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yond Compiègne, where Rudyard Kip- sacks tied around the shoulders. The ling with his family and I with my family troops of cavalry, the teams of mules and had passed the Christmas week of 1913 horses dragging munition-wagons or travtogether, as joyous guests of the Ameri- elling kitchens or long “75” guns, clatcan châtelaine Mrs. Julia Park. She has tered along the iron surface of the Via given the spacious, lovely house for a Sacra—that blessed road which made the military hospital. And there, while the salvation of Verdun possible after the German guns thundered a few kilometres only railway was destroyed. Endless away from us and a German sausage bal- trains of motor-lorries lumbered by. The loon floated in the sky, I watched the narrow trenches were coated with ice. skilful ministrations of French and Amer- The hillside trails were slippery as glass. ican doctors and nurses to the wounded. In the deep dugouts small sheet-iron One thought haunted me—the memory of stoves were burning, giving out a little Kipling's only son, nineteen years old, heat and a great deal of choking smoke. who was with us in that happy Christmas- The soldiers sat around them playing tide. The lad was reported "missing" cards or telling stories. after one of the battles between Loos and But there! What I saw in that shellHulluch. For six months I sought, pitted, snow-covered, hard-frozen amphithrough the German Legation at The theatre of heroism cannot be described in Hague, to find a trace of the brave boy. these brief paragraphs. The serenity, But never a word !
cheerfulness, courtesy, and indomitable The second visit was to the battle-field courage of the French poilus defending of the Marne under the escort of Captain their own land; the scenes in the trenches the Count de Ganay. We motored slowly with the German shells breaking around through the ruined towns and villages. us and the wounded men being carried Those which had been wrecked by shell- past us; the luncheon in the citadel with fire were like mouthfuls of broken teeth, the commandant and officers in a subterchimneys and fragments of walls still ranean room where the motto on the wall, standing. Those which had been venge- above the world-renowned escutcheon of fully burned by the retreating Germans Verdun, was “On ne passe pas”—“They were mere heaps of ashes. Most of our don't get by”; the dinner with the gentime was spent around the Marais de St. eral and staff of the Verdun army, in a Gond, where the French General Foch little village "somewhere in France," and held the Thermopylæ of Europe. Four their last words to me, “On les aura! Ça times he advanced across that marsh and peut être long, mais on les aura!”-“It may was driven back, but not beaten. The take long, but we shall get them !”—all fifth time he advanced and stayed, and these and a thousand more things are Paris was forever lost to the Germans. vivid in my memory but cannot be told Think of the men who made that last ad- now. vance and saved Europe from the Pots One scene sticks in my mind and asks
to be recorded. The third visit was with the same escort The hospital was just back of the Verto the fighting front at Verdun.
dun lines. Its roofs were marked with The long, bare, rolling ridges between the Red Cross. Twenty-four hundred Bar-le-Duc and the Meuse; the high- beds, all clean and quiet. Wards full of shouldered hills along the river and around German wounded, cared for as tenderly as the ruined little city; the open fields, the the French. “Will you see an operanarrow valleys, the wrecked villages, tion?" said the proud little commandant the shattered woodlands-all were cov who was showing me through his domain. ered with dazzling snow. The sun was “Certainly.” A big, husky fellow was on bright in a cloudless sky. A bitter, biting the operation-table, unconscious, under wind poured fiercely, steadily out of the ether. One of the best surgeons in France north, driving the glittering snow-dust was performing the operation of trepanbefore it. Every man had put on all the ning. I could see the patient's brain, clothes he possessed, and more; pads of bare and beating, while the surgeon did sheepskin over back and breast; gunny his skilful work. Other doctors stood
around, and three nurses, one an Amer- pleaded for peace and fought for peace. ican girl, Miss Cowen, of Pittsburgh. America, obeying her conscience, has “Will the man get well?” I asked the joined them in the conflict. surgeon. “I hope so, he answered. But what do we mean now by peace? “At all events, we shall do our best for We mean more than a mere cessation of him. You know, he is a German-c'est hostilities. We mean that the burglar un Boche!”
shall give back all that he has grabbed. On August 20, 1917, that very hospital, We mean that the marauder shall make marked with the Red Cross, was bombed good all the damage that he has done. by German aeroplanes. One wing was We mean that there shall be an open set on fire. While the nurses and helpers league of free democratic states to secure were trying to rescue the patients, the the rights of all peoples, great and small, damned Potsdam vultures flew back and and to prevent the recurrence of such a forth three times over the place, raking it bloody calamity as the autocratic, militawith machine guns. More than thirty ristic Potsdam gang precipitated upon the persons were killed, including doctors, world in 1914. German wounded, and one woman nurse. Restitution, reparation, guaranteesGod grant it was not the American girl! those are the three terms of the real peace Yet why would not the killing of a French for which we have come to fight beside sister under the Red Cross be just as France, Great Britain, Italy, and, we wicked?
hope, Russia. The German people shall
share its blessings when they are willing Here I break off-uncompleted-my and able to accept its conditions. Till narration of the evil choice of war and the then our watchword is-Stand fast, ye crimes in the conduct of war which have free! made the name of Germany abhorred.
BALLAD OF THE RICH SUITOR
By Olive Tilford Dargan
These golden shoes I'll give her,
My castles by the river !"
But when he met her on the hills,
Down coming like a lily-flame,
His golden shoes he hid for shame.
How could he sing of castles drear
Who with the wild bee found her?
With al! God's birds around her?
And when he trembling touched her heart,
And knew how it could start and bleed,
To lie forgot with clod and weed.
Then sought with fasting eyes to share
The empire in her own.
I heard a beggar moan.
WHEN OUR FLAG CAME
FLAG CAME TO PARIS
By Archibald Douglas Turnbull
Author of “François' Journey"
ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE WRIGHT
GOTHING could have been For the dainty, lovely little creature had
more natural than that her own traditions, handed down through Johnny Campbell, even the years. Such tales as she spun for though he felt himself an Johnny of the dashing Chevalier de PlesAmerican, should come for- sis, who had led a charge at Friedland,
ward as a soldier of France. and had been publicly decorated by the His very name bespoke the martial Scot, Great Emperor himself! The fame of and it reached back through grandfathers this mighty forebear had rung through the in the Civil War to the very earliest hours annals of “Tite Maman's” family ever of the American Republic. His father since. She herself had been a tiny baby, had volunteered in '98, only to be one of she often told Johnny, in the dreadful the many who went as far as the Florida days when her beloved Paris had fallen camps and never returned.
into alien hands. She never allowed Johnny had been five years old then, Johnny to forget his French side. As a and he had but the vaguest memories of youngster he had been taught the beaua stalwart man who had tossed him in tiful language, and for years his mother the air and then surrendered him so had spoken no other to him. gently to his mother. His mother? She When Johnny was twelve “Tite Maalone would have been enough to turn man” had brought him back to Paris. his steps toward the nearest recruiting- It had been a question of a legacy, with station; that brave little mother who conditions, from some crusty old French always called him “Jacques," and whom uncle. "Tite Maman” had not dared rehe had known for years as Tite Ma- fuse the addition to an income all too
Always they had been the most slender for her ambitions. It all fitted intimate of companions, these two, since neatly into the picture of Johnny's future the black hour when she had suddenly she had been so carefully making. He swept him to her heart, sobbing out up- was to follow directly in his father's path, on his curly head her first uncontrolled and to be the world-famous architect that agony, and thanked heaven that he, at surely nothing but his untimely end had least, was spared to her, as the living prevented Donald Campbell from becomproof of a love that had filled her life. ing. And what, then, more proper than Thenceforth they had been inseparable. that Johnny should be brought up in A woman's perception, a woman's under- Paris; that he should grow, and study, standing, a woman's heart, had gone to and play almost under the very shadow the making of a man. Story after story of the Beaux Arts, toward which his earlishe had told him, as he stood at her knee, est, most faltering steps had been diwithin the hollow of the arm that had rected ? been the surest refuge for a hurt soul, To Johnny it had seemed right enough. the quickest cure for a bumped head. “Tite Maman" always knew best. Her First had come the wonderful child-lore judgment always pulled a fellow out of of the fairies and the animals. But as trouble, always showed him just how he he grew older, and had to fold his ever- must play the game; her hand upon his increasing length of leg upon a rug at her shoulder always sent him back to his feet, the stories had been nearly always books or out to his play with the same of soldiers. Some of these soldiers had high spirit. been Campbells, others had French names Still Johnny remained an American and were of “Tite Maman's” own race. at heart. Perhaps the influences of the
newer, younger country had taken deep French half of Johnny was a very strong root within him. Perhaps it was the half. All that he had absorbed from policeman that to early youth had seemed “Tite Maman” in the beginning had at the summit of man's greatness. The broadened and deepened as he grew to great red-haired roundsman had never know the beautiful city that was his failed to stop for a chat with Johnny's home and the people who had made it. nurse in her smart little cap. And he had How vivid seemed all his mother's tales kept a good word for Johnny, even in that as he gazed down at the simple, majestic awful moment when a plate-glass window tomb of history's first soldier! The in the big house on the corner had been blood of the chevalier mounted in Johnbroken by a stray baseball. Baseball? ny's cheek at the solemn moment when Perhaps that too had its part in Johnny's the afternoon sun sent its rays through nationalism. He had just acquired a those vaulted windows, to touch the torn wonderful first-baseman's mitt when des- banners of a hundred victories. And in tiny lifted him across the ocean and set a different way his appreciation and love him down among strange faces and new were fostered by looking with the eyes customs. Whatever was the real cause, of growing understanding upon the archithe existing fact was that Johnny talked tectural feast spread before them throughoften of going back. Indeed, he had out the city. “Tite Maman's" promise that, once his To Johnny, then, in the late summer of course had been completed, once he had 1914, it had seemed only good that, like done his best to win the honors of his almost all of his classmates, he should father at the famous school, they two enroll at once beneath the tricolor. His would have a summer together “in the debt to France was large, and for her sake States.” Every friend he made-and as he must give himself to beat off the inhe grew into youth they were many- vader already almost within reach of the knew that Johnny, for all his deep ac- city, already dreaded and cursed by quired love and admiration for France, driven thousands. could never see even the tiniest of Ameri As for the mother? It could not have can colors in a shop-window without an been in her to hold him back. By every outward and visible thrill of pride. Who- pang her boy had cost her, by every sacriever might happen to be his companion fice, great and small, that she had made, of the moment, Johnny would always by every triumph in his least success, was point out those colors and say: “There's measured her love for the son of his the old flag-see her?”
father. But she was French, and through It was Le Matin that lay each morning France the cry for help had rung. upon the tiny table where “Tite Maman" Quietly, simply, and, for that, all the always came to take her chocolate with more gloriously, she took up the part that Johnny. But just as regularly he re- is woman's—to give all, and to ask nothceived the Paris edition of a great Ameri- ing—to stay behind, waiting in patient can daily from the hands of the little agony for news of loved ones. marchande at his corner. Every day
When he stood before her, a uniformed, “Tite Maman” removed that same paper, caparisoned soldier, a poilu among the much crushed, from his coat-pocket, and rest, her heart fairly choked her with a laid it, carefully smoothed, upon a file of mixture of the deepest suffering and the its fellows.
highest pride. Her Jacques, going as his Johnny was on intimate terms with all father before him had gone; going in the of his class who came from America to very look of her own lost Donald, at the complete their courses. Through them first call of the nation. Her memory he met many of the thousands who came leaped back to a little boy standing beeach year to worship the glories or the side her chair, reading over her shoulder. fashions-of Paris. Such chance ac- Again she felt his head, buried in her quaintances told him much about the lap, as he confided to her a childish sorland of his birth, and every scrap of
And now he could lift her frail he treasured.
body in his arms and set her down in Still, it must be remembered that the mischievous will upon the tall dresser
between the windows. Yes, he was a England were really in danger of starvman grown, and he stood ready to do his ing, where then should France turn? To man's duty. Days later, when she saw his Johnny there seemed but one answer: train pulling out from the station, bound America must help. The huge, fabufor that all too indefinite "front," she lously wealthy country must step in bestifled the misery within her and managed side the France that would not crumble, a plucky wave of a tiny crumpled hand- but might wear away. Many times the kerchief. Then she turned back to the thought had come to him; always he city and took up her registration already reached the same point. France had no made at a base-hospital unit.
other refuge. Nor was it France alone, It was there that Johnny used to find but democracy against autocracy, right her, in the blessed intervals of the long, against might. Only the lives and the long months, when he came “en permis- gold of the young western nation could sion” to Paris. Simple little reunion save the world. Often he had talked it parties they had, while he poured out all over with his fellow soldiers. Men of anecdotes of the fighting, of friends his own regiment, knowing his birth, quickly made and as quickly lost, of asked him point-blank: "When will the private and public heroisms. And at United States you speak of come out to last had come the day, even greater for help?” He found it hard to answer her than for him, when he told her how that question convincingly, though his his own company had been read out in own faith never faltered. the Order of the Day and showed her the “She is coming,” he would say; “surely long-coveted Croix-de-Guerre that had she is coming. But you must underbeen placed upon his breast by a high- stand that she has many millions to whom ranking general. “Too much honor," said this war is but a story; something vague Johnny; "it was an affair of nothing." and shadowy, which touches them not at In point of fact it had been the holding all. The people over there, they do not of a machine gun, on a hillock of par- realize yet upon what foundation their ticular importance, after all of the crew own greatness is founded. When they but Johnny had been killed, and until the do-ah-then you will see them cometide of battle swept the French lines back with food and guns and men. Just to him.
wait.” In the glow of that moment Johnny “But yes—you say wait, always wait, was all French; as much so as “Tite and we have been waiting more than two Maman" herself. He was thinking only years already. Soon there will be none of themselves, of his company, his army, of us left to wait.” and the final victory that was so sure to Thus they assailed him sometimes, come.
though often they kept silent out of reBut there were other moments when spect to him as a comrade in arms. But Johnny was not so utterly satisfied with through it all Johnny stuck to his posithe situation. These came as the months tion. “Only wait,” he said, even when dragged by, as the service chevrons on he saw Americans in Paris, agents for this his left arm grew in number, and as the one and for that one; even when he knew stripes of a lieutenant were given him. that vast sums were being made out of Victory seemed so slow in coming. So the struggle by the very people upon many, many lives had already been sacri- whose aid he was counting so steadfastly. ficed. Would there be no end to it? He woula point to the long roster of The reports from the English grew dis- Americans, living and dead, who had quieting. Not reports of any breach of won fame for themselves, and victories faith, not of any inclination to abandon for France, on the fields and in the air; the struggle-never those. But even to or to those quieter, but not less wellthe front crept the rumors of England's earned victories of nerve and coolness difficulties; of the ever-increasing menace beneath a tent-flap or between long rows of unrestricted U-boats; of ship upon ship of white iron cots. that failed to deliver in an English port "Look up—there—those three specks her cargo of foodstuffs or munitions. If are part of l’Escadrille Lafayette. ` And