. The size of your life is the scale of
your thinking."

When this great American president who believed that moral force was
always greater than physical force and who taught that America's
mission in the world was to serve all mankind and finally to make them
free; when he perceived after every other means had failed, that only
physical force could affect Germany and that "the sore spot" in the
world must be healed, as a cancer is, with the surgeon's knife; then he
appeared in person, on April 2, 1917, before the Congress of the United
States and read his great war message. Following his advice, Congress
declared on April 6 that a state of war existed with Germany.

The message was in substance as follows:

    Gentlemen of the Congress:

    I have called the Congress into extraordinary session because
    there are serious, very serious, choices of policy to be made,
    and made immediately.

    On the third of February last I laid before you the
    extraordinary announcement of the Imperial German Government
    that on and after the first day of February it was its purpose
    to put aside all restraints of law or of humanity and use its
    submarines to sink every vessel that sought to approach either
    the ports of Great Britain and Ireland or the western coasts of
    Europe or any of the ports controlled by the enemies of Germany
    within the Mediterranean.

    The new policy has swept every restriction aside. Vessels of
    every kind, whatever their flag, their character, their cargo,
    their destination, their errand, have been ruthlessly sent to
    the bottom without warning and without thought of help or mercy
    for those on board, the vessels of friendly neutrals along with
    those of belligerents.

    Even hospital ships and ships carrying relief to the stricken
    people of Belgium, though the latter were provided with
    safe-conduct by the German Government itself and were
    distinguished by unmistakable marks of identity, have been sunk
    with the same reckless lack of compassion or of principle....

    I am not now thinking of the loss of property, immense and
    serious as that is, but only of the wanton and wholesale
    destruction of the lives of non-combatants, men, women, and
    children, engaged in pursuits which have always, even in the
    darkest periods of modern history, been deemed innocent and
    lawful. Property can be paid for; the lives of peaceful and
    innocent people cannot be.

    The present German submarine warfare against commerce is a
    warfare against mankind. It is a war against all nations.
    American ships have been sunk, American lives taken, in ways
    which it has stirred us very deeply to learn of, but the ships
    and people of other neutral and friendly nations have been sunk
    in the waters in the same way. The challenge is to all mankind.
    Each nation must decide for itself how it will meet it.

    The choice we make for ourselves must be made after very careful
    thought. We must put excited feeling away. Our motives will not
    be revenge or the victorious show of the physical might of the
    nation, but only the vindication of right, of human rights, of
    which we are only a single champion....

    The German Government denies the right of neutrals to use arms
    at all within the areas of the sea which it has proscribed, even
    in the defense of their rights. The armed guards which we have
    placed on our merchant ships will be treated as beyond the pale
    of law and subject to be dealt with as pirates would be.

    There is one choice we cannot make, we are incapable of making;
    we will not choose the path of submission and suffer the most
    sacred rights of our nation and our people to be ignored or
    violated. The wrongs against which we now array ourselves are
    not common wrongs; they cut to the very roots of human life.

    With a profound sense of the solemn step I am taking and of the
    grave responsibilities which it involves, but in unhesitating
    obedience to what I deem my constitutional duty, I advise that
    the Congress declare the recent course of the Imperial German
    Government to be in fact nothing less than war against the
    Government and people of the United States; that it formally
    accept the status of belligerent which has thus been thrust upon
    it and that it take immediate steps not only to put the country
    in a more thorough state of defense, but also to exert all its
    power and employ all its resources to bring the Government of
    the German Empire to terms and end the war.

    While we do these things--these deeply momentous things--let us
    be very clear, and make very clear to all the world what our
    motives and our objects are. Our object is to vindicate the
    principles of peace and justice in the life of the world against
    selfish and autocratic power and to set up among the really free
    and self-governed peoples of the world such a concert of purpose
    and action as will henceforth insure the observance of those

    Neutrality is no longer desirable where the peace of the world
    is involved and the freedom of its peoples; and the menace to
    that peace and freedom lies in the existence of autocratic
    governments backed by organized force which is controlled wholly
    by their will, not by the will of their people.

    We have no quarrel with the German people. We have no feeling
    toward them but one of sympathy and friendship. It was not upon
    their impulse that their Government acted in entering this war.
    It was not with their knowledge or approval.

    A steadfast concert for peace can never be maintained except by
    a partnership of democratic nations. No autocratic Government
    could be trusted to keep faith within it, or to observe its
    agreements. It must be a league of honor, a partnership of
    opinion. Intrigue would eat its vitals away; the plotting of
    inner circles, who could plan what they would and render an
    account to no one, would be a corruption seated at its very
    heart. Only free peoples can hold their purpose and their honor
    steady to a common end, and prefer the interests of mankind to
    any narrow interests of their own.

    Indeed, it is now evident that German spies were here even
    before the war began. They have played their part in serving to
    convince us at last that that Government entertains no real
    friendship for us, and means to act against our peace and
    security at its convenience. That it means to stir up enemies
    against us at our very doors, the note to the German Minister at
    Mexico City is eloquent evidence.

    We are accepting this challenge because we know that in such a
    Government, following such methods, we can never have a friend;
    and that in the presence of its organized power, always lying in
    wait to accomplish we know not what purpose, there can be no
    assured security of the democratic governments of the world.

    We are now about to accept gage of battle with this natural foe
    of liberty, and shall, if necessary, spend the whole force of
    the nation to check and nullify its pretensions and its power.
    We are glad, now that we see the facts with no veil of false
    pretense about them, to fight thus for the peace of the world
    and for the liberation of its peoples, the German people
    included; for the rights of nations great and small and the
    privilege of men everywhere to choose their way of life and of
    obedience. The world must be made safe for democracy. Its peace
    must be planted upon the tested foundations of political

    We have no selfish ends to serve. We desire no conquest, no
    dominion. We seek no indemnities for ourselves, no material
    compensation for the sacrifices we shall freely make. We are but
    one of the champions of the rights of mankind. We shall be
    satisfied when those rights have been made as secure as the
    faith and the freedom of the nations can make them.

    Just because we fight without rancor and without selfish object,
    seeking nothing for ourselves but what we shall wish to share
    with all free people, we shall, I feel confident, conduct our
    operations as belligerents without passion and ourselves observe
    the principles of right and of fair play we profess to be
    fighting for.

    It will be all the easier for us to conduct ourselves as
    belligerents in a high spirit of right and fairness because we
    act without animus, not in enmity toward a people or with the
    desire to bring any injury or disadvantage upon them, but only
    in armed opposition to an irresponsible Government which has
    thrown aside all considerations of humanity and of right, and is
    running amuck.

    We are, let me say again, the sincere friends of the German
    people, and shall desire nothing so much as the early
    reëstablishment of intimate relations of mutual advantage
    between us, however hard it may be for them, for the time being,
    to believe that this is spoken from our hearts.

    We have borne with their present Government through all these
    bitter months because of that friendship, exercising a patience
    and forbearance which would otherwise have been impossible. We
    shall, happily, still have an opportunity to prove that
    friendship in our daily attitude and actions toward the millions
    of men and women of German birth and native sympathy who live
    among us and share our life, and we shall be proud to prove it
    toward all who are in fact loyal to their neighbors and to the
    Government in the hour of test.

    They are, most of them, as true and loyal Americans as if they
    had never known any other fealty or allegiance. They will be
    prompt to stand with us in rebuking and restraining the few who
    may be of a different mind and purpose.

    If there should be disloyalty, it will be dealt with with a firm
    hand of stern repression; but if it lifts its head at all, it
    will lift it only here and there and without countenance except
    from a lawless and malignant few.

    It is a distressing and oppressive duty, gentlemen of the
    Congress, which I have performed in thus addressing you. There
    are, it may be, many months of fiery trial and sacrifice ahead
    of us. It is a fearful thing to lead this great, peaceful people
    into war--into the most terrible and disastrous of all wars,
    civilization itself seeming to be in the balance.

    But the right is more precious than peace, and we shall fight
    for the things which we have always carried nearest our
    hearts--for democracy, for the right of those who submit to
    authority to have a voice in their own government, for the
    rights and liberties of small nations, for a universal dominion
    of right by such a concert of free people as shall bring peace
    and safety to all nations and make the world itself at last

    To such a task we can dedicate our lives and our fortunes,
    everything that we are and everything that we have, with the
    pride of those who know that the day has come when America is
    privileged to spend her blood and her might for the principles
    that gave her birth and happiness and the peace which she has
    treasured. God helping her, she can do no other.

On July 4, 1918, the United States had been at war for more than a
year, and it seemed to the millions of people who were anxiously
waiting for the peaceful giant to awake that very little had been
accomplished. They were fearful that the Germans in their next great
offensive, for which they had been preparing for over two months, might
capture Paris, or at least get near enough to it to destroy the city
with their long range artillery. The offensives, already launched by
the Germans, had been frightfully effective, and the Allies felt that
American soldiers in large numbers were necessary to save them from
possible disaster. They were looking for a great "push" by the enemy
and one that German leaders had promised the people at home would bring
victory and settle the war in their favor. This offensive, as we know,
was launched on July 15 and instead of succeeding was changed by
Marshal Foch's counter-stroke into a serious defeat for the Germans.

But this outcome could not of course be predicted in America on July 4,
and hearts were heavy with fear that the United States might after all
be too slow and too late. It was not then generally known that during
the months of May and June, over a half million American soldiers had
been landed in France.

On July 4, 1776, the American colonies by a Declaration of Independence
determined to fight for liberty and democracy; on April 6, 1917, the
American Congress declared that the United States would help defeat the
selfish aims of Germany. In the early fight of the American colonies
for independence, the first battles were fought in April and the
Declaration of Independence was signed in July of the next year; in
the fight for the liberty of all peoples, the German included, the
Americans entered the war in April, and the President on July 4 of the
following year, standing at the tomb of Washington at Mount Vernon,
read a Declaration of Independence, not for America alone, but for the
entire world.

In 1776, the declaration was supported by a small army of a few small
colonies, in 1918 the declaration was supported by the full strength of
the greatest and wealthiest nation on the globe.

It was a beautiful day with a cloudless sky and a cooling breeze.
President Wilson and his party, including members of the cabinet; the
British ambassador, the Earl of Reading; the French ambassador, Jules
J. Jusserand; and other members of the diplomatic corps, had come down
the Potomac from Washington on the President's steam yacht, the

When they had gathered around the tomb of Washington near his old home,
Mount Vernon, on the banks of the beautiful Potomac River,
representatives of thirty-three nations placed wreaths of palms on the
tomb to show their fealty to the principles for which the "Father of
His Country" fought; then all stood with bared heads while John
McCormack sang "The Star-Spangled Banner." As the beautiful notes rose
and swelled and echoed over the hallowed ground, into the hearts of all
present came the conviction that the starry flag would soon bring to
all the peoples of the world the peace and security that surrounded
that historic group at Mount Vernon.

Then the President with the marines about him, and beyond them
thousands of American citizens, began to read the Declaration of the
Independence of the World. It is so simple in language that even
children of twelve years of age may understand nearly all of it, and it
is so deep and noble in thought that even the greatest scholars and
statesmen will find it worthy of close study. It will stand forever
with Washington's Farewell Address and Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech as a
great American document. It is as follows, except that the four ends
for which the world is fighting are restated in briefer form:

    Gentlemen of the Diplomatic Corps and my Fellow-Citizens:

    I am happy to draw apart with you to this quiet place of old
    counsel in order to speak a little of the meaning of this day of
    our nation's independence. The place seems very still and
    remote. It is as serene and untouched by hurry of the world as
    it was in those great days long ago, when General Washington was
    here and held leisurely conference with the men who were to be
    associated with him in the creation of a nation.

    From these gentle slopes, they looked out upon the world and saw
    it whole, saw it with the light of the future upon it, saw it
    with modern eyes that turned away from a past which men of
    liberated spirits could no longer endure. It is for that reason
    that we cannot feel, even here, in the immediate presence of
    this sacred tomb, that this is a place of death. It was a place
    of achievement.

    A great promise that was meant for all mankind was here given
    plan and reality. The associations by which we are here
    surrounded are the inspiriting associations of that noble death
    which is only a glorious consummation. From this green hillside
    we also ought to be able to see with comprehending eyes the
    world that lies around us and conceive anew the purpose that
    must set men free.

    It is significant--significant of their own character and
    purpose and of the influences they were setting afoot--that
    Washington and his associates, like the barons at Runnymede,
    spoke and acted, not for a class but for a people. It has been
    left for us to see to it that it shall be understood that they
    spoke and acted, not for a single people only, but for all
    mankind. They were thinking not of themselves and of the
    material interests which centered in the little groups of
    landholders and merchants and men of affairs with whom they were
    accustomed to act, in Virginia and the colonies to the north and
    south of here, but of a people which wished to be done with
    classes and special interests and the authority of men whom they
    had not themselves chosen to rule over them.

    They entertained no private purpose, desired no peculiar
    privilege. They were consciously planning that men of every
    class should be free and America a place to which men out of
    every nation might resort who wished to share with them the
    rights and privileges of freemen. And we take our cue from
    them--do we not? We intend what they intended.

    We here in America believe our participation in this present war
    to be only the fruitage of what they planted. Our case differs
    from theirs only in this, that it is our inestimable privilege
    to concert with men out of every nation what shall make not only
    the liberties of America secure, but the liberties of every
    other people as well. We are happy in the thought that we are
    permitted to do what they would have done had they been in our
    place. There must now be settled once for all what was settled
    for America in the great age upon whose inspiration we draw

    This is surely a fitting place from which calmly to look out
    upon our task that we may fortify our spirits for its
    accomplishment. And this is the appropriate place from which to
    avow, alike to the friends who look on and to the friends with
    whom we have the happiness to be associated in action, the faith
    and purpose with which we act.

    This, then, is our conception of the great struggle in which we
    are engaged. The plot is written plain upon every scene and
    every act of the supreme tragedy. On the one hand stand the
    peoples of the world--not only the peoples actually engaged, but
    many others also who suffer under mastery but cannot act;
    peoples of many races and every part of the world--the peoples
    of stricken Russia still, among the rest, though they are for
    the moment unorganized and helpless. Opposed to them, masters of
    many armies, stand an isolated, friendless group of governments
    who speak no common purpose, but only selfish ambitions of their
    own by which none can profit but themselves, and whose peoples
    are fuel in their hands; governments which fear their people and
    yet are for the time their sovereign lords, making every choice
    for them and disposing of their lives and fortunes as they will,
    as well as of the lives and fortunes of every people who fall
    under their power--governments clothed with the strange
    trappings and the primitive authority of an age that is
    altogether alien and hostile to our own. The past and the
    present are in deadly grapple and the peoples of the world are
    being done to death between them.

    There can be but one issue. The settlement must be final. There
    can be no compromise. No half-way decision would be tolerable.
    No half-way decision is conceivable. These are the ends for
    which the associated peoples of the world are fighting and which
    must be conceded them before there can be peace:

    1. Every power anywhere that can secretly and of its own single
    choice bring war upon the world must be bound or destroyed.

    2. All questions must be settled in accordance with the wishes
    of the people concerned.

    3. The same respect for honor and for law that leads honorable
    men to hold their promises as sacred and to keep them at any
    cost must direct the nations in dealing with one another.

    4. A league of nations must be formed strong enough to insure
    the peace of the world.

    These great objects can be put into a single sentence. What we
    seek is the reign of law, based upon the consent of the governed
    and sustained by the organized opinion of mankind.

    These great ends cannot be achieved by debating and seeking to
    reconcile and accommodate what statesmen may wish, with their
    projects for balances of power and national opportunity. They
    can be realized only by the determination of what the thinking
    peoples of the world desire, with their longing hope for justice
    and for social freedom and opportunity.

    I cannot but fancy that the air of this place carries the
    accents of such principles with a peculiar kindness. Here were
    started forces which the great nation against which they were
    primarily directed at first regarded as a revolt against its
    rightful authority, but which it has long since seen to have
    been a step in the liberation of its own peoples as well as of
    the people of the United States; and I stand here now to
    speak--speak proudly and with confident hope--of the spread of
    this revolt, this liberation, to the great stage of the world
    itself! The blinded rulers of Prussia have aroused forces they
    know little of--forces which, once aroused, can never be crushed
    to earth again; for they have at their heart an inspiration and
    a purpose which are deathless and of the very stuff of triumph!


"King" is not a word that will go out of use when the world has been
won for democracy. We shall still use it much as we do now, when we
say, "He is a prince" or "He is a king among men"; for there are still
good kings, as well as bad ones. Some countries that are really
democratic prefer to keep kings as reminders of their past and as
ornaments of their present.

England is really more democratic than the United States and yet
England has a king; and as some one has said, he is a king and a
democrat and a king of democrats. This was well shown by his letter to
the first American soldiers who marched through London in April, 1918,
on their way to the battle line in France. Each soldier was handed an
envelope bearing the inscription, "A message to you from his majesty,
King George V." In the envelope was the letter shown on the opposite
page, from a democratic king to the American soldiers in the army of

    [Illustration: (hand written letter from the King of England)


      Soldiers of the United States, the
      people of the British Isles welcome
      you, on your way to take your
      stand beside the Armies of
      many Nations now fighting in
      the Old World the great battle
      for human freedom.

      The Allies will gain new heart
      & spirit in your company
      I wish that I could shake
      the hand of each one of you
      & big you God speed on your

              George R.I.

        April 1918.]

No autocratic king or kaiser desires to shake the hand of each of his
soldiers or to become in any way one of them. To an autocrat, to the
German Kaiser, to the German officers, the German privates are only
Things to be used as are swords and guns. A wounded German officer felt
insulted because he was made well again in an English hospital in the
same ward with German privates.

An interesting story is told of a Red Cross nurse, to whom a badly
wounded man was brought at a field hospital during one of the battles
in which the brave little Belgian army was trying to hold back the
invading Germans. All the surgeons were busy, and the man needed
assistance at once. The nurse knew what was needed to save his life
until he could receive surgical treatment, and she knew how to do it;
but she could not do it alone. She must have help at once, and of the
right kind.

She was about to give up in despair, when she saw a man walking through
the field hospital, cheering the sufferers and asking if he could be of
any assistance. She called to him, and when he came she said, "You can
save this man's life if you will help me and do just what I tell you,
just when I tell you to do it. Do you think you can take orders and
obey them promptly?"

"I think so," replied the man. "Let us save this poor soldier's life,
if we can."

The nurse set to work, telling the stranger just what she wanted him to
do. She wasted no words, but gave orders as if she expected them to be
obeyed quickly and intelligently. The stranger proved himself equal to
the occasion, and the delicate work which saved the man's life was soon

"Thank you," said the nurse, as she finished. "I see you are used to
taking orders and know how to obey. I shall remain with this soldier,
until he regains consciousness. He will want to know to whose
assistance he owes his life. Kindly give me your name."

The stranger hesitated. Then he said, "The soldier really owes his life
to you, but I am glad if I was able to help. If he asks, you may tell
him the people call me Albert."

And all at once the commanding little Red Cross nurse understood that
the tall, quiet man, who, she said, showed that he was used to taking
orders, was Albert, King of the Belgians.

Italy has a king and Belgium has a king; but like King George of
England they are democratic kings, exercising what authority is granted
to them by the people in accordance with a constitution. The German
Kaiser claims to hold all authority of life and death over his people,
including the right of declaring defensive war, by "divine right," by
God's choice of him and his family to rule.

When Germany, at the outbreak of the war in 1914, resolved to break the
treaty in which with other nations she had pledged herself never to
violate, but always to defend, the neutrality of Belgium; when she was
ready to declare to the world that a sacred treaty was only "a scrap of
paper" to be torn up whenever her needs seemed to require it, she sent
on Sunday night, August 2, 1914, at seven o'clock, an ultimatum to the
Belgian government--to be answered within twelve hours--in substance as

    The German Government has received information, of the accuracy
    of which there can be no doubt, that it _may_ be the intention
    of France to send her forces across Belgium to attack Germany.

    The German Government fears that Belgium, no matter how good her
    intentions, may not be able unaided to prevent such a French
    advance; and therefore it is necessary for the protection of
    Germany that she should act at once.

    The German Government would be very sorry to have Belgium
    consider her action in this matter as a hostile act, for it is
    forced upon Germany by her enemies. In order to prevent any
    misunderstanding, the German Government declares:

    1. Germany intends no hostile act against Belgium, and if
    Belgium makes no resistance, the German Government pledges the
    security of the Belgian Kingdom and all its possessions.

    2. Germany pledges herself to evacuate all Belgian territory at
    the end of the war.

    3. Germany will pay cash for all supplies needed by her troops
    which Belgians are willing to sell her and will make good any
    damage caused by her forces.

    4. If Belgium resists the advance of the German forces, the
    German Government will be compelled to consider Belgium as an
    enemy and will act accordingly. If not, the friendly relations
    which have long united the two nations will become stronger and
    more lasting.

In twelve hours Belgium must make a decision that would change her
entire future history and, as later events proved, the history of
Europe and of the world. She made it; and by that decision she
sacrificed herself and brought death and destruction upon her people
and her possessions, but she saved her honor and her soul. Germany had
promised her everything, if she would only let the German armies march
unhindered through Belgium into France. No Belgian should be harmed or
disturbed, and anything needed by the German army would be paid for.
After the Germans had won the war, as they doubtless would have done if
Belgium had not blocked their way, Belgium would have become a
thriving, wealthy kingdom, under German protection. Antwerp would have
been perhaps the greatest port in the world, and Brussels, next to
Berlin, the world's most magnificent capital. But the Belgians did not
hesitate nor did their heroic king.

The Belgian Government replied on Monday morning, at four o'clock, in
substance as follows:

    The Note from the German Government has caused the most painful
    surprise to the Belgian Government. The French on August 1
    assured us most emphatically that they would respect our
    neutrality. If this should prove to be false, the Belgian army
    will offer the greatest possible resistance to invasion by them.
    The neutrality of Belgium is guaranteed by the powers, among
    them Germany, and the attack which the German Government
    threatens to make on Belgium would be a violation of the Law of
    Nations. No military necessity can justify such a violation of

    The Belgian Government, if it accepted the proposals of Germany,
    would sacrifice the honor of the nation and betray its duty to
    Europe; and it therefore refuses to believe that this will be
    demanded in order to maintain its independence. If this
    expectation proves unfounded, the Belgian Government is fully
    decided to resist by all means in its power any attack against
    its rights.

On Tuesday the King brought in person a message to the Belgian
Legislature, as President Wilson has often brought such messages to the
American Congress. King Albert's message was in substance as follows:

    Not since 1830 has Belgium passed through such an anxious hour.
    Our independence is threatened. We still have hope that what we
    dread may not happen; but if we have to resist invasion and
    defend our homes, that duty will find us armed, courageous, and
    ready for any sacrifice. Already our young men have risen to
    defend their country in danger. I send to them, in the name of
    the nation, a brotherly greeting. Everywhere in the provinces of
    Flanders and of Walloon alike, in city and country, one feeling
    fills all minds--that our duty is to resist the enemies of our
    independence with firm courage and as a united nation.

    The perfect mobilization of our army, the great number of
    volunteers, the devotion of the citizens, the self-denial of
    families have shown beyond doubt the bravery of the Belgian
    people. The moment to act has come.

    No one in this nation will betray his duty. The army is ready,
    and the Government has absolute trust in its leaders and its

    If the foreigner violates our territory, he will find all
    Belgians grouped round their King and their Government, in which
    they have absolute confidence.

    I have faith in our destinies. A nation which defends its rights
    commands the respect of all. Such a nation cannot die. God will
    be with us in a just cause. Long live independent Belgium!

Hardly had the King finished his noble message, when the Prime Minister
announced to the Legislature that Germany had declared war upon
Belgium, and that her troops were moving against Liége.

Never as long as men remember the history of these fateful days will
the decisive action of the heroic Belgian people and of their heroic
king be forgotten. The slightest hesitation between right and wrong
would have set civilization and human liberty back perhaps a thousand
years. And the decision had to be made not only by a people, but by a
young king with German blood in his veins and married to a German
princess--and between sunset and sunrise.

Did he see the horrors before him and his people? Did he see the
destruction of the most beautiful buildings in the world, the pride of
his people? Did he see the tearing down and burning of the entire city
of Louvain, with its university and its valuable library containing
some of the oldest and most nearly priceless books and manuscripts? Did
he see the children and the aged dying by the roadside of hunger and
fatigue? Did he see the Belgian men carried off as slaves to work in

Do you think he or his Queen would have hesitated if he had? No one who
really knows them thinks so. Nothing can justify choosing the wrong.
King Albert, the King of Heroes, and Queen Elizabeth of the Belgians
are honored and respected by all who love liberty and justice, for it
has been well said, "Treaties and engagements are certainly scraps of
paper, just as promises are no more than breaths. But upon such scraps
of paper and breaths the fabric of civilization has been built, and
without them its everyday activity would come to an end." They
represent truly the heroic Belgian people who by their decision on
Sunday night, August 2, 1914, saved the world. Queen Elizabeth,
although a Bavarian princess, has said of the Germans, "Between them
and me has fallen a curtain of iron which will never again be lifted."

The Belgian Minister to the United States said of King Albert after the
war had begun:

"It is when one talks with our soldiers that one perceives how he is
loved; they say, all of them, that they will die for him. He is
constantly at their side, encouraging them by his presence and his
courage. At certain moments, he adventures too far; always he is in the
very midst of combat."

    [Illustration: KING ALBERT OF BELGIUM]

The King and Queen are both of them unusually brave and daring. Not
many royal pairs would trust their lives to cross the English Channel
and return in an airplane, as they did in the summer of 1918 to attend
a celebration held by the King and Queen of England.

A Belgian soldier writing of King Albert said: "The King came and
placed himself at my side in the trench. He took the rifle of a soldier
so tired he could not stand, to give him a chance to rest, and fired,
just like the other soldiers, for an hour and a half. He himself often
carries their letters to the soldiers and distributes among them the
little bundles which their friends and parents send them from the homes
now destroyed. He shares their mess with the soldiers and he calls them
always 'my friends.' He does not want that they shall do him honor; he
wishes simply to be a soldier in all that the word _soldier_ means. One
night he was seen, exhausted by fatigue, sleeping on the grass at the
side of the road."

Do you wonder that the Belgians love their King and that the world
honors him as the Hero King of a Nation of Heroes?


To Germany's unfair and treacherous proposal that Belgium be false to
her promises to the world, there was but one answer for Belgium. It was
"No." Immediately after this reply had been received by the German
minister, and just as King Albert had finished his noble speech and
left the House, the Belgian Prime Minister had to announce to
Parliament that Germany had already declared war and that even at that
moment the German soldiers were advancing toward Liége, and within a
few hours would be besieging the city.

Liége was the industrial center of Belgium, just as Antwerp was the
commercial, and Brussels the political center, or capital. The city of
Liége was famous for its coal mines, glass factories, and iron works.
Of the latter the Cockerill Works of Seraing have been named as second
only to Krupp's. The city is important historically and also
politically--being the truest democracy in Europe. Its people were
happy and free. Its governor was trusted and respected, but no less
bound by common law than the people themselves.

Liége also has great strategic advantages. Situated on the left bank
of the Meuse, in a valley at the junction of three rivers, it is a
natural stronghold. It was besides supposed to be fortified more
perfectly than any other city in the world. A ring of twelve forts
surrounded it, six of them large and powerful, six not so powerful and

One weakness, however, as General Emmich, commander of the German
forces, knew, was the great distance between the forts. The small forts
were not placed between the large ones; but two of the smaller works
were together on the southwest, two in a ten-mile gap across the
northeast, a fifth was between two of the larger forts on the
southeast. The three points where the small forts were situated were
the places that the enemy planned to attack.

Another weakness was the smallness of the garrison,--74,000 men were
needed for the defense of Liége and Namur, and only about a hundred men
were stationed in some of the forts.

But the Belgians were equally aware of the weak points. General Leman
gave orders to throw up entrenchments between forts and to fill the
garrison. Even then, the number of men in the forts was but 25,000,
when it should have been at least 50,000.

Yet the Belgian soldiers, following the example of their brave leader,
General Leman, did all they could to prepare a strong resistance.

Without any delay, the German commander, on August 5, sent forward his
men in the 7th army corps with the purpose of taking Fort Evegnée, the
little fort on the southeast. No time was taken to bring up the heavy
guns--the Germans thought they would not need them. In this they were

Three times they rushed forward, but were repulsed. The third time they
reached the Belgian trenches; but, obeying an order to counter-attack,
the Belgians rushed out and drove the Germans back, inflicting heavy
losses and taking 800 prisoners.

At the same time, an attack was made from the northeast by the German
9th corps. The fighting was even fiercer here, but the enemy managed to
break through the defenses. During the fighting, the enemy schemed to
capture the Belgian general. Could they take General Leman, they
thought, the Belgian soldiers would not long hold out. Therefore, when
the fight was fiercest, eight Uhlans, two officers, and six privates,
mistaken for Englishmen because they were in English uniform, rode to
the headquarters of General Leman and attempted to take him prisoner.
But they were discovered and either killed or captured, after a
hand-to-hand struggle in the headquarter's building with members of the
Belgian staff aided by gendarmes. Heavy street fighting forced the
Germans back of the defenses once more. Then, by a decisive
counter-attack, the second attack of the enemy was repulsed.

That same night came a third attack from the southeast again, against
Fort Evegnée, and also from the southwest against the two small forts,
Chaudfontaine and Embourg.

It was a bright moonlight night. The Belgians on the southwest took
advantage of it to work at strengthening their defenses. They needed no
lights and used none, for they were in less danger of being seen by the

If the Germans should take this part of the city, it would be
particularly valuable to them, for here were the great iron works, the
railway depots, the electric lighting works, and the small-arms and gun
factory. Besides, they could then without doubt easily march on through
Belgium and, as the German commander planned, overrun France. France
surely needed all the time which the brave Belgian soldiers could save
for her, for it had never been thought that Germany would break through
on that side. France, since her previous war with Germany, when she had
lost the beautiful provinces of Alsace and Lorraine, had massed her
garrisons on the eastern line. In fact, very few forts had been built
on the Belgian side, since the two countries had always maintained
friendly relationships with each other, and the neutrality of Belgium
was guaranteed by the Powers. Now, if Germany could not be held back
until the French soldiers could be brought up to the Belgian border,
then Germany's plan of greed and tyranny would be successful, and all
of Europe would be lost. To check the Germans here meant to save the
rest of Europe.

The city of Liége lay in darkness, save for the light of the kindly
moon. From among the crowd of buildings, the old citadel arose like a
great shadow. The searchlights flashed fitfully from the forts,
traveling across the enemy's position, while the men watched, half
expecting that the enemy would advance in the darkness, as so many of
Germany's black deeds were committed under cover of night. Over the
country, to the east, lay the ruined buildings, the broken walls, and
the dead from the fearful conflict of that day.

Half an hour before midnight, a storm of shot and shell broke upon the
trenches. High explosive shells burst with brilliant flashes and loud
uproar. The guns from the forts replied, and the city shook in the
thundering shock.

Heavy forces of Germans advanced, made a rush for the ditches, but were
pushed back. Just before daybreak, however, the 10th corps crept up
silently and rushed forward in a mass. The searchlights were thrown
upon them, and the guns of the Belgian regiments fired upon them. Only
after a hard fight, lasting five long hours, did the Germans break and

But with all the heroism of the Belgian garrison, after four days and
four nights of ceaseless fighting, the men were exhausted. They could
not be relieved, while the Germans had many fresh troops in reserve.
The Belgian gunners might be able to hold the forts, but they could not
long hold the stretches of ground between. But by this time the Belgian
staff realized this and ordered two of the generals to withdraw
secretly with their forces while yet there was time. General Leman was
left in charge of the remaining forces to continue the brave defense of
the works. The Germans had brought up their heavy artillery. Sooner or
later they would break through.

On August 6, the Germans cut their way through between the forts and
entered the city. The forts held out for a time, still holding the
enemy from crossing the rivers. Once they had nearly crossed the large
bridge over the Meuse, but the Belgians blew it up, and time after
time, as the pontoon-bridges of the Germans were thrown across, above
and below Liége, the fire from the forts destroyed them.

Then, surrounded by enemies inside the city and outside, the garrison
was forced to retire. In the latter part of August, all the forts of
Liége were in the hands of the Germans. But Belgium had made a brave
resistance; she had stood like Horatius at the bridge. She had kept the
Germans back, and by so delaying them had saved Europe.

The defense of Liége was one of the most brilliant military
achievements and one of the decisive events in world history.

Its brave leader, General Leman, did not see the close of the siege. He
was wounded and captured when Fort Loncin, the large fort where he had
taken his stand with his men, exploded under the terrific fire of the
enemy. But from his prison, he sent the following letter to King

    After a severe engagement fought on August 4, 5, and 6, I
    considered that the forts of Liége could not play any other part
    but that of stopping the advance of the enemy. I maintained the
    military government in order to coördinate the defense as much
    as possible and in order to exert a moral influence on the

    Your Majesty is aware that I was at the Fort of Loncin on August
    6 at noon.

    Your Majesty will learn with sorrow that the fort exploded
    yesterday at 5:20 P.M., and that the greater part of the
    garrison is buried under the ruins. If I have not died in this
    catastrophe, it is owing to the fact that my work had removed me
    from the stronghold. Whilst I was being suffocated by the gases
    after the explosion of the powder, a German captain gave me a
    drink. I was then made a prisoner and brought to Liége. I am
    aware that this letter is lacking in sequence, but I am
    physically shaken by the explosion of the Fort of Loncin. For
    the honor of our armies I have refused to surrender the fortress
    and the forts. May your Majesty deign to forgive me. In Germany,
    where I am taken, my thoughts will be, as they have always been,
    with Belgium and her King. I would willingly have given my life
    better to serve them, but death has not been granted me.

                                                   GENERAL LEMAN.


More than one hundred years ago, Napoleon, the famous French general,
started out to conquer the world, just as the Germans have been
dreaming of doing. Napoleon had almost unbelievable success--carrying
the banner of France into practically the whole of Europe. But into
whatever provinces Napoleon went, though bent upon the subjugation of a
world, he never allowed his army to wantonly lay waste and destroy.
There was great attraction for him in the wonderful works of art which
he found in many of the large cities. He ordered his men to seize these
works secretly and to carry them back to Paris. There they were
preserved. France indeed is now named the preserver of the arts.

Had the German officers done even this, their crime would not be so
great to-day. The French not only saved art and property, but also
tried to save the lives of non-combatants as often as possible.

One of the leading daily papers of Cologne, Germany, explained in its
issue of February 10, 1915, why the German soldiers have committed
deeds that will forever shame the German people in the minds of the
rest of humanity. Like the invasion of Belgium, these deeds are not
defended as _right_ or _just_ but as _necessary_ to help on the German
advance to victory. The article read as follows:

    We have adopted it as a principle that the wrong-doing of an
    individual must be expiated by the entire community to which he
    belongs. The village in which our troops are fired upon will be
    burned. If the guilty one is not found, substitutes will be
    chosen from the population at large, and will be executed under
    martial law.... The innocent must suffer with the guilty, and,
    if the latter are not caught, must receive punishment in their
    place, not because a crime has been committed, but to prevent
    the commission of a future crime. Every case in which a village
    is burned down, or hostages are executed, or the inhabitants of
    a village which has taken arms against our invading forces are
    killed, is a warning to the inhabitants of the territory not yet
    occupied. There can be no doubt that the destruction of Battice,
    Herve, Louvain, and Dinant has served as warning. The
    devastation and bloodshed of the opening days of the war have
    prevented the larger Belgian cities from attempting any attacks
    upon the weak forces with which it was necessary for us to hold

The destruction of works of art and of the beautiful cathedrals built
in the Middle Ages cannot be explained and defended in this way, but
some other pitiable and often childish excuse is offered. The Germans
always assume that others do as they would do in the same
circumstances. They assumed England would not interfere, if the
neutrality of Belgium was violated, for Germany would not have
interfered, had she been in England's place. They assumed the French
and English would use the towers of the cathedrals for observation
posts, for Germany would have done so; and although they were promised
by the Allied officers that the towers would not be so used and were
informed by the bishops and priests that they were not so used, yet
they proceeded to destroy the beautiful structures. Their own promises
and statements in a similar case would have been of no value, and so
they assumed the promises of others were valueless and that the priests
had been compelled to lie about the matter, as the Germans would have
forced them to do, if possible.

They also fired upon the cathedrals of Ypres, Soissons, Arras, and
Rheims in retaliation, whenever the enemy bombarded the German lines
near by. Destroying a cathedral was like killing pure and beautiful
women and children. The Huns felt the Allies would let them advance
rather than have it happen.

As the Germans were on their way to seize Antwerp, after they had taken
the Belgian capital, they were driven out of Malines and turned upon
Louvain. They were greatly irritated at the strong resistance which the
Belgian army was making. They even feared that suddenly Belgium's
allies would join her at Antwerp and invade Germany, upsetting the
German plans entirely.

Therefore they sought to terrorize and subdue the country by a complete
destruction of Louvain, one of the most ancient and historic towns in
that section of Europe. Its buildings and monuments were of world-wide

Repulsed and chased back to the outskirts of Louvain, the troops were
ordered to destroy the town. The soldiers marched down the streets,
singing and jeering, while the officers rode about in their military
automobiles with an air of bravado, as they contemplated the deed they
were about to do. They first attempted to anger the people, so as to
have some pretext for the criminal deed they had determined upon. But
the people, knowing the character of the Germans, showed remarkable
restraint. They gave up all firearms, even old rifles and bows and
arrows that were valuable historic relics. They housed and fed their
enemies, paid them immense sums of money; and when the commander sent
for two hundred and fifty mattresses, they even brought their own beds
and cast them, with everything they could lay hands on, down into the
market-place. They knew the penalty for refusal was the death of their
respected burgomaster.

The people of Boston, at the time of the Revolution, refused to feed
and house the British soldiers. But these people of Louvain submitted
to much worse than that, hoping that the enemy would pass on and spare
their lives and their homes.

But on Tuesday evening, August 25, as the people were sitting down to
their evening meal, the soldiers suddenly rushed wildly through the
streets, and furnished with bombs, set fire to all parts of the town.
That night witnessed some of the most terrible deeds in all history.
The town of 45,000 inhabitants was wiped out; many of the citizens were
killed, and others were sent by train to an unknown destination.
Besides the loss of life, there was lost to the world forever a great
store of historic and artistic wealth.

But one principal building in all the town was left standing--the Hotel
de Ville. This was purposely saved as a monument to German authority,
when the whole country should be taken over and rebuilt as a

This cowardly act of cruelty will always stand out as typical of German
atrocity. Louvain was undefended and was already in the hands of the
Germans. By this one deed perhaps more than any other, Germany showed
to what depths of degradation she would stoop. By the destruction of
Louvain, she put back civilization and culture for five hundred years,
and her own good name was burned away from among the nations of the
world. The Germans from that day were branded as the enemies of the
human race. The world sprang with united sympathy to the side of little
Belgium--so that for her the destruction of Louvain meant more than a
glorious victory.


He is an old man, nearly seventy, with thin, grayish-white hair. He is
very tall, as was Abraham Lincoln, nearly six feet and six inches. He
is thin, with deep-set, jet-black eyes, and thin, almost bloodless

He is a symbol of oppressed Belgium,--frail in body, lacking great
physical strength, but standing tall and erect with flashing eyes;
unconquerable because of his unconquerable soul.

The spirit of such men as he, and of such nations as his beloved
Belgium, is well expressed in Henley's now famous "Invictus."

    Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
    I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.

    In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud,
    Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

       *       *       *       *       *

    It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll.
    I am the master of my fate;
      I am the captain of my soul.

Amidst all the horrible deeds committed by the Germans in Belgium,
Cardinal Mercier has spoken the truth publicly and fearlessly. His
unconquerable soul seems to have protected his frail body. He is one of
the great heroes of brave, suffering Belgium--a hero who carries
neither sword nor gun; but his courage might be envied by every soldier
on the field of battle, and his judgment by every commander directing

The Germans seemed to fear him from the first. General von Bissing, who
was the German Governor of invaded Belgium, wrote to Cardinal Mercier,
after the Cardinal's Easter letter to the oppressed Belgians appeared,
and called him to account, suggesting what might happen to him if he
did not cease his attacks upon the Germans and German methods.

The Cardinal replied that he would never surrender his liberty of
judgment and that, whenever the orders and laws of the Germans were in
conflict with the laws of God, he would follow the latter and advise
his people to do the same.

"We render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's," he wrote, "for we
pay you the silent dread of your strength, but we keep, sacred in our
hearts and free from your orders, our ideas of right and wrong.

"It was not without careful thought that we denounced to the world the
evils you have done to our brothers and sisters--frightful evils and
horrible crimes, the tragic horror of which cold reason refuses to

"But had we not done so, we should have felt ourselves unworthy of our
high office.

"As a Belgian, we have heard the cries of sorrow of our people; as a
patriot, we have sought to heal the wounds of our country; and as a
bishop, we have denounced the crimes against innocent priests."

They deprived him of his automobile, with which he used to hasten to
all parts of Belgium to assist and comfort sufferers from German
tyranny and torture. They ordered him to remain in his residence.

As a part of his church duty, he wished to go to Brussels to celebrate
high mass. He applied for a pass which would allow him to go by train
or trolley. An excuse was invented for refusing it. Then the Cardinal
sent word to the Commandant that he must go and that he would walk. Two
hours afterward he left his residence on foot, accompanied by two or
three priests, and started on his walk of fifteen or more miles to

Men, women, and children, and priests from every part of the city
crowded about him and followed him, till he reached the German
sentries, who stopped the crowd and demanded where they were going.

The Cardinal showed his _Ausweiss_, an identification card which every
Belgian must carry, and he was allowed to proceed with two priests for
companions. The other priests demanded the right to go on, and a heated
dispute arose between them and the sentries. One of the priests lost
his temper and forgot himself so far that he began to beat one of the
sentries with his umbrella. The other sentry called for help, and the
crowd was soon dispersed. The angry priest was put under arrest and led
off to the guardhouse.

The Cardinal had gone on but a short way when the uproar behind him
caused him to stop and look back at what was happening. When he saw the
priest led off by the soldiers, he and his companions turned back and
followed the soldiers to the little guardhouse. He walked directly in,
looking neither to the right nor the left, standing a head above the
rest of the crowd. He fixed his piercing black eyes upon the eyes of
the priest; then he beckoned him to come and turned and walked out,
followed by the priest.

The soldiers made no attempt to stop them. They seemed to recognize an
authority that they could not help obeying, even though they did not
want to. The Cardinal accompanied by the three priests went on down the
road and out of Malines towards Brussels. They walked about half way
to the city and then took the trolleys.

In speaking of the Germans, the Cardinal is reported to have said,
"They are so stupid, these Germans! Sometimes I feel that they are like
silly, cruel children, and that I should do something to help them."

He loves America and the Americans and is grateful for all that the
United States have done for his suffering people. He told one of his
fellow-workers who had become discouraged, "If you follow a great
Captain, as I do, you will never be discouraged."

In him martyred Belgium has found a voice heard round the world. He has
never ceased to denounce the atrocious crimes of the German masters of
his country and he has continually sought to comfort and cheer his
unhappy people. He sees far, and so he sees clearly the power outside
ourselves that finally brings to Right the victory over Might. His
Pastoral Letter, Christmas, 1914, will never be forgotten nor will the
words of cheer to his suffering people when he reminds them of the
greatest truth of life, that only through sacrifice and suffering come
the things best worth while. His statement in letters to the German
Commandant of the facts concerning the deportation of Belgians into
Germany, to work as virtual slaves, will forever form part of the
records of history's blackest deeds.

This Pastoral Letter of Christmas, 1914, is in part as follows:

    It was in Rome itself that I received the tidings--stroke after
    stroke--of the destruction of the church of Louvain, of the
    burning of the Library and of the scientific laboratories of our
    great University and of the devastation of the city, and next of
    the wholesale shooting of citizens, and tortures inflicted upon
    women and children, and upon unarmed and undefended men. And
    while I was still under the shock of these calamities, the
    telegraph brought us news of the bombardment of our beautiful
    metropolitan church, of the church of Notre Dame, of the
    episcopal palace, and of a great part of our dear city of

    Afar, without means of communication with you, I was compelled
    to lock my grief within my own afflicted heart, and to carry it,
    with the thought of you, which never left me, to my God.

    I needed courage and light, and sought them in such thoughts as
    these. A disaster has come upon the world, and our beloved
    little Belgium, a nation so faithful in the great mass of her
    population to God, so upright in her patriotism, so noble in her
    King and Government, is the first sufferer. She bleeds; her sons
    are stricken down, within her fortresses, and upon her fields,
    in defense of her rights and of her territory. Soon there will
    not be one Belgian family not in mourning. Why all this sorrow,
    my God? Lord, Lord, hast Thou forsaken us?

    The truth is that no disaster on earth is as terrible as that
    which our sins provoke.

    I summon you to face what has befallen us, and to speak to you
    simply and directly of what is your duty, and of what may be
    your hope. That duty I shall express in two words: Patriotism
    and Endurance.


    When, on my return from Rome, I went to Havre to greet our
    Belgian, French, and English wounded; when, later at Malines, at
    Louvain, at Antwerp, it was given to me to take the hands of
    those brave men who carried a bullet in their flesh, a wound on
    their forehead, because they had marched to the attack of the
    enemy, or borne the shock of his onslaught, it was a word of
    gratitude to them that rose to my lips. "O brave friends," I
    said, "it was for us, it was for each one of us, it was for me,
    that you risked your lives and are now in pain. I am moved to
    tell you of my respect, of my thankfulness, to assure you that
    the whole nation knows how much she is in debt to you."

    For in truth our soldiers are our saviors.

    A first time, at Liége, they saved France; a second time, in
    Flanders, they halted the advance of the enemy upon Calais.
    France and England know it; and Belgium stands before them both,
    and before the entire world, as a nation of heroes. Never before
    in my whole life did I feel so proud to be a Belgian as when, on
    the platforms of French stations, and halting a while in Paris,
    and visiting London, I was witness of the enthusiastic
    admiration our allies feel for the heroism of our army. Our King
    is, in the esteem of all, at the very summit of the moral scale;
    he is doubtless the only man who does not recognize that fact,
    as, simple as the simplest of his soldiers, he stands in the
    trenches and puts new courage, by the calmness of his face, into
    the hearts of those of whom he requires that they shall not
    doubt of their country. The foremost duty of every Belgian
    citizen at this hour is gratitude to the army.

    If any man had rescued you from shipwreck or from a fire, you
    would hold yourselves bound to him by a debt of everlasting
    thankfulness. But it is not one man, it is two hundred and fifty
    thousand men who fought, who suffered, who fell for you so that
    you might be free, so that Belgium might keep her independence,
    so that after battle, she might rise nobler, purer, more erect,
    and more glorious than before.

    Pray daily, my Brethren, for these two hundred and fifty
    thousand, and for their leaders to victory; pray for our
    brothers in arms; pray for the fallen; pray for those who are
    still engaged; pray for the recruits who are making ready for
    the fight to come.

    Better than any other man, perhaps, do I know what our unhappy
    country has undergone. Nor will any Belgian, I trust, doubt of
    what I suffer in my soul, as a citizen and as a Bishop, in
    sympathy with all this sorrow. These last four months have
    seemed to me age-long. By thousands have our brave ones been
    mown down; wives, mothers are weeping for those they shall not
    see again; hearths are desolate; dire poverty spreads, anguish
    increases. At Malines, at Antwerp, the people of two great
    cities have been given over, the one for six hours, the other
    for thirty-four hours of a continuous bombardment, to the throes
    of death. I have passed through the greater part of the most
    terribly devastated districts and the ruins I beheld, and the
    ashes, were more dreadful than I, prepared by the saddest of
    forebodings, could have imagined. Other parts which I have not
    yet had time to visit have in like manner been laid waste.
    Churches, schools, asylums, hospitals, convents in great
    numbers, are in ruins. Entire villages have all but disappeared.
    At Werchter-Wackerzeel, for instance, out of three hundred and
    eighty homes, a hundred and thirty remain; at Tremeloo two
    thirds of the village are overthrown; at Bueken out of a hundred
    houses, twenty are standing; at Schaffen one hundred and
    eighty-nine houses out of two hundred are destroyed--eleven
    still stand. At Louvain the third part of the buildings are
    down; one thousand and seventy-four dwellings have disappeared;
    on the town land and in the suburbs, one thousand eight hundred
    and twenty-three houses have been burnt.

    In this dear city of Louvain, perpetually in my thoughts, the
    magnificent church of St. Peter will never recover its former
    splendor. The ancient college of St. Ives, the art-schools, the
    consular and commercial schools of the University, the old
    markets, our rich library with its collections, its unique and
    unpublished manuscripts, its archives, its gallery of great
    portraits of illustrious rectors, chancellors, professors,
    dating from the time of its foundation, which preserved for
    masters and students alike a noble tradition and were an
    incitement in their studies--all this accumulation of
    intellectual, of historic, and of artistic riches, the fruit of
    the labors of five centuries--all is reduced to dust.

    Thousands of Belgian citizens have in like manner been deported
    to the prisons of Germany, to Münsterlagen, to Celle, to
    Magdeburg. At Münsterlagen alone three thousand one hundred
    civil prisoners were numbered. History will tell of the physical
    and moral torments of their long martyrdom. Hundreds of innocent
    men were shot. I possess no complete list, but I know that there
    were ninety-one shot at Aerschot, and that there, under pain of
    death, their fellow citizens were compelled to dig their graves.
    In the Louvain group of communes one hundred and seventy-six
    persons, men and women, old men and babies, rich and poor, in
    health and sickness, were shot or burnt.

    In my diocese alone I know that thirteen priests were put to
    death. One of these, the parish priest of Gelrode, suffered, I
    believe, a veritable martyrdom.

    We can neither number our dead nor compute the measure of our
    ruins. And what would it be if we turned our sad steps towards
    Liége, Namur, Andenne, Dinant, Tamines, Charleroi, and

    And where lives were not taken, and where buildings were not
    thrown down, what anguish unrevealed! Families, hitherto living
    at ease, now in bitter want; all commerce at an end, all careers
    ruined; industry at a standstill; thousands upon thousands of
    workingmen without employment; working-women, shop-girls, humble
    servant-girls without the means of earning their bread; and poor
    souls forlorn on the bed of sickness and fever, crying, "O Lord,
    how long, how long?"

    How long, O Lord, they wondered, how long wilt Thou suffer the
    pride of this iniquity? Or wilt Thou finally justify the impious
    opinion that Thou carest no more for the work of Thy hands? A
    shock from a thunderbolt, and behold all human foresight is set
    at naught. Europe trembles upon the brink of destruction.

    The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.

    Many are the thoughts that throng the breast of man to-day, and
    the chief of them all is this: God reveals Himself as the
    Master. The nations that made the attack, and the nations that
    are warring in self-defense, alike confess themselves to be in
    the hand of Him without whom nothing is made, nothing is done.
    Men long unaccustomed to prayer are turning again to God. Within
    the army, within the civil world, in public, and within the
    individual conscience, there is prayer. Nor is that prayer
    to-day a word learnt by rote, uttered lightly by the lip; it
    surges from the troubled heart, it takes the form, at the feet
    of God, of the very sacrifice of life.

    God will save Belgium, my Brethren, you cannot doubt it.

    Nay, rather, He is saving her.

    Across the smoke of conflagration, across the stream of blood,
    have you not glimpses, do you not perceive signs, of His love
    for us? Is there a patriot among us who does not know that
    Belgium has grown great? Nay, which of us would have the heart
    to cancel this last page of our national history? Which of us
    does not exult in the brightness of the glory of this shattered
    nation? Let us acknowledge that we needed a lesson in
    patriotism. There were Belgians, and many such, who wasted their
    time and their talents in futile quarrels of class with class,
    of race with race, of passion with personal passion.

    Yet when, on the second of August, a mighty foreign power,
    confident in its own strength and defiant of the faith of
    treaties, dared to threaten us in our independence, then did all
    Belgians, without difference of party, or of condition, or of
    origin, rise up as one man, [close-ranged] about their own king
    and their own government, and cry to the invader: "Thou shalt
    not pass!"

    At once, instantly, we were conscious of our own patriotism. For
    down within us all is something deeper than personal interests,
    than personal kinships, than party feeling, and this is the need
    and the will to devote ourselves to that more general interest
    which Rome called the public thing, _Res publica_. And this
    profound will within us is Patriotism.

    Our country is not a mere gathering of persons or of families
    dwelling on the same soil, having amongst themselves relations,
    more or less intimate, of business, of neighborhood, of a
    community of memories, happy or unhappy. Not so; it is an
    association of living souls to be defended and safeguarded at
    all costs, even the cost of blood, under the leadership of those
    presiding over its fortunes. And it is because of this general
    spirit that the people of a country live a common life in the
    present, through the past, through the aspirations, the hopes,
    the confidence in a life to come, which they share together.
    Patriotism, an internal principle of order and of unity, an
    organic bond of the members of a nation, was placed by the
    finest thinkers of Greece and Rome at the head of the natural


    We may now say, my Brethren, without unworthy pride, that our
    little Belgium has taken a foremost place in the esteem of
    nations. I am aware that certain onlookers, notably in Italy and
    in Holland, have asked how it could be necessary to expose this
    country to so immense a loss of wealth and of life, and whether
    a verbal manifesto against hostile aggression, or a single
    cannon-shot on the frontier, would not have served the purpose
    of protest. But assuredly all men of good feeling will be with
    us in our rejection of these paltry counsels.

    On the 19th of April, 1839, a treaty was signed in London, by
    King Leopold, in the name of Belgium on the one part, and by the
    Emperor of Austria, the King of France, the Queen of England,
    the King of Prussia, and the Emperor of Russia on the other; and
    its seventh article decreed that Belgium should form a separate
    and perpetually neutral State, and should be held to the
    observance of this neutrality in regard to all other States. The
    signers promised, for themselves and their successors, upon
    their oaths, to fulfill and to observe that treaty in every
    point and every article. Belgium was thus bound in honor to
    defend her own independence. She kept her oath. The other Powers
    were bound to respect and to protect her neutrality. Germany
    violated her oath; England kept hers.

    These are the facts.

    The laws of conscience are sovereign laws. We should have acted
    unworthily had we evaded our obligation by a mere feint of
    resistance. And now we would not change our first resolution; we
    exult in it. Being called upon to write a most solemn page in
    the history of our country, we resolved that it should be also a
    sincere, also a glorious page. And as long as we are required to
    give proof of endurance, so long we shall endure.

    All classes of our citizens have devoted their sons to the
    cause of their country; but the poorer part of the population
    have set the noblest example, for they have suffered also
    privation, cold, and famine. If I may judge of the general
    feeling from what I have witnessed in the humbler quarters of
    Malines, and in the most cruelly afflicted districts of my
    diocese, the people are energetic in their endurance. They look
    to be righted; they will not hear of surrender.

    The sole lawful authority in Belgium is that of our King, of the
    elected representatives of the nation. This authority alone has
    a right to our affection, our submission.

    Occupied provinces are not conquered provinces. Belgium is no
    more a German province than Galicia is a Russian province.
    Nevertheless the occupied portion of our country is in a
    position it is compelled to endure. The greater part of our
    towns, having surrendered to the enemy on conditions, are bound
    to observe those conditions. From the outset of military
    operations, the civil authorities of the country urged upon all
    private persons the necessity of avoiding hostile acts against
    the enemy's army. That instruction remains in force. It is our
    army, and our army solely, in league with the brave troops of
    our Allies, that has the honor and the duty of national defense.
    Let us intrust the army with our final deliverance.

    Towards the persons of those who are holding dominion among us
    by military force, and who cannot but know of the energy with
    which we have defended, and are still defending, our
    independence, let us conduct ourselves with all needful
    forbearance. Let us observe the rules they have laid upon us so
    long as those rules do not violate our personal liberty, nor our
    consciences, nor our duty to our country. Let us not take
    bravado for courage, nor tumult for bravery.

    Our distress has moved the other nations. England, Ireland, and
    Scotland; France, Holland, the United States, Canada, have vied
    with each other in generosity for our relief. It is a spectacle
    at once most mournful and most noble. Here again is a revelation
    of the Providential Wisdom which draws good from evil. In your
    name, my Brethren, and in my own, I offer to the governments and
    the nations that have succored us the assurance of our
    admiration and our gratitude.


    I met a traveler from an antique land
    Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
    Stand in the desert.... Near them, on the sand,
    Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
    And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
    Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
    Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
    The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
    And on the pedestal these words appear:
    "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
    Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
    Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
    Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
    The lone and level sands stretch far away.
                            PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.


    "I hate them all!" said old Gaspard,
    And in his weather-beaten face
    The lines of bitterness grew hard,
    For he had seen his dwelling-place
    Laid waste in very wantonness,
    And all his little treasures flung
    Into that never-sated press
    From which no wine, but gall, had sprung--
    And not his heart alone was sore,
    For in his frail old limbs he bore
    Wounds of the heavy, ruthless hand
    That weighed so cruelly of late
    Upon the people and the land.
    It was not hard to understand
    Why old Gaspard should hate
    Even the German lad who lay
    His neighbor in the hospital,
    The boy who pleaded night and day:
    "Don't let me die! don't let me die!
    When I see the dawn, I know
    I shall live out that day, and then
    I'm not afraid--till dark--but oh,
    How soon the night comes round again!
    Don't let me die! don't let me die!"

    The old man muttered at each low,
    Pitiful, half delirious cry,
    "They should die, had I the say,
    In hell's own torment, one and all!"
    And then would drag himself away,
    Despite each motion's agony,
    To where the wounded poilus lay,
    And cheer them with his mimicry
    Of barnyard noises, and his gay
    Old songs of what life used to be.
    One night the lad suddenly cried,
    "Mother!" And though the sister knew--
    He was so young, so terrified,
    "You're safe--the east is light," she lied.
    But "No!" he sobbed, "the cock must crow
    Before the dawn!" They did not hear
    A cripple crawl across the floor,
    But all at once, outside the door,
    In the courtyard, shrill and clear,
    Once, twice and thrice, chanticleer crew.
    The blue eyes closed and the boy sighed,
    "I'm not afraid, now day's begun.
    I'll live--till--" With a smile, he died.

    And in that hour when he denied
    The god of hate, I think that One
    Passed through the hospital's dim yard
    And turning, looked on old Gaspard.

                             AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR.




One of the great lawyers of Belgium in behalf of the members of the bar
of Brussels, Liége, Ghent, Charleroi, Mons, Louvain, and Antwerp,
appeared twice before the German Court of Justice at Brussels and
appealed for more just treatment of the Belgian people. In his first
appeal, he protested against the illegal manner in which the Belgians
were accused of crime, tried, and convicted at the pleasure of German
officials. He concluded with the following eloquent words:

    I can understand martial law for armies in the field. It is the
    immediate reply to an aggression against the troops, the quick
    justice of the commander of the army responsible for his
    soldiers. But our armies are far away; we are no longer in the
    zone of military operations. Nothing here threatens your troops,
    the inhabitants are calm.

    The people have taken up work again. You have bidden them do it.
    Each one attends to his business--magistrates, judges, officials
    of the provinces and cities, the clergy, all are at their posts,
    united in one outburst of national interest and brotherhood.

    However, this does not mean that they have forgotten. The
    Belgian people lived happily in their corner of the earth,
    confident in their dream of independence. They saw this dream
    dispelled; they saw their country ruined and devastated; its
    ancient hospitable soil has been sown with thousands of tombs
    where our own sleep; the war has made tears flow which no hand
    can dry. No, the murdered soul of Belgium will never forget.

His second appeal will be spoken by school children in Belgium, and
perhaps in America, when the names of the German judges to whom he
spoke are forgotten even in Germany.

    We are not annexed. We are not conquered. We are not even
    vanquished. Our army is fighting. Our colors float alongside
    those of France, England, and Russia. The country subsists. She
    is simply unfortunate. More than ever, then, we now owe
    ourselves to her, body and soul. To defend her rights is also to
    fight for her.

    We are living hours now as tragic as any country has ever known.
    All is destruction and ruin around us. Everywhere we see
    mourning. Our army has lost half of its effective forces. Its
    percentage in dead and wounded will never be reached by any of
    the belligerents. There remains to us only a corner of ground
    over there by the sea. The waters of the Yser flow through an
    immense plain peopled by the dead. It is called the Belgian
    Cemetery. There sleep our children by the thousands. There they
    are sleeping their last sleep. The struggle goes on bitterly and
    without mercy.

    Your sons, Mr. President, are at the front; mine as well. For
    months we have been living in anxiety regarding the morrow.

    Why these sacrifices, why this sorrow? Belgium could have
    avoided these disasters, saved her existence, her treasures, and
    the lives of her children, but she preferred her honor.


Americans are particularly interested in the story of Edith Cavell,
because the American minister in Brussels on behalf of the American
people asked German officials to spare her life, or at least to
postpone her execution, until he might have an opportunity to see that
she was properly defended. Germany's disregard of America and the
wishes of the American people was clearly shown by the scornful manner
in which Germany set aside as of no importance American protests and
requests. Her action in this case was similar to her action earlier in
regard to the _Lusitania_, involving in both cases direct falsehoods by
representatives of the German government.

Germans wondered that the shooting of an English woman for treason
should cause a sensation, just as they wondered why even their enemies
did not applaud them for murdering more than a thousand non-combatants
on the _Lusitania_. They did not realize that both of these crimes
would add thousands of volunteers to the armies fighting against them,
and that they would always be recorded in history as among the most
despicable deeds of a civilized nation. Some one has said, "Attila and
his Huns were ignorant barbarians, but the modern Huns know better and
therefore they are more to be condemned."

Edith Cavell was so brave, so frank, so honest that it would seem that
even to the Germans her virtues would

        plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
    The deep damnation of her taking-off.

But not so, for German education and training have evidently made the
German people look upon almost everything in a way different from that
of Americans, Englishmen, and Frenchmen. And yet the common German
people do at times show that they have a feeling of admiration, if not
of affection, for peoples of other nations; for we are told of a German
city erecting a statue to the French and English soldiers who died as
captives in the German prison located there, with the inscription, _To
our Comrades, who here died for their Fatherland_.

But we must remember that there are many kingdoms in Germany and cruel
Prussia rules them all. It was Prussian savagery and barbarity that
approved the massacre by the Turks of almost an entire people, the
Armenians, and it was done under the eyes of German officers. The same
is true of the wholesale slaughter of non-combatant Serbian men, women,
and children by the Bulgarians. A word from Germany would have stopped
it all.

When the war broke out, Edith Cavell was living in England with her
aged mother. She felt her duty was in Belgium and she went to Brussels
and established a private hospital. An American woman, Mary Boyle
O'Reilly of Boston, a daughter of the poet, John Boyle O'Reilly, worked
with her for a time. When Miss O'Reilly was expelled from Belgium, she
begged Miss Cavell to leave that land of horror, but Miss Cavell only
said, "My duty is here."

She and her nurses cared for many a wounded German soldier and this
alone should have insured her fair treatment, if not gratitude, from

She was arrested, kept in solitary confinement for ten weeks without
any charge being made against her; then was tried secretly for having
sheltered French and Belgian soldiers who were seeking to escape to

It is probably true that Miss Cavell did this, but the history of war
in modern times records no case where any one has been put to death for
giving shelter for a short time to a fugitive soldier. Such an act does
not, according to the custom of civilized countries, make one a spy,
nor is it treason.

Those who have investigated the case carefully have come to the
conclusion that the Germans decided to make a terrible example of some
of the women in Brussels who were sympathizing with and perhaps helping
French and Belgian soldiers to escape to Holland, for about the same
time twenty-two other women were arrested on the same charge as that
finally made against Edith Cavell.

When Brand Whitlock, the American minister, learned from an outsider
(he could get no information from the German officials) that Edith
Cavell had been condemned, he sent the following letters, one a
personal one, the other an official one, to the German commandant:



    I am too ill to put my request before you in person, but once
    more I appeal to the generosity of your heart. Stand by and save
    from death this unfortunate woman. Have pity on her.

                                   Your devoted friend,
                                                  BRAND WHITLOCK.


    I have just heard that Miss Cavell, a British subject, and
    consequently under the protection of my Legation, was this
    morning condemned to death by court-martial.

    If my information is correct, the sentence in the present case
    is more severe than all the others that have been passed in
    similar cases which have been tried by the same Court, and,
    without going into the reasons for such a drastic sentence, I
    feel that I have the right to appeal to your Excellency's
    feelings of humanity and generosity in Miss Cavell's favor, and
    to ask that the death penalty passed on Miss Cavell may be
    commuted and that this unfortunate woman shall not be executed.

    Miss Cavell is the head of the Brussels Surgical Institute. She
    has spent her life in alleviating the sufferings of others, and
    her school has turned out many nurses who have watched at the
    bedside of the sick all the world over, in Germany as in
    Belgium. At the beginning of the war Miss Cavell bestowed her
    care as freely on the German soldiers as on others. Even in
    default of all other reasons, her career as a servant of
    humanity is such as to inspire the greatest sympathy and to call
    for pardon. If the information in my possession is correct, Miss
    Cavell, far from shielding herself, has, with commendable
    straightforwardness, admitted the truth of all the charges
    against her, and it is the very information which she herself
    has furnished, which has aggravated the severity of the sentence
    passed on her.

    It is then with confidence, and in the hope of its favorable
    reception, that I have the honor to present to your Excellency
    my request for pardon on Miss Cavell's behalf.

                                                  BRAND WHITLOCK.

But no real attention was paid to the American notes. Edith Cavell was
sentenced at five o'clock on the afternoon of October 11, and was put
to death that same night.

Permission was refused to take her body for burial outside the prison.
It is doubtless still buried in the prison yard unless the Germans have
removed it for fear a monument may be erected above it. The English are
to erect a monument in her honor in London. Dr. James M. Beck, in
writing about her case, says of her burial in the prison yard, "One can
say of that burial place, as Byron said of the prison cell of Chillon:
'Let none these marks efface, for they appeal from tyranny to God.'"


    He hurried away, young heart of joy, under our Devon sky!
    And I watched him go, my beautiful boy, and a weary woman was I.
    For my hair is gray, and his was gold; he'd the best of his life
       to live;
    And I'd loved him so, and I'm old, I'm old; and he's all I had to

    Ah, yes, he was proud and swift and gay, but oh, how my eyes were
    With the sun in his heart he went away, but he took the sun with
    For look! How the leaves are falling now, and the winter won't be
    Oh, boy, my boy with the sunny brow, and the lips of love and of

    How we used to sit at the day's sweet end, we two by the
       fire-light's gleam,
    And we'd drift to the Valley of Let's Pretend, on the beautiful
       River of Dream.
    Oh, dear little heart! All wealth untold would I gladly, gladly pay
    Could I just for a moment closely hold that golden head to my gray.

    For I gaze in the fire, and I'm seeing there a child, and he waves
       to me;
    And I run and I hold him up in the air, and he laughs and shouts
       with glee;
    A little bundle of love and mirth, crying: "Come, Mumsie dear!"
    Ah, me! If he called from the ends of the earth I know that my
       heart would hear.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Yet the thought comes thrilling through all my pain: how worthier
       could he die?
    Yea, a loss like that is a glorious gain, and pitiful proud am I.
    For Peace must be bought with blood and tears, and the boys of our
       hearts must pay;
    And so in our joy of the after-years, let us bless them every day.

    And though I know there's a hasty grave with a poor little cross
       at its head,
    And the gold of his youth he so gladly gave, yet to me he'll never
       be dead.
    And the sun in my Devon lane will be gay, and my boy will be with
       me still,
    So I'm finding the heart to smile and say: "Oh God, if it be
       Thy Will!"

                        ROBERT W. SERVICE.




But Belgium is not the only little nation that has been attacked in
this war, and I make no excuse for referring to the case of the other
little nation--the case of Serbia. The history of Serbia is not
unblotted. What history in the list of nations is unblotted? The first
nation that is without sin, let her cast a stone at Serbia--a nation
trained in a horrible school. But she won her freedom with her
tenacious valor, and she has maintained it by the same courage. If any
Serbians were mixed up in the assassination of the Grand Duke, they
ought to be punished. Serbia admits that. The Serbian Government had
nothing to do with it. Not even Austria claimed that. The Serbian Prime
Minister is one of the most capable and honored men in Europe. Serbia
was willing to punish any one of her subjects who had been proved to
have any complicity in that assassination. What more could you expect?

What were the Austrian demands? Serbia sympathized with her
fellow-countrymen in Bosnia. That was one of her crimes. She must do so
no more. Her newspapers were saying nasty things about Austria. They
must do so no longer. That is the Austrian spirit. How dare you
criticize a Prussian official? And if you laugh, it is a capital
offense. Serbian newspapers must not criticize Austria. I wonder what
would have happened had we taken up the same line about German
newspapers. Serbia said: "Very well, we will give orders to the
newspapers that they must not criticize Austria in future, neither
Austria, nor Hungary, nor anything that is theirs." She promised not to
sympathize with Bosnia; promised to write no critical articles about
Austria. She would hold no public meetings at which anything unkind was
said about Austria. That was not enough. She must dismiss from her army
officers whom Austria should subsequently name. But these officers had
just emerged from a war where they were adding luster to the Serbian
arms--gallant, brave, efficient. I wonder whether it was their guilt or
their efficiency that prompted Austria's action. Serbia was to
undertake in advance to dismiss them from the army--the names to be
sent in subsequently. Can you name a country in the world that would
have stood that? Supposing Austria or Germany had issued an ultimatum
of that kind to this country. "You must dismiss from your army and from
your navy all those officers whom we shall subsequently name." Well, I
think I could name them now. Lord Kitchener would go. Sir John French
would be sent about his business. General Smith-Dorrien would be no
more, and I am sure that Sir John Jellicoe would go. And there is
another gallant old warrior who would go--Lord Roberts.

It was a difficult situation for a small country. Here was a demand
made upon her by a great military power who could put five or six men
in the field for every one she could; and that power supported by the
greatest military power in the world. How did Serbia behave? It is not
what happens to you in life that matters; it is the way in which you
face it. And Serbia faced the situation with dignity. She said to
Austria: "If any officers of mine have been guilty and are proved to be
guilty, I will dismiss them." Austria said, "That is not good enough
for me." It was not guilt she was after, but capacity.

Then came Russia's turn. Russia has a special regard for Serbia. She
has a special interest in Serbia. Russians have shed their blood for
Serbian independence many a time. Serbia is a member of her family, and
she cannot see Serbia maltreated. Austria knew that. Germany knew that,
and Germany turned around to Russia and said: "I insist that you shall
stand by with your arms folded whilst Austria is strangling your little
brother to death." What answer did the Russian Slav give? He gave the
only answer that becomes a man. He turned to Austria and said: "You lay
hands on that little fellow and I will tear your ramshackle empire limb
from limb."

                                        DAVID LLOYD GEORGE, 1914.


Captain Charles Fryatt was in command of a British steamship named
_Brussels_, running from Tilbury, England, to the Hook of Holland. His
ship was hailed in 1915 by a German submarine and ordered to stop.

A torpedo costs several thousand dollars, therefore a submarine saves
one whenever she can sink a ship by some other means. Also a submarine
can carry but few torpedoes, so by saving them she can remain longer at
sea and at her work of destruction.

Captain Fryatt was well aware that if he came to a stop, the Germans
would board his ship and sink her by bombs, or would order the
passengers off and sink her by shells from the guns. This is the way
they sank the _Carolina_ off the coast of New Jersey, leaving the
passengers in open boats--many of whom died from exposure and by the
capsizing of one boat in the tempest which struck them at midnight.

Captain Fryatt knew that by the laws of nations he had the right to
defend his ship, so instead of stopping as the Germans ordered him to
do, he put on full speed and turned the head of his ship towards the
submarine, hoping to ram her and sink her. He was obeying instructions
from his government, and was doing nothing but what he had a perfect
right to do according to international law.

He did not succeed, but he gained time and forced the submarine to
submerge, for British destroyers were coming up in answer to his
wireless call.

For his bravery, the British Government rewarded him by giving him a
gold watch and naming him with praise in the House of Commons.

More than a year later, on June 23, 1916, German warships out on a raid
captured the _Brussels_, which Captain Fryatt still commanded. He was
taken to Bruges, Belgium, and put on trial for his life. The Germans
claimed his case was like that of a non-combatant on land who fired
upon the soldiers. They found him guilty on June 27 and sentenced him
to be shot, for having attempted to sink the submarine, U-33, by
ramming it. They laid much emphasis on the fact that the British
Government had rewarded him, although this really had nothing to do
with whether or not he had a right to defend his ship.

The United States was not then at war with Germany, and the diplomatic
affairs of England were in charge of the United States Ambassador in
Berlin. When Ambassador Gerard learned that Captain Fryatt had been
captured and taken to Bruges for trial, he sent two notes to the proper
German officials, demanding the right to visit Captain Fryatt and to
secure counsel for him.

The German officials acknowledged his notes and assured him that they
would take the necessary steps to meet his request.

But the morning of the day after Ambassador Gerard sent his notes,
Captain Fryatt was tried and sentenced, and was shot in the afternoon
of the same day. As in the case of Edith Cavell, Germany's answer to
America was a lie, and a scornful carrying out of her illegal purpose
before the American Ambassador could do anything more. She acted in
exactly the same way in connection with the _Lusitania_, and with all
her submarine warfare, or piracy, as it really is according to
international law.

One of the leading German writers on international law says, "The
merchant ship has the right of self-defense against an enemy attack,
and this right it can exercise against visit, for this is indeed the
first act of capture."

Germany knew she had no right to shoot Captain Fryatt, and she did not
want her right challenged at his trial; so she did not allow the
American Ambassador to see him and to secure counsel for him.

She desired to make him an example of German "frightfulness" as she had
in the case of Edith Cavell and of the _Lusitania_. She thought this
would prevent other British vessels trying to ram her submarines.

The whole world is wondering if Germany would cower under
"frightfulness," and therefore believes other peoples will. Her policy
certainly has never had the effect that she hoped it would. It has
simply made her enemies fight all the harder and dare all the more,
because they remember her inhuman acts and unlawful deeds.

The Germans published the following notice of the trial and execution:

    On Thursday at Bruges before the Court Martial of the Marine
    Corps, the trial took place of Captain Fryatt, of the British
    steamer _Brussels_, which was brought in as a prize. The accused
    was condemned to death because, although he was not a member of
    a combatant force, he made an attempt, on the afternoon of March
    28, 1915, to ram the German submarine, U-33, near the Maas

    The accused received at the time from the British Admiralty a
    gold watch as a reward for his brave conduct on that occasion,
    and his action was mentioned with praise in the House of

    On the occasion in question, disregarding the U-boat's signal to
    stop and show his national flag, he turned at a critical moment
    at high speed against the submarine, which escaped the steamer
    by a few metres only because of swiftly diving. He confessed
    that in so doing he had acted in accordance with the
    instructions of the Admiralty. The sentence was confirmed
    yesterday afternoon and carried out by shooting.

    This is one of the many nefarious _franc-tireur_ proceedings of
    the British merchant marine against our war vessels, and it has
    found a belated but merited expiation.

The civilized nations of the world, in which we do not include Germany
and her allies, have agreed that the execution of Captain Fryatt was a
murder. Possibly the Germans also know it, but defend it as they did
the invasion of Belgium, as "necessary" to German victory.

History will forever record it as an example of the black deeds done by
desperate men who care only to accomplish their selfish ends, and will
explain how these evil deeds of horror and of terror have injured those
who committed them more than those who suffered from them.

On the very day of the execution of Captain Fryatt, the British
passenger liner _Falaba_ was torpedoed and sunk without warning. She
sank in eight minutes carrying with her one hundred and four men,
women, and children, who were "not members of a combatant force."


Among the losses that the World War has caused--many of them losses
that can never be made good--is that of the promising young English
poet, Rupert Brooke.

He was a fine type in mind and body. His father was a teacher in the
great English school at Rugby, and here the boy learned to write, and
to play cricket, tennis, and football. He was interested in every form
of athletics and was strong and skillful at all. He was a great walker
and a fine diver and swimmer. He was said to have been one of the
handsomest Englishmen of his day, tall, broad, easy, and graceful in
his movements, with steady blue eyes, and a wavy mass of fair hair.

He had traveled much in France, Germany, Italy, the United States,
Canada, and the South Seas, where he visited Stevenson's home in Samoa.
Of all lands, however, he loved England best.

When the war broke out, Brooke said, "Well, if Armageddon's on, I
suppose I should be there." He enlisted, was commissioned as
lieutenant, and was sent almost immediately with the English forces to
relieve Antwerp, at that time besieged by the Germans. This experience,
lying day after day in trenches under German fire, followed by the
terrible retreat by night with the thousands of Belgians who had lost
everything except their lives, changed the careless, happy youth into a
man. He was but twenty-seven years old when he enlisted. He wrote but
little poetry after his enlistment, but it is all of a finer, more
spiritual quality than any of his previous work.

He spent the following winter training in England, and then joined the
British Expeditionary Forces for the Dardanelles. He never reached
there, however, for he died at Scyros on April 23, 1915, and was buried
by torchlight at night, in an olive grove on the island.

One of his friends, Wilfred Gibson, has paid a beautiful tribute to him
in a short poem entitled "The Going." It is a tribute that might well
be offered to any of the thousands of young heroes from many lands who
have gone with a sudden glory in their young eyes to give all, that
human liberty should not be lost.

    He's gone.
    I do not understand.
    I only know
    That, as he turned to go,
    And waved his hand,
    In his young eyes a sudden glory shone,
    And I was dazzled by a sunset glow--
    And he was gone

Death appeared to be in his mind constantly after his terrible
experience at Antwerp, but he seems never to have feared it. It is
really the subject of all of his five sonnets written in 1914, and
these are the best of his work. He thought constantly of England and of
all that she had done for him and meant to him. He thought also of the
little meaningful things of life, and put them into these
sonnets--dawn, sunset, the beautiful colors of the earth, music,
flowers, the feel of furs, and the touch of a cheek. Strange that he
should have thought of the touching of fur. It probably gave him a
strange sensation as it does to many. And then he thought of water and
its movement in the wind, and its warmth under the sun, which seemed to
him like life, just as its freezing under the frost seemed to him like
death. All of this and more he put into a beautiful sonnet entitled
"The Dead."

    These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
      Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
    The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
      And sunset, and the colors of the earth.
    These had seen movement, and heard music; known
      Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
    Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
      Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.

    There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
    And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
      Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
    And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
      Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
    A width, a shining peace, under the night.

Note how significant is every human experience which he mentions from
"the quick stir of wonder" which the youth feels, to the kindness which
comes with years. "They had seen movement" is strange, and yet many
like Rupert Brooke are fascinated with movement and see life chiefly in
motion,--in smiles and steps.

His finest poem, however, is the last of the five sonnets and is
entitled "The Soldier." Here he pours out his heart in love of England
and in the pride that he feels in being an Englishman. Read France or
America or some other worthy homeland in place of England and it will
appeal to other hearts beside Englishmen. It is a beautiful poem, one
that will live forever.

    If I should die, think only this of me:
      That there's some corner of a foreign field
    That is forever England. There shall be
      In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
    A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
      Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
    A body of England's, breathing English air,
      Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

    And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
      A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
      Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
    Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
      And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
    In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

One of our American poets, George Edward Woodberry, has beautifully

    There is a grave in Scyros, amid the white and pinkish marble of
    the isle, the wild thyme and the poppies, near the green and
    blue waters. There Rupert Brooke was buried. Thither have gone
    the thoughts of his countrymen, and the hearts of the young
    especially. It will long be so. For a new star shines in the
    English heavens.

    Ever the faith endures,
      England, my England--
    "Take us and break us: we are yours,
      England, my own!
    Life is good, and joy runs high
    Between English earth and sky:
    Death is death; but we shall die
    To the song on your bugles blown,
    To the stars on your bugles blown."

                          W.E. HENLEY.




At 12:20 noon, on Saturday, May 1, 1915, there steamed out of New York
harbor one of the largest and fastest passenger ships in the world. It
was the _Lusitania_, flying the British flag, and bound for Europe, via
Liverpool. On board were nearly two thousand men, women, and children.
They were not overcrowded, however, for the _Lusitania_ was the finest,
the most comfortable of ocean boats. It was more than an eighth of a
mile in length, 88 feet in width, and 60 feet in depth, and had a speed
of nearly 30 miles an hour.

Her passengers, once out from shore, settled down to seven days of life
in this immense, floating hotel. Tiny babies toddled across the smooth,
shining floors of the new home, or watched with gurgles of delight the
older children rollicking and romping over the decks. The women chatted
and sang, and played all sorts of games. The men, too, engaged in many
contests, athletic stunts, and games. At night, when the little ones
were quietly sleeping in their bunks, their elders gathered in the
grand saloon and there listened to some fine singer, a famous
violinist, or a great lecturer.

    _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._]

So the days passed, the people living as one great family. New
friendships grew, and many delightful acquaintances were formed. The
complete harmony and restfulness of such a life, the clear skies and
sunshine, and the vast expanse of blue-green ocean, all made them
forget that they were riding into a region of horror and war.

For nearly ten months Belgium, England, France, and Russia had been
waging war against Germany. Around England's coasts lurked the horrors
of the German submarine. The travelers on the morning of sailing had
read the warning against crossing. It has since been called the "Death
Notice." It read:


    Travelers intending to embark on the Atlantic voyage are
    reminded that a state of war exists between Germany and her
    allies and Great Britain and her allies; that the zone of war
    includes the waters adjacent to the British Isles; that in
    accordance with formal notice given by the Imperial German
    Government, vessels flying the flag of Great Britain or any of
    her allies, are liable to destruction in those waters; and that
    travelers sailing in the war zone on ships of Great Britain or
    her allies do so at their own risk.

                                         IMPERIAL GERMAN EMBASSY.

    WASHINGTON, D.C., April 22, 1915.

It had been printed in the newspapers beside the advertisement of the
sailing of the _Lusitania_, and was posted that very morning by order
of Count von Bernstorff, German ambassador to the United States. But
most of the travelers paid no attention to the notice after reading it,
for they were sure that no implement of war would be turned against a
passenger ship. With stout hearts, many of the travelers said, "We are
Americans. No country will refuse respect and protection for an
American citizen in any part of the world." Or they said, "We are
British citizens,--not soldiers. We are on a merchant vessel--not a
battleship. Surely our rights will be respected. We cross under

So they dared to exercise their freedom and their rights when they
boarded the steamer for this return trip.

After sailing for five days in safety, they came at last within sight
of land. Early on Friday morning a heavy fog had lowered, but the ship
continued to plow steadily through the tranquil waters. Toward noon the
fog lifted and the sunshine and blue sky came to view, contributing to
the full enjoyment of the travelers.

They had just finished luncheon. Some were quietly writing
letters--others playing games. Many had strolled to the upper decks.
They greeted their new acquaintances, regretting that they were so soon
to part, for they were now but ten or fifteen miles out from shore off
"Old Head of Kinsale," and within a few hours all would land, going on
their separate ways for the rest of the journey. Though they were
nearing a world at war, all seemed peaceful.

The ship's clock pointed at two, when a few men standing on deck saw
what looked like a whale rising from the water about three quarters of
a mile away. They saw it speeding toward them, and suddenly they knew
what it was; but no one named it, until with a train of bubbles it
disappeared under the ship, and they cried, "It's a torpedo!"

With a fearful explosion, the center of the ship was blown up through
the decks, making a great heap of wreckage. The passengers fled from
the lower to the upper decks, many of them not stopping for life
preservers. Some of those who did strap on the life preservers did not
put them on correctly. Many leaped into the water, trusting to be
picked up by a passing boat. Although every one was terribly
frightened, yet there seemed to be no panic. The men lowered the
lifeboats, which were crowded to the full. As many as seventy or eighty
people, it is said, were packed into one small boat.

Leslie N. Morton, a mere lad, has been officially named as bravest of
the crew. He was stationed on the starboard side, keeping look-out,
when the torpedo struck. He, with the assistance of his mate, rowed a
lifeboat for some miles, put the people on a fishing smack, and
returned again for other survivors, rescuing in all nearly a hundred.

There were many acts of heroism among the passengers, but in all of the
distress one young man stood out among the hundreds upon the ship.
Alfred G. Vanderbilt, a young American millionaire, quickly realizing
that the steamer was sinking, turned to his valet and cried, "Let us
save the kiddies!" The two sprang to the rescue of the babies and small
children, carrying two of the little ones in their arms at a time and
placing them carefully in the lifeboats with their mothers. Mr.
Vanderbilt and his valet continued their efforts to the very last. When
they could find no more children, they turned to the assistance of the
women that were left. When last seen, Mr. Vanderbilt was smilingly,
almost happily, lending his aid to the passengers who still remained on

The whole civilized world honors the memory of this brave youth, who
gave his life in serving helpless women and children. Gratifying indeed
it is to know that the little ones were cared for, though sad to learn
that even then only twenty-five of the hundred and twenty-nine babies
on board were saved. About one hundred children were innocent victims
of that dastardly deed which the Germans, through savage desire to
terrorize, became brutes enough to do.

Elbert Hubbard, a noted American writer, and his wife went down with
the ship. Charles Frohman, a leading producer of plays, was another
prominent American lost. He has been cited as the finest example of
faith and calm strength, for, realizing that there was little hope for
him, he smilingly remarked, "Why fear death? It is the most beautiful
adventure that life gives us."

In less than twenty minutes after the torpedo struck, nothing except
floating pieces of wreckage strewn on the disturbed surface of the
water marked the place of the great calamity.

The wireless operator had sent the S.O.S. signal of distress several
times, and also had time to send the message, "Come at once, big list,
10 miles south of 'Old Head of Kinsale.'" He had received answers
before his apparatus was put out of use, and soon trawlers and pilot
boats came to the rescue and brought to shore those who had survived.
The cold ocean water, however, had made many so numb that they were
unable to help themselves enough to be lifted into the lifeboats, even
when the life preservers had kept them afloat. Of the 159 Americans on
board, 124 perished. In all, only 761 people were saved; 1198 perished.

That day the terrible news came over the cable to America,--the great
passenger steamer _Lusitania_ had been torpedoed by a German submarine;
probably a thousand lives had been lost, among them many Americans!

At the White House, the President realized the awful import of such a

In a day or so, nearly two thousand telegrams poured in from all parts
of the country; and it is said that the President read them all, for he
wanted to know how the individual American felt.

The Germans offered all sorts of excuses for their cruel deed. A German
paper printed the following:

    Must we not, we who may be defeated by starvation and by lack of
    war materials, must we not defend ourselves from this great
    danger (with which the enemy's blockade threatens us), with all
    our might and with all the means that the German spirit can
    invent, and which the honor of the German people recognizes as
    lawful weapons? Have those, who now raise such outcries, any
    right to accuse us, those who allowed their friends and
    relatives to trust themselves on a ship whose destruction was
    announced with perfect clearness in advance? When our enemy's
    blockade method forces us to measures in self-defense, _the
    death of non-combatants is a matter of no consequence_.

A blockade of an enemy's ports is, and always has been, a perfectly
fair kind of warfare. In our Civil War, the southern ports were, from
the beginning, blockaded by the northern warships. Germany was in no
danger of starving, as the events since have proved. Her excuses were,
as they have been in every case where she has played the part of the
brute, worse than no excuses and always based on falsehoods.

"The steamer carried ammunition for England," they said. But it was
bought and carried in accordance with international law. Germany had
the same right to buy and carry from a neutral country. "It was a
British ship," they said. But it was a passenger ship and carried
nearly two thousand people, many of them Americans, who, according to
all international agreements, were guaranteed safe passage even in time
of war.

All nations recognize the obligation of an enemy to visit and search
the vessel they think should be sunk, to make sure it carries
contraband of war, and if so, to give the people an opportunity to get
safely into the lifeboats. Not only did the Germans not do this, but
they did not even signal the ship that it was about to be sunk. The
newspaper warning put out by Bernstorff was no excuse for committing an
unlawful, inhuman act.

From all points of view, the Germans, in sinking the _Lusitania_,
committed a horrible crime, not only against international law, but
against humanity and civilization. In all war, armed forces meet armed
forces; never do armed forces strangle and butcher the innocent and
unprotected. There is such a thing as _legitimate_ warfare, except
among barbarians.

Here again was shown the German attitude in the "scrap of paper."
Evidently trusting to the great distance of the United States and her
well-known unpreparedness, Germany thought that a friendly relation
with this country was a matter of entire indifference to her; or, if
she hoped to draw America into the war, she little dreamed to what end
those hopes would come!

Around the world one verdict was pronounced against Germany. This
verdict was well worded in a Russian paper, the _Courier_:

    The right to punish these criminals who violate the laws of
    humanity belongs first and foremost to the great American
    Republic. America knows well how to use this right. The sympathy
    of the civilized world is guaranteed her beforehand. The world
    is being suffocated by poisonous gases of inhuman cruelty spread
    abroad by Germany, who, in the madness of her rage, is
    committing needless, purposeless, and senseless murder, solely
    from lust of blood and horrors!

The American government, upon the occurrence of the calamity, showed
great forbearance, believing that "a man of proved temper and tried
courage is not always bound to return a madman's blow." A strong
protest was sent to the Imperial German Government, which caused
Germany to abandon for a time her submarine attacks upon neutral
vessels. It was the renewal of these attacks that finally led to the
declaration of war by the United States of America upon Germany and her
allies, and it was the _Lusitania_ outrage more than any other one
event that roused the fighting spirit of America.


Sometimes a retreat is in reality a great victory. It has been said
that it requires a greater general to direct successfully a great
retreat than it does to direct a great attack.

Some marvelous retreats have occurred in the World War, the greatest
coming at its very beginning, when the English and French fell back to
save Paris and to defeat the Germans at the Marne. This retreat was
really a series of battles, day after day, with terrible losses on both

An English private in the Black Watch, named Walter Morton, only
nineteen years of age, described for the _Scotsmen_ one of these
battles in which his regiment and the Scots Greys made a magnificent
charge. His story was as follows:

    We went straight from Boulogne to Mons, being one of the first
    British regiments to reach that place. Neither army seemed to
    have a very good position there, but the numbers of the Germans
    were far too great to give us any chance of success. We were
    hard at it all day on Monday; and on Tuesday, as the French
    reinforcements which we had been expecting did not arrive, the
    order was given to retire.

    In our retreat we marched close upon eighty miles. We passed
    through Cambrai, and a halt was called at St. Quentin. The
    Germans, in their mad rush to get to Paris, had seldom been far
    behind us, and when we came to St. Quentin the word went through
    the ranks that we were going into action. The men were quite
    jubilant at the prospect. They had not been at all pleased at
    their continued retirement before the enemy, and they at once
    started to get things ready. The engagement opened briskly, both
    our artillery and the Germans going at it for all they were
    worth. We were in good skirmishing order, and under the cover of
    our guns we were all the time getting nearer and nearer the
    enemy. When we had come to within 100 yards of the German lines,
    the commands were issued for a charge, and the Black Watch made
    the charge along with the Scots Greys. Not far from us the 9th
    Lancers and the Cameronians joined in the attack.

    It was the finest thing I ever saw. The Scots Greys galloped
    forward with us hanging on to their stirrups, and it was a sight
    never to be forgotten. We were simply being dragged by the
    horses as they flew forward through a perfect cloud of bullets
    from the enemy's maxims. All other sounds were drowned by the
    thunder of the horses' hoofs as they careered wildly on, some of
    them nearly driven mad by the bullets which struck them. It was
    no time for much thinking. Saddles were being emptied quickly,
    as we closed on the German lines and tore past their maxims,
    which were in the front ranks.

    We were on the German gunners before they knew where they were,
    and many of them went down, scarcely realizing that we were
    amongst them. Then the fray commenced in deadly earnest. The
    Black Watch and the Scots Greys went into it like men
    possessed. They fought like demons. It was our bayonets against
    the Germans' swords. You could see nothing but the glint of
    steel, and soon even that was wanting as our boys got well into
    the midst of the enemy. The swords of the Germans were no use
    against our bayonets. They went down in hundreds.

    Then the enemy began to waver, and soon broke and fled before
    the bayonets, like rabbits before the shot of a gun.

    There were about 1900 of us in that charge against 20,000
    Germans, and the charge itself lasted about four hours. We took
    close upon 4000 prisoners, and captured a lot of their guns. In
    the course of the fighting I got a cut from a German sword--they
    are very much like saws--and fell into a pool of water, where I
    lay unconscious for twenty-three hours. I was picked up by one
    of the 9th Lancers.


At Marathon (490 B.C.) and at Salamis (480 B.C.) the Greeks defeated
the Persians and saved Europe for western civilization. Had the
Persians won, the history of Europe and of the world would be the story
of the civilization of the East instead of that of the West.

At Tours (732 A.D.) Charles Martel defeated the forces of the
Mohammedans, who had already conquered Spain, and saved Europe for

At the Marne (1914 and 1918) the French, the English, and (in the
second battle) the Americans, defeated the modern Huns and saved Europe
for democracy and from the rule of merciless brute force. The First
Battle of the Marne has been called the sixteenth decisive battle of
the world.

Before the First Battle of the Marne, September 5 to 10, 1914, the
German military machine had been winning, as never an army had won
before in the entire recorded history of the world. Its path had been
one of treachery, of atrocities, of savagery, but one of tremendous and
unparalleled victory. The Germans at home called it "the great times."

Brave little Belgium had been able to hold back the German hordes but
for a short time at Liége and Namur, but, as future events proved, long
enough to make possible the decisive battles at the Marne. The Germans
had taken Brussels and Antwerp, had destroyed Louvain, had filled
themselves with outrage and murder, had drunk of blood and wine and
success until they were thoroughly intoxicated with the belief so
common to drunken brutes that no men in the world can stand against
them. The little Belgian army, "the contemptible little English army"
(as the Kaiser called it), and the magnificent French army had been
retreating day by day almost as fast as the Germans could advance. Soon
Paris and then all of France would be in German hands--and what a
glorious time they would have in the gayest and most beautiful capital
of the world. Although bodies of German cavalry raided the coast, the
German leaders, elated and intoxicated with thoughts of rich plunder
and dissipation, did not turn aside in force to follow the Belgian army
and to take the Channel ports of Dunkirk, Calais, and Boulogne, but
pushed on toward Paris. The French government, expecting a siege of the
city, moved to Bordeaux.

The main forces of the Germans had turned south from the coast towards
Paris with General von Kluck's army of about 200,000 men at the right
or west of the German line of advance. General von Kluck was
attempting to outflank the English army, that is, to throw part of his
forces around the extreme western end of the English army, which had to
keep retiring rapidly to avoid being encircled. The French army was
obliged to fall back to keep in touch with the British.

The English retired nearly one hundred miles without losing their
cheerfulness or their confidence. It was this turning movement on the
left that forced all the allies to retire. An English writer who was
with the army said that though the Germans constantly attacked with
reckless courage, yet the British and French retired slowly with their
faces to the foe, and showing the greatest heroism. The numbers of the
Germans were greater than those of the Allies, and the Germans gave
them no rest. Night and day they hammered away, coming on like great
waves. The gaps the English made were filled instantly. The German guns
played upon the Allies constantly. Their cavalry swept down upon them
recklessly. If the English had great losses, the Germans had greater.
The English fought with cool bravery. They never wavered an instant.
But the pressure upon them could not be resisted. Column after column,
squadron after squadron, mass after mass, the enemy came on like a
battering ram, crushing everything in its way. They swarmed on all
sides, even though shattered by shot and shell. Nothing but the
steadfast courage, the sheer pluck, the spirit, the soul of the
English soldiers saved the army from complete destruction.

"The enemy hung on to us like grim death," said a wounded soldier.
"They wanted us to retreat in a direction that would best suit their
plans. But we were not taking marching orders from them. We went our
own way at our own pace. We were retiring, not retreating."

Then on the fifth of September came General Joffre's appeal to the
defenders of civilization, and particularly to the French soldiers:
"The hour has come to hold our positions at any cost and to fight
rather than to retreat.... No longer must we look at the enemy over our
shoulders, for the time has come to put forth all our efforts in
attacking and defeating him."

A French writer has said of the retreat, which by order of General
Joffre had now come to an end, "Their bodies retreated, but never their
souls;" and he might have added of the German advance, "It was an
advance of bodies, not of souls." It was material might in men and guns
forcing back an army weaker in everything except soul and spirit. The
World War has shown over and over again, not only at the Marne but at a
hundred other places and in a hundred other ways, that soul and spirit
are the real conquerors and that God is not always, as Napoleon said,
on the side of the larger battalions.

The Germans had come on flushed with success and egotism, destroying
French property, looting, and dissipating. Their spirit was the spirit
they found in the French wine cellars, and as for soul, as civilized
people understand the word, they had none. They were an army of tired,
conquering brutes. Their morale was low because of their great success
and all that had accompanied it of feasts and slaughter. The morale of
the French was never higher. Every day and every hour they had been
compelled to retreat, giving up, giving up all that they loved even
better than life itself to these brutes, until the brain of the French
army said on the evening of September 5, 1914, "You have gone so far in
order that you may now stand successfully." And in the morning at dawn,
it was not only the bodies of the French soldiers that hurled
themselves against the invaders, but the souls of French men, the soul
of France; and all along the line from Verdun to Meaux, under the
gallant leadership of Manoury, Foch, Sarrail, Castelnau, and others,
the French armies held. If they had not held--not only held but
attacked--all of future history would be different.

General Foch, commander in chief at the Second Battle of the Marne,
inspired his troops in this first battle to supernatural bravery. He
knew they must not yield, so with his right broken, his left shattered,
he attacked with his center. It was that or retreat. His message to
the commander-in-chief, General Joffre, will never be forgotten.

"My left has been forced back, my right is routed. I shall attack with
the center."

The Germans could not put their souls into the battles as the French
soldiers did, and besides, the Germans were weakened by feasting and
dissipation. With the Huns it was the right of might; with the Allies
it was the might of right, and in the end the second always defeats the

Some one has well said:

"It is the law of good to protect and to build up. It is the law of
evil to destroy. It is in the very nature of good to lead men aright.
It is in the very nature of evil to lead men astray. Goodness makes for
wisdom. Badness is continually exercising poor judgment.

"Germany and Austria have made colossal mistakes in this war because of
their colossal violation of truth and justice. In brutally wronging
Serbia, they lost the friendship and support of Italy. In perpetrating
the monstrous crime against Belgium, they brought against them the
whole might of the British Empire. In breaking international law with
their reckless submarine warfare, they caused the United States to
enter the war on the side of the Allies."

It is said that the army of the German Crown Prince retreated before
the impetuous attack of the French and, because of this retreat, all
the other German armies were obliged to do likewise. It is more
probable, however, that the general retreat was due to General Joffre's
strategy. The Germans under General von Kluck were within about twenty
miles of Paris, near Meaux on the Marne, when suddenly they were struck
in the flank and rear by about twenty thousand fresh troops brought out
unexpectedly from Paris in motor trucks, taxis, limousines, and all
kinds of pleasure cars. Now the Germans, who had caused the retreat of
the French and British armies upon Paris by continually outflanking the
British, were in their turn outflanked and compelled to retreat, and
Paris was saved.

An English writer has said that although the Germans were outflanked
only in the west, yet the blow passed from one end of the German line
to the other, from Meaux to Verdun, just as the blow from the buffer of
the engine, when it is coupled to the train, passes from one truck to
another to the very end of the train.

The Germans in the next few days retreated from the Marne to the Aisne,
where they entrenched. Paris and France and Europe and the only world
worth living in were saved. The French government moved back to Paris.

Hall Caine in "Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days" says: "The soul of
France did not fail her. It heard the second approach of that monstrous
Prussian horde, which, like a broad, irresistible tide, sweeping across
one half of Europe, came down, down, down from Mons until the thunder
of its guns could again be heard on the boulevards. And then came the
great miracle! Just as the sea itself can rise no higher when it has
reached the top of the flood, so the mighty army of Germany had to stop
its advance thirty kilometres north of Paris; and when it stirred
again, it had to go back. And back and back it went before the armies
of France, Britain, and Belgium, until it reached a point at which it
could dig itself into the earth and hide in a long, serpentine trench
stretching from the Alps to the sea.

"Only then did the spirit of France draw breath for a moment, and the
next flash as of lightning showed her offering thanks and making
supplications before the white statue of Jeanne d'Arc in the apse of
the great cathedral of Notre Dame, sacred to innumerable memories. On
the Feast of St. Michael, ten thousand of the women of Paris were
kneeling under the dark vault, and on the broad space in the front of
the majestic façade, praying for victory. It was a great and grandiose
scene, recalling the days when faith was strong and purer. Old and
young, rich and poor, every woman with some soul that was dear to her
in that inferno at the front--the Motherhood of France was there to
ask God for the triumph of the right.

"And in the spirit of that prayer the soul of France still lives."

Nearly four years later the Germans, with greatly increased forces in
France, due to the collapse of Russia, were again upon the Marne and
only about forty miles from Paris. French and English and Americans
were opposing them upon a line shaped like a great letter U, extending
south with Rheims at the top on the east, and Soissons at the top on
the west. The Marne River was at the curve at the bottom, and there
most of the Americans were stationed.

On July 15, 1918, the Germans began the offensive which was to result,
as they hoped, in the capture of Paris. They attacked on the Marne and
between the Marne and Rheims. At the end of the fourth day, they had
advanced about six miles, crossing the Marne and pushing back the
American troops. The Americans fought bravely and soon regained the
ground they had lost, although the French generals suggested that they
should not attempt to retake it. The American commander, however, sent
word to the French general, who was his superior officer, saying that
he did not feel able to follow the suggestion, for the American flag
had been compelled to retire. None of his soldiers, he said, would
understand this being allowed as long as they were able to attack. "We
are going to counter-attack," he added. They did so, and regained all
the ground lost.

It is clear now that the French generals knew the counter-attack was
unnecessary, and knew why. West of the line from Soissons to the Marne
is a great forest, and back of this General Foch, commander in chief of
all the allied armies, had been for several days gathering guns,
ammunition, tanks, and troops ready to strike the flank of the Germans,
when they should attack between Rheims and the Marne and attempt to
cross the Marne, as he knew they would in their desire to take Paris. A
terrible tempest passed over the region just before the Allied attack,
preventing the Germans from observing the advancing tanks and troops.
An English writer has said, "The storm which had covered the noise of
the final preparation of a number of tanks which led the assault, was
over. Not a sound was heard in the forest, though it was teeming with
men and horses. Then suddenly the appointed moment came when day broke.
There was a roar from all the guns, the whole front broke into activity
as men and tanks dashed forward. I suppose there has been nothing more
dramatic in the whole war than this scene on which the general looked
down from the top of a high perch in the forest on that quiet July

The Allies struck so unexpectedly that they captured hundreds of guns
and thousands of prisoners, and obliged the Germans to fall back
across the Marne, losing all the territory they had gained and much
more. The danger to Paris was again turned aside by the military genius
of General Foch and the bravery of the troops under his command.

It was the first great battle in which the Americans took part. They
showed themselves equal to the best of the Allies, and better than the
Germans. A London paper called the American counter-attack one of the
historical incidents of the whole war. All Europe, except Hunland, rang
with praises of the American troops.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the history of the World War, most of the great land battles will be
named from rivers, the Marne, the Yser, the Somme, the Aisne, the
Ailette, the Ancre, the Bug, the Dneister, the Dunajec and the Piave. A
battle of the Rhine will probably be fought before German territory can
be invaded to any great extent.


On July 25, 1918, nearly every person in Washington, the capital of the
United States, was asked to buy a bunch of forget-me-nots; and nearly
every one responded, so that almost $7000 worth was sold in about an
hour. In many other cities sales were held, and for many years to come
such sales will be held all over the civilized world, for the
forget-me-not is the Queen's flower, chosen by Elizabeth, Queen of
Belgium, to be sold on her birthday, July 25, to raise money for the
children of Belgium. She is a lover of flowers as are all the people of
her country. Many parts of Belgium were before the war, like Holland,
devoted to raising flowers for bulbs and seeds. It is said that the
garden at the Belgian Royal Palace was the most beautiful garden in the

For many years it has been the Queen's custom to name a flower to be
sold on her birthday for the benefit of some good cause. In 1910 she
named the La France rose to be sold for the benefit of sufferers from
tuberculosis in Belgium. Nearly $100,000 was raised on this one day.

The war has not done away with the beautiful custom, and on the
Queen's birthday in 1918, she named a flower to be sold to raise money
to help care for the children of Belgium. She chose the forget-me-not,
for the Queen can never forget the terrible sacrifice her country was
called upon to make, nor the brutal manner in which the Huns used their

Those who have carefully studied the facts have concluded that the Huns
coolly and deliberately planned to destroy Belgium as a country and a
people, not only during the war but forever. It was to carry out this
plan that the villages and cities were burned or bombarded until they
were nothing but heaps of stone and ashes; that much of the machinery
was either destroyed or carried into Germany; that the Belgian boys and
men were herded together and deported into Germany to work as slaves;
and that the Belgian babies were neglected, starved, and murdered. If
only the old and feeble were left at the end of the war, there could be
no Belgium to compete with Germany, and Germany desired this whether
she should win or lose.

America has done much to relieve the suffering of the Belgian people.
Germany saw to it, however, that the babies and very young children
were neglected as far as possible, with the exception of healthy
Belgian boy babies, and many of these she snatched from their parents
and carried into Germany to be raised as Huns. It has been said that
no horror of the war equaled the horror of what Germany did to Belgian

Queen Elizabeth realized the danger and did everything in her power to
protect and help the babies of Belgium. Although she is by birth a
German princess, she wishes never to forget and that the world may
never forget the great wrong done her country. In naming the
forget-me-not she meant that Belgium's wrong should never be forgotten,
and that the children of Belgium should not be forgotten.

The flower is to be sold for the benefit of Belgian children at all
times and in all countries, for the Queen has said she will never name

The little blue forget-me-not will be sold all over the civilized
world, that means except in Hunland, and wherever it is sold Belgium's
story will be remembered. All that is sweet and beautiful and pure is
connecting itself in the minds and hearts of men with Belgium in her
sacrifice and suffering; and as long as history is recorded and
remembered, the word "Belgium" will awaken these feelings in those who
read. This is a part of her reward, just as the opposite is a part of
the punishment of the Hun.


The boys and girls in America have listened with great interest and
sympathy to the many stories of children in devastated France, left
fatherless, homeless, perhaps motherless, with no games or sport,
indeed with no desire to play games or sports of any kind. For them,
there seemed to be only the awful roar and thunder of the cannon, which
might at any moment send down a bursting shell upon their heads. The
clothes they wore and the food they ate were theirs only as they were
given to them, and so often given by strangers.

In America the school children worked, earned, saved, and sent their
gifts to those thousands of destitute children, and with their gifts
sent letters of love and interest to their little French cousins across
the seas.

Many of the letters were written in quiet, sunny schoolrooms, thousands
of miles from the noise of battle. But many a letter thus written
reached the hands of a child who sat huddled beside his teacher in a
damp, dark cellar that took the place of the pleasant little
schoolhouse he had known.

But in those cellars and hidden places, the children studied and
learned as best they might, in order some day to be strong, bright men
and women for their beloved France, when the days of battle should be
over and victory should have been won for them to keep.

The gladness of the children when they received the letters will
probably never be fully known. Perhaps it seemed to some of them like
that morning on which they marched away from the school building for
the last time. The shells had begun to burst near them, as they sat in
the morning session. Quickly they put aside their work, and listened
quietly while the master timed the interval between the bursting of the
shells. At his order, they had formed in line for marching, and at the
moment the third or fourth shell fell, they marched out of the school
away into a cellar seventy paces off. There, sheltered by the strong,
stout walls, they listened to the next shell bursting as it fell
straight down into the schoolhouse, where by a few moments' delay, they
would all have perished or been severely injured.

So, while they heard the cannon roaring, they were happy to know that
their friends in America thought of them and were helping them. No one
will ever realize just how much it meant to the French people to know
that America was their friend, or the great joy they felt when the
American soldiers marched in to take their places in the fight for
France and the freedom of the world.

Odette Gastinel, a thirteen-year-old girl of the Lycée Victor Duruy,
one of the schoolrooms near the front, has written of the coming of the
Americans. Throughout the United States her little essay has been read,
and great men and women have marveled at its beauty of thought and
wording, and have called it a little masterpiece.

In the first paragraph, she tells of the great distance between the
millions of men (the Germans and the Allies) although separated only by
a narrow stream; and in the second, she speaks of the closeness of
sympathy between France and America,--though America lies three
thousand miles over the sea.

    It was only a little river, almost a brook; it was called the
    Yser. One could talk from one side to the other without raising
    one's voice, and the birds could fly over it with one sweep of
    their wings. And on the two banks there were millions of men,
    the one turned toward the other, eye to eye. But the distance
    which separated them was greater than the spaces between the
    stars in the sky; it was the distance which separates right from

    The ocean is so vast that the sea gulls do not dare to cross it.
    During seven days and seven nights the great steamships of
    America, going at full speed, drive through the deep waters
    before the lighthouses of France come into view; but from one
    side to the other, hearts are touching.

It is no wonder that the great American, General Pershing, stopped, in
all the tumult and business of war, to write to people in America:

    [Illustration: (hand written letter from General Pershing)

        Headquarters, Am. Ex. Forces.

        In the veins of the fatherless
      children of France courses
      the blood of heroes. Theirs
      is a heritage worth cherishing--a
      heritage which appeals
      to the deepest sentiments of
      the soul. What France through
      their fathers has done for
      humanity, France through
      them will do again.

          Save the fatherless
      children of France!

            John J. Pershing.

      April 12, 1918


The history of Rome about 1500 years ago tells us of "the wild and
terrifying hordes" of Huns, with ideas little above those of plunder
and wanton destruction, led by Attila whose "purpose was to pillage and
increase his power." They came near setting civilization back for
hundreds of years, but were finally subdued. When we remember these
facts, we do not wonder that the Germans are called, and probably
always will be called, Huns; but another explanation is the true one.

When in 1900, a German army was embarking at Bremerhaven for China to
help other nations to put down the Boxer rebellion, the German Kaiser,
William II, in addressing his troops said: "When you come upon the
enemy, no quarter will be given, no prisoners will be taken. As the
Huns under their King Attila, a thousand years ago, made a name for
themselves which is still mighty in tradition and story, so may the
name of German in China be kept alive through you in such a wise that
no Chinese will ever again attempt to look askance at a German."

The United States helped put down the Boxer rebellion, and with other
nations was paid an indemnity by China. By vote of Congress, the
United States returned the money to China. Germany acted very
differently, for but three years before, she had seized from China the
land about Kiaochau Bay and the port of Tsingchau, as reparation for
the murder of two German missionaries. Although Germany had strongly
fortified this territory, Japan besieged it and regained it in
November, 1914.

In speaking in 1901 of Germany's then new possession in China, the
Kaiser said: "In spite of the fact that we have no such fleet as we
should have, we have conquered for ourselves a place in the sun. It
will now be my duty to see to it that this place in the sun shall
remain our undisputed possession, in order that the sun's rays may fall
fruitfully upon our activity and trade in foreign parts." The German
Crown Prince, in an introduction to a book published in 1913, said: "It
is only by relying on our good German sword that we can hope to conquer
the place in the sun which rightly belongs to us and which no one will
yield to us voluntarily. Till the world comes to an end, the ultimate
decision must rest with the sword."

These statements make clear to us how the modern Huns would win the
place in the sun which they have been taught to believe rightly belongs
to them.

It is possible that the Kaiser took his idea of "a place in the sun"
from a wonderful old copper engraving by the greatest of all German
artists, Albrecht Dürer. The engraving was made in 1513 and represents
a German knight in full armor mounted upon a fine war horse, riding
into a dark and narrow defile between cliffs, to reach a beautiful
castle standing in the sun on a hill beyond. A narrow path runs down
from the castle, which the knight can reach only by passing through the
gloomy and dangerous defile between the rocks. If he would reach his
desired place in the sun, he must be afraid of nothing, even though
human skulls and lizards are under his horse's feet and death and the
devil travel by his side. His horse and his dog are evidently afraid,
but the knight himself shows no fear as he rides forward with his "good
German sword" at his side and his long spear over his shoulder. A
recent German writer has said about this picture, "Every German heart
will comprehend the knight who persists in spite of death and the devil
in the course on which he has entered. Such a man of resolute action is
not tormented by subtle doubts."

So has Germany in the World War tried to ride through the valley of
death and destruction, with death and the devil always by her side, to
reach a coveted place in the sun. That such a place can be attained
only by force is the terribly wrong ideal that has been taught to the
German people, to the children in the schools, to the adults in public
meetings and in the public press, until at last they have come to
believe it, and are willing to ride through the world accompanied by
death and the devil if they may thus gain "a place in the sun."

    [Illustration: SEEKING A PLACE IN THE SUN
    _By Albrecht Dürer_]

They are, as a German poet, Felix Dahn, wrote, the kith and kin of
Thor, the god of might, who conquered all lands with his thundering
hammer; and it is their destiny to conquer the world by "the good
German sword."

This is the ideal that the Allies are fighting against. What is the
ideal they are fighting for? It may also be illustrated by a picture,
but this time by a word picture written by a man long familiar with
Dürer's wonderful engraving. For years he had a copy of the engraving
hung above his desk. As he studied it, he finally saw himself a knight
riding on through the world; and he saw riding with him, not death and
the devil, but two other knights. One of the knights was hideous to
look upon, and rode just behind him; and one was wonderfully beautiful
and strong, and rode just ahead of him. And all three rode at full
speed forever and ever, the knight, who was the man himself, in the
middle, always striving to outrun the knight who was behind him, and to
overtake the one before him. Finally he put the thought in verse, for
it seemed to him to represent the life of every human being who was
free to live out his life as he would wish.


    A knight fared on through a beautiful world
      On a mission to him unknown;
    At his left and a little behind there rode
      The self of his deeds alone.

    At his right and a length before sped on--
      Him none but the knight might see--
    A braver heart and a purer soul,
      The self that he longed to be.

    And ever the three rode on through the world
      With him at the left behind;
    Till never the knight would look at him,
      Feeble and foul and blind.

    Desperately on they drave, these three,
      With him at the right before,
    While the knight rode furiously after him
      And thought of the world no more.

    Forever on he must ride on his quest
      And peace can be his no more,
    Till the one at his left he has dropped from sight
      And o'ertaken the one before.

    Thus ages ago the three fared on,
      And on they fare to-day,
    With him at the left a little behind,
      The right still leading the way.

This knight seeks not a place in the sun but a change in himself, to
become a better, a braver, a truer knight. Then, wherever he may be,
he will find his place in the sun; and that nation whose people seek to
grow wiser and better and nobler will always find "the sun's rays
falling fruitfully" upon them.

To win prosperity and happiness through becoming abler and better
people, under a government which will do all it can to aid them,
because it is "a government of the people, for the people, and by the
people," is the ideal for which the Allies fight.

"What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own

       *       *       *       *       *

It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the
unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly
advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task
remaining before us--that from these honored dead, we take increased
devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of
devotion--that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have
died in vain--that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of
freedom--and that government of the people, by the people, for the
people, shall not perish from the earth.

                                                 ABRAHAM LINCOLN.


The greatest leaders in history are often men who for the larger part
of their lives have been almost unknown. Poor, simple in their habits,
but loyal and true of heart, they have risen from obscurity to
positions they alone could fill, and then through their devotion and
achievement have become the heroes of the people.

Lincoln, the greatest example and inspiration to American hearts, was
in his youth such a simple and obscure person. The Pilgrim fathers, the
early pioneers in the West, the great inventors of the hundreds of
improvements in the world of business, travel, and communication, were
nearly all of them unknown for the greater part of their lives, but
were men of true hearts and of strong purposes.

Unattractive, ungainly in appearance, unpopular save among those who
knew him well, but with the strength of will and soul born of the
simple, true life he had lived, Lincoln rose step by step to seats of
power until he sat at length in the highest of all. By that calmness
and vision which belong to such great men, Lincoln saved the nation
from failure and corruption. He must have foreseen the great nation
into which the United States might grow, if only he could rescue it
from the terrible ravages of war and reunite the people with one
strong, common soul.

    Marshal Joffre is holding the golden miniature Liberty Statue
    presented to him when he visited New York City in 1917
    _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._]

We Americans, by thinking of such a leader as Lincoln, may more clearly
appreciate what it meant to France in this World War to follow on to
victory with such a leader as Joseph Jacques Joffre.

Marshal Joffre was born in 1852 and lived for years in Rivesaltes, a
little town near the boundary between France and Spain. His ancestors
for generations had been farmers, and his father was a cooper by trade.
The boy was a sweet-tempered, modest, intelligent, blue-eyed, and
blonde-haired youth. He suffered somewhat from his school-fellows, as
any boy does who is popular with his teachers. But he was industrious,
wide-awake, and interested in a great many things, mathematics probably
being the subject in which he excelled. Trained by thrifty peasant
parents, he acquired regular habits which were valuable to him all his
life long. Even in this World War, when great responsibility pressed
upon him, he rarely failed to retire by nine or ten at night and to
rise at five in the morning. Before six each morning, he was out for a
short, brisk walk or for a ride on his horse.

When he was only fifteen years old, he astonished his parents by
announcing his intention to try for entrance to the École Polytechnique
in Paris, a great training school for military officers. Such a plan
seemed, not only to his parents, but to his many friends, much too
ambitious for a barrel-maker's son. But he insisted on trying the
examination and passed fourteenth in a class of one hundred and
thirty-two. His sister, for whom Joffre always had a great affection,
declared that he would have secured a higher rank if he had not passed
such a poor examination in German, a language for which he evidently
had a strong dislike. Those who have seen his examination papers say
that they are models of neatness, clear thinking, and accuracy.

Because of his high standing, Joffre was made sergeant of his class at
the École Polytechnique. This honor, which made him responsible for the
order and behavior of his own classmates, was rather an embarrassing
one, for he was not of a domineering nature, and was besides the
youngest boy in the hall. He found great difficulty in exercising his
authority over these dozen or so lively youths, though he was destined
one day to be given command over more than three million men.

By hard work he made good progress in his studies. But he did not
finish his course, for in 1870 the Franco-Prussian War broke out.
Joffre, but eighteen years of age, was made a sub-lieutenant in a Paris
fort. That terrible year left its impression upon him for life. He felt
the greatest agony at the loss of beautiful Alsace-Lorraine--a part of
his own beloved country, taken by the enemy. From that time he lived
with one hope--that he might some day be of service in setting right
that wrong, in getting back for France that which had been stolen from
her. He once said, "I have seen 1870. I have given my life utterly to
see that it did not happen again." Thus, it has been said: "The formula
for Joffre is easy to find. It is a number; it is a date; it is 1870."
What he saw at that time shaped his purposes for the future.

Joffre is not only a thinker, but a man of action. He thinks hard for a
time, and then feels compelled to put his thoughts into action. The
story is told of how Confucius, upon leaving a funeral service,
presented his horse to the chief mourner. When asked why he did so, he
replied, "I wept with that man and so I felt I ought to _do_ something
for him." Joffre thought long and hard and then wanted to _do_

After the war of 1870, he went into the engineering corps of the army
and for fifteen years served well in building barracks and
fortifications. Then he asked to go to Indo-China where France was
waging a colonial war. He was commissioned a lieutenant, and at the end
of three years returned a captain, with the Legion of Honor.

He was made a member of the staff of administration of the engineering
corps, and while in this service it was said of him: "Joffre is good
at all jobs. He will be good for the big job some day."

In 1892 he went to Africa to build a railroad. While working at that,
news came that Colonel Bonnier and his party of Frenchmen had been
attacked and many of them massacred by the natives near Timbuctoo.
Joffre organized a rescuing expedition (which has ever since been held
up as a model), took possession of Timbuctoo, and subdued the tribes;
then went back and finished his railroad. When he returned to France
this time he was a colonel, having risen one degree in the Legion of

After three years he was sent to Madagascar, where he built such
excellent defenses that upon his return he was made head of the French
military engineering corps. He then had the task of preparing the forts
of France. He built the forts of Belfort, Épinal, Toul, and Verdun, all
of which victoriously withstood the German attacks in the World War.

By this time, Joffre was a general. He practiced at handling troops in
the field until he knew all the tactics in moving great bodies of men.
He became chief of such matters as transportation, armament, and

Yet all this time Joffre was almost entirely unknown among the French
people. Quiet, almost shy, a man of few words, he was not one to call
attention to himself. Only those who were close to him knew him and
his great ability. Late in life he had married a widow with two
beautiful daughters. He lived with them very quietly in Auteuil in the
suburbs of Paris. Here the great chief loved to gather his family about
the piano and enjoy their companionship and an evening of music. He
could often be seen mornings, walking with his two beloved daughters.
Always he was a kind, thoughtful, gentle, often silent man, and, being
silent, he had also the virtue of being a good listener. For he hated
empty words, though he talked long enough when he had something to say.
He spoke with the greatest simplicity, however, and was always very
gentle and courteous in his manners.

The officers of the staff of eleven men who directed the military
affairs of the country, of which staff Joffre was a member, valued and
esteemed him highly. It was from among the men of this staff that a
commander in chief would be chosen in case of war.

But when the time came in 1911 to reorganize the army and appoint a
commander in chief, the minds and hearts of the French people turned
toward General Pau, the one-armed hero of the Franco-Prussian War.
While they were eagerly waiting to applaud his promotion, they were
informed that General Joseph Joffre had accepted the appointment.
General Pau had refused the position, saying, "No patriotic Frenchman
has any right to accept this when such a man as Joffre is available."

Joffre had a great deal of opposition to face. Unpleasant comments were
made, and worse than all, France herself was filled with all sorts of
political and social evils.

Germany, as all France knew, was planning to dash across the border,
and that before very long. But Joffre determined that, should his
country be attacked from beyond the Rhine, it would be defended.

Joffre was now fifty-nine years old with his blonde hair and eyebrows
grown white. His large head, square face and jaw, his great and
powerful frame, suggested strength, vigor, and a marvelous ability for
leadership. His first act was to place General Pau, whom he recognized
as a very able man, in the next highest command.

Assisted by President Poincaré and Millerand, Minister of War, he set
out to reform the army. There prevailed a system of spying, by which
officers were privately watched and reported for disloyalty upon the
least suspicion. Joffre destroyed this system entirely and announced
that all officers would be appointed purely on the basis of merit. He
dismissed several generals, some of them his own personal friends,
because they were incompetent. They were generals who were either too
old, or who could not act quickly and efficiently in the field, even
though they were good thinkers. This caused him some unhappy hours, but
he did it for France. He promoted men who successfully performed their
duties. He made excellent preparation in the new departments created by
modern science and inventions,--telephones, automobiles, and
aëroplanes. Altogether he put system and order into everything, aroused
a soul in his army, and created a new spirit in France.

A year before the war came, Germany had 720,000 men ready to march into
France. Joffre, with remarkable skill, raised his army in numbers to
about 600,000. Even so they were greatly outnumbered, but Joffre knew
that all depended on their ability, for the first few weeks, to
withstand the expected onrush of German troops. So he organized them
carefully, and best of all, put into their hearts the belief that
"there is something which triumphs over all hesitations, which governs
and decides the impulses of a great and noble democracy like
France,--the will to live strong and free, and to remain mistress of
our destinies." This spirit in Joffre and in the other French leaders
made France powerful in those first fateful days. It was the same
spirit which Joffre later imparted to his men on the eve of the Battle
of the Marne, the spirit which made that battle result in victory for
France. As the men on that September evening gathered about their
officers and listened to the reading of Joffre's message, Joffre's
spirit itself took possession of every one of them.

"Advance," the order read, "and when you can no longer advance, hold
at all costs what you have gained. If you can no longer hold, die on
the spot."

Joffre was careful not to make any decisions until he had thought the
question over deeply, but once made, his decisions were immediately
carried out. When he ordered a retreat, he knew the reason, and his men
trusted him and followed his orders implicitly. The people of France,
too, came to love and trust this great general of theirs.

When the German army, fairly on its way to Paris, suddenly met the
greatest defeat Germany had known since the days of Napoleon, the
villagers near Auteuil, where Joffre had his home, came and covered the
steps of his house with flowers. This was the first tribute of the
people to the man who had saved the nation, and it showed their
confidence in the future of the country as long as it should rest in
the hands of Joseph Jacques Joffre.

Thus, from the unknown man who in 1911 had been exalted to a great and
responsible position, Joffre quickly became known and loved by all the
people of France as "Our Joffre." He was later retired from active
service with the highest military rank, Marshal of France.


All the civilized nations of the world have agreed to respect the Red
Cross, believing that when men are carried from the battlefield wounded
or dying, it is inhuman to war upon them further. But the agreement to
this by Germany, like all other German agreements, became only "a scrap
of paper" when the Hun leaders thought they saw an advantage in tearing
it up.

Germany is also the only nation claiming to be civilized that kills its
prisoners when it thinks best. When the Kaiser told the German soldiers
going to China to take no prisoners, he meant that they should kill

Frightfulness was not a sudden afterthought on the part of the Germans,
arising in the excitement of war. It was deliberately planned and
taught to the German officers and soldiers. The manual prepared for
their use in land warfare contains the rules which are to guide them.
Among the directions are these: Endeavor to destroy all the enemies'
intellectual and material resources. The methods which kill the
greatest number at once are permitted. Force the inhabitants to
furnish information against their own armies and their own people.
Prisoners may be killed in case of necessity. Any wrong, no matter how
great, that will help to victory is allowed.

How the Germans carried out the "Rules for Land Warfare" is well shown
by the proclamation posted by General von Bülow in the streets of Namur
on August 25, 1914. It read as follows:

    Before four o'clock all Belgian and French soldiers must be
    turned over to us as prisoners of war. Citizens who fail to do
    this will be sentenced to hard labor for life in Germany. At
    four o'clock all the houses in the city will be searched. Every
    soldier found will be shot. Ten hostages will be taken for each
    street and held by German guards. If there is any trouble in any
    street, the hostages for that street will be shot. Any crime
    against the German army may bring about the destruction of the
    entire city and every one in it.

Frightfulness was taught not only to officers and soldiers but to all
the German people, and especially to the children in the schools. One
of the selections read and recited, even in the primary schools of
Germany before the war, was "The Hymn of Hate" by a German poet, which
in English prose is in substance as follows:

    Hate! Germany! hate! Cut the throats of your hordes of enemies.
    Put on your armor and with your bayonets pierce the heart of
    every one of them. Take no prisoners. Strike them dead. Change
    their fertile lands into deserts. Hate! Germany! hate! Victory
    will come from your rage and hate. Break the skulls of your
    enemies with blows from your axes and the butts of your guns.
    They are timid, cowardly beasts. They are not men. Let your
    mailed fist execute the judgment of God.

A German general told Edith Cavell, when she was pleading in behalf of
some homeless Belgian women and children, "Pity is a waste of
feeling--a moral parasite injurious to the health."

The whole idea of the German War Book is given in the statement made by
a great German:

"True strategy means to hit your enemy and to hit him hard, to inflict
on the inhabitants of invaded towns the greatest possible amount of
suffering, so that they shall become tired of the struggle and cry for
peace. You must leave the people of the country through which you march
only their eyes to weep with."

And these rules and teachings came at a time when nations were seeking
to do away with war forever and were agreeing upon rules that, if war
should come, would make it less horrible and that would in particular
spare non-combatants.

A German soldier wrote to the American minister, Mr. Gerard, early in
the war while Mr. Gerard was still in Berlin:

    To the American Government, Washington, U.S.A.:

    Englishmen who have surrendered are shot down in small groups.
    With the French one is more considerate. I ask whether men let
    themselves be taken prisoner in order to be disarmed and shot
    down afterwards? Is that chivalry in battle?

    It is no longer a secret among the people; one hears everywhere
    that few prisoners are taken; they are shot down in small
    groups. They say naïvely: "We don't want any unnecessary mouths
    to feed. Where there is no one to enter complaint, there is no
    judge." Is there, then, no power in the world which can put an
    end to these murders and rescue the victims? Where is
    Christianity? Where is right? Might is right.

                         A Soldier and a Man Who Is No Barbarian.

On October 25, 1914, a small party of German soldiers succeeded in
entering Dixmude and capturing the commander of the French marines
defending the town, and some of his men. It was a dark night and
raining hard, and although the Germans had been able to get through the
lines into the city and to capture Commander Jeanniot and a few of his
men, they were unable to find a way back through the lines and out of
the city. They wandered about in the rain and mud for nearly four
hours, driving the captured French marines before them with the butts
of their rifles. Day was dawning and there was no chance for them to
escape in a body in the daytime. So the officers halted them behind a
hedge and directed them to scatter.

Then the question arose as to what they should do with their prisoners.
The majority voted that they should be put to death, and at a sign from
their leader, the Boches knelt and opened fire upon the prisoners, who
knew nothing of what was being planned. They were all killed, including
the commander, except one, who was hit only in the shoulder. Before the
Germans could put him to death, a party of French marines discovered
them. The whole band was taken prisoner and brought before the Admiral,
who sentenced three of the leaders to be executed. To have killed them
all when they were taken would have seemed only too good for them, but
the French are not a barbarian but a law-abiding people.

Germany believes she can win in war by making it so "frightful" that
none but Germans can be strong enough to endure it. So among other
atrocities, Germany has used the red cross on hospitals and hospital
ships as a mark to guide them in dropping bombs and in aiming
torpedoes. The Roumanian Minister of the Interior stated to the United
States government the following:

    Because of the action of Germany and her allies, it has been
    found advisable to remove the Red Cross conspicuously painted on
    the top of the hospital buildings, because it served as a
    special mark for the bombs, etc., from aeroplanes.

Germany also believes, without doubt, that killing wounded who may
otherwise recover and go back into service will reduce the man power of
her enemies, who, she thinks, are too Christianlike, too merciful, too
faithful to their agreements to do likewise. Bombing hospitals and
killing nurses and doctors will also make it likely that more wounded
will die through lack of care and treatment. She knows that every
hospital ship sunk means another must be taken to replace it from those
carrying food or troops.

There is no mistake about her intentions, although she did at first
offer lying excuses. She has dropped "flares," great burning torches,
at night to be sure that the red cross was there and then dropped her
bombs upon the hospital. She has killed many non-combatants in this

Germany has torpedoed, during the first four years of the war, hospital
ships with the big red crosses painted on their sides and all lights
burning at night (to show they were hospital ships), amounting to a
total tonnage of over 200,000 tons. The torpedo that sank the _Rewa_
without warning hit the German target, the red cross, exactly. Germany
torpedoed the hospital ship _Britannic_, 50,000 tons, the largest
British ship afloat, partly, without doubt, so that she could not
compete with German ships after the war.

The first hospital ship destroyed by the Huns was the _Portugal_, sunk
by a German submarine while she was lying at anchor in the Black Sea.
One of the survivors described the sinking as follows:

    The _Portugal_ was sinking at the place where she was broken in
    two, her stern and stem going up higher all the time as she
    settled amidships. All around me unfortunate Sisters of Mercy
    were screaming for help. The deck became more down-sloping every
    minute and I rolled off into the water between the two halves of
    the sinking steamer. It so happened that the disturbance of the
    water somewhat abated and I succeeded in swimming up again. I
    glanced around. The _Portugal_ was no more. Nothing but broken
    pieces of wreck, boxes which had contained medicaments,
    materials for dressings, and provisions, were floating about.
    Everywhere I could see the heads and arms of people battling
    with the waves, and their shrieks for help were frightful. The
    hospital ship _Portugal_ was painted white, with a red border
    all around. The funnels were white with red crosses and a Red
    Cross flag was on the mast. These distinguishing signs were
    plainly visible and there can be no doubt whatever that they
    could be perfectly well seen by the men in the submarine. The
    conduct of the submarine proves that the men in it knew that
    they had to do with a hospital ship. The fact of the submarine's
    having moved so slowly shows the enemy was conscious of being
    quite out of danger.

Eighty-five lives were lost, including twenty-one nuns who were serving
as nurses.

Notwithstanding the fact that, according to the Germans, God is on
their side, some power for good saved most of those on the hospital
ship _Asturias_. She did not sink when struck by the torpedo, but she
was rendered helpless by the loss of her rudder. There was no sandy
beach in sight, so the captain tried to guide her near the rocky shore
where, if she sank, perhaps some might reach land, but he found he
could not guide the ship. It was dark night, but guided by some unseen
power she dodged a reef upon which she would have gone to pieces,
rounded a headland, and beached herself upon the only piece of sandy
shore in that vicinity.

The English hospital ship _Lanfranc_ was carrying many wounded Germans
to England when she was torpedoed. An English officer gave the
following vivid description to a London daily paper:

    The _Lanfranc_ was attacked by a submarine about 7:30 Tuesday
    evening just as we had finished dinner. A few of us were
    strolling to and fro on the deck when there was a crash which
    shook the liner violently. This was followed by an explosion,
    and glass and splinters of wood flew in all directions. I had a
    narrow escape from being pitched overboard and only regained my
    feet with difficulty. In a few minutes the engine had stopped
    and the _Lanfranc_ appeared to be sinking rapidly, but to our
    surprise she steadied herself and after a while remained
    perfectly motionless. We had on board nearly 200 wounded
    prisoners belonging to the Prussian Guard, and about twice as
    many British wounded, many being very bad cases. The moment the
    torpedo struck the _Lanfranc_, many of the slightly wounded
    Prussians made a mad rush for the lifeboats. One of their
    officers came up to a boat close to which I was standing. I
    shouted to him to go back, whereupon he stood and scowled. "You
    must save us," he begged. I told him to wait his turn.

    Meanwhile the crew and the staff had gone to their posts. The
    stretcher cases were brought on deck as quickly as possible and
    the first boats were lowered without delay. Help had been
    summoned, and many vessels were hurrying to our assistance. In
    these moments, while wounded Tommies--many of them as helpless
    as little children--lay in their cots unaided, the Prussian
    morale dropped to zero. They made another crazy effort to get
    into a lifeboat. They managed to crowd into one, but no sooner
    had it been lowered than it toppled over. The Prussians were
    thrown into the water, and they fought each other in order to
    reach another boat containing a number of gravely wounded

    The behavior of our own lads I shall never forget. Crippled as
    many of them were, they tried to stand at attention while the
    more serious cases were being looked after. And those who could
    lend a hand hurried below to help in saving friend or enemy. I
    have never seen so many individual illustrations of genuine
    chivalry and comradeship. One man I saw had had a leg severed
    and his head was heavily bandaged. He was lifting himself up a
    staircase by the hands and was just as keen on summoning help
    for Fritz as on saving himself. He whistled to a mate to come
    and aid a Prussian who was unable to move owing to internal
    injuries. Another Tommy limped painfully along with a Prussian
    officer on his arm, and helped the latter to a boat. It is
    impossible to give adequate praise to the crew and staff. They
    were all heroes. They remained at their posts until the last man
    had been taken off, and some of them took off articles of their
    clothing and threw them into the lifeboats for the benefit of
    those who were in need of warm clothing. The same spirit
    manifested itself as we moved away from the scene of outrage. I
    saw a sergeant take his tunic off and make a pillow of it for a
    wounded German. There was a private who had his arms around an
    enemy, trying hard to make the best of an uncomfortable resting

    In the midst of all this tragedy the element of comedy was not
    wanting. A cockney lad struck up a ditty, and the boat's company
    joined in the chorus of Raymond Hitchcock's "All Dressed Up and
    Nowheres to Go." Then we had "Take Me Back to Blighty," and as
    a French vessel came along to our rescue, the boys sang "Pack Up
    Your Troubles in Your Old Kit-Bag and Smile, Smile, Smile." The
    French displayed unforgettable hospitality. As soon as they took
    our wounded on board, they improvised beds and stripped
    themselves almost bare that English and German alike might be

The destruction of the _Llandovery Castle_ was as bad or worse than
those already described. For a time the Huns ceased to sink hospital
ships running from France to England, but when they learned, through
spies, that the _Warilda_ carried no Germans, she was sunk early in
August, 1918, with a loss of one hundred and twenty-three doctors,
nurses, and wounded. After the _Llandovery Castle_, after the Warilda,
there could be no further German pretense that Germany was waging any
other than a barbarian war.

Such inhumanity seems like the work of madmen. Is the Kaiser insane?
Are the German war leaders insane? Or are the German people, all,
entirely different from the people we consider sane?

Let us remember that a Roman writer said many centuries ago, "Whom the
gods would destroy, they first make mad."

When the Huns are losing, they show themselves at their very worst.
When they were winning in the first stages of the war, they committed
deeds blacker than those of the barbarians who sacked Rome, but after
the tide turned against them, then they became even worse and began to
use the red cross as a target in bombing hospitals and torpedoing
hospital ships.

Moreover, at the Second Battle of the Marne, orders were issued to the
German soldiers, who were being driven back with great loss, that
seemed too inhuman even for the modern Huns. They were as follows:
"Henceforth the enemy is not to be allowed to recover his dead and
wounded except behind his own position, even under the Red Cross flag.
If stretcher bearers go out, a warning shot is to be fired. If no
attention is paid to the shot, the enemy must be thoroughly engaged at

As the _Philadelphia Public Ledger_ says, "This is typical of Prussian
militarism. It is precisely the sort of thing that our young men have
sailed away across the Atlantic to uproot and finally destroy."

       *       *       *       *       *

                        We do pray for mercy;
    And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
    The deeds of mercy.



The caves described in the Arabian Nights are not more wonderful than
the rock citadel of Verdun; in many ways they are not so marvelous. The
old citadel is now like a deserted cave, but a cave lighted by
electricity and with a passenger elevator to carry one from the lowest
floor to the top of the rock, a hundred feet above. In former wars it
was a hive of soldiers.

Blasted out of the solid rock-hill are rooms, great halls, passages,
hospitals, storerooms, and barracks. The heaviest shells of the enemy
fall harmless from the natural rock. Here, one would think, a few
soldiers could hold the town and the Meuse valley against greatly
superior numbers. And this would be true if it were not for the fact
that modern long-range guns can be placed by an enemy on the
surrounding hills, once they have won them, and prevent food,
ammunition, or supplies being brought to the citadel. Leaving these
guns with enough men to work them, the great body of the enemy could
then advance towards Paris, for the Meuse valley at Verdun is the
highway from Metz to Paris.

The French generals realized long ago that the city and the valley
could not, because of the increased power of big guns, be defended from
the citadel. So they built great forts several miles from the city upon
the hills which surrounded it, to halt the Germans when they should
advance, as France knew they would when they were ready.

For an army to get from Germany into France and to the plains east of
Paris, it was necessary to pass down the valley of the Meuse and
through Verdun, and for this reason France spent vast sums of money to
make these forts impregnable.

After the opening weeks of the World War had shown how easy it was for
the German big guns to destroy the finest modern forts, like those at
Liége, Namur, and Antwerp, the French command removed the garrisons
from the forts protecting Verdun and placed them in trenches farther
away from the city and the citadel, upon the second range of hills.

There was another way for the Germans to reach the plains of Champagne
and of Châlons, which by treaty they had agreed not to use. That way
was through Belgium. When the Huns declared this treaty only "a scrap
of paper" to be torn up whenever their plans required it, and, to the
surprise of all honorable nations, went through Belgium, they were soon
able to reach the plains east and north of Paris, and Verdun ceased to
be a key position. Verdun was about one hundred and fifty miles from
Paris, and the Germans were already less than half that distance from
the city. So when it was learned that the enemy had determined to
capture Verdun, the forts surrounding it, and the highway through the
river valley, the French command decided it was not worth holding at
the cost in lives that would be necessary. To capture it would help the
Germans very little, and to retire from it would greatly improve the
French lines.

The Germans doubtless realized that this would be the decision of the
French and that they would have an easy, an almost bloodless, victory.
They also knew that all Germans and all Frenchmen had for centuries
looked upon Verdun as a second Gibraltar and as one of the chief
defenses of Paris and northern France, one which had been made--as the
French thought--impregnable by the expenditure of vast sums of money.
For this reason the Germans believed its loss would be taken as a
terrible blow by the French people, and would be considered by the
German populace as the greatest victory of the war. They hoped it might
be the last straw, or one of the last, that would break the backbone of
the French resistance. In order to give credit for this great victory
to their future Kaiser, the armies of the Crown Prince were selected
for the easy task.

The French command, it is said, had already issued the first orders
for the retreat to stronger positions, when the French civic leaders
realized Germany's game by which she hoped to win a great moral victory
and to add to the hopes and courage of the German people; and although
General Joffre believed it was a mistake, the French decided to remain
just where they were.

The Germans were so sure of everything going as they had planned that
they had advertised their coming victory in every corner of Germany and
even in the Allied countries. When they found they were to be opposed,
they brought up larger forces and when these were not strong enough to
win, they increased them, until the Battle of Verdun, in which the
Germans lost nearly half a million men in killed, wounded, and
prisoners, became probably the greatest battle in the history of the
world. It continued for six months.

Is it not strange that this, the greatest of all battles, was not a
conflict waged to secure some territory, some river crossing, some
fort, or some city absolutely necessary to win further progress, but a
battle to add strength to the German mind and soul and to weaken the
spirit of the French? Think of these modern Huns, who believe in the
force of might and of material things, fighting for a victory over the
spirit, which is never really broken by such things and is never
_conquered_ by them, but is to be won only by justice, mercy,
friendship, love, and other spiritual forces.

And the French spirit did not flinch or weaken. The French people and
the French soldiers said, "They shall not pass," and they did not pass.
The Germans brought their big guns near enough to destroy the city, but
the citadel laughed at them. They captured Fort Douaumont and Fort
Vaux, but later had to give them up to the French.

All of Hunland rejoiced when the Brandenburgers captured Fort
Douaumont, and the disappointment of the French people made every one
realize that to have given up the city and the citadel without a fight,
even though it was wise from a military point of view, would have been
a grave mistake. But before the long battle was over, the French
soldiers made one of their most remarkable charges back of waves of
shell fire and swept the Germans from the hill upon which the fort was
built. They recaptured the fort, taking six thousand prisoners, and
sent thrills and cheers through France and the civilized world.

No, they did not pass. The soul of France with her flaming sword stood
in the way. The Huns were trained to fight things that they could see,
that they could touch, that they could measure, and especially things
that they could frighten and kill. The soul of France they could not
see, just as they could not, at the opening of the war, see or
understand the soul of Belgium, and just as they did not believe in or
comprehend the soul of America, later. But the soul of France barred
their way and they did not pass, for they could neither frighten her
nor kill her.

    For though the giant ages heave the hill
    And break the shore, and evermore
    Make and break and work their will;
    Though world on world in myriad myriads roll
    Round us, each with different powers
    And other forms of life than ours,
    What know we greater than the soul?

       *       *       *       *       *

The right is more precious than peace. We shall fight for the things
which we have always carried nearest our hearts. To such a task we
dedicate our lives.

                                            WOODROW WILSON, 1917.


    She is a wall of brass;
    You shall not pass! You shall not pass!
    Spring up like summer grass,
    Surge at her, mass on mass,
    Still shall you break like glass,
    Splinter and break like shivered glass,
          But pass?
          You shall not pass!
    Germans, you shall not, shall not pass!
    God's hand has written on the wall of brass--
    You shall not pass! You shall not pass!

    The valleys are quaking,
    The torn hills are shaking,
    The earth and the sky seem breaking.
    But unbroken, undoubting, a wonder and sign,
    She stands, France stands, and still holds to the line.
    She counts her wounded and her dead;
          You shall not pass!
    She sets her teeth, she bows her head;
          You shall not pass!
    Till the last soul in the fierce line has fled,
          You shall not pass!

    Help France? Help France?
    Who would not, thanking God for this great chance,
    Stretch out his hands and run to succor France?

                                HAROLD BEGBIE.


A German leader once said, "The oldest right in the world is the right
of the strongest." This is true and will always continue to be true as
long as the world is made up only of inanimate matter and lifeless
forces and of living, thinking beings who consider "the strongest" as
meaning the powers or things that can cause the greatest destruction
and the most terrible evil. The beasts recognize these as the
strongest, and without question admit that the oldest right in the
world is the chief right in the world.

But as men have become civilized, they have come to fear destruction,
and even the loss of life, less and less, and have learned to feel the
strength of beauty, truth, justice, mercy, purity, and innocence. So it
comes to pass that Robert Burns mourns when his plow turns under a
mountain daisy or destroys the home of a field mouse. Because he feels
the influence of the innocent and the helpless, the "wee, modest,
crimson-tipped flower" and the "wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous
beastie," he gives us two of the most beautiful poems in the English
language, poems that, by the power of their tenderness, truth, and
beauty, have brought tears to the eyes of many a strong, brave man who
feared no enemy.

Such was the power of Joan of Arc when she led the French soldiers to
battle and to victory,--simply the power of her belief and her faith,
for she was a simple, untrained peasant girl, knowing nothing of how
battles are to be won.

Such is the power of the English nurse, Edith Cavell, executed by the
Germans as a spy, because she helped English and Belgians to escape
from the German horrors in Belgium by crossing the line into Holland.

Such is the power of the murdered mothers and children on the
_Lusitania_, the memory of whose wrongs cause English and American
soldiers to go "over the top," crying "Lusitania! Lusitania!"

Such is the power of undaunted Cardinal Mercier, who in the very midst
of German officers and troops, denounces German atrocities in Belgium,
and yet is himself untouched.

The exercise of the right of the strongest, the _right_ which comes
through _might_, brings about war. General Sherman, who knew the
terrors of war from what he saw in our Civil War, said, "War is hell."
He could not describe its horrors and so he used the one word that
means to most people the most horrible state and place in which human
beings can suffer. For many years most men have realized that war is
the most dreadful scourge of the human race, and that it should be
abolished. But as is always the case, men cannot agree,--which is, of
course, the chief reason why there are wars. In the face of terrible
calamities, disasters, and great crises, men will agree. Perhaps the
World War will prove the great disaster that will lead men to do away
forever with war.

For twenty-five years before the world's peace was rudely broken by the
ambitions of Germany, the people of other countries had been urgently
seeking some means of doing away with war. Peace societies had been
organized and wealthy men had donated money to be used in efforts to
secure the permanent peace of the world. A Peace Palace had been
erected at The Hague from funds donated by the American
multi-millionaire, Andrew Carnegie, who had also set aside a fund of
$10,000,000 for the purpose of keeping the world at peace. The Nobel
prize of $40,000 was awarded annually to the person anywhere in the
world who had done the most for peace. Theodore Roosevelt, while
President, won this by settling the Russian-Japanese War. The Tsar of
Russia had proposed at one of the conferences of nations held at the
Peace Palace that the nations should gradually do away with military
preparations. We can see now why all these efforts failed. Germany had
her mind and heart set on war and on conquering the world.

Most men agree that war is unnecessary, and before the German attack
upon Belgium and upon the liberty of the world, many leaders of thought
in other countries were sure a great war could never occur in modern
times. One group argued that its cost in money would be so great that
no nation could meet it for more than a few months. But the United
States is, in 1918, spending nearly $50,000,000 a day for war, and she
can continue to do so for some years, if necessary. The cost in dollars
will never prevent war nor make a great war a very brief one.

But think of what the cost of the war for one year would accomplish if
spent for the purposes of peace, for construction instead of
destruction. Ten billion dollars, the approximate cost of the war for
the United States for the year 1918, if put at interest at four per
cent, would earn $400,000,000, or about the cost of the Panama Canal.
This interest would send 500,000 young men and women to college each
year, and pay all their necessary expenses. It would do away with all
the slums and poverty of our great cities. If the cost to one nation
for one year would, as a permanent fund, accomplish this, it is easy to
realize that the world could almost be made an ideal one in which to
live, if the money that all the nations spend upon the World War could
have been saved and made a permanent fund for the betterment of world

Another group said, "Modern science has made war so terrible and so
destructive that men will not take part in it, or if this is not true
now, it soon will be." When we think of what has occurred and is
occurring every day in the present war, this seems also unlikely.

When we read of guns that will carry a shell weighing a ton for over
twenty-five miles which will, when it explodes, destroy everything
within an eighth of a mile, and of guns less destructive that will
carry over seventy-five miles, almost wholly destroying a church and
killing sixty-five men, women, and children; when we read of bombs
dropped from the sky, killing innocent women and children, hundreds of
miles from the field of battle; of the terrible work of poison gases
and of liquid fire; of battles above the clouds from which men fall to
death in blazing air-planes, and of battles beneath the waves in which
men sink in submarines to be suffocated to death; of an entire ridge
being undermined and blown up by tons of dynamite, with an explosion
heard nearly one hundred miles away and killing thousands: how can we
believe that war is likely soon to become so terrible that men will not
engage in it, if they are willing to do so now? Sir Gilbert Parker well
says: "Guns have been invented before which the stoutest fortresses
shrivel into fiery dust; shells destroy men in platoons, blow them to
pieces, bury them alive; death pours from the clouds and spouts upward
through the sea; motor-power hurls armies of men on points of attack in
masses never hitherto employed; concealment is made well nigh
impossible. These things, however, have but made war more difficult and
dreadful; they have not made it impossible. They have only succeeded in
plumbing profounder depths of human courage, and evoking higher
qualities of endurance than have ever been seen before."

No, most people who are thinking about the subject to-day are agreed
that wars will not end because of the destructive power of men, but
through the constructive power of human feeling and intellect. When the
great majority of men recognize, as so many do now, that as the world
exists to-day, no nation can ever gain by a war of aggression, but that
the nation at war loses her best, her young and strong, and has left
only the old and defective who cannot fight, that she loses her
industrial and commercial prosperity as well, and through these losses
loses more than she can ever gain by conquest; when all nations realize
that the destruction of great cathedrals like Rheims, of the beautiful
town hall at Lille, of the unique Cloth Market at Ypres, and of a
University like that of Louvain makes the whole world poorer beyond
measure, then will men agree that no small group of men, and no single
nation shall, in the future, be allowed to cause war; and then they
will organize some power strong enough to prevent war.

Then will come the League of Nations to Enforce Peace, or the
Parliament of Man of which Tennyson wrote in "Locksley Hall"
seventy-five years ago. The poet seemed as in a vision to see the
present World War with its terrors and its battles in the air. Perhaps
his vision of the abolition of war and the federation of the world is
equally true.

    For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,
    Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;

    Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
    Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;

    Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew
    From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue;

    Far along the world-wide whisper of the south wind rushing warm,
    With the standards of the peoples plunging through the thunder storm;

    Till the war drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle flags were furled
    In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.

    _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._]


No man knows exactly when and where the three and twenty allies will
win the war, but all men know when and where Germany lost it. It was
four years ago this morning, at a point near Gemmenich, a village
southwest of Aix-la-Chapelle. It was then and there that the first gray
uniform crossed the frontier from Germany into Belgium.

An hour before and it was not too late for Germany to win the war, or
at least to lose it with honor. An hour afterward, and Germany was
doomed. What has befallen her since that 4th of August, what will
befall her in the future, were predetermined from the fatal instant of
that summer morning when the first German soldier trod where Prussia
had promised he should never go. There is not a German killed to-day in
the flight to the Vesle whose fate was not written at Gemmenich.

It was not merely that the invasion of a land guaranteed perpetual
neutrality brought Great Britain into the fight and turned into a world
war what Germany had hoped would be a small, swift, and easy campaign.
It was the exposure of Germany herself. Know of her what we may to-day,
we thought of her otherwise four years ago yesterday. She had thrown
about herself a mantle which hid the sword and the thick, studded
boots. She worked at science and played at art. She sang and thumped
the piano. She cleaned her streets and washed her children's faces.
Many persons in America and England believed that she was efficient and
that her very _verboten_ signs were guides to the ideal life. Even as
the Kaiser reviewed his armies he babbled of peace; peace, to believe
him, was the first object of his life.

We do not know of any writer who has condensed the proof of Germany's
falsehood and cowardice into so few words as Von Bethmann-Hollweg, who,
as Chancellor of the Empire, spoke as follows to the Reichstag four
years ago this afternoon:

    Gentlemen, we are now acting in self-defence. Necessity knows no
    law. Our troops have occupied Luxemburg and have possibly
    already entered on Belgian soil. [The speaker knew that the
    invasion had begun.]

    Gentlemen, that is a breach of international law.

    The French Government has notified Brussels that it would
    respect Belgian neutrality as long as the adversary respected
    it. But we know that France stood ready for an invasion. France
    could wait, we could not. A French invasion on our flank and the
    lower Rhine might have been disastrous. Thus we were forced to
    ignore the rightful protests of the Governments of Luxemburg
    and Belgium. The injustice--I speak openly--the injustice we
    thereby commit we will try to make good as soon as our military
    aims have been attained. He who is menaced as we are and is
    fighting for his all, can only consider the one and best way to

There stood the German Empire, intensively trained in the arts of war
for forty years, pleading cowardice in extenuation of her broken word.
"France could wait, we could not!" A brave man, Bethmann-Hollweg,
unless he knew before he spoke that the whole nation had sunk to the
immoral level of the cowards who invaded Belgium because they feared
that on a fair field France would have beaten them! It is curious that
in the whole record of German state-craft in the war, the Chancellor's
confession of his empire's degradations stands out almost like a clean

The Chancellor did not deceive the people except in his implication
that France would have struck through Belgium if Germany had not. He
did not deceive himself, either. He knew the cowardice of Germany. It
is probable that he believed, as the Junkers believed, that England,
too, was a coward. Prince Lichnowsky had told them the truth about
England, but they had not believed. In the years of Kultur, they had
forgotten what honor was like. They chose to credit the stories that
England was torn with dissensions, threatened with rebellion in
Ireland and India, nervous from labor troubles, and not only physically
unprepared for war but mentally and morally unfit for war. Even the
telegram of Sir Edward Grey, communicated on the day of Belgium's
invasion, to the German Government by the British Ambassador at Berlin,
did not dispel the illusion about Great Britain:

    In view of the fact that Germany declined to give the same
    assurance respecting Belgium as France gave last week in reply
    to our request made simultaneously at Berlin and Paris, we must
    repeat that request and ask that a satisfactory reply to it and
    to my telegram of this morning be received here by 12 o'clock
    to-night. If not, you are instructed to ask for your passports
    and to say that His Majesty's Government feels bound to take all
    steps in their power to uphold the neutrality of Belgium and the
    observance of a treaty to which Germany is as much a party as

Even that memorable document, we say, did not convince Germany that
common honor still lived across the Channel. The Foreign Secretary, Von
Jagow, a mere tool of the Kaiser, took it mechanically; but Von
Bethmann-Hollweg added to the sum of German cowardice. Brave as he had
been in the Reichstag, he whimpered to Sir Edward Goschen when he saw
that "12 o'clock to-night" on paper. This account of the conversation
is Goschen's, but the German Chancellor later confirmed the
Englishman's version:

    I found the Chancellor very agitated. His Excellency at once
    began a harangue which lasted for about twenty minutes. He said
    that the step taken by His Majesty's Government was terrible to
    a degree; just for a word--"neutrality," a word which in war
    time had so often been disregarded--just for a scrap of paper,
    Great Britain was going to make war on a kindred nation who
    desired nothing better than to be friends with her.

When he added that it was a matter of "life and death" to Germany to
advance through Belgium, the British Ambassador replied that it was "a
matter of life and death for the honor of Great Britain that she should
keep her solid engagement to do her utmost to defend Belgium's
neutrality if attacked." Her utmost! Aye, she has done it!

A last gasp from the German Chancellor: "But at what price will that
compact have been kept? Has the British Government thought of that?"
Sir Edward Goschen replied that "fear of consequences could hardly be
regarded as an excuse for breaking solemn engagements," but these words
were lost. The German Chancellor had abandoned himself to the
contemplation of the truth: that morning Germany had been beaten when a
soldier stepped across a line. How long the decision might be in
dispute Bethmann-Hollweg could not know, but he must have known that,
cheating, Germany had loaded the dice at the wrong side. If she had
struck fairly at France, England would have had to stand by, neutral.
The seas would be open to Germany. If France had violated Belgium's
neutrality--as Germany professed to believe she intended to do--England
would have attacked France, keeping the pledge made in the Treaty of
London. But now, because England weighed a promise and not the price of
keeping it, there could be no swift stroke at lone France, no dash
eastward to subdue Russia. To-day, when Germany sees how ripe Russia
was then for revolution, the remembrance of that 4th of August must be
the bitterest drop in the deep cup of her regret.

The items at which we have glanced were not all or even the most
important acts of Germany's dawning tragedy. It was not merely that she
revealed herself to the world, but that she revealed herself to
herself. The moving picture of Kultur, of fake idealism, of humaneness,
which she had unreeled before our charitable eyes was stopped, and
stopped forever. The film, exposed momentarily to the flame of truth,
exploded and left on the screen the hideous picture of Germany as she
was. No more sham for a naked nation. In went the unmasked Prussian to
outrage and murder, to bind and burn. When a Government violated its
word to the world, why should the individual check his passions? All
the world, at first unbelieving, watched the procession of horror, and
then, against its wishes, against all the ingrained faith that the long
years had stored within the human breast, the world saw that it was
dealing with nothing less than a monster.

England's day, this? Yes, and a glorious anniversary for her. She has
indeed kept her "solid engagement to do her utmost." In a million
graves are men of the British Empire who did not consider the price at
which the compact would be kept. Their lives for a scrap of paper--and
welcome! When we think that we are winning the war--and nobody denies
that it is American men and food and ships and guns that are winning it
now--let us look back to the 4th of August, 1914, and remember what
nation it was that stood between the beast and his prey, scorning all
his false offers of kindness to Belgium, his promises not to rob
France, and his hypocritical cry of "kindred nation" to the England he
really hated.

But it is not alone England's day. It is the day of the opening of the
world's eyes to the criminality of Prussia. It is the anniversary of
Germany's loss of the war. We--America, France, England, Italy, and the
rest of us--will win it, but Germany lost it herself with the one
stroke at Gemmenich. She believed it a masterpiece of cunning. It was
the foul thrust of a coward and the deliberate mistake of a fool.

                              _The New York Sun_, August 4, 1918.




    It's easy to fight when everything's right,
    And you're mad with the thrill and the glory;
    It's easy to cheer when victory's near,
    And wallow in fields that are gory.
    It's a different song when everything's wrong,
    When you're feeling infernally mortal;
    When it's ten against one, and hope there is none,
    Buck up, little soldier, and chortle:

          Carry on! Carry on!
        There isn't much punch in your blow.
    You're glaring and staring and hitting out blind;
    You're muddy and bloody, but never you mind.
          Carry on! Carry on!
        You haven't the ghost of a show.
    It's looking like death, but while you've a breath,
          Carry on, my son! Carry on!

    And so in the strife of the battle of life
    It's easy to fight when you're winning;
    It's easy to slave, and starve and be brave,
    When the dawn of success is beginning.
    But the man who can meet despair and defeat
    With a cheer, there's the man of God's choosing;
    The man who can fight to Heaven's own height
    Is the man who can fight when he's losing.

          Carry on! Carry on!
        Things never were looming so black.
    But show that you haven't a cowardly streak,
    And though you're unlucky you never are weak.
          Carry on! Carry on!
        Brace up for another attack.

       *       *       *       *       *

          Carry on, old man! Carry on!

    There are some who drift out in the deserts of doubt,
    And some who in brutishness wallow;
    There are others, I know, who in piety go
    Because of a Heaven to follow.
    But to labor with zest, and to give of your best,
    For the sweetness and joy of the giving;
    To help folks along with a hand and a song;
    Why, there's the real sunshine of living.

          Carry on! Carry on!
        Fight the good fight and true;
    Believe in your mission, greet life with a cheer;
    There's big work to do, and that's why you are here.
          Carry on! Carry on!
        Let the world be the better for you;
    And at last when you die, let this be your cry:
        Carry on, my soul! Carry on!

                            ROBERT SERVICE.

    _Copyright by Western Newspaper Union Photo. Service_]




The story of "The Animals Going to War" tells how, one by one, the wild
creatures, then the enemies of man, were made his friends and learned
to be his helpers. In the World War, the horse has borne man into the
thick of the conflict, the mule has drawn his big guns into place, and
the dog has wonderfully come to his aid, so that now, whenever the
"dogs of war" are let loose, the war dogs go with them.

The Battle of Verdun had been raging for months; Fort Douaumont had
been taken, lost, and finally retaken by the French. The Germans still
poured against it a terrific rain of shot and shell, and within the
battered fortress the guns were disabled and the ammunition nearly
exhausted. Help was needed and needed at once. Long ago the wireless
had been shot to pieces, and the telephones had been destroyed. It was
sure death for a man to venture outside, let alone trying to reach the
lines behind, where he might secure help.

Still the defenders stood firm, and in their hearts, if not with their
lips, over and over they repeated those magic words, "They shall not
pass!" But the shells continued to fall in their very midst, and unless
that battery could be silenced, the fort and all the men in it would be
lost. What could be done when no messenger could reach the lines

Suddenly, as the men were straining their eyes almost hopelessly in the
direction of those lines, they saw a small, dark speck moving across
the fields, stopping only here and there behind a rock to take shelter
from the bursting shells. Now and then it dashed wildly over the open
fields. But ever straight on toward the fort it came. Swiftly the
entrance of the fort was flung open, and in dashed one of the faithful
dogs, unhurt. In the wallet, fastened to his collar, was found a
message telling that relief was coming. Strapped to his back was a tiny
pannier, inside of which were two frightened carrier pigeons. On a slip
of paper the commander quickly wrote his message: "Stop the German
battery on our left." Then adding any necessary facts as to pointing
the guns, he fastened the message to the trembling bird and let it
loose. Straight to its home, above shot and shell, flew the pigeon. In
a few moments the German battery was silenced, and Douaumont and the
brave defenders were saved.

All along the lines, the dogs were busy bearing important messages back
and forth from one commander to another, and from one fort to another.
Zip, an English bulldog, ran two miles in heavy shell fire and
afterward had to go about with his jaw in splints; but he delivered his
message and seemed anxious to get well enough to carry another. One of
the other messenger dogs, it is said, carried orders almost
continuously for seventy-two hours, hardly stopping to eat or drink;
for no war dog would eat or drink anything given him by strangers. The
faithful animals were in danger of being taken prisoners, as well as of
being struck. Indeed, in one instance a heavy cannon rolled over upon a
big mastiff, pinning him there until help came.

When the battle ceased, the dogs sprang from the trenches and searched
the fields and woods for wounded men. They could find them much more
quickly and with less danger of being seen than any Red Cross man.

In former wars among civilized peoples, the firing has always been upon
armed forces, and the guns were silent after each battle to allow both
sides to find and care for the wounded soldiers in the field. The
Germans, however, have used the Red Cross doctors and stretcher-bearers
for targets, so that to send them out only means to add them to the
number wounded. But the dogs, creeping among the men, can seldom be
seen by the enemy, and besides are able to find the wounded quicker and
more easily. As soon as a dog finds an injured soldier, he seizes his
cap, a button, or a bit of his clothing, and runs back with it to the
doctor or a Red Cross nurse, for he will give it to no one else. The
stretcher-bearers then follow the dog and bring back the wounded man.
Often the man may lie in a dense thicket where no one would think to
look for him, but the dog, by his keen sense of smell or by hearing the
deep breaths or some slight sound made by the injured man, creeps in
and finds him.

Sometimes, to attract the attention of an ambulance driver, the dogs
give several short, quick barks; but usually they do their work
silently, for if they bark, the enemy will fire.

Many times a dog finds a man unable to get back to the lines, but not
so seriously wounded but that he can help himself somewhat. In such a
case, before running for help, the dog stands quiet, close to the
soldier, and allows him to take the flasks and first-aid bandages from
the wallet which is hung about the dog's neck or pinned to the blanket
on his back.

Thus, by the help of these faithful friends, the lives of many hundreds
of men have been saved. Over one hundred were rescued in one night
after a battle. A big Newfoundland, named Napoleon, had the credit of
saving as many as twenty. One of the men, in speaking of him, said,
"Part of his tail has been blown away, and once he was left for dead in
No Man's Land, but he is still on the job, working for civilization."

When not fighting or on watch, the men in the trenches enjoy the
company of the dogs and teach them to perform all sorts of tricks, the
fox terriers proving especially intelligent. They also do good work in
keeping the trenches free from rats.

At night, a French sentinel sometimes crawls through the entanglements
on his way to a "listening post" out in No Man's Land. With him goes a
sentinel dog. The sentinel's purpose is to discover if the enemy are
getting ready for a surprise attack. Lying flat on the earth, or
crouching in a shell hole, he listens with bated breath for any
telltale noises. The dog, listening too, creeps along beside him, or
slinks silently out into the darkness. He can tell, when his master
cannot, if an enemy is abroad. Making no sound, giving no betraying
bark, as soon as he discovers the enemy the dog draws near to his
master, stands at attention, his ears pricked up, his hair bristling,
his tail wagging as he silently paws the ground or growls so low that
only his master can hear him. If the German soldier attempts to fight,
the dog springs at him and throws him to the ground.

A group of soldiers were on watch one night in one of the front
trenches, when all of the dogs suddenly became uneasy, growling low,
and growing more and more excited. The soldiers knew their dogs and
trusted their warnings, so they telephoned back to the main trenches
for help. In less than half an hour, an attack was made from the
German trenches opposite. Meanwhile, however, reënforcements had
arrived for the Allies, which sent the enemy back to his own lines
again. How the dogs knew so long before that the attack was coming,
whether they could have heard the first faint signs of preparation in
the enemy trenches, the soldiers could not tell.

When a front line trench of the enemy is captured, it is the faithful
dogs who draw up the many cartloads of ammunition and supplies, and
some of the smaller guns. For this, the Belgian dogs are especially
well fitted.

Happy as long as they can help in the fighting, restless and uneasy
whenever sent back to the hospitals for treatment or rest, these dogs
have shown the worth of all the training they have received, as well as
a great amount of natural intelligence.

While Zip, Napoleon, Spot, Stop, Mignon, and Bouée have been doing
their bit on the firing line, still others have been taking their
training in readiness to go to the front. And very hard training it is.
Sheep dogs, fox terriers, bulldogs, collies, St. Bernards,
Newfoundlands, Alaskan wolf dogs, mongrels,--all must be carefully
trained by expert dog trainers.

First they must learn to distinguish between the uniform of their
country and that of the enemy. They must not bark, because then the
enemy will be sure to shoot. In carrying letters from post to post,
they must learn to recognize the posts by name.

    _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._]

About three months of training are necessary to teach the dogs to
travel as far as three kilometres in this work. Two of the dogs are put
into the care of two trainers, and taught to recognize both as their
masters, and to carry dispatches from one to the other.

The dogs must be trained to obey implicitly. If the master stops
abruptly in his walk, the dog must do the same; if the trainer runs,
the dog must keep in perfect step, ready at a given signal to lie down,
or follow a scent, or find a wounded soldier. For many hours he must be
trained in jumping, because of the great heights over which he must
spring, carrying heavy weights in his mouth or upon his back or around
his neck. He must learn to make no sound except when ordered to do so,
to find objects which have been most skillfully hidden, to distinguish
between a dead man and one wounded and breathing, to deliver the token
of a wounded man only to the doctor or Red Cross nurse, to allow
nothing to hinder him from carrying out any task, to refuse food and
water from strangers, and to aid soldiers on the watch. These watch
dogs must learn to give a signal when they scent poison gas or hear the
enemy creeping up. And they must guard prisoners very carefully.

Some dogs cannot learn all of these duties, and so specialists examine
every dog that is enlisted. There are tests for health, intelligence,
speed, quick tempers, and even tempers. When a dog has been in training
for several weeks, he is sometimes found in the end to be unfit for
service, and the trainer has to admit a new recruit in his place and
start all over again. Often a dog can do certain tasks much better than
others, and so each one is assigned to the kind of service which he can
do best.

It is marvelous what great services these dogs have rendered in the
World War. The governments have recognized their worth, and societies
have been formed to train and protect them. The French people, in 1912,
organized the "Blue Cross." It is a Blue Cross officer who examines the
dogs and a Blue Cross doctor who gives first aid and orders an injured
dog to the hospital for further treatment. The Blue Cross also has been
at work in Italy.

The American Red Cross Society has taken over the task of securing and
protecting dogs on the American front, but instead of the red cross,
the animals wear a red star, so that the field is blest with three red
symbols of mercy--the red cross, the red triangle, and the red star.
The number of dogs added to the war service during the first four years
of the war was about ten thousand on all fronts.

Not only have dogs been provided by various societies, but many have
been given by private families. One elderly French father wrote to the
French War Department, "I already have three sons and a son-in-law with
the Colors; now I give up my dog, and 'Vive la France!'"

The French government officials, as well as the various societies, have
shown their gratitude by awarding honors to the canine heroes. Many
have been mentioned in the orders for bravery and heroic conduct.
Several have been presented with gold collars. The French government
has even published a "Golden Book of Dogs," in which are recorded some
of the heroic deeds of these brave and faithful friends of man. One of
the dogs wearing a French medal of honor is a plucky fox terrier, who
is said to have saved one hundred fifty lives after the Battle of the
Marne. Bouée, a fuzzy-haired, dirty, yellow-and-black, tailless little
fellow, is another hero, who has been cited three times for his
bravery. During a heavy action, when all the telephone wires had been
destroyed, Bouée carried communications between a commandant and his
force, fulfilling his duty perfectly without allowing anything to
distract him.

Shall we not change the old proverb from "As brave as a lion," to "As
brave as a dog"?


The _Belgian Prince_ was a British cargo steamer. On a voyage from
Liverpool to Philadelphia, with Captain Hassan in command, she was, on
July 31, 1917, attacked and sunk by a German U-boat. For brutal
savagery and barbarism, the drowning of the crew of the _Belgian
Prince_ is one of the most astounding in the history of human warfare.
Captain Hassan was taken aboard the U-boat, and no further knowledge of
his fate has been received. The _Belgian Prince_ was a merchant ship,
not a warship in any sense of the word.

The Germans evidently intended to sink her without a trace left behind
to tell the story, as their Minister to Argentina advised his
government to do with Argentine ships; but three members of her crew,
the chief engineer and two seamen, escaped as by a miracle. Their
stories are now among the records of the British Admiralty; they have
also been published in many books which have a place in thousands of
libraries, public and private, all over the world. How will the Hun,
when peace comes again, face his fellow-men?

The story of the chief engineer, Thomas Bowman, is as follows:

    At 7:50 P.M. on the night of July 31, the _Belgian Prince_ was
    traveling along at ten knots, when she was struck. The weather
    was fine and the sea smooth. It was a clear day and just
    beginning to darken. I was on the after deck of the ship, off
    watch, taking a stroll and having a smoke. The donkeyman shouted
    out, "Here's a torpedo coming." I turned and saw the wake on the
    port about a hundred yards away. I yelled a warning, but the
    words were no more than out of my mouth when we were hit.

    I was thrown on deck by a piece of spar, and when I recovered I
    found the ship had a very heavy list to port and almost all the
    crew had taken to the boats. I got into the starboard lifeboat,
    which was my station. Until then I had seen no submarine, but
    now heard it firing a machine gun at the other side of the ship.
    With a larger gun it shot away the radio wires aloft so that we
    could send out no S.O.S. messages. As soon as we had pulled away
    from the ship I saw the U-boat, which promptly made toward our
    own boats and hailed us in English, commanding us to come
    alongside her. We were covered by their machine gun and
    revolvers. We were in two lifeboats and the captain's dinghy.

    The submarine commander then asked for our captain and told him
    to come on board, which he did. He was taken down inside the
    submarine and we saw him no more. The rest of us, forty-three in
    number, were then ordered to board the submarine and to line up
    on deck. A German officer and several sailors were very foul and
    abusive in their language. They ordered us, in English, to strip
    off our life belts and overcoats and throw them down on the

    When this was done they proceeded to search us, making us hold
    up our hands and threatening us with revolvers. These sailors,
    while they passed along the deck and were searching us,
    deliberately kicked most of the life belts overboard from where
    we had dropped them. Beyond making us take off our life belts
    and coats there was no interference with our clothing. They
    robbed me of my seaman's discharge book and certificate, which
    they threw overboard, but kept four one-pound notes.

    After searching us, the German sailors climbed into our
    lifeboats and threw out the oars, gratings, thole-pins, and
    baling tins. The provisions and compass they lugged aboard the
    submarine. They then smashed our boats with axes so as to make
    them useless, and cast them adrift. I saw all this done myself.
    Several of the German sailors then got into our dinghy and rowed
    to the _Belgian Prince_. These men must have been taken off
    later, after they had ransacked the ship.

    The submarine then moved ahead for a distance of several miles.
    I could not reckon it accurately because it was hard to judge
    her speed. She then stopped, and after a moment or two I heard a
    rushing sound like water pouring into the ballast tanks of the

    "Look out for yourselves, boys," I shouted. "She is going down."

    The submarine then submerged, leaving all our crew in the water,
    barring the captain, who had been taken below. We had no means
    of escape but for those who had managed to retain their life
    belts. I tried to jump clear, but was carried down with the
    submarine, and when I came to the surface I could see only about
    a dozen of our men left afloat, including a young lad named
    Barnes, who was shouting for help.

    I swam toward him and found that he had a life belt on, but was
    about paralyzed with cold and fear. I held him up during the
    night. He became unconscious and died while I was holding him.
    All this time I could hear no other men in the water. When dawn
    broke I could see the _Belgian Prince_ about a mile and a half
    away and still floating. I began to swim in her direction, but
    had not gone far when I saw her blow up.

    I then drifted about in the life belt for an hour or two longer
    and saw smoke on the horizon. This steamer was laying a course
    straight for me, having seen the explosion of the _Belgian
    Prince_. She proved to be a British naval vessel, which also
    found the two other survivors in the water. We were taken to
    port and got back our strength after a while. None of us had
    given the submarine commander and crew any reason for their
    behavior toward us. And I make this solemn declaration
    conscientiously, believing it to be true.

The two common sailors who survived were William Snell, a negro, of
Norfolk, Virginia, and George Silenski, a Russian. William Snell's
story is as follows:

    Two men of the submarine's crew stayed on top of the conning
    tower with rifles in their hands which they kept trained on us.
    Seven other Germans stood abreast of our line on the starboard
    side of the boat, armed with automatic pistols. The captain of
    the submarine, a blond man with blue eyes, was also on deck and
    stood near the forward gun, giving orders to his crew in German,
    and telling them what to do. Pretty soon he walked along in
    front of the men of the _Belgian Prince_, asking them if they
    had arms on them. He ordered us to take off our life belts and
    throw them on deck, which we did. As they dropped at our feet,
    he helped his sailors pick them up and sling them overboard.

    When I threw my belt down, I shoved it along on the deck with my
    foot, and finally stood on it. As the commander walked along the
    line, he huddled us together in a crowd and then went and pulled
    the plugs out of our lifeboats, which were lying on the
    starboard side of the submarine. When he went back to the
    conning tower, I quickly picked up my belt and hid it under a
    big, loose oilskin which I was wearing when I left the _Belgian
    Prince_. The Germans did not make me take it off when they
    searched me. I hugged the life belt close to my breast with one

    When the commander returned to the conning tower, four German
    sailors came on deck from below and got into our captain's small
    boat, which was on the port side. The submarine then backed a
    little, steamed ahead, and rammed and smashed one of our
    lifeboats, which had been cast adrift.

    The four men who had jumped into our captain's boat now pulled
    alongside the _Belgian Prince_. The submarine then got under way
    and moved ahead at about nine knots, as near as I could guess,
    leaving her four men aboard the _Belgian Prince_, and all of us,
    except our skipper, huddled together on the forward deck, which
    was almost awash.

    She steamed like this for some time, and then I noticed that the
    water was rising slowly on the deck until it came up to my
    ankles. I had also noticed, a little while before this, that the
    conning tower was closed. The water kept on rising around my
    legs, and when it got almost up to my knees I pulled out my life
    belt, threw it over my shoulders, and jumped overboard. The
    other men didn't seem to know what was going to happen. Some of
    them were saying, "I wonder if they mean to drown us."

    About ten seconds after I had jumped, I heard a suction as of a
    vessel sinking and the submarine had submerged entirely, leaving
    the crew of the _Belgian Prince_ to struggle in the water.

    I began to swim toward our own ship which I could see faintly in
    the distance, it being not very dark in that latitude until late
    in the evening. The water was not cold, like the winter time,
    and I was not badly chilled, but swam and floated all night, on
    my back and in other positions. One of our crew, who had no
    life belt, kept about five yards from me for half an hour after
    the submarine submerged. Then he became exhausted and sank. I
    could hear many other cries for help, but I could not see the

    When day came, there were lots of bodies of old shipmates
    floating around me. Then about five o'clock, as near as I can
    judge, I made out the _Belgian Prince_ and four men coming over
    the side. They had been lowering some stuff into a boat. I cried
    out, "Help, help!" but they paid no attention to me.

    Then the submarine came to the surface and the four sailors
    hoisted their stuff out of the rowboat and were taken aboard.
    Ten minutes later the submarine submerged. Then there was a
    great explosion as the _Belgian Prince_ broke in two and sank.
    Soon I saw a vessel approaching and she passed me, but turned
    and came back just in time. I was all in. It was a British
    patrol steamer, and as soon as I came to, I made a full report
    to the captain of the loss of the _Belgian Prince_ and the
    drowning of her crew.

The Russian, in his story, tells of the taking away of the life belts
and the smashing of the lifeboats; of the crew of the _Belgian Prince_
being left to sink or swim after the U-boat submerged--in all of these
details agreeing with the stories of the other two. And he adds:

    Then I swam toward the ship all night, although I had no life
    belt or anything to support me. About five o'clock in the
    morning I reached the _Belgian Prince_ and climbed on board. I
    stayed there about an hour and got some dry clothes and put them

    I saw the submarine come near the ship and three or four of her
    men climbed on board. I hid and they did not notice me. They
    had come to put bombs in the ship, so I jumped overboard from
    the poop with a life belt on. The submarine fired two shells
    into the ship to make her hurry up and sink. Then the Germans
    steamed away. I climbed into our little boat which had been left
    adrift and stayed there until a British patrol ship came along
    and picked me up.

Do you wonder that the members of the British Seamen's Union have taken
a pledge, "No peace until the sea is free from Hun outrages"; and that
they have declared a boycott on all German ships, cargoes, and sailors
for seven years after the war? Sailors of other nations are joining
with the British in this boycott.

       *       *       *       *       *

    The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
    It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
    Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
    It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
    'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
    The thronèd monarch better than his crown:

       *       *       *       *       *

    It is an attribute to God himself;
    And earthly power doth then show likest God's
    When mercy seasons justice.



    We are thirty in the hands of Fate
    And thirty-one with Death, our mate.

So sang the men who, with D'Annunzio, the Italian poet and hero, set
out "to dare the undarable."

Little has yet been told of the deeds of the Italians in the World War,
but as they become known, the people of other nations realize that
Italy has really worked wonders in her almost superhuman attempts to
conquer, not only men, but nature as well. When the complete story is
written of her struggles with avalanches, snow, frost, and enemy
soldiers in the mountain passes, it will be one continuous record of
heroic deeds.

D'Annunzio, although well over fifty years of age, and in most
countries judged too old for actual warfare, has been one of Italy's
most daring fighters. He was known throughout his native land by his
writings, and his fiery, passionate pleas published in all Italian
cities before Italy entered the war, helped his countrymen see the
right and decide to fight for it.

As soon as Italy decided to join the Allies, D'Annunzio sought and was
granted a post of great danger. He became an aviator, in the same corps
with his son.

Austria, whenever possible, sent aviators over Venice and other Italian
cities to drop bombs, although this warfare upon non-combatant women
and children was contrary to international law. The Austrians, like the
Germans, seemed to believe that it was wise for them to use any means
to win.

In August, 1918, D'Annunzio commanded a flight of eight bombing
airplanes over Vienna. It was a long-distance record for a squadron of
planes. Leaving the Italian lines at half past five in the morning,
they flew to Vienna and back, over six hundred miles, reaching home in
about sixteen hours. It was necessary for them to fly very high, at
about fifteen thousand feet, to cross the Alps and to escape the
Austrian barrage. All the machines returned but one, which was obliged
to land on account of engine trouble.

More than a million printed declarations, or statements, were dropped
on Vienna to inform the Austrians of the real state of affairs. In
Germany and Austria, the people were allowed to know only what their
rulers thought would be good for them to know. D'Annunzio wanted to
show them that Italians could drop bombs on Vienna if they desired to
do so, or thought it right to do so.

The manifestoes, as they are called, were in German, and read as

    We Italians do not war upon women, children, and old men--but
    only upon your blind, obstinate, and cruel rulers, who cannot
    give you either peace or food, but try to keep you quiet with
    hatred and falsehood.

    You are said to be intelligent. Why do you wear the uniform of
    Prussia? It is suicide for you to continue the war. The victory
    that would end the war promised to you by the Prussians is like
    the wheat they promised you from Ukraine. You will all die while
    waiting for it. People of Vienna, think for yourselves! Awake!

In February, 1918, D'Annunzio with twenty-nine companions set out on
three small torpedo boats to destroy some Austrian warships discovered
by an Italian aviator to be lying hidden in the Bay of Buccari. To get
at them, it was necessary to steam past the Austrian fortifications.
Discovery meant death.

It is not strange that D'Annunzio was the mastermind of this
expedition, for he loves the sea, as he says, with all the strength of
his soul. He was born on a yacht at sea and has written much about
ships and the ocean. He has taken as his motto three Latin words,
"Memento audere semper," which mean, "Remember always to dare."

As they steam away from the Italian shores, D'Annunzio talks to his
brave companions. He says, "Sailors, companions, what we are about to
do is a task for silent men. Silence is our trusty helmsman. For that
reason I need not urge you with many words to be brave, for I know you
are already eager to match your courage against the unknown danger. If
I were to tell you where we are bound, you would hardly be able to keep
from dancing for joy. We are only a handful of men on three small
ships, but our hearts are stronger than the motors, and our wills can
go further than the torpedoes.

"We carry with us, to leave for a souvenir for the enemy, three bottles
sealed and crowned with the flaming tricolor of Italy. We will leave
them to-night floating on the smooth surface of the bay amid the
wreckage of the vessels we have struck."

Then D'Annunzio reads to them the letter which he has written and
inclosed in each bottle, ridiculing the Austrians because they have
hidden their ships safely behind the guns of the forts, and do not have
courage to come out in the open sea. He says the Italians are always
ready "to dare the undarable," and that they have come to make the
enemy whom they hate most of all, the laughingstock of the world.

He goes on speaking to the sailors: "Because this thing that we attempt
is so dangerous, we have already conquered Fate. To-morrow your names
will be honored in all Italy, and will shine as golden as the torpedo.
Therefore, every one to-day must give all of himself and more than all
of himself, all of his strength and courage, and even more. Do you
swear it? Answer me."

The sailors cry, "We swear it! Viva l'Italia!"

And D'Annunzio answers, "Memento audere semper."

They have been steaming for twenty-four hours and are now very near the
enemy's guns guarding the entrance to the bay. The very audacity of the
Italians seems to save them, for they steam on unchallenged, and when
near enough, discharge a torpedo at the giant Austrian dreadnought. The
ship is struck and all is excitement and confusion. Rockets are sent up
to alarm and inform the forts. The Italian torpedo boats turn for home.
D'Annunzio says, "The sky is starry, the sea is starry, and our hearts
are starry, too."

One of their three ships is soon disabled and falls behind. The other
two turn back to help her, and this is what probably saves them all;
for the Austrian forts, seeing them sailing into the harbor, think they
are Austrian vessels and do not fire upon them. When they steam out of
the harbor, the forts think they are Austrian torpedo boats in pursuit
of the Italians who must have escaped in the darkness. As D'Annunzio
says, "Our very audacity has conquered Fate."

They sank one of the largest of the Austrian dreadnoughts, and then
returned in safety to Italy.

It remained, however, for another Italian naval officer to outdo those
who "dared the undarable" at Buccari. Lieutenant Luigi Rizzo, with two
small motor patrol boats, succeeded in sinking two huge dreadnoughts
protected by an escort of fast destroyers. His story of the encounter
is as follows:

    We were returning to our base just before dawn on July 10, 1918,
    after a night of dull, monotonous work along the enemy's coast,
    when I saw smoke coming from ships nearly two miles away. I
    thought we had been discovered and were being pursued. The only
    way I could know what we had to contend with was to get nearer
    the enemy, so I turned the two boats in my command toward the
    distant smoke.

    Soon I discovered that it was two of Austria's largest
    dreadnoughts protected by a great convoy of destroyers.
    Evidently because we were so small, we had not been seen in the
    darkness; and although we were poorly armed, with only two large
    torpedoes for each of our two boats and eight smaller ones to
    throw by hand, we crept ahead until we were inside the line of
    the destroyers, and slowly and quietly approaching the
    dreadnoughts. I headed for one of them which proved to be the
    _St. Stephen_, and Lieutenant Aonzo, in charge of the other
    boat, made for the other, the _Prince Eugene_.

    Then the watch on the dreadnoughts discovered us and began to
    fire at us with their small guns. How we escaped destruction is
    a miracle. Lieutenant Aonzo sent his first torpedo, and missed;
    but the second struck the giant fairly. Both of my torpedoes
    struck the _St. Stephen_.

    After that all was confusion and excitement. We were fired upon
    and encircled by a muddled crowd of destroyers. I turned my boat
    to escape. A destroyer stood directly in my way and I veered off
    and almost touched the bow of the sinking _St. Stephen_ in
    passing. The destroyers gave their attention to me and this
    allowed Lieutenant Aonzo to escape.

    I saw that I would soon be overtaken, so I sent two torpedoes at
    the nearest destroyer. The first missed, but the second hit the
    mark. There was a tremendous explosion. The destroyer wobbled
    and began to turn over. I put on all power and escaped in the

    The whole thing did not take over fifteen minutes. When we were
    sure of our escape, the five boys of my crew went nearly mad
    with joy, hugging, cheering, kissing, and crying in their
    excitement at what we had done. They hoisted our largest flag
    and trimmed our boat with bunting. A short way from us we could
    see that Lieutenant Aonzo was doing the same.

    We knew the reception we would have when those at home learned
    the story, but we did not expect so much. The King decorated and
    honored us, the Admiralty gave us prize money, and the people
    added their contributions to it, for they declared we doubtless
    saved the city of Ancona from bombardment.

Lieutenant Rizzo was promoted to the rank of Commandant although not
yet thirty years of age.

The _St. Stephen_ sank where she was torpedoed. The _Prince Eugene_ was
able to make for home, but sank before she reached there, a short way
from the Austrian coast. At the beginning of 1918, Austria had four of
these giant dreadnoughts; on July 11, she had but one still floating.


As the centuries pass, the greatest glory of any nation, its highest
satisfaction and pride, is in the works of art which it possesses. In
each country there are works of art which have been preserved through
many generations. They are the great inheritance of all the past ages.
Every nation prizes this inheritance and wishes to hold it in
safekeeping for still another generation; for into these creations of
genius, men have put their souls.

If a famous inventor of machinery dies and the particular machine which
he made is destroyed, there are yet other machines left, which have
been made after his pattern, usually much better than the first one
which he constructed.

While steamboats, railways, telegraphs, and automobiles are very
useful, they are not so mysterious and individual but that they may be
exactly copied and many, many duplicates be made and used by every
country under the sun.

If all the music of the great composer Beethoven should be destroyed so
that no copy remained in the world, there perhaps would be some master
musicians of to-day who could remember and write down the notes, and so
reproduce the wonderful compositions once more.

But there have been artists who have seen visions and dreamed dreams of
God and heaven and the best and happiest things they had found in life.
Such a one, with the power of his great genius, has made the dream into
a picture, a painting, a statue, or a wonderful building, which no
other person in the world is able to copy exactly. Indeed, there are
many half-finished works which no artist, however great, has been able
to complete. The creator has put into the work his soul, the best of
all he thought and knew. So when many artists with their many dreams
brought their finest works together into one place, it was certain that
forever that place would be cherished and the wonder of it would belong
to all people everywhere. While the artists have died long ago, their
spirits, their very souls, seem alive to-day in the beautiful art works
which they have left. It is for this reason that we speak of great
artists who lived eight or nine hundred years ago, as if they were
still living to-day, for their souls are alive in what they so
wonderfully made. Those who look upon these works are mysteriously
inspired to live better and happier lives themselves.

    [Illustration: RHEIMS CATHEDRAL]

The loveliest art works in France are its Gothic cathedrals, and of
them all, the Cathedral at Rheims was probably the most wonderful. No
monument of ancient or modern times is more widely known to the world.
It was built in the Middle Ages and expressed all the aspiration and
faith of the people of that time. For seven hundred years it has been
cherished for its great beauty, for the memory of the men who made it
so beautiful, and for the sacred services which have been held in it.
All the kings of France, except six, were crowned in it. One of the
most striking services was the coronation of Charles VII, while Joan of
Arc stood beside him with the sacred banner in her hands.

The cathedral held the works of many ancient artists. It was especially
famous for its rose window, in which the figures of prophets and
martyrs were glorified by the afternoon sun. Beneath the window was a
magnificent gallery. Statues of angels, a beautiful statue of Christ,
and one of the Madonna were to be found in this wonderful building. The
stained glass windows were all very beautiful. Even the bells in the
tower were famous.

With the excuse that the French were using the great towers of the old
cathedral as observation posts, the Germans bombarded and destroyed the
church. The roof was battered in and burned, the stained glass windows
broken, the famous bells pounded into a shapeless mass of metal, and
the wonderful statues and decorations hopelessly destroyed. Only the
statue of Joan of Arc, in front of the cathedral, remained uninjured,
as though to say, "I am the soul of France. You cannot injure or kill
me." Afterwards the Germans bombarded the church a second time,
attempting to tear down even the walls that were still standing.

Even savages in war respect sacred places, but the Germans deliberately
aimed their guns at them. No excuse can ever be accepted by the
civilized world for this deliberate destruction, and certainly the
excuse cannot be accepted by military men that the act was due to bad

Other ancient churches were horribly damaged. The Germans stabled their
horses in them, broke down the candelabra and statues, and carried away
many valuable relics.

The burning of the University buildings at Louvain completely destroyed
the treasures that had been preserved for centuries. Priceless
manuscripts, paintings that can never be replaced, and valuable books
in rare bindings were lost to the world.

The Germans scornfully but ignorantly declared, "Why should we care if
every monument in the world is destroyed? We can build better ones."
But the German idea of beauty is great strength and huge size. Their
own public buildings and statues are often horrible in color, immense
and awkward in appearance. They give people the impression of a
fearsome brute spreading himself out before them. With few exceptions,
there are no dainty figures and designs, nor any beautiful thoughts and
feelings, as shown in the work of real artists.

The old cathedral at Rheims can never be restored. No one can ever
bring back the old beauty and color; no one can revive those statues
and paintings so that ever again they will seem to breathe forth the
soul of the artists who fashioned them seven hundred years ago. The
walls may be rebuilt, and artists of tomorrow may beautify them, but
the spirit of the great men of the Middle Ages is gone--it has fled
from the place forever. Thus the Germans, not content with killing the
bodies of men, have in this way killed the souls of some of the
greatest of the geniuses of the past. How can she pay the damage, or
meet a fitting punishment?

       *       *       *       *       *

What a peerless jewel was this cathedral, more beautiful even than
Notre Dame in Paris, more open to the light, more ethereal, more
soaringly uplifted with its columns like long reeds surprisingly
fragile considering the weight they bear, a miracle of the religious
art of France, a masterpiece which the faith of our ancestors had
called into being in all its mystic purity.

                                                     PIERRE LOTI.


The controller, as he is called on the Siberian railroad, was passing
through the cars to see that every passenger had a ticket. He did not
notice the _mooshik_, which is what the Russian peasant is called in
his own language, hiding under one of the car seats with a large bundle
in front of him; or if he saw him, he passed on without seeming to have
done so.

The _mooshik_ had given the brakeman a small sum of money, about fifty
cents in our currency, to let him hide there whenever the controller
came around, and in this way ride from Petrograd, or Petersburg as the
Bolsheviki renamed it after the revolution, to Vladivostok, a distance
of about four thousand miles.

Now this _mooshik_ did not need to go to Vladivostok; but his Russian
nature made him _go_, go somewhere, it made little difference where. He
had been the year before to Jerusalem, but this was for religious
reasons, and now he must go again for no reason except that from within
came the impulse to travel, an impulse too strong to be denied. The
Russian government did not attempt to discourage the people from
traveling, but actually made it easier by fixing fares for long
distances at very small amounts. This traveler did not have even that
small amount, but he found it easy with a smaller one to bribe his way
in Russia.

There is a society in Russia, whose members pledge themselves never to
remain more than three days in any one place; and it is said that
wealthy Russians, after their children have grown up, will often divide
their property and with staff in hand spend the remainder of their
lives in traveling from one holy place to another.

A dream, a vision, leads the wealthy man to do this, and perhaps this
is true also of the _mooshik_; but it is as likely that he goes because
of the reality, the real people, the real village, the real home that
he leaves behind. He is uneducated, for only seven out of every hundred
can read and write in Russia. He lives in a shed as filthy and bad
smelling as a pig-pen, or rather he starves there, starves both for
food and for comfort. Black bread, potatoes, and sometimes cabbage,
make up his "balanced diet." He cannot afford money for meat, eggs,
milk, butter, sugar, or any of the many other ordinary foods of the
American home, nor for the light of lamp or candle.

It is not strange that such _mooshiki_ constantly move on and have no
love for their native place, and have never established an "Old Home
Day." It is not so strange that their former Tsar, Peter the Great,
said, "One can treat other European people as human beings, but I have
to do with cattle." Are they not treated like cattle?

But it is strange that a Russian writer can say of these people, and
say it with truth, "A Russian may steal and drink and cheat until it is
almost impossible to live with him; and yet, in spite of it all, you
feel a charm in him that draws you to him, and that there is something
more in him, some good or promise of good, that raises him above the
level of all other races you have ever met." It is strange that he is
so religious, so pitying of others, and so critical of himself; that he
has so many noble visions and dreams for which he is ready and willing
to die.

Uneducated, with little or no respect for truth or honesty in their own
dealings, with no experience in government, having always been robbed
by the aristocracy, and now eager and willing in turn to rob them, but
with dreams of a society of men where all crime and hardship and
unnecessary suffering are abolished, where there are no grafters, no
self-seekers, no wrong-doers, no conflict, no robbery, no war--these
Russian _mooshiki_, workmen, soldiers, and sailors, as a result of a
revolution, found themselves attempting to govern a nation nearly twice
as large in population as the United States. There are indeed two
problems before the world, to make the world safe for democracy, and to
make democracy safe for the world.

History tells the story of many revolutions. The story of the American
Revolution, which was an uprising of the American colonies against the
mother country, and that of the French Revolution, in which the
laborers and peasants and some others rose against the extravagant and
autocratic rulers of France, are well known to Americans.

When the real character and aims of the German autocracy were made
plain to the world, all free people hoped for and expected the World
War to end in a revolution of the German people. But the mass of the
German people are kept ignorant of what the rest of the world feels and
thinks about them, and have so long been trained to unquestioning
obedience that a German revolution can come, if ever, only after some
unexpected and appalling German defeat.

It has been said that if, at the time the Russian revolution broke out,
a few regiments of trained veteran soldiers had been in Petrograd, the
revolution would have been put down by these soldiers, to whom
obedience to commands of superiors had become second nature. Those on
guard in the city were newly-formed regiments recently trained and
taken into the service.

The Russian revolution of March 9-13, 1917, overthrew Tsar Nicholas and
the Romanoff dynasty. The Tsar has since been shot, and his son and
heir has died--from exposure, it was reported. When Tsar Nicholas
succeeded his father on the throne of Russia, the Russian people
rejoiced and felt certain better days were at hand, and that they
should love and loyally support the new Tsar. He had his opportunity
and he threw it aside. Instead of granting larger liberty and a greater
part in the government to the common people when they petitioned for
it, he replied, "Let it be known that I shall guard the autocracy as
firmly as did my father." His father was as autocratic as the German

Tsar Nicholas was weak and fickle. He made promises when in trouble and
refused to keep his promises when trouble seemed avoided. The Russian
people were much disappointed in him, and every year their
disappointment grew. Some dreadful massacres of workers at Jaroslav, of
peasants in Kharkov, and of miners on the Lena changed their
disappointment to hatred.

As the Tsar grew older he drew away from touch with the people, and
lived in his palaces, leaving affairs of state to his ministers who
were chosen from a small and selfish clique. They brought on the war
with Japan, and its failure was due to them. When Russia was defeated,
the people were on the brink of a revolution; but the Tsar promised
them a constitution, and trouble was put off for a while. When the
people were quiet again, he broke his word and did not give them a
constitution. Instead, in every way possible, he lessened the power
and freedom of the people, and took revenge upon those who had caused
the trouble by having them arrested and exiled, or executed.

He was very much under the influence of his wife. She was even weaker
in many ways than he was and seemed to be in the power of an ignorant
and wicked peasant who claimed to be a monk and was called Rasputin,
the Black Monk. His influence over the weak Tsar and the weaker Tsarina
so angered and disgusted some of the young Russian leaders that finally
they had him secretly put to death--but not until he had helped to set
every one against Tsar Nicholas and his wife.

For a while after the World War broke out, matters seemed to be going
better. The people wanted the influence of Germany destroyed, and they
expected the Russian army would soon be in Berlin. But when defeat and
disaster overwhelmed the armies through the treachery of government
officials, the people began to turn and to condemn Rasputin, the
Tsarina, and the Tsar. It is said that Rasputin had one of his friends
serving as physician to the Tsar and that he kept Nicholas drugged. It
hardly seems possible that this can be true, but at any rate, the Tsar
seemed to show no sense in his dealing with the situation. Instead of
appointing better ministers, he appointed worse ones, suggested by
Rasputin. Every one became disgusted and felt that only a revolution
would save Russia. If it had not come from the people, it would have
come from the nobles. It was looked forward to by all, but not until
after the war.

There was suffering everywhere in the capital, Petrograd. Living was
very high. It was difficult to get enough to eat or to get carried from
place to place. Steam trains and trolleys were few and irregular.
Though there was plenty of food in Russia, the railroads were in such
bad shape that it did not reach the capital. But the Russians were
fighting Germany, and no one expected or seemed to desire a revolution
until after the war. When it did come, it was not planned, but seemed
to come as if by accident.

Trouble began in the factory districts, in connection with bread riots.
Stones were thrown, and some damage was done to property. Then crowds
gathered and marched up and down the streets crying for bread, singing
revolutionary songs, and carrying red flags.

The police were not able to handle the situation alone, and the
soldiers were called upon. These were Cossacks and recently trained.
There was bad feeling between the police and the Cossacks, and so the
Cossacks were inclined to listen to the people and to become friendly
with them.

On Sunday, March 11, the factory hands planned to make a great
demonstration. The Tsar, learning of it, ordered notices to be posted
warning the people that if they gathered, the soldiers were ordered to
fire upon them. A few people did gather, and they were fired upon by
machine guns and several were killed. The next morning, the officers
who had ordered the soldiers to fire upon the people were killed by
their own men. Then notices were posted by the government saying that
unless the rioters went to work, they would immediately be sent to the

Other regiments revolted, and there was a battle between these and the
few who remained loyal to the government. It was not a serious battle;
but some were killed and the loyal regiments were defeated. Then
soldiers and people ran through the streets crying, "Down with the

The Tsar was at the front. Had he been in Petrograd, he might have
saved the government by making some new promises; but, as it was, it
soon fell.

As soon as the government was overthrown and the Tsar taken prisoner,
those who had long sought for a revolution and had been forced to flee
from Russia, came rushing back from Switzerland, Greece, France, and
the United States. They were the real leaders after they arrived.

An American who was in Petrograd at the time gives the following
account of the revolution:

    Their first demand was that all prison doors should be opened
    and that the oppressed the world over should be freed.

    The revolution was picturesque and full of color. Nearly every
    morning one could see regiment after regiment, soldiers,
    Cossacks, and sailors, with their regimental colors, and bands,
    and revolutionary flags, marching to the Duma to take the new
    oath of allegiance. They were cheered; they were blessed;
    handkerchiefs were waved; hats were raised, as marks of
    appreciation and gratitude to these men, without whose help
    there would have been no revolution. The enthusiasm became so
    contagious that men and women, young and old, high and low, fell
    in alongside, or behind, joined in the singing of the
    Marseillaise, and walked to the Duma to take the oath of
    allegiance, and having taken it, they felt as purified as if
    they had partaken of the communion.

    Another picturesque sight was the army trucks filled with armed
    soldiers, red handkerchiefs tied to their bayonets, dashing up
    and down the streets, ostensibly for the purpose of protecting
    the citizens, but really for the mere joy of riding about and
    being cheered. One of these trucks stands out vividly in my
    mind: it contained about twenty soldiers, having in their midst
    a beautiful young woman with a red banner, and a young hoodlum
    astride the engine.

No one knows, at the end of the fourth year of the World War, what the
result of the Russian revolution will be. It has so far left Russia a
prey to Germany, but Germany is showing such criminal greed and
unfairness that she may find her easily gained plunder will be her
destruction, like the drowning robber with his pockets filled with

The Russian _mooshik_ has a motto, or rather a philosophy, which is
expressed by the word "_nitchevo_." This word has several meanings, one
of which is "nothing." Just what the _mooshik_ has in mind when he
says "_nitchevo_" is illustrated by the following story.

When Bismarck was Prussian ambassador at the court of Tsar Alexander
II, he was invited by the Tsar to take part in a great hunt, a dozen or
more miles out of the capital.

Bismarck started with his own horses and sledge but soon met with a
serious accident, and was obliged to call upon the Russian peasants, or
_mooshiki_, to help him by providing a horse, sledge, and driver. Soon
a peasant appeared with a very small and raw-boned horse attached to a
sledge that seemed about ready to fall to pieces.

"That looks more like a rat than a horse," growled Bismarck, but he got
into the sledge.

The peasant answered but one word, "_Nitchevo._"

Soon the horse was flying over the snow at a great rate of speed. There
was no road to be seen and the peasant was heading for the woods. "Look
out!" yelled Bismarck. "You will throw me out!" But the peasant
replied, "_Nitchevo._"

In a moment they were among the trees and were turning, now this way,
now that, to avoid hitting them. The raw-boned horse had not lessened
his speed in the least. Suddenly there was a crash. The sledge had
skidded and struck a tree. The peasant and his passenger were thrown
out headlong.

Bismarck was a man of fiery temper. When he had picked himself up, he
rushed up to the peasant, who was trying to stop his bleeding nose, and
yelled, "I will kill you." The _mooshik_ did not seem at all frightened
or troubled, and answered simply, "_Nitchevo._" He drew a piece of rope
from the sledge and began to tie the broken parts together.

"I shall be late at the hunt," yelled the angry Bismarck.

"_Nitchevo_," replied the peasant.

While the sledge was being repaired, Bismarck noticed a small piece of
iron broken from the runner and lying on the snow. He picked it up and
put it in his pocket.

The _mooshik_ soon had the sledge ready for them, and this time he
reached the hunting lodge with his distinguished passenger without
further accident or delay.

The Tsar and his companions laughed heartily at the story, as related
by Bismarck, and then explained to the Prussian that by _nitchevo_ the
_mooshik_ meant that nothing mattered, that they would get where they
had started for, if they did not let accidents or circumstances turn
them from it.

When Bismarck returned to the capital he had a ring made from the piece
of iron, and on the inside of it he had inscribed the word _nitchevo_.

The Russian _mooshik_ of to-day is the same in character and belief as
the _mooshik_ that replied "_Nitchevo_" to Bismarck. To Germany, to the
Kaiser, to the world, the Russians, amid all their sorrows and
troubles, are saying "_Nitchevo._" They will reach their goal at
length, for they look upon the dangers and delays as nothing.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Russian word _Bolsheviki_, used to designate the revolutionary
party which was in power in Russia in 1918, is composed of two words:
_bolsh_, meaning many; and _vik_, meaning most. _Bolsheviki_ means the
greatest number, or the common people, as compared with the few, or the
aristocracy. _Bolshevik_, with the accent on the first syllable, is the
singular and means one of the greatest number. _Bolsheviki_, with
accents on the second and on the last syllables, is the plural.
Similarly _mooshik_ means a peasant, and _mooshiki_ means peasants.


    Of streams that men take honor in
      The Frenchman looks to three,
    And each one has for origin
      The hills of Burgundy;
    And each has known the quivers
      Of blood and tears and pain--
    O gallant bleeding rivers,
      The Marne, the Meuse, the Aisne.

    Says Marne: "My poplar fringes
      Have felt the Prussian tread,
    The blood of brave men tinges
      My banks with lasting red;
    Let others ask due credit,
      But France has me to thank;
    Von Kluck himself has said it:
      I turned the Boche's flank!"

    Says Meuse: "I claim no winning,
      No glory on the stage;
    Save that, in the beginning
      I strove to save Liége.
    Alas! that Frankish rivers
      Should share such shame as mine--
    In spite of all endeavors
      I flow to join the Rhine!"

    Says Aisne: "My silver shallows
      Are salter than the sea,
    The woe of Rheims still hallows
      My endless tragedy.
    Of rivers rich in story
      That run through green Champagne,
    In agony and glory,
      The chief am I, the Aisne!"

    Now there are greater waters
      That Frenchmen all hold dear--
    The Rhone, with many daughters,
      That runs so icy clear;
    There's Moselle, deep and winy,
      There's Loire, Garonne and Seine.
    But O the valiant tiny--
      The Marne, the Meuse, the Aisne!

                    CHRISTOPHER MORLEY.

       *       *       *       *       *

A river is the most human and companionable of all inanimate things. It
has a life, a character, a voice of its own; and is as full of
good-fellowship as a sugar-maple is of sap. It can talk in various
tones, loud or low; and of many subjects, grave or gay.

                                                  HENRY VAN DYKE.




Sir William Osler, one of the greatest medical men in the world, told
the soldiers in the English training camps that he wanted to help them
to get a true knowledge of their foes. The officers had impressed the
soldiers with the truth that it was always necessary to find out where
their enemies were and how many they were. But Sir William Osier told
them of other invisible enemies which they should most fear, and fight
against. "While the bullets from your foes are to be dreaded," he said,
"the bacilli are far more dangerous." Indeed in the wars of the world,
the two have been as Saul and David,--the one slaying thousands, the
other tens of thousands.

He continued, "I can never see a group of recruits marching to the
depot without asking what percentage of these fine fellows will die
from wounds, and what percentage will perish miserably from neglect of
ordinary sanitary precautions. It is bitter enough to lose thousands of
the best of our young men in a hideous war, but it adds terribly to the
tragedy to think that more than one half of the losses may be due to
preventable disease. Typhus fever, malaria, cholera, enteric, and
dysentery have won more victories than powder and shot. Some of the
diseases need no longer be dreaded. Typhus and malaria, which one
hundred years ago routed a great English army in the expedition against
Antwerp, are no longer formidable foes. But enough such foes remain, as
we found by sad experience in South Africa. Of the 22,000 lives lost in
that war--can you believe it?--the bullets accounted for only 8000, the
bacilli for 14,000. In the long, hard campaign before us, more men will
go into the field than ever before in the history of the Empire. Before
it is too late, let us take every possible precaution to guard against
a repetition of such disasters. I am here to warn you soldiers against
enemies more subtle, more dangerous, and more fatal than the Germans,
enemies against which no successful battle can be fought without your
intelligent coöperation. So far the world has only seen one great war
waged with the weapons of science against these foes. Our allies, the
Japanese, went into the Russian campaign prepared as fully against
bacilli as against bullets, with the result that the percentage of
deaths from disease was the lowest that has ever been attained in a
great war. Which lesson shall we learn? Which example shall we follow,
Japan, or South Africa with its sad memories?

"We are not likely to have to fight three scourges, typhus, malaria,
and cholera, though the possibility of the last has to be considered.
But there remain dysentery, pneumonia, and enteric.

"Dysentery has been for centuries one of the most terrible of camp
diseases, killing thousands, and, in its prolonged damage to health, it
is one of the most fatal of foes to armies. So far as we know, it is
conveyed by water, and only by carrying out strictly, under all
circumstances, the directions about boiling water, can it be prevented.
It is a disease which, even under the best of circumstances, cannot
always be prevented; but with care there should never again be
widespread outbreaks in camps themselves.

"Pneumonia is a much more difficult disease to prevent. Many of us,
unfortunately, carry the germ with us. In these bright days all goes
well in a holiday camp like this; but when the cold and the rain come,
and the long marches, the resisting forces of the body are lowered, the
enemy, always on the watch, overpowers the guards, rushes the defenses,
and attacks the lungs. Be careful not to neglect coughs and colds. A
man in good condition should be able to withstand the wettings and
exposures that lower the system, but in a winter campaign, pneumonia
causes a large amount of sickness and is one of the serious enemies of
the soldier.

"Above all others one disease has proved most fatal in modern
warfare--enteric, or typhoid fever. Over and over again it has killed
thousands before they ever reached the fighting line. The United States
troops had a terrible experience in the Spanish-American War. In six
months, between June and November, among 107,973 officers and men in 92
volunteer regiments, 20,738, practically one fifth of the entire
number, had typhoid fever, and 1580 died. The danger is chiefly from
persons who have already had the disease and who carry the germs in
their intestines, harmless to them, but capable of infecting barracks
or camps. It was probably by flies and by dust carrying the germs that
the bacilli were so fatal in South Africa. Take to heart these figures:
there were 57,684 cases of typhoid fever, of which 19,454 were
invalided, and 8022 died. More died from the bacilli of this disease
than from the bullets of the Boers. Do let this terrible record impress
upon you the importance of carrying out with religious care the
sanitary regulations.

"One great advance in connection with typhoid fever has been made of
late years, and of this I am come specially to ask you to take
advantage. An attack of an infectious disease so alters the body that
it is no longer susceptible to another attack of the same disease; once
a person has had scarlet fever, smallpox, or chicken pox, he is not
likely to have a second attack. He is immune. When bacilli make a
successful entry into our bodies, they overcome the forces that
naturally protect the system, and grow; but the body puts up a strong
fight, all sorts of anti-bodies are formed in the blood, and if
recovery takes place, the patient is safe for a few years at least
against that disease.

"It was an Englishman, Jenner, who, in 1798, found that it was possible
to produce this immunity by giving a person a mild attack of the
disease, or of one very much like it. Against smallpox all of you have
been vaccinated--a harmless, safe, and effective measure. Let me give
you a war illustration. General Wood of the United States Army told me
that, when he was at Santiago, reports came that in villages not far
distant smallpox was raging, and the people were without help of any
kind. He called for volunteers, all men who showed scars of
satisfactory vaccination. Groups of these soldiers went into the
villages, took care of the smallpox patients, cleaned up the houses,
stayed there until the epidemic was over, and not one of them took the
disease. Had not those men been vaccinated, at least 99 per cent of
them would have taken smallpox.

"Now what I wish to ask you is to take advantage of the knowledge that
the human body can be protected by vaccination against typhoid.
Discovered through the researches of Sir Almroth Wright, this measure
has been introduced successfully into our own regular army, into the
armies of France, the United States, Japan, and Germany. I told you a
few minutes ago about the great number of cases of typhoid fever in the
volunteer troops in America during the Spanish-American War. That
resulted largely from the wide prevalence of the disease in country
districts, so that the camps became infected; and we did not then know
the importance of the fly as a carrier. But in the regular army in the
United States, where inoculation has been practiced now for several
years, the number of cases has fallen from 3.53 per thousand men to
practically nil. In a strength of 90,646 there were, in 1913, only
three cases of typhoid fever. In France the typhoid rate among the
unvaccinated was 168.44 per thousand, and among the vaccinated .18 per
thousand. In India, where the disease has been very prevalent, the
success of the measure has been remarkable.

"In the United States, and in France, and in some other countries, this
vaccination against the disease is compulsory. It is not a serious
matter; you may feel badly for twenty-four hours, and the place of
inoculation will be tender, but I hope I have said enough to convince
you that, in the interests of the cause, you should gladly put up with
this temporary inconvenience. If the lessons of past experience count,
any expeditionary force on the Continent has much more to fear from the
bacillus of typhoid fever than from bullets and bayonets. Think again
of South Africa, with its 57,000 cases of typhoid fever! With a million
of men in the field, their efficiency will be increased one third if we
can prevent typhoid. It can be prevented, it must be prevented; but
meanwhile the decision is in your hands, and I know it will be in favor
of your King and Country."

       *       *       *       *       *

The soldiers in the American army are also inoculated against measles,
scarlet fever, and the pneumonia germ.

Tetanus, or lockjaw, is one of the grave dangers faced by the wounded
soldiers; for the germ of this disease has its home in the earth, and
during a battle, soldiers with open wounds often lie for hours in the
fields and trenches. Antitoxin treatment has reduced the death-rate.

Two new diseases have been produced by the World War,--spotted typhus
and trench fever; both are carried by vermin. This was proved by
soldiers who volunteered to permit experiments to be made upon them. By
preventing and destroying the vermin, these diseases are being


The torch of valor has been passed from one brave hand to another down
the centuries, to be held to-day by the most valiant in the long line
of heroes. Deeds have been done in Europe since August, 1914, which
rival the most stirring feats sung by Homer or Virgil, by the
minnesingers of Germany, by the troubadours of Provençe, or told in the
Norse sagas or Celtic ballads. No exploit of Ajax or Achilles excels
that of the Russian Cossack, wounded in eleven places and slaying as
many foes. The trio that held the bridge against Lars Porsena and his
cohorts have been equaled by the three men of Battery L, fighting with
their single gun in the gray and deathly dawn until the enemy's battery
was silenced. Private Wilson, who, single-handed, killed seven of the
enemy and captured a gun, sold newspapers in private life; but he need
not fear comparison with any of his ancient and radiant line. Who that
cares for courage can forget that Frenchman, forced to march in front
of a German battalion stealing to surprise his countrymen at the bridge
of Three Grietchen, near Ypres? To speak meant death for himself, to
be silent meant death for his comrades; and still the sentry gave no
alarm. So he gave it himself. "Fire! For the love of God, fire!" he
cried, his soul alive with sacrifice; and so died. The ancient hero of
romance, who gathered to his own heart the lance heads of the foe that
a gap might be made in their phalanx, did no more than that. Nelson
conveniently forgot his blind eye at Copenhagen, and even in this he
has his followers still. Bombardier Havelock was wounded in the thigh
by fragments of shell. He had his wound dressed at the ambulance and
was ordered to hospital. Instead of obeying, he returned to his
battery, to be wounded again in the back within five minutes. Once more
he was patched up by the doctor and sent to hospital, this time in
charge of an orderly. He escaped from his guardian, went back to fight,
and was wounded for the third time. Afraid to face the angry surgeon,
he lay all day beside the gun. That night he was reprimanded by his
officers--and received the V.C.! Also there are the airmen, day after
day facing appalling dangers in their frail, bullet-torn craft. Was
there ever a stouter heart than that of the aviator, wounded to death
and still planing downwards, to be found seated in his place and
grasping the controls, stone-dead? Few eyes were dry that read the
almost mystic story of that son of France who, struck blind in a storm
of fire, still navigated his machine, obedient to the instructions of
his military companion, himself mortally wounded by shrapnel and dying
even as earth was reached.

There is no need to worship the past with a too-abject devotion,
whatever in the way of glory it has been to us and done for us. Chandos
and Du Guesclin, Leonidas and De Bussy have worthy compeers to-day.
Beside them may stand Lance-Corporal O'Leary, the Irish peasant's son.
Of his own deed he merely says that he led some men to an important
position, and took it from the Huns, "killing some of their gunners and
taking a few prisoners." History will tell the tale otherwise: how this
modest soldier, outstripping his eager comrades, coolly selected a
machine gun for attack, and killed the five men tending it before they
could slew round; how he then sped onwards alone to another barricade,
which he captured, after killing three of the enemy, and making
prisoners of two more. Even officialism burst its bonds for a moment as
it records the deed:

    Lance-Corporal O'Leary thus practically captured the enemy's
    position by himself, and prevented the rest of the attacking
    party from being fired on.

The epic of Lieutenant Leach and Sergeant Hogan, who volunteered to
recapture a trench taken by the Germans, after two failures of their
comrades, is reading to give one at once a gulp in the throat and a
song in the heart. With consummate daring they undertook the venture;
with irresistible skill they succeeded, killing eight of the enemy,
wounding two, and taking sixteen prisoners. In the words of the veteran
of Waterloo, "It was as good fighting as Boney himself would have made
a man a gineral for."

There are isolated incidents of this kind in every war; but in a
thousand different places in France and Belgium the dauntless,
nonchalant valor of Irishmen, Englishmen, Scotsmen, and Welshmen has
shown itself. Did ever the gay Gordons do a gayer or more gallant thing
than was done on the 29th of September, 1914, on the western front?
Thirty gunners of a British field battery had just been killed or
wounded. Thirty others were ordered to take their place. They knew that
they were going to certain death, and they went with a cheery "Good-by,
you fellows!" to their comrades of the reserve. Two minutes later every
man had fallen, and another thirty stepped to the front with the same
farewell, smoking their cigarettes as they went out to die--like that
"very gallant gentleman," Oates, who went forth from Scott's tent into
the blizzard and immortality. Englishmen can lift up their heads with
pride, human nature can take heart and salute the future with hope,
when the Charge of the Five Hundred at Gheluvelt is recalled. There, on
the Ypres road to Calais, 2400 British soldiers, Scots Guards, South
Wales Borderers, and the Welsh and Queen's Regiments held up 24,000
Germans in a position terribly exposed. On that glorious and bloody day
the Worcesters, 500 strong, charged the hordes of Germans, twenty times
their number, through the streets of Gheluvelt and up and beyond to the
very trenches of the foe; and in the end the ravishers of Belgium,
under the stress and storm of their valor, turned and fled. On that day
300 out of 500 of the Worcesters failed to answer the roll call when
the fight was over, and out of 2400 only 800 lived of all the remnants
of regiments engaged; but the road to Calais was blocked against the
Huns; and it remains so even to this day. Who shall say that greatness
of soul is not the possession of the modern world? Did men die better
in the days before the Cæsars?

Not any one branch of the service, not any one class of men alone has
done these deeds of valor; but in the splendid democracy of heroism,
the colonel and the private, the corporal and the lieutenant--one was
going to say, have thrown away, but no!--have offered up their lives on
the altars of sacrifice, heedless of all save that duty must be done.

But greater than such deeds, of which there have been inspiring
hundreds, is the patient endurance shown by men whose world has
narrowed down to that little corner of a great war which they are
fighting for their country. To fight on night and day in the trenches,
under avalanches of murdering metal and storms of rending shrapnel,
calls for higher qualities than those short, sharp gusts of conflict
which in former days were called battles. Then men faced death in the
open, weapon in hand, cheered by color and music and the personal
contest, man upon man outright, greatly daring for a few sharp hours.
Now all the pageantry is gone; the fight rages without ceasing; men
must eat and sleep in the line of fire; death and mutilation ravage
over them even while they rest. Nerves have given way, men have gone
mad under this prolonged strain, and the marvel is that any have borne
it; yet they have not only borne it, they have triumphed over it. These
have known the exaltation of stripping life of its impedimenta to do a
thing set for them to do; giving up all for an idea. The great
obsession is on them; they are swayed and possessed by something
greater than themselves; they live in an atmosphere which, breathing,
inflames them to the utmost of their being.

There was a corner in the British lines where men had fought for days,
until the place was a shambles; where food could only rarely reach
them; where they stood up to their knees in mud and water, where men
endured, but where Death was the companion of their fortitude. Yet
after a lull in the firing there came from some point in the battered
trench the new British battle-cry, "Are we downhearted?" And then, as
we are told, one blood-stained specter feebly raised himself above the
broken parapet, shouted "No!" and fell back dead. There spoke a spirit
of high endurance, of a shining defiance, of a courage which wants no
pity, which exalts as it wends its way hence.

                                              SIR GILBERT PARKER.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Mother Earth! Are thy heroes dead?
    Do they thrill the soul of the years no more?
    Are the gleaming snows and the poppies red
    All that is left of the brave of yore?
    Are there none to fight as Theseus fought,
    Far in the young world's misty dawn?
    Or to teach as the gray-haired Nestor taught?
    Mother Earth! Are the heroes gone?

    Gone?--in a grander form they rise;
    Dead?--we may clasp their hands in ours,
    And catch the light of their clearer eyes,
    And wreathe their brows with immortal flowers.
    Wherever a noble deed is done,
    'Tis the pulse of a hero's heart is stirred;
    Wherever right has a triumph won
    There are the heroes' voices heard.

                    EDNA DEAN PROCTOR.




A Great German philosopher said many years ago that history was the
story of the struggle of the human race for freedom. Would the Huns
conquer Europe and put back human liberty for hundreds of years? This
was the question that was answered at the battle of the Marne in
September, 1914, and the answer depended upon what General Foch was
able to do with his army. It was necessary that he should attack, and
General Joffre ordered him to do so.

General Foch did not reply that he was having all he could do to hold
his own and to prevent his army from being captured or destroyed,
although this was really the situation. He sent back to his commanding
general a message that will never be forgotten, one that was in keeping
with the maxim he had always taught his students in the military
school, that the best defense is an offense: "My left has been forced
back; my right has been routed; I shall attack with my center."

    _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._]

Foch is a man of medium height. His face is an especially striking one.
He has the forehead of a thinker, with two deep folds between the
eyebrows; he has deep-set eyes, a large nose, a strong mouth slightly
hidden under a gray mustache, and a chin which shows decision and
force. His whole face expresses great power of thought and will.

Before the war, he was a professor of military history. He was
accustomed to outline to the young officers in his class a clear
statement of a military situation, and the orders which had been
followed. He would then call upon his pupils to decide what
difficulties would arise and what the results would be. In this way,
they learned to discover for themselves the solutions of many kinds of
military problems.

Since Foch has been accustomed to this clear reasoning on all war
problems, no military situation can surprise him. As a commander, he
selects the goal to be reached, and the most skillful way of reaching
it, and his men have confidence that he is right. This is what gives a
commander the power to do things.

Marshal Joffre realized General Foch's ability and quickly advanced

After the First Battle of the Marne, it was necessary to appoint a
commander for the French forces north of Paris, and it was very
important to select one who had the initiative and the ability to check
the German attempt to capture the Channel ports. The new commander must
also be a man of great tact, for he would have to work with the British
and the Belgians. General Foch was selected, and has proved to be the
right man in the right place.

The race for the Channel ports was an exciting one. Although the
Germans lost, it seemed at times as if they would win, and be able to
establish submarine bases within a very short distance of England. In
fact, if they had captured Calais, they could have fired with their
long-range guns across the Channel and have bombarded English coast
towns, and perhaps London itself.

Foch's decision and strength of purpose are well illustrated by an
incident which is told by the French officers working under his
command. He had sent some cavalry to protect the British army from
being outflanked and disastrously defeated. At the close of the day,
the cavalry commander reported to General Foch that he had been obliged
to withdraw, as the Germans had been reënforced. "Did you throw all the
forces possible into the fight?" asked General Foch. "No," answered the
cavalry commander. "You will at once take up your old position and hold
the enemy there until you have lost every gun," directed the general.
"Then you will report to headquarters for further orders."

Foch is a leader who plans well, who knows how to command, and how to
make others obey. His orders always end with the words, "Without
delay!" Because the enemy has usually had larger numbers and more
ammunition, time has been everything to the Allies. Foch saved time and
so saved the Allies.

After his great victory at the Second Battle of the Marne, Foch was
made a Marshal of France.

The Allies, in 1918, through the influence of President Wilson, it is
said, decided to appoint a generalissimo, that is, one who should have
direction of all the Allied forces on the west front, including those
in Italy. Foch was appointed to this command, and from this time the
German plans and campaigns began to go wrong. To this one man, who
entered the French army in his teens, and who commanded at sixty-six
the largest forces ever under one general, the successes of the Allies
were due, more than to any other single individual, unless it be
President Wilson.

Between July 15 and October, he had regained all the territory taken by
the Germans in their great drives of 1918 and had driven the enemy out
of the St. Mihiel salient which they had held since 1914. These
victories were won not by hammer blows of greatly superior numbers but
by generalship of the highest order and far superior to that of the
German leaders.


It is true that Germany does not know the meaning of honesty and fair
play. Most Americans, in everything, want "a square deal." They demand
it for themselves, and a true American feels that the harshest thing
that can be said of him is that he is not fair and square in his
dealings. In any American school, a pupil who is deceitful is at once
shunned by all the other boys and girls as a "cheat" and a "sneak." He
has no place among them, least of all in their games and sports, for
not to play according to the rules of the game is to upset and spoil
the sport entirely.

In playing some of our great national games, like baseball and
football, where the players are divided into teams, one player, by
cheating, does not suffer for it himself alone, but his whole team has
to pay the penalty. Indeed, if he persisted in being unfair, he would
soon lose his place in the team for all time.

The Germans would not understand this, and they would not understand
that the last half of the ninth inning in a ball game is seldom played
because the winners do not wish to "rub in" the defeat of their
opponents. Some think that it is because German children have had few
sports and games that the German nation has so little sense of honesty
and fair play.

In German schools, the pupils at one time were allowed to engage in
certain sports, but later these were officially forbidden.

The rulers of Germany have for years forbidden anything taught in their
schools which did not praise Germany and make the children believe
their Emperor to be a god. The pupils are taught in history, geography,
and even in reading, only those facts about other countries which show
how much inferior they are to Germany.

So the pupils have never learned the true and the interesting things
about other countries in the great wide world. German history tells
only about Germany's great war victories. The pupils never learn of
Germany's defeats in war. The teacher makes the history class the
liveliest of the day, often seeming to be more of a Fourth of July
orator than a school teacher. The children are taught that Germany is
the one civilized country in the world; that there was never anything
good that did not come from Germany; that even the victory of the
North, in the Civil War in America, was due to there being such a large
majority of German-born men on the Northern side.

Their geography tells only about Germany's political divisions, its
civilization, and its commerce. Their readers contain stories of German
military "heroes." The two great school holidays are the Emperor's
Birthday and Sedan Day, the anniversary of the great defeat of the
French in the Franco-Prussian War.

The walls of the schoolrooms are covered with pictures of the Emperor,
the Empress, and of battle scenes, especially those showing German
soldiers bringing in French prisoners. The singing of "Deutschland über
Alles" occurs several times a day.

A German boy is trained into a soldier, hard-hearted and deceitful. The
pupils in school are made to spy on one another, and the teachers, too,
spy on one another. An American boy was expelled from a German
gymnasium in Berlin, because he refused to "tattle-tale" on the pupils
in his class.

The Germans have not been taught to respect the rights of others,--no
one apparently has any personal rights except the Kaiser and certain
high officials; and so great has been their power that they have been
able to cheat the whole German nation, and they have attempted to cheat
the other nations of the world.

Some years before the Spanish-American War, Germany began to show an
unfair spirit toward the United States. Much ill-feeling existed
between the two countries in their commercial relationships. There
grew up among the aristocracy of Germany, especially among the
landowners, an extremely hostile attitude toward the government in
Washington. This hostility was first publicly shown by a remark
reported to have been made by the Emperor at mess with a company of
officers, to the effect that "it would not be too bad if America should
very soon require Europe to teach her the proper place for her." This
remark was afterward officially denied, with the addition that the
Emperor's feeling for the United States was not hostile.

When, however, Prince Henry of Prussia, brother of the German Emperor,
arrived on a government mission in Hongkong, it is said he gave a
banquet to representatives from all the fleets in port. Commodore Dewey
of the American fleet was present. After the dinner, Prince Henry
called for the usual national toasts. There is a custom in the navy of
calling upon the representatives of the different nations in a certain
regulated and well-understood order. But when the time came to call for
the toast to the United States, the Prince passed it by; he did this
several times. Commodore Dewey, realizing that this was intentional on
the part of Prince Henry, left the banquet. The next morning a
messenger from the German prince brought the explanation that the act
had been committed wholly by mistake, and was not meant as a
discourtesy to the United States or her commander. Dewey thanked the
messenger for his courteous manner in delivering his Admiral's word,
but sent back the statement that such an incident called for a personal
apology from the Prince. Very soon Prince Henry called in person and
apologized, saying that the name of the United States had not been
written in its proper order on the list which he followed in giving the

When war had been declared between the United States and Spain, and
Commodore Dewey had received orders to "seek the Spanish fleet and
destroy it," he set sail from Hongkong for Manila. Germany, according
to announcements from Spain, was determined to prevent the bombardment
of the city, because of German interests and German subjects there.
After capturing the Spanish fortress which guarded Manila, it was
necessary for Dewey to maintain a strict blockade against the city,
lest Spanish reënforcements should arrive. No American troops or ships
could reach him in less than six weeks.

In Manila Bay were warships of Great Britain, Russia, France, Japan,
and Austria. These nations were content to send only one or two
vessels, while from Germany there were five and sometimes seven. One of
them, the _Deutschland_, was commanded by Prince Henry, and was heavily
armed. In fact, in numbers and guns, the Germans were stronger than the
Americans with their six small vessels.

There was one regulation common to all blockade codes, one which was
always followed by the officers on every ship. It was that no foreign
boats should move about the bay after sunset, without the permission of
the blockade commander.

But the Germans sent launches out at night and in many ways violated
the rules. When Dewey protested, they only sent them off later at
night. They even gave the Spaniards many supplies. Then Dewey had to
turn the searchlights on them and keep their vessels covered, to
prevent any boat leaving at night without his knowledge.

This is particularly offensive to any naval commander, and the German
Admiral, Von Diederichs, objected. The American commander was courteous
but firm, and said that the United States, and not Germany, was holding
the blockade.

Still the Germans persisted in moving their vessels so mysteriously
that an American ship was sent to meet every incoming vessel to demand
its nationality, its last port, and its destination. To the German flag
lieutenant, who brought a strong protest against this order, Dewey
said: "Tell Admiral von Diederichs that there are some acts that mean
war, and his fleet is dangerously near those acts. If he wants war, he
may have it here, now, or at the time that best suits him."

Von Diederichs answered that his actions were not intended to violate
the rules, but he then went to the British commander, Captain
Chichester, and asked whether he intended to follow such strict orders.
The English captain suspected the German and answered, "Admiral Dewey
and I have a perfect understanding in the matter." Then he added, "He
has asked us to do just what he has asked of you, and we have been
directed to follow his orders to the letter."

The English commander then sent a dispatch to Admiral Dewey, saying
that his orders were just, his regulations fair, and that if the
American commander felt unable to enforce them alone, he could depend
upon the British fleet to assist him. It is understood that the British
officer afterward informed Von Diederichs of what he had done, and the
Germans strictly obeyed the rules and gave no further trouble.

Not many years ago, in 1911 in fact, while the United States was doing
her best by Germany, the German government tried to injure and deceive

At that time Germany was also plotting against France, to make war upon
her and to seize the whole country. Perhaps Germany knew that America
would not allow such horrible crimes to succeed, and so sooner or later
she would find herself at war with the United States.

Therefore Germany must think ahead, and plan some means of making the
United States keep her ideas of justice to herself and let Germany do
as she chose. German officials consulted together and said, "Mexico is
a little country at the very southern tip of the United States,
conveniently near the new waterway at Panama. We could do some damage
there, with Mexico's help, and as a reward, Mexico might get back some
of the states just over the border--New Mexico, Texas, and
Arizona--which formerly belonged to her.

"Then Japan is across the sea from Mexico and the gold coast of the
United States. Japan needs more land for her millions of people. She
might as well take California and some of the islands near Panama. All
this would keep America busy so that she could not hinder us from doing
our will in France."

A press correspondent in Berlin, as early as February, 1911, sent the
following word by cablegram:

    The story was told here last night that Japan and Mexico have
    come to an understanding with each other against America, and
    that the United States, therefore, is secretly favoring the
    Mexican revolutionists led by Madero. To-day the report is
    published in several newspapers, even in the most trustworthy of
    them. The report says: "Since America obtained the Panama Canal,
    she has had an increasing interest in robbing Mexico and the
    Central American states of their independence."

    According to the story, the present trouble has arisen because
    of Mexico's refusal to allow the United States to use Magdalena
    Bay as a coaling station. There must be some reason for
    publishing the story so widely. It is made much of by the jingo
    press, which warns the Central and the South American states to
    beware of ambitious political plans of the United States.

As this word was sent in time of peace, it was not censored, and while
it did not at that time appear to be of great importance, it really
meant that Germany was taking advantage of the civil war in Mexico to
stir up antagonism between that country and the United States.

In American and German newspapers, stories were also printed hinting at
bad feelings between the United States and the Japanese government,
though no one seemed to know from whom the stories came. It was said
that, before long, an American fleet would be forcing its way into
Japanese waters, or the Japanese fleet would form in battle line
somewhere along the coast of California.

In that same year, stories were publicly printed in American papers,
intended to spread the belief that Japan and Mexico were especially
friendly to Germany, and that they were interested in plotting together
against the United States. These stories were so mysterious and
mischievous that explanations from the different governments became

During the last week of February, 1917, there came into the hands of
the State Department in America, a note from Alfred Zimmermann, German
Minister of Foreign Affairs, to the German Minister in Mexico City. The
American government had already urged the German government to cease
submarine warfare, as it was not at all a fair method of fighting, but
was, instead, entirely barbarous and contrary to international law.
Germany, however, determined to wage unrestricted submarine warfare
against England and her allies. Twelve days before the plan was finally
announced, this note was sent to the German Minister in Mexico:

    BERLIN, Jan. 19, 1917.

    On the 1st of February we intend to begin submarine warfare
    unrestricted. In spite of this, it is our intention to endeavor
    to keep neutral with the United States of America.

    If this attempt is not successful, we propose an alliance on the
    following basis with Mexico:

    That we shall make war together and together make peace. We
    shall give general financial support, and it is understood that
    Mexico is to reconquer the lost territory in New Mexico, Texas,
    and Arizona. The details are left to you for settlement.

    You are instructed to inform the President of Mexico of the
    above in the greatest confidence, as soon as it is certain that
    there will be an outbreak of war with the United States, and
    suggest that the President of Mexico, on his own initiative,
    should communicate with Japan suggesting adherence at once to
    this plan; at the same time offer to mediate between Germany and

    Please call to the attention of the President of Mexico that the
    employment of ruthless submarine warfare now promises to compel
    England to make peace in a few months.


When all this became known to the American people, at first it was
almost impossible for them to believe that Germany had been plotting
against the United States, and for so long. Only the word of the
President of the United States, saying that clear and sufficient
evidence to prove it beyond dispute was in the hands of the government,
could persuade them that Germany had been for years acting the "cheat"
and the "sneak."

The first step taken by the American government was to ask Mexico and
Japan to explain the many stories that had been circulated, and to tell
whether they had agreed with Germany to war against the United States.

The people in this country waited anxiously to hear from Japan, for it
would be denying the truth to say that the stories had not aroused
suspicion. Japan answered just as the United States would have answered
in her place, an answer that left no room for doubt. Not only did the
Japanese Foreign Minister deny that Japan had been asked by Mexico or
Germany to join against the United States, but he added more than is
absolutely necessary in diplomatic circles; he added that even if such
a proposal had come, it would have been rejected at once.

This is exactly such an answer as the United States would have given to
any friendly country. The answer did more to bind the friendship
between the two countries than many years of official visits and formal
expressions of goodwill could possibly have done. The Japanese people
were glad that such an answer had been sent by their government. In
fact, the Japanese Ambassador in this country, in speaking of the
matter said, "We cannot condemn the plot too strongly. Our Foreign
Minister and Premier have expressed the feeling of the Japanese
Government and the Japanese people. And it is not alone the government;
but the people are back of the government in denouncing the intrigue.
In one way it is unfortunate, because we do not feel flattered at the
thought of being approached for such an object; but the incident, on
the other hand, is certain to have the good effect of putting us in a
true light before the world, and of binding our friendship with
America. We have a treaty alliance with Great Britain, and owe
allegiance to the Allied cause. In Japan we place above everything else
our national honor, which involves faithfulness to our treaties."

Germany never supposed that she would be the means by which Japan and
the United States, instead of being thrust further apart, would be
drawn closer together. Germany dreamed a different sort of dream.
Judging other nations by herself, she did not expect England to come to
the aid of Belgium and France, and now she had made another mistake.
She had set both Japan and Mexico down as the natural foes of the
United States, waiting only for a favorable opportunity to strike.

The answer from Mexico was not so satisfactory as that from Japan.
Villa, the famous Mexican bandit chief, when he conferred on the border
with Major-General Scott as to the firing at Naco, it is said, had
whispered to the American General a story of Japanese conspiracy in
Mexico City. He claimed that the captain of a Japanese vessel in a
Mexican port had spoken of the natural ties of friendship that should
exist between Mexico and Japan, and had also spoken of the United
States as the natural enemy to both countries. Villa had boasted loudly
that, if war came between Japan and the United States, Mexico would be
found fighting for her American neighbor. But later, when the United
States recognized Carranza as ruler of Mexico and turned against Villa,
the bandit chief hastened to seek aid against his "neighbor," from
Tokio. Needless to say, he failed.

General Huerta's effort to start a new revolution in Mexico, after he
returned to the United States from Spain, has been traced directly to
the Germans. He, too, looked hopefully for aid from Japan, but was

Before the United States had recognized the Carranza government, the
Carranza officials displayed great affection for the Japanese Minister
who had been sent to their country, and for Japan. But the government
at Tokio knew that the display was merely made for American eyes, and
carefully avoided any warm response. Thus has Zimmermann's scheme come
to be called his "back-stairs policy" and "the plot that failed."

Thanks to the discovery of the Zimmermann plot, Japan and the United
States understand each other better, and are growing more and more
friendly. Mexico is keeping her troubles to herself and has all she can
do in straightening out her own affairs. The boys and girls in America
will hope, if baseball and football will teach the Mexicans to play
fair, that these games and others like them will become as popular
there as they are in the United States.

       *       *       *       *       *

A man is a father, a brother, a German, a Roman, an American; but
beneath all these relations, he is a man. The end of his human destiny
is not to be the best German, or the best Roman, or the best father,
but the best man he can be....

Though darkness sometimes shadows our national sky, though confusion
comes from error, and success breeds corruption, yet will the storm
pass in God's good time; and in clearer sky and purer atmosphere, our
national life grow stronger and nobler, sanctified more and more,
consecrated to God and liberty by the martyrs who fall in the strife
for the just and true.

                                           GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS.


Because of Belgium, invaded, outraged, enslaved, impoverished Belgium.
We cannot forget Liége, Louvain, and Cardinal Mercier. Translated into
terms of American history, these names stand for Bunker Hill,
Lexington, and Patrick Henry.

Because of France, invaded, desecrated France, a million of whose
heroic sons have died to save the land of Lafayette. Glorious, golden
France, the preserver of the arts, the land of noble spirit, the first
land to follow our lead into republican liberty.

Because of England, from whom came the laws, traditions, standards of
life, and inherent love of liberty which we call Anglo-Saxon
civilization. We defeated her once upon the land and once upon the sea.
But Australia, New Zealand, Africa, and Canada are free because of what
we did. And they are with us in the fight for the freedom of the seas.

Because of Russia--new Russia. She must not be overwhelmed now. Not
now, surely, when she is just born into freedom. Her peasants must have
their chance; they must go to school to Washington, to Jefferson, and
to Lincoln, until they know their way about in this new, strange world
of government by the popular will.

Because of other peoples, with their rising hope that the world may be
freed from government by the soldier.

We are fighting Germany because she sought to terrorize us and then to
fool us. We could not believe that Germany would do what she said she
would do upon the seas.

We still hear the piteous cries of children coming up out of the sea
where the _Lusitania_ went down. And Germany has never asked the
forgiveness of the world.

We saw the _Sussex_ sunk, crowded with the sons and daughters of
neutral nations.

We saw ship after ship sent to the bottom--ships of mercy bound out of
America for the Belgian starving, ships carrying the Red Cross and
laden with the wounded of all nations, ships carrying food and clothing
to friendly, harmless, terrorized peoples, ships flying the Stars and
Stripes--sent to the bottom hundreds of miles from shore, manned by
American seamen, murdered against all law, without warning.

We believed Germany's promise that she would respect the neutral flag
and the rights of neutrals, and we held our anger and outrage in check.
But now we see that she was holding us off with fair promises until she
could build her huge fleet of submarines. For when spring came, she
blew her promise into the air, just as at the beginning she had torn up
that "scrap of paper." Then we saw clearly that there was but one law
for Germany, her will to rule.

We are fighting Germany because in this war feudalism is making its
last stand against on-coming democracy. We see it now. This is a war
against an old spirit, an ancient, outworn spirit. It is a war against
feudalism--the right of the castle on the hill to rule the village
below. It is a war for democracy--the right of all to be their own
masters. Let Germany be feudal if she will. But she must not spread her
system over a world that has outgrown it.

We fight with the world for an honest world in which nations keep their
word, for a world in which nations do not live by swagger or by threat,
for a world in which men think of the ways in which they can conquer
the common cruelties of nature instead of inventing more horrible
cruelties to inflict upon the spirit and body of man, for a world in
which the ambition of the philosophy of a few shall not make miserable
all mankind, for a world in which the man is held more precious than
the machine, the system, or the State.

                        SECRETARY FRANKLIN K. LANE, June 4, 1917.


In April, 1917, a small group of men in civilian dress climbed up the
side of the ocean liner, the _Baltic_, just outside of New York harbor.
Each one carried a suitcase or a hand-bag, which was his only baggage.
They had come down the harbor through the fog and mist on a tugboat.
These men were officers in the United States army, and among them were
General Pershing and his staff--"Black Jack Pershing," as his men
affectionately called him.

They were given no farewell at the dock, in fact their going was kept a
profound secret; for should the Germans learn upon what liner the chief
officers of the American army that was soon to gather in France, took
passage, all their submarines would neglect everything else in
attempting to sink this one vessel.

The officers reached England in safety, and made preparations for the
great American armies that were soon to follow them. General Pershing
was appointed commander of these armies. He had just come from service
in Mexico, where he had led American troops in search of the outlaw,

    [Illustration: GENERAL JOHN J. PERSHING
    _Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._]

General Pershing is a West Point graduate; but he narrowly escaped
following another career, for he gained his appointment to West Point
by only one point over his nearest competitor. He has made fighting his
life work. We are all beginning to see that in the world as it is made
up at present, some men must prepare for fighting and make fighting
their life work. Universal peace must come through war, and many are
hoping that it will come as a result of the World War. William Jennings
Bryan and Henry Ford are among the world's leading advocates of
universal peace. When the United States declared war, Bryan said, "The
quickest road to peace is through the war to victory"; and Henry Ford
turned over to the government his great automobile factories and gave
his own services on one of the war boards, to make the war more quickly

An interesting story is told us in the _Dallas News_ of Pershing's
school days at normal school, before he went to West Point. It shows
that he never shunned a fight, if the rights of others needed to be

    An incident of the boyhood days of General John J. Pershing,
    illustrating how the principle for which the American general is
    leading this nation's armies against the hordes of
    autocracy--the square deal for every one--has always
    predominated in the American leader, was related yesterday by
    Dr. James L. Holloway of Dallas, who went to school with
    Pershing in Kirksville, Missouri, many years ago, and who
    during that period was an intimate friend of the General.

    "When I arrived at Kirksville to attend the Normal School there,
    I was a green country boy," Dr. Holloway said, "and carried my
    belongings in a very frail trunk. The baggageman who was on the
    station platform was handling my trunk roughly, and when I
    remonstrated with him in my timid way, he merely pitched the
    trunk off the baggage wagon and laughed at me. When the trunk
    fell on the ground it broke open and scattered my things around
    on the platform. I indignantly told him that I would report the
    matter to the headquarters of the railroad in St. Louis, and
    again he laughed at me.

    "I wrote the head of the baggage department, as I said I would,
    and later learned that the offending baggageman had been
    severely censured. Meanwhile I had struck up a strong
    acquaintance with Jack Pershing, who was a big, husky boy from a
    Missouri country town. I will always remember his broad
    forehead, his determined-looking jaw, and his steel gray eyes.
    He was a favorite among the boys at the Normal School, not so
    much on account of his mental brilliancy but because of his
    personal stamina.

    "Two weeks after my encounter with the baggageman, Pershing and
    I walked down to the railroad station. It was on Sunday and the
    baggage office was closed. Pershing left me for a moment, and as
    I walked around a corner of the station I met the baggageman,
    who approached threateningly. 'You're the fellow who reported me
    to headquarters,' he said, bullying me. I admitted that I had.
    'Well,' said the baggageman, 'I'm going to lick you good for
    it.' With these words he started toward me. At this juncture
    Pershing's big frame rounded the corner of the station.

    "'What's the trouble, Holloway?' he asked. I told him the
    baggageman was threatening me with violence. 'He is, is he?'
    said Pershing. 'Well, we'll clean his plowshare for him right

    "I shall never forget this expression. The baggageman, seeing
    that he was no match for Pershing--let alone the two of us--left
    the scene of action. We didn't even have a chance to lay our
    hands on him.

    "Six months after this occurred, Pershing was appointed to West
    Point. I have never seen him since."

For several years after his graduation from West Point, no promotion
came to Pershing; but he was not idle nor soured by disappointment. He
continued to study, especially military tactics. He became so well
versed in this branch that he was sent to West Point to teach it.

When the Spanish-American War broke out, Pershing asked for a command,
and was appointed first lieutenant with a troop of colored cavalry, and
sent to Cuba. At the battle of El Caney he led his troops with such
bravery and success that he was at once promoted and made a captain
"for gallantry in action."

Then he went to the Philippines with General Chaffee. He performed much
valuable service there. Perhaps the single deed by which his work there
is best known is the lesson he taught the Sultan of Mindanao. The
Sultan was a Mohammedan, and ruled over many thousand Malays. To kill a
Christian was thought to be a good deed by the Sultan, and he was
always glad of an opportunity to show his goodness. For three hundred
years, he and his predecessors had escaped punishment by the Spaniards,
who owned and ruled the islands.

The Sultan's chief village and stronghold could be reached only by
passing through the dense and dangerous tropical jungles; and when it
was reached, it was found to be surrounded by a wall of earth and
bamboo, forty feet thick, and outside the wall by a moat fifty feet
wide. It does not seem so strange that the Spaniards had done nothing.

But Pershing cut a path through the jungles and reached the Sultan's
village, and informed him that there must be no more murders of
Christians. The Sultan was very pleasant, in fact he laughed at the
young American captain.

Soon word came to American headquarters that the Sultan had caused the
death of another Christian missionary. In forty-eight hours most of the
earth and bamboo wall was in the moat, and the Sultan's village was
destroyed. In less than two years, Pershing established law and order
in all of western Mindanao.

He was also in command of the troops sent to the Border and into Mexico
after the outlaw, Villa. The soldiers with him there always recall his
constant advice, "Shoulders back, chin up, and do your best."

General Pershing is a man who has never feared obstacles, and has
never hesitated to give the time and labor necessary to overcome them.
That there is no easy path to greatness and success, but that both will
come to him who prepares himself, who works, who sticks at it, who is
brave and sacrificing--this is the lesson of General Pershing's life
and work.

Shortly after General Pershing reached France, the French people
celebrated the birthday of Lafayette; and General Pershing visited the
tomb of the great French patriot, to place there a wreath in token of
America's gratitude. A large number of French people were gathered
there, and every one supposed General Pershing would make a
speech--that is, every one except General Pershing. When he was called
upon, he was dumfounded, but at last he said, "Well, Lafayette, we are
here." That was all.

Could he have said more if he had talked an hour? He said, "Lafayette,
your people now need us. We have not forgotten. Here we are, and behind
us are all the resources of the wealthiest and most enterprising nation
in the world, billions of dollars and millions of men. We are only the
first to arrive to pay the debt we have owed to you for one hundred and
forty years, but here we are at last."

It is said that men and women wept aloud as the full significance of
the words and all they meant for France became clear to them.


America has been called the "crucible" or the "melting pot" of nations,
because many peoples of many races and many countries come together
here, and in the heat of life and struggle are molded into Americans.
President Wilson said, in a speech at Cincinnati in 1916, "America is
not made out of a single stock. Here we have a great melting pot."

As soon as we entered the war against Germany, the question arose in
the minds of most people as to how the large number of Germans in the
United States would act. Germany had taught them that even though they
became naturalized and took the oath of allegiance as American
citizens, such action was not binding, but was like "a scrap of paper"
to be destroyed and forgotten whenever necessity demanded, and that
"once a German" meant "always a German." It seems now that Germany
actually expected the Germans, who had left their native land to seek
opportunity, freedom, and citizenship under the Stars and Stripes, to
fight against their new and adopted home; but events have proved that
most German-Americans have higher ideals of right. A leading
German-American has written a book entitled "Right before Peace"; its
title carries the thought that has guided most of his fellow-countrymen
and their children in the United States during the World War.

A few months after the United States had declared that a state of war
existed with Germany, many leading men of this country of foreign birth
and parentage, signed, with others, a declaration drawn up by Theodore
Roosevelt. This declaration, somewhat abbreviated but not altered in
thought, is as follows. It makes very clear what America should mean to
her adopted children.

    We Americans are the children of the crucible. We have boasted
    that out of the crucible, the melting pot of life, in this free
    land, all the men and all the women who have come here from all
    the nations come forth as Americans, and as nothing else, like
    all other Americans, equal to them, and holding no allegiance to
    any other land or nation. We hold it then to be our duty, as it
    is of every American, always to stand together for the honor and
    interest of America, even if such a stand brings us into
    conflict with our fatherland. If an American does not so act, he
    is false to the teachings and the lives of Washington and
    Lincoln; he has no right in our country, and he should be sent
    out of it; for he has shown that the crucible has failed to do
    its work. The crucible must melt all who are cast into it, and
    it must turn them out in one American mold, the mold shaped one
    hundred and forty years ago by the men who, under Washington,
    founded this as a free nation, separate from all others. Even at
    that time, these true Americans were of different races; Paul
    Revere and Charles Carroll, Marion, Herkimer, Sullivan,
    Schuyler, and Muhlenberg were equals in service and respect
    with Lighthorse Harry Lee and Israel Putnam. Most of them,
    however, were of English blood, but they did not hesitate to
    fight Great Britain when she was in the wrong. They stood for
    liberty and for the eternal rule of right and justice, and they
    stood as Americans and as nothing else.

    So must all Americans of whatever race act to-day; otherwise
    they are traitors to America. This applies, especially to-day,
    to all Americans of German blood who, in any manner, support
    Germany against the United States and her Allies.

    Many pacifists have during the last three years proved
    themselves the evil enemies of their country. They now seek an
    inconclusive peace. In so doing they show themselves to be the
    spiritual heirs of the Tories, who, in the name of peace,
    opposed Washington, and of the Copperheads, who, in the name of
    peace, opposed Lincoln. We look upon them as traitors to the
    Republic and to the great cause of justice and humanity. This
    war is a war for the vital interests of America. When we fight
    for America abroad, we save our children from fighting for
    America at home beside their own ruined hearthstones. To accept
    any peace, except one based on the complete overthrow of Germany
    as she is under the ideals of Prussia and the Hohenzollerns, we
    believe would be an act of baseness and cowardice, and a
    betrayal of this country and of mankind.

    The test of an American to-day is service against Germany. We
    should put forth as speedily as possible every particle of our
    vast, lazy strength to win the triumph over Germany. The
    government should at once deal with the greatest severity with
    traitors at home.

    We must have but one flag. We must also have but one language.
    This must be the language of the Declaration of Independence, of
    Washington's Farewell Address, and of Lincoln's Gettysburg

    Of us who sign, some are Protestants, some are Catholics, some
    are Jews. Most of us were born in this country of parents born
    in various countries of the Old World--in Germany, France,
    England, Ireland, Italy, the Slavonic and the Scandinavian
    lands; some of us were born abroad; some of us are of
    Revolutionary stock. All of us are Americans, and nothing but


I believe in the United States of America as a government of the
people, by the people, for the people, whose just powers are derived
from the consent of the governed; a democracy in a republic; a
sovereign Nation of many sovereign States; a perfect Union, one and
inseparable, established upon those principles of freedom, equality,
justice, and humanity for which American patriots sacrificed their
lives and fortunes.

I therefore believe it is my duty to my country to love it; to support
its Constitution; to obey its laws; to respect its flag; and to defend
it against all enemies.




Although I am an American, I am still in the French aviation corps, in
which I enlisted when the war broke out. I am too old for service under
the Stars and Stripes, but not too old to risk my life under the French
flag for the freedom of the world.

I was trained in a French aviation school. Flyers were needed
immediately; and so I did not go through "a ground school," or any
teaching like that given for eight weeks in the American ground
schools. I was sent directly to the flying field and given a machine at
once. I did not, as they do at American flying fields, go up first with
an instructor who might be tempted to "scare me to death" by "looping
the loop" or doing "tail spins." I took my own machine at the very
start and, after being given the simplest directions, away I went in
it; but I did not break any records for altitude.

It was a small monoplane with a 20-horse-power motor, and its wings had
been clipped; so all it could do was to roll along the ground. It was,
however, some time before I could guide it in a straight line. I was
discouraged at first, but felt better when I learned that it was very
difficult even for an experienced flyer.

Such machines are called "penguins" and have a trick of turning
suddenly in a short half circle and smashing the end of a wing against
the ground. The queer antics of beginners in them furnish fun for every
one on the flying fields.

After I had mastered this machine, I was given one with a motor of
greater horse power, and in this I could fly along the ground at nearly
sixty miles an hour; but I could not rise into the air, for the wings
were clipped and did not have sufficient sustaining power to hold the
machine in the air.

Then at last I was given a plane with full-sized wings; but, as its
motor generated only about 25-horse power, I could get only from three
to six feet above the ground, and went skimming along now on the ground
and now a few feet in the air.

In these machines, we learned only how to manage the tail of the
machine. As we skimmed along the ground, we tipped the tail at an angle
slightly above a straight line. In a few moments we were off the
ground, and the roar of the motor sounded softer and smoother. It
seemed as if we were very far from the earth, and that something might
break and dash us to our death--in reality, we had not risen six feet.
To get back to earth, we must push the lever that lowers the tail--but
this must be done very slightly and very carefully. A little push too
much, and the machine will suddenly dive into the ground.

After my experience with the first two machines, I found it easy to
handle this one, and was soon given one that would take me up about
fifty feet and give me a chance to learn the "feel of the air." All my
flying was still in straight lines, or as nearly straight as I could
make it. We were not yet allowed to try to turn.

In the next machine I could rise two or three hundred feet and began to
learn to turn, although most of the flying was still in straight lines.

I was beginning to make good landings, which is the hardest part of the
game. We have to let the ship down on two wheels and let the tail skid
at a speed of thirty-five miles an hour and not break the landing gear.

The machines often bound three or four times when landing and that is
hard on the landing gear. My last landing was so soft that I was not
sure when I touched the ground. To take off is quite easy. The ship is
controlled by an upright stick which is between one's knees and just
right for the left hand. The rudder is controlled by the feet, and the
throttle is on the right side. To take off, we get up a speed of about
forty-six miles per hour and raise the tail up until the ship is level,
and then when she starts to rise, lift the nose just a little and climb

On turns, the ship has to be banked, tipped up with the inside wing
low, and turned with the rudder. It is quite a hard thing to do when it
is rough, as just about the time we bank, we get a puff of wind which
will hit one wing and she will roll and rock so that we have to get her
straightened out. It is a fight all the time until you get about 3000
feet up, when the air gets steady.

To land, we slow the engine down to idling speed and come down in a
steep glide until five or six feet from the ground, then level off and
glide along until she begins to settle, then jerk the tail down until
she stops. We always have to take off and come down against the wind.

I was obliged to follow the directions of my instructor, much against
my own wishes. It seemed to me that I could now do anything in the air
and that there was not the slightest danger. This too early feeling of
mastery is the cause of many beginners' being injured or killed, by
trying "stunts" too difficult for them.

I did not spend much time in flying at first, after I had learned how
to handle the airplane. It is not difficult to stay in the air and to
fly, but it is difficult to land safely without breaking the machine.
So I was kept practicing landing.

To secure my license I was required to fly 50 miles in a straight line
to a named place, and then back; then to fly 200 miles in a triangle,
passing through two named places; and last of all to stay one hour in
the air at an altitude higher than 7000 feet.

Now the French schools require only a 30-mile flight with three
successful landings, before sending the flyer to the finishing school,
where he learns to do all the "stunts" that a fighter must be able to
do in order to succeed. I learned the tail wing slip, the tail spin and
dive, the _vrille_, to loop the loop, and many other fancy flying
tricks. They have saved my life more than once.

I was interested in reading the other day James Norman Hall's funny
description of how he learned at last to master the penguin. He felt
triumphant, but he says, "But no one had seen my splendid sortie. Now
that I had arrived, no one paid the least attention to me. All eyes
were turned upward, and following them with my own, I saw an airplane
outlined against a heaped-up pile of snow-white cloud. It was moving at
tremendous speed, when suddenly it darted straight upward, wavered for
a second or two, turned slowly on one wing, and fell, nose-down,
turning round and round as it fell, like a scrap of paper. It was the
_vrille_, the prettiest piece of aërial acrobatics that one could wish
to see. It was a wonderful, an incredible sight.

"Some one was counting the turns of the _vrille_. Six, seven, eight;
then the airman came out of it on an even keel, and, nosing down to
gather speed, looped twice in quick succession. Afterward he did the
_retournement_, turning completely over in the air and going back in
the opposite direction; then spiraled down and passed over our heads at
about fifty meters, landing at the opposite side of the field so
beautifully that it was impossible to know when the machine touched the

There is nothing in all the experiences of life like what one feels in
flying through the air, especially at a great height and with no other
machines in sight. There is a loneliness, unlike any other kind of
loneliness; there is a feeling of smallness and weakness; a sense of
the immensity of things and of the presence and nearness of God. It is
surprising that in doing that in which man has shown his greatest power
over the forces of Nature, he feels most his littleness and how easily
he could be destroyed by the very forces he has conquered.

Lieutenant Roberts, an American flying in France, described not long
ago an experience that came just after his first flight. He was up in
the air, higher than anybody had ever been before, when the machine
suddenly broke into little pieces, which, as he was tumbling down
through the air, he vainly tried to catch. Just as he hit the ground
and broke every bone in his body, he woke up on the floor beside his

The Englishmen are the most daring of all the flyers, take the most
risks, and do the most dangerous "stunts." Not so much is heard of them
because their exploits and their scores are not announced by the
British army. Bishop, who has just been ordered from the flying field
to safer work, is said to have brought down nearly eighty German
planes, and on the day he learned of his recall, went up and brought
down two.

The Americans are daredevils, too. I took one of them one night as a
"guest," when I went over Metz on a bombing expedition. One of the
bombs stuck. He thought it might cause us trouble when we landed,
possibly explode and kill us, so he crawled out over the fusilage and
released it. He certainly earned his passage.

With several other Americans we formed what we called the American
Escadrille; but as the United States was neutral at that time, we were
obliged to change the name to the Lafayette Escadrille.

Since joining the squadron, I have used all sorts of machines, and
there are many of them, from the heavy bombing machine to the swift
little swallow-like scouts.

My first important work was reconnoissance, in which I carried an
observer. I managed the machine, and he did the reconnoitering. We went
out twice a day and flew over into German territory, sometimes as far
in as fifty miles, observing all that was going on, the movements of
troops and supplies, and the building of railroads and defensive works.
We also took photographs of the country over which we flew.

Reconnoissance is dangerous work, and is constantly growing more so, as
anti-aircraft guns are improved. These guns are mounted on a revolving
table, upon which is a mirror in which the airplane shows as soon as it
comes within range of the gun. With an instrument designed for the
purpose, the crew get the flyer's altitude; and with another, the rate
at which he is traveling. They aim the gun for the proper altitude,
make the correct allowance for the time it will take the shell to reach
him, and as they have an effective range of over 30,000 feet, there is
reason to worry. Yet by zig-zagging and other devices, the aviators are
rarely brought down by anti-aircraft guns. The small scout machines
with a wing spread of not more than thirty feet are not visible to the
naked eye when at an altitude of over 10,000 feet, and are therefore
safe from these guns at this height.

But reconnoissance, to be effective, must be done at a much lower
altitude, and sometimes the machine must remain under fire for a
considerable period of time. Poiret, the French aviator, fighting with
the Russians, with a captain of the General Staff for an observer, was
under rifle and shell fire for about twenty minutes. His machine was
up about 4000 feet. Ten bullets and two pieces of shell hit his
airplane, but he never lost control. The captain was shot through the
heel, the bullet coming out of his calf; but he continued taking notes.
They returned in safety to their lines.

I also did some work in directing artillery fire. For this my machine
was equipped with a wireless apparatus for sending. No method has yet
been devised whereby an airplane in flight can receive wireless
messages. In directing the fire of the big guns, the aviator seeks to
get directly over the object that is under fire, and to signal or send
wireless messages in regard to where the shells land. After the aviator
is in position, the third shot usually reaches the target.

I am not yet one of the great aces, and will not, therefore, tell you
about any of my air battles. I hope some day you may read of them and
that I may come to have the honor of being named with Lufbery,
Guynemer, Nungesser, Fonk, Bishop, Ball, Genét, Chapman, McConnell,
Prince, Putnam, and other heroes of the air.

Lieutenant R.A.J. Warneford, who won the Victoria Cross for destroying
a giant Zeppelin, is one of the greatest of these; at least, he
performed a feat never accomplished before and never since.

At three o'clock one morning in June, 1915, he discovered a Zeppelin
returning from bombing towns along the east coast of England. The Huns
shot Captain Fryatt because, as they said, he was a non-combatant and
tried to defend himself. The rule that non-combatants should not attack
military forces was made with the understanding that military forces
would not war on non-combatants. But law, or justice, or agreements
never are allowed by the Huns to stand in their way. This Zeppelin was
returning from a raid in which twenty-four were killed and sixty
seriously injured, nearly all women and children, and all

Lieutenant Warneford well knew of the dastardly deeds of the Zeppelins,
and he immediately gave chase, firing as he approached. The Zeppelin
returned his shots. He mounted as rapidly as possible so as to get the
great gas-bag below him, until he reached over 6000 feet and the
Zeppelin was about 150 feet directly below him. Both were moving very
rapidly, and to hit was exceedingly difficult, but he dropped six
bombs, one after the other. One of them hit the Zeppelin squarely,
exploded the gas-bag, and set it afire its entire length. The explosion
turned Lieutenant Warneford's airplane upside down, and although he
soon righted it, he was obliged to land. He was over territory occupied
by the Germans and he landed behind the German lines, but he succeeded
in rising again before being captured, and returned to his hangar in
safety, to tell his marvelous story. The Zeppelin and its crew were
completely destroyed. A few days later Lieutenant Warneford was killed.

One of the greatest air duels, between airplanes, was during the Battle
of Vimy Ridge. At that time Immelman was as great a German ace as were
Boelke and Richthofen later, and Ball was the greatest of the English.

One morning Ball learned that Immelman was stationed with the Germans
on the opposite line, and carried him a challenge which read:

    CAPTAIN IMMELMAN: I challenge you to a man-to-man fight to take
    place this afternoon at two o'clock. I will meet you over the
    German lines. Have your anti-aircraft guns withhold their fire
    while we decide which is the better man. The British guns will
    be silent.


Ball dropped this from his airplane behind the German lines, and soon
afterward Immelman dropped his answer behind the British lines:


    Your challenge is accepted. The German guns will not interfere.
    I will meet you promptly at two.


A few minutes before two, the guns ceased firing, and all on both sides
fixed their eyes in the air to witness a contest between two knights
that would make the contests of the days of chivalry seem tame.

    [Illustration: A BATTLE IN THE AIR
    The French plane at the top is maneuvering for position
    preparatory to swooping down on its German adversary.
    _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._]

In an air battle, the machine that is higher up is thought to have the
advantage. Both Ball and Immelman went up very high, but Ball was below
and seemed uncertain what to do. The British were afraid that he had
lost his nerve and courage when he found himself below, for he made no
effort to get above his opponent, but was flying now this way and now
that, as if "rattled."

Immelman did not delay, but went into a nose dive directly towards the
machine below, which he would be able to rake with his machine gun as
he approached; but just at the proper moment, Ball suddenly looped the
loop and was directly above the German, and in position to fire. As the
shower of bullets struck Immelman and his machine, it burst into flames
and dropped like a blazing comet.

Ball returned to his hangar, got a wreath of flowers, and went into the
air again to drop them upon the spot where Immelman had fallen dead.

Four days later Ball was killed in a fight with four German planes, but
not until he had brought down three of them.

But the fighting planes do not get all the thrills in the air. A young
English aviator and his observer who were directing artillery fire in
September, 1918, showed as great devotion and courage as any ace and
lived through as exciting an adventure as ever befell a fighting

They were flying over No Man's Land to get the proper range for a
battery which was to destroy a bridge of great value to the Huns. Their
engine had been running badly and back-firing. They would have returned
home had their work been of less importance.

Suddenly the pilot smelled burning wood, and looking down, saw the
framework near his feet blackened and smoldering. It had caught fire
from the backfire of the engine and the exhaust, but was not yet in a
decided blaze. He turned off the gas and opened the throttle. Then he
made a steep, swift dive, and the powerful rush of the air put the fire

Then he hesitated, trying to decide whether to "play safe" and go home
or whether to continue their work until the battery had secured the
exact range. He knew that in a very short time and with a little more
observation, their work would be completely successful. So he turned to
the observer and asked him what he thought. The observer leaned over
and examined the damage near the pilot's feet. It did not look very
bad; so he shouted, "Let's carry on."

Up they went again and in a short time had shells from the battery
falling all about the bridge, which was soon destroyed. Their work was
done, and well done. In the excitement they had forgotten the bad
engine until they heard it give one last sputter and stop.

Then they perceived the woodwork was on fire again and really blazing
this time. To dive now would only fan the flames about the pilot's
feet, but they must get to the ground, and get there quickly, too.

The pilot put the machine into a side slip toward the British line.
This fanned the flames away from his feet. The observer squirted the
fire extinguisher on the burning wood near the pilot's feet, and thus
enabled him to keep control of the rudder bar.

They were now within fifteen hundred feet of the ground, but the heat
was almost unbearable. The right wing was beginning to burn. Down,
down, they went, and luckily towards a fairly good landing place. One
landing wheel struck the ground with such force that it was broken off,
and the airplane bumped along on the other for a short distance until
it finally crashed on its nose and left wing.

Both pilot and observer were unhurt. They sprang to the ground and
hurried away from the burning wreck just in time, for a few seconds
later the gasoline tank exploded. They looked at each other without a
word, but neither of them regretted that he had stayed up until the job
had been finished.

Such is the life and the danger of the flyers; but thousands of the
finest young men of all the nations at war eagerly seek the service,
for the aviators are the eyes of the armies and will determine always
more than any other branch which side shall be finally victorious.


As England and the world lost Rupert Brooke, so America and the world
lost Alan Seeger. English poetry and lovers of beauty expressed in
verse are losers to a greater extent than we can ever know.

It is not strange that these two young poets should have enlisted at
the very beginning of the war, for they recognized what high-minded men
mean by _noblesse oblige_. Much having been given you, much is expected
from you. Those of the highest education should show the way to those
less favored. So Rupert Brooke enlisted in the English navy, and Alan
Seeger enlisted in the French army as one of the Foreign Legion.

He felt he owed a debt to France that could only be paid by helping her
in her struggle for life and liberty. He gave his life, at the age of
twenty-eight, to pay the debt.

Alan Seeger lived a life like that of many other American boys. At
Staten Island where he passed his first years, he could see every day
the Statue of Liberty, Brooklyn Bridge, the skyscrapers of New York,
the ferry boats to the Jersey shore, the great ocean liners inward
bound and outward bound,--all the great and significant things that say
"America" to one landing for the first time at the greatest seaport of
the world. Later he lived in New York and attended the Horace Mann
School. His vacations were spent among the hills and mountains of New
Hampshire and in southern California. He fitted for college at a famous
preparatory school at Tarrytown on the Hudson, attended Harvard
College, and after graduation lived for two years in New York City. All
this is American, and thousands of other American boys have passed
through the same or a similar experience.

Alan Seeger was romantic. So are most boys. But with most boys, romance
goes no further than books and dreams. "Robinson Crusoe," "Huckleberry
Finn," "Treasure Island," and other tales of adventure and of foreign
lands are all the romance that many know. But, like Rupert Brooke, Alan
Seeger had the opportunity to live romance, as he always declared he
would do. He found it in his life as a boy in Mexico, as a young man in
Paris, and in the Foreign Legion of the French army. The Foreign Legion
was made up of foreigners in France who volunteered to fight with the
French army. Its story is a stirring one of brave deeds and tremendous
losses. To have belonged to it is a great glory.

Alan Seeger enjoyed life and found the world exceedingly beautiful. He

            From a boy
    I gloated on existence. Earth to me
    Seemed all sufficient, and my sojourn there
    One trembling opportunity for joy.

Like Rupert Brooke, he thought often of Death, which he feared not at
all. In his beautiful poem entitled, "I Have a Rendezvous with Death,"
he looked forward to his own death in the spring of 1916. He lost his
life on July 4 of that year while storming the village of
Belloy-en-Santerre. The first two stanzas are as follows:

    I have a rendezvous with Death
    At some disputed barricade,
    When Spring comes back with rustling shade
    And apple blossoms fill the air--
    I have a rendezvous with Death
    When Spring brings back blue days and fair

    It may be he shall take my hand
    And lead me into his dark land
    And close my eyes and quench my breath--
    It may be I shall pass him still.
    I have a rendezvous with Death
    On some scarred slope of battered hill,
    When Spring comes round again this year
    And the first meadow flowers appear.

Alan Seeger has written two poems that all Americans should know. One
is entitled "Ode in Memory of the American Volunteers Fallen for
France." It was to have been read before the statue of Lafayette and
Washington in Paris, on Memorial Day, 1916; but permission to go to
Paris to read it did not reach Seeger in time, to the disappointment of
him and many others. It is perhaps the best long poem Seeger has
written, although "Champagne, 1914-15" is by many ranked ahead of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

"A man is judged and ranked by that which he considers to be of the
greatest value. Some men believe it is knowledge, and spend their lives
in study and research; some think it is beauty, and vainly seek to
capture it and hold it in song, poem, statue, or painting; some say it
is goodness, and devote their lives to service, self-denial, and
sacrifice; some declare it is life itself, and therefore never kill any
creature and always carefully protect their own lives from disease and
danger; and some are sure it is being true to the best knowledge, the
greatest beauty, the highest good that one can know and feel and
realize; for this alone is life, and times come when the only way to
save one's life is to lose it."




After England had entered the war against the Central Powers, Gilbert
Murray, an English writer, asked this question and answered it by
saying "Yes," and giving his reasons.

He had always favored peace. He hated war, not merely for its own
cruelty and folly, but because it was an enemy of good government, of
friendship and gentleness, and of art, learning, and literature.

Yet he believed firmly that England was right in declaring war against
Germany on August 4, 1914, and that she would have failed in her duty
if she had remained neutral. France, Russia, Belgium, and Serbia had no
choice. They were obliged to fight, for the war was forced upon them.
Germany did not wish to fight England; but after carefully looking over
the whole matter, England, of her own free will, declared war. She took
upon her shoulders a great responsibility. But she was right.

With a few changes in the wording and some omissions, the argument of
Gilbert Murray is as follows:

"How can such a thing be? It is easy enough to see that our cause is
right, and that the German cause is wrong. It is hardly possible to
study the official papers issued by the British, the German, and the
Russian governments, without seeing that Germany--or some party in
Germany--had plotted this war beforehand; that she chose a moment when
she thought her neighbors were at a disadvantage; that she prevented
Austria from making a settlement even at the last moment; that in order
to get more quickly at France she violated her treaty with Belgium.
Evidence shows that she has carried out the violation with a cruelty
that has no equal in the wars of modern and civilized nations. Yet
there may be some people who still feel doubtful. Germany's wrong-doing
they think is no reason for us to do likewise. We did our best to keep
the general peace; there we were right. We failed; the German
government made war in spite of us. There we were unfortunate. It was a
war already on an enormous scale and we decided to make it larger
still. There we were wrong. Could we not have stood aside, as the
United States did, ready to help refugees and sufferers, anxious to
heal wounds and not make them, watchful for the first chance of putting
an end to this time of horror?

"'Try for a moment,' they say, 'to realize the suffering in one small
corner of a battlefield. You have seen a man here and there badly hurt
in an accident; you have seen perhaps a horse with its back broken, and
you can remember how dreadful it seemed to you. In that one corner how
many men, how many horses, will be lying, hurt far worse, and just
waiting to die? Terrible wounds, extreme torment; and all, further than
any eye can see, multiplied and multiplied! And, for all your just
anger against Germany, what have these wounded done? The horses are not
to blame for anybody's foreign policy. They have only come where their
masters took them. And the masters themselves ... though certain German
rulers and leaders are wicked, these soldiers, peasants, working-men,
shop-keepers, and schoolmasters, have really done nothing in
particular; at least, perhaps they have now, but they had not up to the
time when you, seeing they were in war and misery already, decided to
make war on them also and increase their sufferings. You say that
justice must be done on such wrong-doers. But as far as the rights and
wrongs of the war go, you are simply condemning to death and torture
innocent men, by thousands and thousands; is that the best way to
satisfy your sense of justice? These innocent people, you say, are
fighting to protect the guilty parties whom you are determined to
reach. Well, perhaps, at the end of the war, after millions of innocent
people have suffered, you may at last, if all goes well with your arms,
get at the "guilty parties." You will hold an inquiry, you will decide
that certain Prussians with long titles are the guilty parties, and
even then you will not know what to do with them. You will probably
try, and almost certainly fail, to make them somehow feel ashamed. It
is likely enough that they will instead become great national heroes.

"'And after all, this is supposed to be a war in which one party is
wrong and the other right, and the right wins. Suppose both are wrong;
or suppose the wrong party wins? It is as likely as not; for, if the
right party is helped by his good conscience, the wrong has probably
taken pains to have the odds on his side before he began quarreling. In
that case, all the wild waste of blood and treasure, all the suffering
of innocent people and dumb animals, all the tears of women and
children have not set up the right, but established the wrong. To do a
little evil that great or certain good may come is all very well; but
to do great evil for only a chance of getting something which half the
people may think good and the other half think bad ... that is neither
good morals nor good sense. Anybody not in a passion must see that it
is insanity,' So they say who think war always wrong.

"Their argument is wrong. It is judging war as a profit-and-loss
account. It leaves out of sight the fact that in some causes it is
better to fight and be broken than to yield peacefully; that sometimes
the mere act of resisting to the death is in itself a victory.

"Let us try to understand this. The Greeks who fought and died at
Thermopylæ had no doubt that they were doing right to fight and die,
and we all agree with them. They probably knew they would be defeated.
They probably expected that, after their defeat, the Persians would
easily conquer the rest of Greece, and would treat it much more harshly
because it had resisted. But such thoughts did not affect them. They
would not consent to their country's dishonor.

"Take again a very clear modern case: the fine story of the French
tourist who was captured, together with a priest and some other white
people, by Moorish robbers. The Moors gave their prisoners the choice
either to trample on the Cross or to be killed. The Frenchman was not a
Christian. He disliked Christianity. But he was not going to trample on
the Cross at the orders of a robber. He stuck to his companions and
died with them.

"Honor and dishonor are real things. I will not try to define them; but
will only notice that, like religion, they admit no bargaining. Indeed,
we can almost think of honor as being simply that which a free man
values more than life, and dishonor as that which he avoids more than
suffering or death. And the important point for us is that there are
such things as honor and dishonor.

"There are some people, followers of Tolstoy, who accept this as far as
dying is concerned, but will have nothing to do with killing. Passive
resistance, they say, is right; martyrdom is right; but to resist
violence by violence is sin.

"I was once walking with a friend of Tolstoy's in a country lane, and a
little girl was running in front of us. I put to him the well-known
question: 'Suppose you saw a man, wicked or drunk or mad, run out and
attack that child. You are a big man, and carry a big stick: would you
not stop him and, if necessary, knock him down?' 'No,' he said, 'why
should I commit a sin. I would try to persuade him, I would stand in
his way, I would let him kill me, but I would not strike him,' Some few
people will always be found, less than one in a thousand, to take this
view. They will say: 'Let the little girl be killed or carried off; let
the wicked man commit another wickedness; I, at any rate, will not add
to the mass of useless violence that I see all around me.'

"With such persons one cannot reason, though one can often respect
them. Nearly every normal man will feel that the real sin, the real
dishonor, lies in allowing such an act to be committed under your eyes
while you have the strength to prevent it. And the stronger you are,
the greater your chance of success, by so much the more are you bound
to interfere. If the robbers are overpoweringly strong and there is no
chance of beating them, then and only then should you think of
martyrdom. Martyrdom is not the best possibility. It is almost the
worst. It is the last resort when there is no hope of successful
resistance. The best thing--suppose once the robbers are there and
intent on crime--the best thing is to overawe them at once; the next
best, to defeat them after a hard struggle; the third best, to resist
vainly and be martyred; the worst of all, the one evil that need never
be endured, is to let them have their own will without protest.

"We have noticed that in all these cases of honor there seems to be no
counting of cost, no balancing of good and evil. Ordinarily we are
always balancing results, but when honor or religion come on the scene,
all such balancing ceases. The point of honor is the point at which a
man says to some wrong proposal, 'I will not do it. I will rather die.'

"These things are far easier to see where one man is concerned than
where it is a whole nation. But they arise with nations, too. In the
case of a nation the material consequences are much larger, and the
point of honor is apt to be less clear. But, in general, whenever one
nation in dealing with another relies simply on force or fraud, and
denies to its neighbor the common consideration due to human beings, a
point of honor must arise.

"Austria says suddenly to Serbia: 'You are a wicked little state. I
have annexed and governed against their will some millions of your
countrymen, yet you are still full of anti-Austrian feeling, which I
do not intend to allow. You will dismiss from your service all
officials, politicians, and soldiers who do not love Austria, and I
will further send you from time to time lists of persons whom you are
to dismiss or put to death. And if you do not agree to this within
forty-eight hours, I, being vastly stronger than you, will make you. As
a matter of fact, Serbia did her very best to comply with Austria's
demands; she accepted about two thirds of them, and asked for
arbitration on the remaining third. But it is clear that she could not
accept them all without being dishonored. That is, Serbia would have
given up her freedom at the threat of force; the Serbs would no longer
be a free people, and every individual Serb would have been humiliated.
He would have confessed himself to be the kind of man who will yield
when an Austrian bullies him. And if it is urged that under good
Austrian government Serbia would become richer and safer, and the
Serbian peasants get better markets, such pleas cannot be listened to.
They are a price offered for slavery; and a free man will not accept
slavery at any price.

"Germany, again, says to Belgium: 'We have no quarrel with you, but we
intend for certain reasons to march across your territory and perhaps
fight a battle or two there. We know that you are pledged by treaty not
to allow any such thing, but we cannot help that. Consent, and we will
pay you afterwards; refuse, and we shall make you wish you had never
been born.' At that moment Belgium was a free, self-governing state. If
it had yielded to Germany's demand, it would have ceased to be either
free or self-governing. It is possible that, if Germany had been
completely victorious, Belgium would have suffered no great material
injury; but she would have taken orders from a stranger who had no
right to give them, simply because he was strong. Belgium refused. She
has had some of her towns destroyed, some thousands of her soldiers
killed, many more thousands of her women, children, and non-combatants
outraged and beggared; but she is still free. She still has her honor.

"Let us think this matter out more closely. The follower of Tolstoy
will say: 'We speak of Belgium's honor and Serbia's honor; but who is
Serbia and who is Belgium? There is no such person as either. There are
only great numbers of people who happen to be Serbians and Belgians,
and who mostly have had nothing to do with questions at issue. Some of
them are honorable people, some dishonorable. The honor of each one of
them depends very much on whether he pays his debts and tells the
truth, but not in the least on whether a number of foreigners walk
through his country or interfere with his government. King Albert and
his ministers might feel humiliated if the German government compelled
them to give way against their will; but would the ordinary
population? Would the ordinary peasant or shop-keeper or artisan in the
districts of Vise and Liége and Louvain have felt particularly
disgraced or ashamed? He would probably have made a little money and
been greatly amused by the sight of the troops passing. He would not
have suffered any injury that can for a moment be compared with what he
has suffered now, in order that his government might feel proud of

"I will not raise the point that, as a matter of fact, to grant a right
of way to Germany would have been to declare war against France, so
that Belgium would not, by giving up her independence, have been spared
the danger of war. I will assume that it was simply a question of
honor. And I believe that our follower of Tolstoy is very wrong.

"Is it true, in a healthy and well-governed state, that the average
citizen is indifferent to the honor of his country? We know that it is
not. True, the average citizen may often not understand what is going
on, but as soon as he knows, he cares. Suppose for a moment that the
King, or the Prime Minister, or the President of the United States,
were found to be in the pay of a foreign state, can any one pretend
that the ordinary citizens of Great Britain or America would take it
quietly? That any normal man would be found saying: 'Well, the King, or
the President, or the Prime Minister, is behaving dishonorably, but
that is a matter for him, not for me. I am an honest and honorable man,
and my government can do what it likes.' The notion is absurd. The
ordinary citizen would feel instantly and without question that his
country's honor involved his own. And woe to the society in which it
were otherwise! We know of such societies in history. They are the kind
which is called 'corrupt,' and which generally has not long to live.
Belgium has proved that she is not that kind of society.

"But what about Great Britain herself? At the present moment a very
clear case has arisen, and we can test our own feelings. Great Britain
had, by a solemn treaty, pledged herself to help keep the neutrality of
Belgium. Belgium is a little state lying between two very strong
states, France and Germany, and in danger of being overrun or abused by
one of them unless the Great Powers guaranteed her safety. The treaty,
signed by Prussia, Russia, Austria, France, and Great Britain, bound
all these Powers not to attack Belgium, move troops into it, or annex
any part of it; and further, to resist by armed force any Power which
should try to do any of these things. Belgium, on her part, was bound
to maintain her own neutrality to the best of her power, and not to
side with any state which was at war with another.

"At the end of July, 1914, the exact case arose in which we had
pledged ourselves to act. Germany, suddenly and without excuse, invaded
Belgium, and Belgium appealed to us and France to defend her. Meantime
she fought alone, desperately, against overwhelming odds. The issue was
clear. The German Chancellor, Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg, in his speech
of August 6, admitted that Germany had no grievance against Belgium,
and no excuse except 'necessity.' She could not get to France quick
enough by the direct road. Germany put her case to us, roughly, on
these grounds. 'True, you did sign a treaty, but what is a treaty? We
ourselves signed the same treaty, and see what we are doing! Anyhow,
treaty or no treaty, we have Belgium in our power. If she had done what
we wanted, we would have treated her kindly; as it is we shall show her
no mercy. If you will now do what we want and stay quiet, later on we
will consider a friendly deal with you. If you interfere, you must take
the consequences. We trust you will not be so insane as to plunge your
whole empire into danger for the sake of "a scrap of paper."' Our
answer was: 'Evacuate Belgium within twelve hours or we fight you.'

"I think that answer was right. Consider the situation carefully. No
question arises of overhaste or lack of patience on our part. From the
first moment of the crisis, we had labored night and day in every court
of Europe for any possible means of peace. We had carefully and
sincerely explained to Germany beforehand what attitude she might
expect from us. We did not send our ultimatum till Belgium was already
invaded. It is just the plain question put to the British government,
and, I think, to every one who feels himself a British citizen: 'The
exact case contemplated in your treaty has arisen: the people you swore
to protect is being massacred; will you keep your word at a gigantic
cost, or will you break it at the bidding of Germany?' For my own part,
weighing the whole question, I would rather die than submit; and I
believe that the government, in deciding to keep its word at the cost
of war, has expressed the feeling of the average British citizen.

"War is not all evil. It is a true tragedy, which must have nobleness
and triumph in it as well as disaster, but we must not begin to praise
war without stopping to reflect on the hundreds of thousands of human
beings involved in such horrors of pain that, if here in our ordinary
hours we saw one man so treated, the memory would sicken us to the end
of our lives; we must remember the horses and dogs, remember the gentle
natures brutalized by hardship and filth, and the once decent persons
transformed by rage and fear into devils of cruelty. But, when we have
realized that, we may begin to see in this desert of evil some oases of

"Do the fighting men become degraded? Day after day come streams of
letters from the front, odd stories, fragments of diaries, and the
like; full of the small intimate facts which reveal character, and
almost with one accord they show that these men have not fallen, but
risen. No doubt there has been some selection in the letters; to some
extent the writers repeat what they wish to have remembered, and say
nothing of what they wish to forget. But, when all allowances are made,
one cannot read the letters and the dispatches without a feeling of
admiration for the men about whom they tell. They were not originally a
set of chosen men. They were just our ordinary fellow citizens, the men
you meet on a crowded pavement. There was nothing to suggest that their
conduct in common life was better than that of their neighbors. Yet
now, under the stress of war, having a duty before them that is clear
and unquestioned and terrible, they are daily doing nobler things than
we most of us have ever had the chance of doing, things which we hardly
dare hope that we might be able to do. I am not thinking of the rare
achievements that win a V.C. or a Cross of the Legion of Honor, but of
the common necessary heroism of the average man; the long endurance,
the devoted obedience, the close-banded life in which self-sacrifice is
the normal rule, and all men may be forgiven except the man who saves
himself at the expense of his comrade. I think of the men who share
their last biscuit with a starving peasant, who help wounded comrades
through days and nights of horrible retreat, who give their lives to
save mates or officers.

"For example, to take these two stories:

"Relating his experiences to a pressman, Lance-Corporal Edmondson, of
the Royal Irish Lancers, said: 'There is absolutely no doubt that our
men are still animated by the spirit of old. I came on a couple of men
of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders who had been cut off at Mons.
One was badly wounded, but his companion had stuck by him all the time
in a country swarming with Germans, and, though they had only a few
biscuit between them, they managed to pull through until we picked them
up. I pressed the unwounded man to tell me how they managed to get
through the four days on six biscuit, but he always got angry and told
me to shut up. I fancy he went without anything, and gave the biscuit
to the wounded man. They were offered shelter many times by French
peasants, but they were so afraid of bringing trouble on these kind
folk that they would never accept shelter. One night they lay out in
the open all through a heavy downpour, though there was a house at hand
where they could have had shelter. Uhlans were on the prowl, and they
would not think of compromising the French people, who would have been
glad to help them.'

"The following story of an unidentified private of the Royal Irish
Regiment, who deliberately threw away his life in order to warn his
comrades of an ambush, is told by a wounded corporal of the West
Yorkshire Regiment now in hospital in Woolwich:

"'The fight in which I got hit was in a little French village near to
Rheims. We were working in touch with the French corps on our left, and
early one morning we were sent ahead to this village, which we had
reason to believe was clear of the enemy. On the outskirts we
questioned a French lad, but he seemed scared and ran away. We went on
through the long narrow street, and just as we were in sight of the
end, the figure of a man dashed out from a farmhouse on the right.
Immediately the rifles began to crack in front, and the poor chap fell
dead before he reached us.

"'He was one of our men, a private of the Royal Irish Regiment. We
learned that he had been captured the previous day by a party of German
cavalry, and had been held a prisoner at the farm, where the Germans
were in ambush for us. He tumbled to their game, and though he knew
that if he made the slightest sound they would kill him, he decided to
make a dash to warn us of what was in store. He had more than a dozen
bullets in him and there was not the slightest hope for him. We carried
him into a house until the fight was over, and then we buried him next
day with military honors. His identification disk and everything else
was missing, so that we could only put over his grave the tribute that
was paid to a greater: "He saved others; himself he could not save."
There wasn't a dry eye among us when we laid him to rest in that little

"Or I think again of the expressions on faces that I have seen or read
about, something alert and glad and self-respecting in the eyes of
those who are going to the front, and even of the wounded who are
returning. 'Never once,' writes one correspondent, 'not once since I
came to France have I seen among the soldiers an angry face or heard an
angry word.... They are always quiet, orderly, and wonderfully
cheerful.' And no one who has followed the war need be told of their
heroism. I do not forget the thousands left on the battlefield to die,
or the groaning of the wounded sounding all day between the crashes of
the guns. But there is a strange, deep gladness as well. 'One feels an
extraordinary freedom,' says a young Russian officer, 'in the midst of
death, with the bullets whistling round. The same with all the
soldiers. The wounded all want to get well and return to the fight.
They fight with tears of joy in their eyes.'

"Human nature is a mysterious thing, and man finds his weal and woe not
in the obvious places. To have something before you, clearly seen,
which you know you must do, and can do, and will spend your utmost
strength and perhaps your life in doing, that is one form at least of
very high happiness, and one that appeals--the facts prove it--not only
to saints and heroes but to average men. Doubtless the few who are wise
enough and have enough imagination, may find opportunity for that same
happiness in everyday life, but in war ordinary men find it. This is
the inward triumph which lies at the heart of the great tragedy."

       *       *       *       *       *

    O yet we trust that somehow good
      Will be the final goal of ill,
      To pangs of nature, sins of will,
    Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

    That nothing walks with aimless feet;
      That not one life shall be destroyed,
      Or cast as rubbish to the void,
    When God hath made the pile complete;

    That not a worm is cloven in vain;
      That not a moth with vain desire
      Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire,
    Or but subserves another's gain.

    Behold, we know not anything;
      I can but trust that good shall fall
      At last--far off--at last, to all,
    And every winter change to spring.

                  ALFRED TENNYSON.


If a person had been standing one night beside the railroad tracks in
Germany in the fall of 1917, he would have seen a train speeding along
through the darkness at about thirty-five miles an hour. He would have
noticed through an open window a tall soldier in the uniform of an
English flyer, a lieutenant in the R.F.C. (Royal Flying Corps), stand
up on the seat as if to get something out of the rack; and then he
would have been astounded to see the same tall English flyer come
flying out feet first through the window, to land on the side of his
head on the stone ballast of the opposite track.

Few persons could do this and come through alive. This English flyer a
few weeks before had fallen eight thousand feet, with a bullet in his
neck, when his airplane had been shot down in a fight with four German
machines. When picked up within the German lines, he was enough alive
to be taken to a hospital. The bullet was removed, and he recovered. He
was a British flyer, simply because America did not enter the war soon
enough for him, and like many other young Americans, he was eager to
fight the German beast and "save the world for democracy."

He was being taken with six other officers from a prison in Belgium to
a prison camp in Germany. He knew that, once there, his chances for
escape would be very small; and he felt he preferred death to life in a
German prison camp. He knew that, if he were not killed in his leap
from the train, the Germans would doubtless shoot him as a spy, should
they succeed in recapturing him. Some Germans wanted all Americans who
enlisted in the Allied armies to be shot, as they had shot Captain
Fryatt, on the ground that they were non-combatants attacking war
forces; for this was before America entered the war against Germany.
Besides, prisoners were not allowed to know what was going on in
Germany. An escaped prisoner who could find out was, therefore, likely
to be treated as a spy.

Pat O'Brien's cheek was cut open, and his left eye badly injured and
swollen so that he could not open it. He had scratched his hands and
wrists, and sprained his ankle. But he was hard to kill. In the
excitement caused by his jump through the car window, the Germans did
not stop the train immediately, and so did not reach the spot where he
had fallen, until he had recovered consciousness and had got away from
the track. He was careful in walking away to hold the tail of his coat
so that the blood dropping from his cheek would not fall upon the
ground and show which way he went. Before daylight he had been able to
put more than five miles between him and the tracks. He then hid in a
deep woods, knowing that he must travel by night and keep out of sight
by day, for he was wearing the uniform of a British flyer.

The story of his adventures is one of the most interesting of all the
strange and interesting stories of the World War. When he reached
England, King George sent for him to come to Buckingham Palace and
spent nearly an hour listening to it. Lieutenant O'Brien has published
it in a book which he calls "Outwitting the Hun." Boys and girls who
like an exciting story of adventure, a true story, will want to read
this book.

He knew the North Star, and by this he set his course west, in order to
reach Belgium, and then go north from Belgium to Holland. It rained a
great share of the time, but this did not make much difference, for he
had to swim so many canals and rivers that his clothes were always wet.
At first he had taken off his clothes when he had to swim and had tied
them in a bundle to his head to keep them from getting wet; but after
he lost one of his shoes in the water in this way and had to spend
nearly two hours diving before he recovered it, he swam with his
clothes and shoes on. He never could have gone on without shoes. Had
he not been a good diver, he could not have found the shoe in the mud
under eight feet of water; had he not been a good swimmer, he could not
have crossed the Meuse River, nearly half a mile wide, after many days
and nights of traveling almost without food (as it was, he dropped in a
dead faint when he reached the farther side); and had he not known the
North Star, he would have had no idea at night whether he was going in
the right direction or going in, a circle. Rainy and cloudy nights
delayed him greatly.

He did not dare ask for food at the houses in Germany, for he would
have been immediately turned over to the authorities. So he lived on
raw carrots, turnips, cabbages, sugar beets, and potatoes, which he
found in the fields. He knew he must not make a fire even if he could
do so in the Indian's way, by rubbing sticks together. He had no
matches. He found some celery one night and ate so much of it that it
made him sick. He had only the water in the canals and rivers to drink,
and most of this was really unfit for human beings. He lay for an hour
one night in a cabbage field lapping the dew from the cabbage leaves,
he was so thirsty for pure, fresh water.

One day before he reached Belgium, he was awakened from his sleep in
the woods by voices near him. He kept very quiet, and soon heard the
sound of axes and saw a great tree, not far from him, tremble. He was
lying in a clump of thick bushes and could not move without making a
noise. He knew that if the great tree with its huge branches fell in
his direction, he would surely be killed or at least pinned to the
earth and badly injured--and his capture meant that he would be shot as
a spy. But there was nothing for him to do but wait, and hope. At last
the tree began to sway, and then fell away from him instead of towards
him. He had again escaped death.

When he reached Belgium, which he did in eighteen days after his escape
through the car window, he followed the North Star, for he knew Holland
was to the north, and once in Holland he would be free. His feet were
sore and bleeding, his knees badly swollen, and he was sick from
exposure and starvation. For a while, he had a severe fever and raved
and talked all night long in his half sleeping state. He feared some
one would hear him and that he would be taken. He was weary and tired
of struggling and fighting, and ready to give up; but his will, his
soul, would not let him. He tells us how he raved when the fever was on
him, and called on the North Star to save him from the coward, Pat
O'Brien, who wanted him to quit.

He says he cried aloud, "There you are, you old North Star! You want me
to get to Holland, don't you? But this Pat O'Brien--this Pat O'Brien
who calls himself a soldier--he's got a yellow streak--North Star--and
he says it can't be done! He wants me to quit--to lie down here for
the Huns to find me and take me back to Courtrai--after all you've
done, North Star, to lead me to liberty. Won't you make this coward
leave me, North Star? I don't want to follow him--I just want to follow
you--because you--you are taking me away from the Huns and this Pat
O'Brien--this fellow who keeps after me all the time and leans on my
neck and wants me to lie down--this yellow Pat O'Brien who wants me to
go back to the Huns!"

In Belgium, he had a somewhat easier time, as far as food went, for he
found he could go to the Belgian houses and ask for it. As he could not
speak the language, and did not want them to know he was an English
soldier, he pretended he was deaf and dumb. He had finally succeeded in
getting some overalls and discarding his uniform.

Belgium was full of German soldiers, many of them living in the houses
of the Belgians, so he was obliged to use extreme care in approaching a
house to ask for food or help. Every Belgian was supposed to carry a
card, called in German an _Ausweiss_. It identified the bearer when
stopped by a German sentinel or soldier. Lieutenant O'Brien knew that
without this card he would be arrested and that his looks made him a
suspicious character. His eye had hardly healed, his face was covered
with a three weeks' beard, and altogether he was a disreputable looking

After very many interesting and exciting experiences, he succeeded in
reaching the boundary line. To prevent Belgians taking refuge in
Holland and to prevent escaped prisoners, and even German soldiers,
from crossing the line into this neutral country, where, if they were
in uniform, they would be interned for the rest of the war, the Germans
had built all along the line three barbed wire fences, six feet apart.
The center fence was charged with electricity of such a voltage that
any human being coming in contact with it would be instantly
electrocuted. This triple barrier of wire was guarded by German
sentinels day and night.

Lieutenant O'Brien reached the barrier in the night, and hid himself
when he heard the tramp of the German sentinel. He waited until the
sentinel returned and noted carefully how long he was gone, in order to
learn how much time he had in which to work.

He thought he could build a ladder out of two fallen trees by tying
branches across them, and in this way get over the ten-foot center
fence. He succeeded in getting his ladder together, by working all
night, and with it he hid in the woods all the next day. When night
came, he shoved the ladder under the first barbed wire fence and
crawled in after it. He placed it carefully up against one of the posts
to which the charged electric wires were fastened and began to climb up
it, when all of a sudden it slipped and came in contact with the live
wires. The trees out of which he had constructed it were so soaked with
water that they made good conductors of electricity, and he received
such a charge that he was thrown to the ground unconscious, where he
lay while the sentinel passed within seven feet of him.

He gave up the ladder and decided to dig under the live wires. He had
only his hands to dig with, but the ground was fairly soft. After some
hours, he had a hole deep enough and wide enough to crawl through
without touching the live wire. He found a wire running along under the
ground. He knew this could not be alive, for the ground would discharge
any electricity there might be in it. So he took hold of it and, after
much struggling, was able to get it out of the way. Then he crawled
carefully under the live wires and was a free man in Holland, for he
wore no uniform and would not be interned.

At the first village he came to, some of the Dutch people loaned him
enough money to ride third-class to Rotterdam. He said he was glad he
was not riding first-class, for he would have looked as much out of
place in a first-class compartment as a Hun would in heaven.

The English consul at Rotterdam gave him money and a passport to
England, and from there he came to see his mother, in a little town in
Illinois, called Momence.




There are many ways of fighting, and the Germans, in their forty-four
years of planning to conquer the world, thought of them all. The only
forces they neglected were the mighty forces of fairness, justice,
innocence, pity, purity, friendship, love, and other similar spiritual
forces that Americans have been taught to look upon as the greatest of

There is a force called Rumor which sometimes speaks the truth, but
which usually lies, that is a great power for evil and rarely for good.
The Germans used this with the Italian troops in Italy, sending into
their lines, by dropping them from airplanes and in other ways, all
sorts of rumors about Austria and Italy, about the coming collapse of
the Allies, about what great friends the Russians and Germans had
become when the Russians realized that it was foolish and wrong to
fight,--until the Italian soldiers lost the spirit which had carried
them over the Alps and very near to the conquest of Austria, and were
then easily defeated in the next powerful Austrian attack.

German agents spread stories through the papers of the United States to
help Germany in the eyes and minds of the American people. They bought
leading papers in Paris and one in New York to use in misleading people
as to Germany's actions and aims. They printed lies for their own
people to make them believe the war was forced on Germany, and that
they were fighting against the whole world, for their lives and for
liberty. They published cartoons in German papers in great numbers to
carry, even to those who could not read, the ideas about the war and
about her enemies that German rulers wished the people to believe.

The German leaders, in all lines, realize the power of advertising, and
they tried to fill men's eyes and ears with false statements of the
German cause. Not long ago almost any kind of advertisement was allowed
in the papers published in the United States. Pictures of a man
perfectly bald were printed side by side with others of a man with
flowing locks, all the result of a few applications of Dr. Quack's
Wonderful Hair Restorer, or some other equally good. Letters were
published, bought and paid for, often from prominent people, declaring
that two bottles (or more) of some patent medicine had made them over
from hopeless invalids to vigorous, joyous manhood or womanhood.
Falsehoods, or at least misleading statements, were given about
foodstuffs, either on the packages or in advertisements about them.

But the United States government soon put a stop to this
misrepresentation and compelled advertisers and food manufacturers not
only to stop lying, but even to print the truth; and the manufacture
and sale of things injurious to the public health were controlled. The
American people want honesty, frankness, and fair dealing in all

The Germans seem to be a different kind of people in every way. It is
to be hoped that sometime they will cease to act as manufacturers of
patent medicines and adulterated foods were accustomed to act; but as
long as Germany is after material gain, as these manufacturers were
after money, it is very likely that she will seek to get it by deceit
and lying, until the governments of the earth oblige her to be honest,
or quit business.

It is said that it takes a long time to catch a lie. It depends,
however, upon how many get after it and how swift and powerful they
are. German lies have been counted upon as a considerable part of her
fighting forces. She has spent millions of dollars and used thousands
of men in this service. Is it not strange that one little, almost
insignificant looking Dutchman, hardly heard of before the war, has
been able almost alone to defeat the money and the men used by Germany
to hoodwink the world? But this Dutchman, Louis Raemaekers, working for
the _Amsterdam Telegraf_, had for years seen through German ideas and
aims. He says, "Germany has never made any secret of her ideas or her
intentions, She has always been frank, as selfish people often are. I
have seen through the German idea for more than twenty years. A
generation ago, I saw, as every one who cared to see did, what it was
leading us to; in fact, Germany told us."

And he adds about the German people: "There is only one way to reach
the modern German. Beat him over the head. He understands nothing else.
The world must go on beating him over the head until he cries 'Enough';
or the world can never live with him."

Knowing Germany, and that German victory meant the loss of all that is
really worth while in this world, the loss of liberty, and the
destruction of any government that is what Lincoln said all governments
should be, "of the people, for the people, and by the people"--Louis
Raemaekers fought Germany with his pen and his brush, and fought her so
well that the German government offered a large reward for him dead or
alive, and a leading German writer said he had done more harm to the
Prussian cause than an armed division of Allied troops.

The _Cologne Gazette_, in a furious article dealing with Raemaekers,
declared that after the war Germany would settle accounts with Holland
and would demand payment with interest for the damage done Germany by
his cartoons.

    Taken from "Raemaekers' Cartoon History of the War," by
    permission of The Century Company.]

Some of the Dutch people feared Germany so greatly that they succeeded
in bringing Raemaekers to trial for having violated the neutrality of
Holland. German influence was strong in Holland, and Raemaekers was
hated by many of his own people; but the better sense of the Dutch
triumphed, and he was acquitted.

One of his first cartoons represented Germany in the form of the
Kaiser, wearing a German uniform and spiked helmet, with a foot upon
the body of Luxemburg and a knee upon the prostrate form of Belgium,
whom he was choking to death. He holds an uplifted sword in his hand
and is saying, "This is how I deal with the small fry."

Another shows with almost sickening force the heart-breaking suffering
of Belgian mothers, as contrasted with the cruelty and hard-heartedness
of the Huns. A Belgian woman is kneeling beside a pile of dead from her
village, with an expression of almost insane suffering upon her face. A
German officer is passing, with one hand thrust into his coat front and
a cigar in his mouth. He stops to say, "Ah! was your boy among the
twelve this morning? Then you'll find him among this lot."

A third shows a German looting a house and carrying away everything
that he thinks is of value to him. The furniture is smashed and a woman
and child lie dead on the floor. The Hun is saying, "It's all right. If
I had not done it some one else might."

A fourth shows a line of hostages standing in front of a wall to be
shot for an offense that the German officer in command claims some one
in the village committed. Those taken as hostages are innocent of wrong
doing. The cartoon shows the ends of the barrels of the German muskets
pointed at the hearts of the hostages and a German officer with his
sword raised and his lips parted to give the order to fire. It shows
but four of the hostages: an old man, probably the mayor of the town; a
white-haired priest; a well-to-do man, and his son, about fourteen
years of age. The boy is asking, "Father, what have we done?"--the cry
that went up to their Heavenly Father from thousands of martyrs in

It is no wonder that the German rulers fear this Dutch artist more than
they do a division of soldiers. His fighting against the Huns and their
atrocities and against the German nature and teaching that made these
atrocities possible will continue in every nation of the earth, as long
as printing presses furnish pictures and people look at them.

His pen or pencil wrote a language that all could read, and they spoke
the truth so that it turned all who read it against the modern Hun.

When he visited England, one of the leading papers declared that he was
a genius, probably the only genius produced by the war; and that long
after the most exciting and interesting articles in newspapers and
magazines were forgotten, and the great number of books on the war had
been lost or stowed away in dusty garrets, his cartoons would live and
stir the indignation of men yet unborn; and that Louis Raemaekers had
nailed the Kaiser to a cross of immortal infamy.

France has honored him as one of the great heroes of the war, and has
given him the Legion of Honor.

George Creel says, "He is a voice, a sword, a flame. His cartoons are
the tears of women, the battle shout of indomitable defenders, the
indignation of humanity, the sob of civilization. They will go down in

One of the wonderful painters of old Japan put so much of himself, of
his soul and heart, into every stroke of his brush that it was said,
"If a swift and keen sword should cut through his brush at work, it
would bleed."

Through the pen and brush of Louis Raemaekers has pulsed the heart
blood of suffering Belgium and horrified humanity; and for this reason,
his cartoons are inspired and move the hearts and minds of all men to
despise and condemn those who could commit such inhuman deeds.


A soldier on the firing step, aiming at the enemy, is suddenly struck;
and he drops down to the bottom of the trench. His nearest comrade must
keep on firing, but two stretcher-bearers are ready at their posts.
They rush forward, take the first-aid packet from the soldier's pocket,
cut his clothes away from the wound, and quickly dress it. They carry
him to the trench doctor, who treats the wound again. Then they take
the soldier from the trenches to the nearest field ambulance, where his
wound is again cared for.

He is so badly hurt that he needs to recover far from the sound of the
thundering cannon. But he is not so seriously injured that he cannot
stand a short journey. So he is placed, as comfortably as possible, in
an ambulance train, with skilled Red Cross nurses to attend to him. The
train arrives just in time to meet the hospital ship at the port. The
soldier is carried on board, and soon finds himself in a quiet hospital
in London--all in little more than twenty-four hours, a day and a

So thousands of men have been cared for each week, by a never-ending
line of devoted Red Cross stretcher-bearers, doctors, and nurses, on
the battlefield, on the trains, on hospital ships, and in the home
hospitals, in London, and in every fighting country in the world.

Somewhat back from the lines are the stationary hospitals, where many
soldiers are left who cannot be carried farther, but must be treated
there. "Mushroom hospitals" they are called; for, although they have
the appearance of having been there before, they really have sprung up
only since the war started. The wards are spotlessly clean, filled with
rows and rows of beds, also spotlessly clean. Beyond are the operating
rooms, baths, kitchens, and gardens filled with flowers, where the
wounded men may breathe fresh air and get back the strength which they
have so willingly lost in service. All the time, hundreds of new
patients are arriving, hundreds are leaving, either to go to more
distant hospitals, or to go back to the lines to fight.

In comes one soldier who does not see or know where he is, nor who it
was that brought him. But when at last he opens his eyes, he finds
himself in a spotlessly clean white bed for the first time in months.
He looks about, and yes, there is Bobby, his own pet collie, sitting
beside him. He had lost him when he went over the top in the fight; but
somehow Bobby had followed him here, and somebody had been kind enough
to let him stay beside his master in this clean and pleasant room.

By and by the wounded soldier grows well enough to be carried out into
the garden. There he and Bobby sit and watch the men caring for the
flowers. These men are not hired; they are wounded soldiers helping
about the hospital. The garden itself was made by a soldier who was a
gardener before the war. Every man helps with his knowledge of some
trade. The napkin rings and salt cellars used in the hospital were made
by a soldier tinsmith out of old biscuit boxes.

One day our wounded soldier becomes so well that he may walk away with
Bobby, and a nurse brings him his suit, his rifle, and all his
equipment, nicely cleansed and put in order.

So everybody does his bit in the hospitals. Dentists and
eye-specialists, surgeons and nurses, wearing the Red Cross, work
tirelessly from morning till night and sometimes both day and night, to
save the brave wounded men. They do their work as best they can,
sweetly and cheerfully, caring for the German soldiers as well as for
their own Allied soldiers. To know of them, to watch them in their work
of mercy, is to realize that there is something different from the
beast in man--there is the God in man, the spirit of love and tender,
skillful care, which they dare to give in the face of awful danger.

One of the brave nurses wrote home to America something of all she was
doing. Among many things, she said: "The Huns were pouring down in
streams to attack our men. I immediately began to get the hospital
ready to receive the wounded.

"Our surgeon was away on leave, but another equally good arrived. On
Tuesday, the wounded men began to come in. Wednesday and Thursday I
served from early morning until midnight. Bombs were bursting in the
distance, and news came that the Huns were within a few miles of us.

"A Red Cross unit came, and one English nurse arrived to help us. She
had lost the others in her party, and had walked miles to get here. It
seemed as if God had sent them all from heaven!

"All the surgical supplies that I could save from those you sent me
from the Red Cross, I had put away for emergency. I don't know what we
would have done without them!

"I had to see that the surgeons had whatever they needed, and from all
sides every one was calling for help. Through it all, I was up every
morning at four and never went to bed till midnight. The cannon were
roaring, star shells exploding, bombs dropping around us,--but nothing
touching us!

"For eight days our men fought gloriously. They were a wonder and such
a surprise to the Huns. Now perhaps they know what they have to face!

"The little hospital was able to save many, many lives. We have sent
away most of our wounded to-day, and are now waiting in suspense for
what may come next--but we are ready to do our best, whatever comes.

"We do not dare keep the seriously wounded now for any length of time,
for no one knows when the Huns may fight their way through. We know
what the 'front line' really means. No one goes in or out except by
military or Red Cross camion. No private telegrams can be sent, and to
our joy, we do not have to bother with food-ration cards, for a while
at least. _Boches_ are over our heads all day, and cannons booming. I
am so used to it now that I don't mind it.

"I am so homesick to see you all, but I will not leave my work until
the end of this horrible war, if God will give me health and strength.
Don't worry. I intend to stick to my post to the end, and if the Huns
come down upon us, the Red Cross will get us out."

Nor are these all of the ways in which the Red Cross shows the God in
man. From the beginning of the war until March, 1918, over $36,000,000
of American money alone was spent in the following ways:

    FRANCE, $30,936,103.

    Established rest stations along all routes followed by the
    American troops in France.

    Built canteens for use of French and American soldiers at the
    front, also at railroad junctions and in Paris.

    Supplied American troops with comfort kits and sent them
    Christmas gifts.

    Established a hospital-distributing service that supplies 3423
    French military hospitals, and a surgical dressing service that
    supplies 2000.

    Provided an artificial-limb factory and special plants for the
    manufacture of splints and nitrous oxide gas.

    Established a casualty service for gathering information in
    regard to wounded and missing, this information to be sent to

    Opened a children's refuge hospital in the war zone and
    established a medical and traveling center to accommodate 1200
    children in the reconquered sections of France. Fifty thousand
    children throughout France are being cared for in some measure
    by the Red Cross.

    Planned extensive reclamation work in the invaded sections of
    France from which the enemy has been driven; this work is now
    being carried out with the coöperation of the Society of Friends
    and alumnæ units from Smith College and other colleges.

    Established a large central warehouse in Paris and numerous
    warehouses at important points from the sea to the Swiss border,
    for storing of hospital supplies, food, soldiers' comforts,
    tobacco, blankets, clothing, beds, and other articles of relief.

    Secured and operated 400 motor cars for the distribution of

    Opened a hospital and convalescent home for children; also
    established an ambulance service for the adult refugees, who are
    now returning from points within the German lines at the rate of
    1000 a day.

    Improved health conditions in the American war zone before the
    coming of American troops.

    BELGIUM, .,086,131.

    Started reconstruction work in reconquered territory, supplying
    returned refugees with temporary dwellings, tools, furniture,
    farm animals, and supplies essential to giving them a fresh
    start in life.

    Appropriated $600,000 for the relief of Belgian children,
    covering their removal from territories under bombardment and
    the establishment and maintenance of them in colonies.

    Provided funds for the operation of a hospital for wounded
    Belgian soldiers and for part of the equipment of a typhoid

    ITALY, $3,588,826.

    Provided the Italian army with 60 ambulances, 40 trucks, and 100
    American drivers.

    Contracted for 10 field hospitals complete for use by the Sanita
    Militaire and the Italian Red Cross.

    Supplied 1,000,000 surgical dressings. Opened relief
    headquarters in 9 districts of Italy.

    Established a hospital for refugees at Rimini.

    Planned and made appropriations for extensive work among the
    refugees in all parts of Italy.

    ROUMANIA, .,676,368.

    Rushed more than $100,000 worth of medical supplies and
    foodstuffs into Roumania immediately after the retreat to Jassy.

    Carried general relief work into every part of the stricken
    country not invaded by the Teuton and Bulgarian forces.

    UNITED STATES, $8,589,899.

    Organized and trained 45 ambulance companies, totaling 5580 men,
    for service with American soldiers and sailors.

    Built and maintained four laboratory cars for emergency use in
    stamping out epidemics at cantonments and training camps.

    Started work of bettering sanitary conditions in the zones
    immediately surrounding the cantonments.

    Established camp service bureaus to look out for comfort and
    welfare of soldiers in training.

    Supplied 2,000,000 sweaters to soldiers and sailors.

    Mobilized 14,000 trained nurses for care of our men.

    Established a department of Home Service and opened training
    schools for workers.

    Planned convalescent houses at all cantonments and training
    camps. Increased membership from scant half million to
    approximately 22,000,000.

    For War Relief in other countries, including
      Great Britain, Russia, and Serbia                $7,581,075
    To supply food to American prisoners in
      Germany                                            $343,304
    For supplies purchased for shipment abroad        $15,000,000

The Jewish Relief Societies of this country have also forwarded large
sums of money to relieve the terrible suffering among their people in
Russia, Poland, Turkey, Palestine, and others of the war-stricken
countries. Approximately $24,000,000 was sent abroad for this purpose
during the first four years of the war.

One evening the train drew into the station of a little town in France.
It stopped long enough for half a hundred tired, dusty soldiers to gain
the platform, then puffed away out of sight. They were not the fighting
soldiers--they were engineers. The men looked about in a bewildered way
for the train with which they were supposed to connect. But it was
nowhere in sight; it had gone. They were sorry not to meet the rest of
their company, but there was nothing for them to do but remain in the
town overnight. They walked the streets, and found that every hotel,
boarding house, and private home was filled to the last cot. Thousands
of American troops were in the town, on their way to the front. The
engineers had ridden for many hours and were very hungry, but their
pockets were nearly empty.

Suddenly they stopped before a large building painted a deep blue, and
bearing the sign,

          Knights of Columbus
          Everybody Welcome.

The half a hundred men walked in, passed group after group of soldiers
and sailors, and found the secretary. Soon they were dining on Knights
of Columbus ham and eggs, without money and without price! The
secretary himself served them.

They entered the large lounging room, found tables covered with good
reading books, easy chairs and writing benches set about the room, and
a stage at the back with piano, victrola, and a moving picture screen.

So when they least expected it, but most wanted it, they found a place
that seemed like home. Knights of Comfort, the Knights of Columbus have
been called, and comfort they have given to thousands of soldiers and
sailors. About $50,000,000 has been raised by the society for one year
of such good work.

Almost on the very battleground is another source of comfort to the
fighting men,--the little huts with the sign of the Red Triangle,--the
Y.M.C.A. There is hardly one American home which has not received from
some soldier a letter on paper marked with the little red triangle.
Thousands have been written at the benches inside the huts, and
thousands of books and magazines found in the huts have been read in
spare time by the soldier lads.

Usually only the paper for letter writing is furnished at the huts, and
the men buy their postage stamps. Often fifty to a hundred men are in
line to purchase stamps, so that at times the secretary heaves a sigh
of relief when at last he has to hang up the sign "Stamps All Out." In
one hut as many as three thousand letters have been handled in one day,
besides parcel-post packages, registered letters, and money-orders.

The United States government has realized the valuable services of the
society and recognized it officially, permitting its men to wear the
uniform, and to accompany the soldiers right into the trenches.

Often before and always after the men go into battle, the "Y" workers
bring up great kettles of hot chocolate and a store of biscuit. This is
a godsend to the men who have been fighting for hours with little, if
anything, to eat.

Passing over the battlefield, the workers write down messages from
wounded and dying men, to be sent to their relatives. They learn all
they can about those who have been taken prisoners, and so bring
comfort to the people at home.

The secretaries send to the United States free of charge money from
the soldiers to their home folks. In one month, a million dollars was
brought to the Y.M.C.A. with the simple instructions that it be
delivered to addresses given by the soldiers. The controller of the New
York Life Insurance Company in France has had charge of this.

The association has nearly 400 motor trucks engaged in various kinds of
transport work. It aids greatly in caring for and entertaining the
soldiers, as many as 4000 of them at a time. It has opened many hotels
in France, four of them in Paris, and owns several factories for the
making of chocolate. It holds religious services for the men, providing
preachers of all the different faiths. So it, too, shares in the
godlike services of the Red Cross and Knights of Columbus.

Near the trenches and at training camps, other work has been done
similar to that of the Y.M.C.A. and Knights of Columbus, by the
Salvation Army. The soldier boys have especially enjoyed the doughnuts
and pies furnished them by this society.

It has, it is said, placed 153 comfort and refreshment huts at the
front in Europe, and is building many more. It maintains about 80
military homes, caring for about 100,000 men each week. It operates
nearly 50 ambulances. Over 700 of its members are devoting their lives
to war work in the trenches and at the camps. It was the first, it is
said, of the societies of mercy at the front, and spent for the work
mentioned $1,000,000, all made up of nickels and dimes of small givers,
before the society made any "drive" for funds.

Letters from officials, friends, and soldier boys tell what glorious
work these and other similar societies have done and are doing. They
bring a little touch of heaven into the very worst places and
conditions, and show the God in man.


    In Flanders fields the poppies blow
    Between the crosses, row on row,
    That mark our place; and in the sky
    The larks still bravely singing, fly
    Scarce heard amid the guns below.

    We are the Dead. Short days ago
    We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
    Loved and were loved, and now we lie
        In Flanders fields.

    Take up our quarrel with the foe:
    To you from failing hands we throw
    The torch; be yours to hold it high.
    If ye break faith with us who die
    We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
        In Flanders fields.



The story of the World War is the story of the control of the sea by
the Allies, of land fighting on two fronts, the western and the
eastern, and of separate scattered campaigns in Africa and Asia.


Here the war really began and here it seems likely to be decided and
ended. The Germans who planned the war were ready and, using their
railroads built for that purpose, rushed their armies to the Belgian
border before France had hardly begun to mobilize. Luxemburg was
overrun at once and Belgium invaded. The brave Belgians under General
Leman held up the advance for several days at Liége and saved France
and western civilization. The Huns soon occupied nearly all of Belgium,
taking Brussels on August 20 and Antwerp on October 9.

They pushed on directly toward Paris, driving the British who had been
landed, the Belgians, and the French, before them. They advanced to
within twenty miles of Paris, near Meaux on the Marne, and were there
defeated September 5-10, 1914, and forced to retreat to the Aisne,
where they entrenched themselves.

The Germans had driven the British south by constantly threatening to
outflank them, and there had been a race to the gates of Paris. Now the
British turned the tables and, in attempting to outflank the Germans,
there was a race away from Paris to the North Sea, with the final
result that the enemies were lined up opposite each other, from
Switzerland near the German border to the coast between Dunkirk and

Until 1918 trench warfare continued. The Germans sought to drive the
English out of Ypres, but did not succeed. In one of these attacks on
April 22, 1915, gas was used for the first time.

The British and French won a great victory on the Somme, July, 1916,
taking nearly 75,000 prisoners. This battle is recognized as one of the
turning points of the war, for it caused the extensive retreat of the
Germans the following spring. The Huns devastated the territory from
which they retreated more completely and mercilessly than any army,
even barbarians, had ever done before in the history of the world. The
British attempted to capture Lille and the bases of the German
submarines on the Belgian coast at Ostend and Zeebrugge, but were

In November, 1917, General Byng, in a surprise attack in which for the
first time a large number of tanks were used, broke the famous
Hindenburg line of trenches and captured 8000 Germans. He soon lost
all the territory he had gained and many men, through being surprised
himself by attacks on both sides of the pocket or salient which he had
pushed into the German lines.

The Battle of the Somme referred to above was intended to relieve the
terrible pressure of the Germans on the French forts at Verdun. The
German Crown Prince had attacked these in July, 1916, determined to
break through at whatever cost. But the soul of France rose to the
occasion and declared, "They shall not pass!" The Battle of Verdun
lasted from July until December, 1916. The Germans lost half a million
men, _but they did not pass_. Before many months every vantage point
which the Germans had won was back in French hands.

In 1917, the French pushed the Germans back between Rheims and Soissons
to the Ailette River, where they remained until the Second Battle of
the Marne, July, 1918.

Little of importance happened during the winter of 1917 and 1918, and
Germany, with Russia out of the way, prepared to deliver a final blow
and win the war, before American troops should arrive in force. The
Germans, with large numbers of troops from the eastern front, were so
confident, that great fear was felt among the Allies that America would
be too late.

The German plan as it unfolded itself was to attack, wave after wave,
with tremendous numbers of men; to use great quantities of a new and
more terrible gas; to pay no attention to losses, but to break through
where the French and English lines joined; then to push the French
south towards Paris and the English north towards the sea. They
expected to take Amiens, forty miles from the mouth of the Somme, and
to push down the river to the sea. With the broad river between them
and the French, a small force could keep the French from crossing,
while the great German army captured or destroyed the British, who
would be hemmed in by the sea.

The attack was launched on March 21 over a front of fifty miles and it
nearly succeeded. It brought the Germans to within six miles of Amiens,
which would have been captured if the English on Vimy Ridge had not
prevented them by holding the German line from advancing. The Germans
waited a month, planning an attack which should capture Vimy Ridge and
prepare the way for the capture of Amiens. In this they were

Not being able to divide the armies of the French and English or to
take the Channel ports, they turned in May toward Paris. They attacked
in tremendous force between Rheims and Soissons and pushed forward
thirty-two miles to the Marne. On July 15 they launched another great
offensive over a front of fifty miles from east of Rheims to west of
Château-Thierry. They crossed the Marne and were making some progress
when, on July 18, the French and Americans struck them on the flank
between Soissons and Château-Thierry. The Germans were forced to
retreat, having lost 220,000 men, hundreds of guns, and vast stores.

At this time over 1,000,000 American soldiers were in France. They
arrived in time and showed themselves "the bravest of the brave." One
of the American units was granted, for its bravery in the Second Battle
of the Marne, the only regimental decoration ever awarded by France to
a foreign regiment; and the French commander bestowed upon one division
the most thrilling praise. "They showed," he said, "discipline that
filled the Germans with surprise. They marched with officers at the
sides and with closed ranks exactly like veteran French troops."

Italy began operations against Austria in May, 1915. For more than two
years, she advanced over almost impassable mountain ranges to the
reconquest of the territory Austria had stolen from her. Then, in
October, 1917, Italy met with a terrible disaster; she lost 180,000 men
and was driven back to the river Piave and to within fifteen miles of
Venice. This costly defeat was due partly to lack of supplies which her
allies should have furnished her; partly to printed lies dropped from
Austrian airplanes among the Italian soldiers telling of the wonderful
peace and liberty that had come to Russia, where Germans and Russians
were like brothers; and partly to the mistake of Italy and her
commanders. It resulted in making all the Allies realize that they
could not succeed separately but must work together as one, if they
were going to win; and in the appointment of General Ferdinand Foch as
commander in chief of all the allied forces in the West, including
European Russia.

In the spring of 1918, the Austrians, at Germany's command, renewed
their attack and succeeded in crossing the Piave, which in its upper
reaches towards the mountains was almost a dry river bed. They waited
until, as they supposed, the mountain snows had melted. After many of
them were across and after they had been checked on the western bank by
the Italians, they attempted to recross the river. In the meantime
floods had poured down from the mountains changing the dry bed into a
rushing river, deep and broad, in which thousands of the Austrians were
lost. Austria was able to make no further effort.


Russia was the first of the Great Powers among the Allies to enter the
war, but Germany did not count upon her remaining in it long. German
influence, especially that of the German Socialists with the uneducated
Russians, was so strong that the Kaiser expected a revolution long
before it happened. The Russian leaders were self-seeking, and the Tsar
and his advisers were lacking in ability and force. The Germans
thought Russia would collapse very soon, and thus leave Germany free to
turn and conquer France; after which they could settle with England,
and then with the United States.

Until the close of 1916, the Russian armies gave the Germans fierce
opposition except when, through treachery of the officers of the
government, supplies and ammunition were withheld and the soldiers had
to fight cannon, machine guns, and rifles with the butts of their
muskets. Of course the Russians were driven back, but not until they
had come within one hundred and eighty-five miles of Berlin, which was
the nearest approach of an enemy army during the first four years of
the war.

In the fall of 1914, the Russian armies suffered through treachery a
terrible defeat near Tannenberg in the Masurian Lake region of East
Prussia, but the great leader of their armies farther south, Grand Duke
Nicholas, invaded Austria, capturing stronghold after stronghold until
treachery of Russian officials forced him to retreat. The retreat of
his armies was conducted in so masterly a manner that it has ranked him
as one of the great generals of the World War.

As soon as German money and German lies had undermined the directing
forces at the Russian capital, it was an easy matter for German armies
to overrun Russian Poland, to capture Warsaw and the great Russian
fortresses, and to advance as far north as Riga.

Then in the spring of 1917 came the revolution, when the Duma refused
to obey the order of the Tsar. The soldiers sided with the people; the
Tsar was thrown into prison, to be shot more than a year later. Germany
made a "peace drive," and soon had the entire Russian army ready to
quit. Leaders in the service of Germany, like Lenine, used dreamers
like Trotsky to help on the breaking up of Russia. Kerensky, who had
been chosen to lead the government after the first revolution, was
deposed and obliged to flee the country as the result of a second
revolution by soldiers, sailors, and workmen. Lenine became Prime
Minister and Trotsky, Foreign Minister. Then the way was clear for
Germany to work her will. Agreeing to all proposals, she led the
_Bolsheviki_, which means "the majority," into such a situation that
they were powerless. Then throwing aside all her agreements, she forced
them to sign the disgraceful treaty of peace at Brest-Litovsk. It broke
up a portion of the old Russia into several nations or independent
provinces, which separated the Russia that remained entirely from the
rest of Europe. The provinces, Ukraine, Poland, Finland, Esthonia,
Livonia, Courland, and Lithuania were really dependencies of Germany.
Turkey was also rewarded by receiving a part of Transcaucasia, which
Germany later attempted to take from her.

The Germans promised not to use soldiers from the eastern front against
Russia's former allies in the West; but this promise was only another
"scrap of paper," and she transferred vast numbers to the front in
Italy and in France and, by their help, nearly won her great drives of

When Russia collapsed and made peace with the Central Powers, Roumania,
who entered the war on the side of the Allies, August 27, 1916, was
left entirely surrounded by enemies and, to save herself from the fate
of Belgium and Serbia, was obliged to consent to peace terms offered by
Germany. She ceded a large part of her territory south of the Danube to
Bulgaria, who had joined the Central Powers "for what she could get out
of it," on October 4, 1915. Bulgaria's king is called "The Fox of the
Balkans" and looks upon agreements, treaties, and honesty in the German
manner. Like the Germans, all his acts show that he believes "might is
right" and that any act is justified if necessary to his success.


In the spring of 1915, English and French fleets attempted to force the
Dardanelles, but failed. Had the straits been opened and Constantinople
taken, Russia would probably have been saved and the war shortened.
Many believe now that a mistake was made in not sacrificing the ships
necessary to force the straits and to capture Constantinople, but at
the time the French and British leaders were unwilling to make the
sacrifice. Troops had been landed at Gallipoli to assist the fleets,
but they were withdrawn in January, 1916.

England sent an expedition from the Persian Gulf to capture Bagdad in
the fall of 1914. It was small in numbers and suffered some reverses,
but succeeded in capturing the city on March 11, 1917.

When Turkey entered the war on the side of the Central Powers, the
Germans hoped to stir up a religious war, uniting all the Mohammedans
in the East under the lead of Turkey, against the Christian nations.
All Mohammedans, however, do not recognize the Sultan of Turkey as
their leader, and the King of Hedjaz revolted against Turkey in June,
1916. Hedjaz includes all the Arab tribes between the Tigris on the
east and Syria on the west. Arabia forms the largest part of the
territory of this kingdom.

With the assistance of the King of Hedjaz, the English have been able,
by advancing across the Sinai Desert, to capture Jerusalem. Jerusalem,
the Holy City of the Christians, has been in Mohammedan hands, except
for two short periods, for seven hundred and thirty years. The Crusades
were fought to take it from them, and ever since, Christians have
mourned that it had to be left in the hands of the Moslems. It probably
will never again pass from the control of Christian nations.

Japan entered the war early, August 23, 1914, as an ally of Great
Britain and, on November 7, had taken the only German colony in China,
Tsingtau. Germany had forced this from China, as punishment for the
murder of two German missionaries. Japan and Australia soon captured
all the German possessions in the Pacific, and Great Britain all the
German colonies in Africa, leaving Germany without a single colonial


The Kaiser is reported to have said, "Germany's future lies on the
sea"; and it seems as if the control of the sea by the Allies has
really determined her future, for had the Central Powers controlled the
sea, they would have won the war.

By the wise foresight of those directing the movements of the British
navy, the Grand Fleet, numbering about four hundred vessels, had been
assembled for inspection just before the war broke out, and they were
ready, when England entered the war, to move to ports from which they
could attack the Germans, if the latter should decide to send out their
fleet. The Grand Fleet has all through the war remained hidden, and,
like some invisible power, is protecting the freedom of the world.
Hundreds of swift scout ships keep watch ready to report every move of
the enemy. Only once has Germany come out in force, to be driven back
to shelter, defeated, in the Battle of Jutland, May 31, and June 1,

Germany placed her hopes in the submarine, but she has had little
chance to use it against English war vessels. She also scattered mines
upon the high seas in violation of the laws of war and of nations. One
of these mines on June 5, 1916, sank the British cruiser _Hampshire_,
which was carrying Lord Kitchener to Russia. Lord Kitchener and his
staff were lost.

Germany used every power in her hands to win, never hesitating to set
aside the laws of nations or the opinions of civilized men. So she
turned her submarines against merchant ships in violation of
international law. The sinking of the _Lusitania_ was the first great
shock to the United States. President Wilson protested on behalf of the
American people, and after other merchant vessels had been sunk and
more American lives lost, Germany was given her choice of a break with
America or of promising that she would give up her submarine attacks
without warning upon merchant ships. Germany promised to do so, but
made this promise, as the United States learned later, only to give her
time to build enough submarines to starve out England in a year or less
by using them against merchant ships in violation of her agreement with
the United States. It was only another "scrap of paper."

So America entered the war April 6, 1917, and at once the danger from
submarines began to grow less, for American destroyers, combined with
those of the other Allies, soon were sinking submarines faster than
Germany could build them, and American shipyards began to turn out
merchant ships in such unheard-of numbers that the sinking of a few
ships each month became a minor matter. At the close of the fourth year
of the war, an English writer said of what America had done in one

    It would be idle to recount here what America has done. But for
    what she has done the heart of every Briton beats with
    gratitude. There is physical evidence of it over here. American
    soldiers throng the streets. American sailors gather in our
    ports. American naval vessels are scouring our home waters in
    fullest coöperation with the British and French and have reduced
    the destruction by submarine pirates by more than half what it
    was one year ago. On land they are fighting with the Allies the
    battles of civilization and dying for its ideals, and the
    fondest wish of every patriot both here and in France is that
    the community of feeling thus cemented in blood will never pass

In October, 1918, there were about two million American soldiers in
France. They had made possible the great victories, beginning with the
Second Battle of the Marne, by which all the German gains of 1918 were
wiped out and the St. Mihiel salient recovered. The Huns had held this
salient since 1914. Its capture was a brilliant victory for the
American army under General Pershing. It was accomplished in
twenty-seven hours.

King George of England wired President Wilson as follows:

    London, Sept. 14, 1918.

    On behalf of the British Empire, I heartily congratulate you on
    the brilliant achievement of the American and Allied troops
    under the leadership of General Pershing in the St. Mihiel

    The far-reaching results secured by these successful operations,
    which have marked the active intervention of the American army
    on a great scale under its own administration, are the happiest
    augury for the complete, and, I hope, not far-distant triumph of
    the Allied cause.

President Wilson cabled to General Pershing:

    Please accept my warmest congratulations on the brilliant
    achievements of the army under your command. The boys have done
    what we expected of them and done it in the way we most admire.

    We are deeply proud of them and of their chief. Please convey to
    all concerned my grateful and affectionate thanks.

Frank H. Simonds, the famous military critic, says:

    In our own national history, therefore, as in world history, the
    Battle of St. Mihiel will have an enduring place. To the world
    it announced the arrival of America in her appointed place in
    the battle line of civilization.... The road from Concord Bridge
    to the heights above the Meuse is long, but it runs straight,
    and along it men are still led by the same love of liberty and
    service of democracy which was revealed in our first battle
    morning nearly a century and a half ago.

At the beginning of October, 1918, the Allies were everywhere
successful, in Palestine, in the Balkans, in northern Russia, in
Siberia, and on the western front. The world was proving again that
deceit and violence always lose in the long run.


In July, 1918, the western battle line, running from the North Sea to
Switzerland, was, in general, a huge curve bending into France. Germany
had been working on interior lines on this western front--that is, as
her forces were needed to defend or to attack, she moved them from
place to place on the inside of the circle. The Allies were obliged to
work on the outside of the circle and were therefore at a considerable

Then, too, the Germans had the initiative, that is, they could
determine when and where to attack, while the Allies in 1918, up to
July 18, were having all they could attend to in defending themselves
and preventing a serious break in their lines.

With July 18, 1918, all this was changed. The Allied forces were now
under the direction of a single commander, Marshal Foch, one of the
great military geniuses of all time. His plan was to strike at a
weakened point; then, when the Germans had rushed reinforcements to
ward off the danger, to strike at some other point in the line and thus
use up the German reserves; and to give the German commanders no time
to prepare an offensive on a large scale. The German by nature seems to
think that size determines victory. The big things seem to him the
things that are effective and that win. So his offensives were planned
on a great scale and required months of preparation; and after one
offensive had been stopped, he required more months of comparative rest
to plan and prepare another. The French nature is different; it is
subtle, deft, and skillful, and by repeated strokes of less force,
often accomplishes what the German fails to do with one mighty blow. In
riveting the plates on a ship, or in joining the framework of a steel
skyscraper, a riveting machine is used which, by very rapidly repeated
blows, does the work quickly and well. Somewhat in this way did Marshal
Foch strike the German line, now in this spot, now in that, capturing
or putting out of action large numbers of German troops, outflanking
first one strategic point and then another. As a consequence, the
German line was obliged to draw back and back to prevent the Allies
from breaking through and attacking the German supply trains coming up
in the rear with food and munitions.

West of Verdun the Germans had come into Belgium and France along the
line of the Meuse through Liége and Namur, and across Luxemburg by the
main railway through Sedan. Could either of these great lines of
communication be captured, the Germans would be unable to withdraw to
their own territory without terrible losses, if at all; for between
their armies and Germany lay the great forest region of Ardennes with
but few roads. Two millions of men could not retreat through this
region without leaving guns and munitions behind and their retreat
becoming a rout.

From Verdun the Meuse River runs north and west to Sedan and to the
railroad which extended from the German lines through Luxemburg to
Germany. Marshal Foch honored General Pershing and the American troops
by assigning to them the difficult task of advancing from Verdun
through the valley of the Meuse to Sedan. The story of the fighting of
the Americans in this advance is a story glowing with deeds of heroism
and of reckless daring, a story of the overcoming of almost impossible
difficulties and of final victory. At Sedan in 1870, the Germans
humbled the French and decided the Franco-Prussian War. It is a strange
turn of history that, with the capture of Sedan from the Germans in
1918, the World War was practically decided and ended.

The Allied army from Salonica, with the help of the Serbians, had
conquered Bulgaria late in September, and she had surrendered
unconditionally, thus cutting off Germany and Austria from
communication with their ally, Turkey. General Allenby's conquest of
Palestine and occupation of Aleppo brought Turkey to realize that she
was helpless. She surrendered the last of October. Then the
strengthened and refreshed Italian army attacked the Austrians on the
Piave in Italy and won perhaps the most complete victory of the war on
the western front, capturing over five hundred thousand prisoners and
completely breaking Austria's power for further resistance. Austria
surrendered on November 4.

Thus Germany was left alone, open to attack on her southern and eastern
fronts, while being hopelessly beaten in the west. She asked President
Wilson to secure an armistice from the Allied nations. The President
had declared earlier in the war that we would never deal with the
Kaiser and the autocratic rulers of Germany who had repeatedly broken
their word to us and to other nations. The German people, aware of this
fact, were taking things into their own hands, and the German
Revolution had really begun.

The German Chancellor informed President Wilson that Germany had
changed its form of government and was now being ruled by those
responsible to the German people, and that the German government was
willing to make peace on the basis of President Wilson's Fourteen
Points, as stated on January 8, 1918, and of his later declarations,
particularly that of September 27, 1918.

After some correspondence, the President referred the German government
to Marshal Foch. Envoys were sent from Spa, the German headquarters,
under flag of truce to the headquarters of Marshal Foch in a railroad
car near Senlis. The terms of the armistice made it absolutely
impossible for Germany to renew the war after the cessation of
hostilities, for she was obliged to evacuate all invaded territory, to
remove all her troops twenty miles back from the Rhine, and to give the
control of the river and its crossings to the Allies. She was also
forced to surrender vast quantities of large and small guns, two
thousand air-planes, all her submarines, and the greater part of her
navy. She was practically to give over the control of her railways and
shipping to the Allies and to renounce the unfair treaties with Russia
and Roumania. Alsace-Lorraine was to be returned to France, and Belgium
and northern France restored. The armistice was signed by the Germans
on November 11, 1918. It has been called the most complete surrender
ever known, but Germany had no choice, for her armies were defeated and
her navy had no hope in a battle against the overwhelming odds of the

_Der Tag_ or "The Day" for which haughty Germans had hoped, had come,
but how different from the day they had imagined! When the white flag
of truce was raised on the German battle line, the red flag of
revolution was unfurled in Berlin and other German cities. The Kaiser
had abdicated, the Crown Prince had renounced his right to the throne,
and both had taken refuge in Holland. Other German kings were
abdicating and royal princes were fleeing for safety.

Great celebrations were held in the Allied countries. It seemed as if
the people in the great cities of America had gone wild with joy.
President Wilson appeared in the hall of the national House of
Representatives at one o'clock on the afternoon of Monday, November 11,
and announced the signing of the armistice and its terms and the
conclusion of the war. He asked America to show a spirit of helpfulness
rather than one of revenge toward the conquered Germans, concluding his
message as follows:

    The present and all that it holds belongs to the nations and the
    peoples who preserve their self-control and the orderly
    processes of their governments; the future to those who prove
    themselves the true friends of mankind. To conquer with arms is
    to make only a temporary conquest. I am confident that the
    nations that have learned the discipline of freedom and that
    have settled with self-possession to its ordered practice are
    now about to make conquest of the world by the sheer power of
    example and of friendly helpfulness.

    The peoples who have but just come out from under the yoke of
    arbitrary government and who are now coming at last into their
    freedom, will never find the treasures of liberty they are in
    search of if they look for them by the light of the torch. They
    will find that every pathway that is stained with blood of their
    own brothers leads to the wilderness, not to the seat of their
    hope. They are now face to face with their initial test. We must
    hold the light steady until they find themselves. And in the
    meantime, if it be possible, we must establish a peace that will
    justly define their place among the nations, remove all fear of
    their neighbors and of their former masters, and enable them to
    live in security and contentment when they have set their own
    affairs in order. I, for one, do not doubt their purpose or
    their capacity. There are some happy signs that they know and
    will choose the way of self-control and peaceful accommodation.
    If they do, we shall put our aid at their disposal in every way
    that we can. If they do not, we must await with patience and
    sympathy the awakening and recovery that will assuredly come at

To the people of the United States he sent the following message:

    My Fellow Countrymen: The armistice was signed this morning.
    Everything for which America fought has been accomplished. It
    will now be our fortunate duty to assist, by example, by sober,
    friendly council, and by material aid, in the establishment of
    just democracy throughout the world.

                                             WOODROW WILSON.

No one can foretell all that this victory, won through the most
terrible suffering and sacrifice the world has ever been called upon to
bear, means to mankind; but we know it means a new day and a new
opportunity for millions of down-trodden men and women in all parts of
the world. It means giving a new world of democracy and equality of
opportunity to those who never dreamed this possible, except by leaving
their native lands and coming to America. It means bringing all that
America means to us to races that for centuries have lived without
hope. It means the downfall and the punishment of those who would
selfishly rise by the persecution and suffering of others. It means
that in the end right must always conquer might.


I believe there is no permanent greatness to a nation except it be
based upon morality. I do not care for military greatness or military
renown. I care for the condition of the people among whom I live.
Crowns, coronets, mitres, military display, the pomp of war, wide
colonies, and a huge empire are in my view all trifles, light as air
and not worth considering, unless with them you can have a fair share
of comfort, contentment, and happiness among the great body of the
people. Palaces, baronial castles, great halls, stately mansions, do
not make a nation. The nation in every country dwells in the cottage.

I ask you then to believe, as I do most devoutly believe, that the
moral law was not written for men alone in their individual character,
but that it was written as well for nations.

If nations reject and deride that moral law, there is a penalty which
will inevitably follow. It may not come at once, it may not come in our
life-time; but rely upon it, the great Italian is not a poet only, but
a prophet, when he says:

    The sword of heaven is not in haste to smite,
          Nor yet doth linger.

              JOHN BRIGHT.


Foreign sounds which cannot be exactly reproduced in English are
represented by their nearest English equivalents.

  +Aerschot+ (är´skŏt)
  +Ailette+ (ail ĕt´)
  +Aisne+ (ain)
  +Aix-la-Chapelle+ (aiks´-lȧ-shȧ pel´)
  +Alsace+ (ȧl säss´)
  +Amiens+ (ȧ mee ăng´)
  +Ancre+ (äng´kr)
  +Andenne+ (äng dĕn´)
  +Aonzo+ (ä ōn´zō)
  +Arras+ (ȧ räss´)
  +Ausweiss+ (ows´vīz)
  +Auteuil+ (ō ter´yẽ)

  +Battice+ (bat tees´)
  +Belfort+ (bĕl fōr´)
  +Belloy-en-Santerre+ (bel wä´-äng-säng tair´)
  +Bernstorff+ (berns´torf)
  +Bethmann-Hollweg+ (bait´man-holl´vaik)
  +Boche+ (bŏsh)
  +Boelke+ (bāl´kẽ)
  +Boers+ (bo͞ors)
  +Bolsheviki+ (bol shay´vee kee´)
  +Bonnier+ (bon ee ay´)
  +Bordeaux+ (bor dō´)
  +Bouée+ (bo͞o ay´)
  +Boulogne+ (bo͞o lōn´)
  +Brest-Litovsk+ (brĕst´-lyĕ tŏfsk´)
  +Bruges+ (breezh)
  +Brussels+ (brŭs´elz)
  +Buccari+ (bo͝ok kä´ree)
  +Bueken+ (bee´kĕn)
  +Bülow+ (bee´lō)

  +Calais+ (kȧ lay´)
  +Cambrai+ (kam bray´)
  +Carnegie+ (kär nĕg´ĭ)
  +Castelnau+ (kȧs tel nō´)
  +Celle+ (tsel´ẽ)
  +Châlons+ (shä long´)
  +Champagne+ (sham pain´)
  +Chandos+ (chan´dŏs)
  +Charleroi+ (shär lẽ rwä´)
  +Château-Thierry+ (shä tō´-tee ẽ ree´)
  +Chaudfontaine+ (shōd fong tain´)
  +Chillon+ (shee yŏng´)
  +Cologne+ (kō lōn´)
  +Courtrai+ (ko͞or tray´)

  +D'Annunzio+ (dȧ no͝on´tsiō)
  +De Bussy+ (dẽ bee´see)
  +Deutschland über Alles+ (doich´lant ee´ber äl´ẽs)
  +Devon+ (dĕv´ŭn)
  +Dinant+ (dee näng´)
  +Dixmude+ (diks meed´)
  +Dniester+ (nees´ter)
  +Douaumont+ (do͞o ȧ mong´)
  +Du Guesclin+ (dee gay klăng´)
  +Dunajec+ (do͞on´ȧ yeck)
  +Dürer+ (dee´rer)
  +Duruy+ (dee ree ee´)

  +École+ (ay kol´)
  +Embourg+ (em bo͝ork´)
  +Épinal+ (ay pee näl´)
  +Evegnée+ (ĕ vain yay´)

  +Foch+ (fŏsh)
  +franc-tireur+ (fräng-tee rer´)

  +Gallipoli+ (gal lip´o lee)
  +Gemmenich+ (ḡĕm men´ik)
  +Genet+ (zhĕ nay´)
  +Gheluvelt+ (hay lee´velt)
  +Ghent+ (ḡĕnt)
  +Grietchen+ (greet´shĕn)
  +Guynemer+ (gwee nay may´)

  +Hague+ (haig)
  +Havre+ (äv´r')
  +Hedjaz+ (hej äz´)
  +Herve+ (herv)
  +Hotel de Ville+ (o tel´dẽ veel´)
  +Huerta+ (wair´tä)

  +Jagow+ (yä´gow)
  +Jaroslav+ (yä rō släv´)
  +Jassy+ (yäs´sy)
  +Jeanne d'Arc+ (zhän dark´)
  +Jeanniot+ (zhän nee ō´)
  +Joffre+ (zhōff)
  +Junkers+ (yo͞ong´kers)

  +Kharkov+ (kär´kŏf)
  +Kiaochau+ (kee ow´chow)
  +Krupp+ (kro͝op)
  +Kultur+ (ko͝ol to͞or´)

  +Leman+ (lee´man)
  +Lens+ (läng)
  +Lichnowsky+ (lish nov´skee)
  +Liége+ (lee aizh´)
  +Lille+ (leel)
  +Loire+ (lwär)
  +Loncin+ (long săng´)
  +Lorraine+ (lō rain´)
  +Loti, Pierre+ (lō tee´, pee air´)
  +Louvain+ (lo͞o văng´)
  +Lycée+ (lee say´)

  +Maas+ (mäs)
  +Madero+ (mä day´rō)
  +Magdeburg+ (mäg´dĕ bo͝ork)
  +Malines+ (mȧ leen´)
  +Manoury+ (mȧ no͞o´ry)
  +Marne+ (märn)
  +Marseillaise+ (mär sĕ lāz´)
  +Meaux+ (mō)
  +Mercier+ (mer seeay´)
  +Meuse+ (merz)
  +Mignon+ (meen yong´)
  +Millerand+ (meel räng´)
  +Mindanao+ (meen dä nä´ō)
  +Mons+ (mongs)
  +mooshiki+ (mo͞o shee kee´)
  +Moselle+ (mō zĕl´)
  +Munsterlagen+ (mun ster lä´gen)

  +Namur+ (nȧ meer´)
  +noblesse oblige+ (no blĕs´ ō bleezh´)
  +Notre Dame+ (nō tr' dȧm´)

  +Ostend+ (ŏs tend´)
  +Ourcq+ (o͞ork)

  +Pau+ (pō)
  +Piave+ (pee ä´vay)
  +poilu+ (pwä lee´)
  +Poincaré+ (pwäng´kȧ ray´)
  +Poiret+ (pwȧ ray´)
  +Provençe+ (prō vängs´)

  +Raemaekers+ (rä mä´kers)
  +Rasputin+ (rȧs pū´tin)
  +Reichstag+ (rīchs´täk)
  +retournment+ (rĕ to͝orn mäng´)
  +Rheims+ (reemz)
  +Richthofen+ (rikt´hō fen)
  +Rivesaltes+ (reev sȧlt´)
  +Rizzo, Luigi+ (reet´so, lo͞o ee´jee)

  +St. Mihiel+ (săng´mee yĕl´)
  +Saint Pierre+ (săng pee air´)
  +Saint Quentin+ (săng käng tăng´)
  +Sarrail+ (sȧr rȧ´yẽ)
  +Scyros+ (sī´rŏs)
  +Seine+ (sain)
  +Seraing+ (ser răng´)
  +Soissons+ (swä sŏng´)
  +Somme+ (sŏm)

  +Tamines+ (tȧ meen´)
  +Toul+ (to͞ol)
  +Tours+ (to͞or)
  +Tsingchau+ (tsing´chow)

  +Uhlan+ (o͞o´län)

  +Vaux+ (vō)
  +Verdun+ (vĕr dŭng´)
  +Vesle+ (vail)
  +Villa+ (veel´yä)
  +Vimy+ (vee´mee)
  +Vise+ (vees)
  +Viva l'Italia+ (vee´vȧ lee tȧ´lee ȧ)
  +Vive la France+ (veev´lȧ fränts´)
  +Vladivostok+ (vlä dee väs tŏk´)
  +Von Diederichs+ (fōn dee´der iks)
  +Von Kluck+ (fōn klo͞ok)
  +vrille+ (vree´yẽ)

  +Wackerzeel+ (vȧk´er tsail´)
  +Werchter+ (verk´ter)

  +Ypres+ (ee´pr')
  +Yser+ (ee say´)

  +Zeebrugge+ (tsay bro͝og´ẽ)


    What do they reck who sit aloof on thrones,
      Or in the chambered chancelleries apart,
      Playing the game of state with subtle art,
    If so be they may win, what wretched groans
    Rise from red fields, what unrecorded bones
      Bleach within shallow graves, what bitter smart
      Pierces the widowed or the orphaned heart--
    The unhooded horror for which naught atones!

    A word, a pen-stroke, and this might not be!
    But vengeance, power-lust, festering jealousy
      Triumph, and grim carnage stalks abroad.
    Hark! Hear that ominous bugle on the wind!
    And they who might have stayed it, shall they find
      No reckoning within the courts of God?


       *       *       *       *       *

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