Chapter IV: Part 4

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
injustice.

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:

Headquarters, Am. Ex. Forces.
France.

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]

A PLACE IN THE SUN

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."

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.

THE QUEST

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 soul?"

* * * * *

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.

MARSHAL JOFFRE

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.

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_ something.

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 Honor.

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 mobilization.

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.

THE HUN TARGET--THE RED CROSS

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 them.

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 way.

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
soldiers.

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
place.

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
comfortable.

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 once."

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.

SHAKESPEARE.

"THEY SHALL NOT PASS"

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.

VERDUN

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.

THE BEAST IN MAN

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.