Chapter II: Part 2

No sooner had we entered the war than the task of raising a large army was earnestly begun, and within a few weeks training camps were established in every part of our country. After raising the army the next most important task was to find a general big enough to lead it. In this hour of need the nation turned to General John Pershing, and asked him to lead our boys on the bloody battle fields of Europe.

As soon as he was chosen, General Pershing, better known as "Jack" Pershing, sailed for Europe. Days before he arrived the eyes of all Europe were turned in eager expectation, and as soon as he reached there, the people gave him a joyous welcome and extended to him every possible courtesy. From the first, Europe liked General Pershing. Tall, broad shouldered, deep-chested, with frank, clear eyes, he impressed all with the fact that he was indeed a soldier.

The social life of London and Paris had small attraction for General Pershing; he was restless for the battle front that he might thoroughly learn the war game, so that he could better teach it to our American boys. For weeks, associating with French and English officers, he studied methods of modern warfare. As he was doing this a vast army of American boys landed in France, and it has now fallen to the lot of General Jack Pershing to lead these brave lads into the midst of the most deadly war of all time.

Who then is Jack Pershing? Where did he come from, and what has he done that should merit the confidence thus placed in him?

General Pershing was born in Linn County, Missouri, Sept. 13, 1860. As his parents were poor, young Jack, from very early in life, had to work hard. Able to attend school for only a few months each winter, the lad often longed for a better opportunity to get an education. Finally he was able to go for a term to the Normal School at Kirksville, Missouri. This was a proud day for him. But soon he had to quit school as his money had given out. Fortunately, he was able to pass the teacher's examination, and soon began teaching a country school. Now that he had a taste of knowledge, he resolved not to stop until he had secured a good education. Accordingly, he was soon back in the Normal School, where he was graduated at the age of twenty.

In less than a month after his graduation, he learned of a competitive examination for entrance into West Point Military Academy. With no rich or influential friends to help him, the young normal graduate had little hope of getting into West Point. So excellent, however, were his examination papers that the poor Missouri boy was readily accepted and soon became a student in this great Military Academy. How fortunate that he was a hard working student and passed that examination, otherwise America today would be without General Pershing.

Relieved of all financial burden, for the government paid all his expenses in West Point, he settled down to four years of hard work. So successful was he in this work that upon his graduation he was made senior cadet captain--the highest honor West Point can give to any student.

Immediately after graduation he was sent into New Mexico and Arizona to help settle Indian difficulties. Life among the cowboys and Indians was indeed exciting, but perhaps his most exciting experience was with an Apache Chief by the name of Geronimo. This old chief, with his group of warriors, had defied the entire United States for two years. Finally he fled into Mexico and young Pershing with his army was sent in pursuit. Odd as it may seem, the old Indian chief took almost the same route through Mexico that Villa followed some thirty years later. No doubt General Pershing in his pursuit of Villa often thought of his experiences years before when after Geronimo and his warriors.

After spending several years in the Southwest, at the age of thirty, he was made Professor of Military Tactics in the University of Nebraska. Here he remained four years during which time, in addition to his work as teacher, he completed the law course in the University. His next promotion pleased him greatly, for he was chosen a professor in his old school, West Point, where he remained but one year when the Cuban War broke out. Immediately he felt his country's call, and with the Tenth United States Cavalry sailed for Cuba.

No sooner did he land than he found himself in the thick of the war. Among the hardest battles he was in were those at San Juan Hill and Santiago de Cuba. Twice during this war he was recommended for brevet commissions "for personal gallantry, untiring energy, and faithfulness." General Baldwin, under whom he served, had this to say of him, "I have been in many fights, through the Civil War, but Captain Pershing is the coolest man under fire I ever saw."

At the close of the Cuban War he was made Commissioner of Insular Affairs with headquarters in Washington. Here he remained but a short time when again he heard his country's call and was sent to the far distant Philippine Islands.

The task assigned him was by no means easy. On Mindanao, one of the larger islands in the group, lived the Moros. So cruel and fierce were they that during all the years Spain held the Islands she had never attempted to civilize them. To Pershing was given the task of going back into the mountains and capturing these Moros. To him was assigned the most stubborn problem the Islands presented.

The best description of this Moro campaign is written by Rowland Thompson who says: "Up in the hills of western Mindanao some thirty miles from the sea, lies Lake Linao, and around it live one hundred thousand fierce, proud, uncivilized Mohammedans, a set of murderous farmers who loved a fight so well that they were willing at any time to die for the joy of combat, whose simple creed makes the killing of Christians a virtue.

"Pershing warned the hot-head of them all, the Sultan, if there were any further trouble he would destroy their stronghold. The Sultan in his fortress, with walls of earth and living bamboo forty feet thick, laughed at the warning. In two days his fortress was in ruins. So skillful was Pershing's attack that he captured the stronghold with the loss of but two men."

In a similar manner he later took stronghold after stronghold until finally all the Moros were conquered. Having subdued the Moros he was then made Governor of the Island, holding the office until he was sent to help settle the bandit difficulty on the Mexican border.

In his journey from the Philippine Islands to the Mexican border, General Pershing was called upon to fight the hardest battle of his entire life. Leaving his wife and four children at the Presidio Hotel in San Francisco, he went to El Paso, Texas, to rent a house. While in El Paso he was shocked to get a telegram stating that the Presidio had burned and that his wife and three daughters had perished in the flames. Surely this was enough to crush an ordinary man, but again he showed the superior qualities of his manhood by bearing up bravely, and continuing faithfully to perform the responsible tasks assigned him.

Though the Mexican trouble did not give General Pershing a chance to show his ability to lead men under fire, it did give him ample opportunity to convince his countrymen that he possessed remarkable skill in rounding up and developing a large army.

During the World War, General Pershing was placed in command of the entire American Army in Europe and, through his wise council and able handling of his forces, was proclaimed one of the greatest officers who took part in this great war.

* * * * *

"_Lafayette, we are here!_"

--GENERAL PERSHING AT LAFAYETTE'S TOMB.

WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT

Most great men have been born poor. For one in early life to struggle with poverty seems to prepare him in later years to struggle with the big problems that make men great.

To be born amid wealth too often has a softening effect. Pampered with all that money can buy, the rich lad looks to others rather than to his own efforts. Not so with William Howard Taft. Though he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, as we sometimes say, and fortune smiled upon him, he was never spoiled; but on the contrary he early developed a capacity for hard work, and a willingness to take rather than avoid hard knocks. These, as we shall see, insured his success in later life.

Born as he was in a beautiful home in the aristocratic section of Cincinnati, his boyhood surroundings were almost ideal. Not only was his home provided with every comfort, but it also was one in which culture and refinement reigned. When you are told that young William's father held the following positions, Judge of the Superior Court of Cincinnati, Secretary of War under President Grant, Attorney General, Minister to Austria and to Russia, you will readily see that the lad's home life was truly stimulating.

As you study the picture of Mr. Taft, you will observe that he is an extremely large man, weighing nearly three hundred pounds. Unlike many men, he did not become fleshy in his maturer years, but from his boyhood has been large and, as the boys say, fat. When a mere lad he was a plump, chubby, roly-poly chap who was always liked because he was so good-natured. Can you guess the nicknames the other boys gave him? Sometimes they called him "Lubber," but most of the time he was hailed simply as "Lub." Big, over-grown boys are sure to be awkward, and "Lub" was no exception. If he started to run across a field with the other boys, he was sure to fall. When they turned to gather him up, they would fairly roll with laughter, declaring that he was too fat to see where he was stepping. The fact that when he fell he was sure "to land on his head," caused the boys to call him "Lead-Head and Cotton-Body."

When he entered the Woodward High School, the boys changed his nickname from "Lub" to "Old Bill" and later to plain "Bill." In high school he was too fat to run, too slow for baseball, and didn't care for football.

At seventeen he had graduated from high school and was about to enter Yale. Can you imagine him as he enters that great University? With beardless cheeks that were as red as an apple, and able to tip the scales at two hundred thirty pounds, he seemed indeed a giant. No longer was he chubby and awkward; he was now broad shouldered, tall and sure of step. His muscles were so firm that he was a hard antagonist for anyone.

Hardly had he entered school before he got "mixed up" in one of the many college rushes of those days. In that particular rush Taft went crashing through the sophomores like a catapult. One, a man of his own weight, leaped in front of him. Then Taft let forth a joyous roar and charged! He grappled with the other Ajax, lifted him bodily, and heaved him over his head. No wonder he got the nickname of "Bull Taft."

Of course a chap capable of such a feat must join the football squad, said the fellows of the University. But Bill's father back in Cincinnati had entirely different plans for the giant freshman. He was eager to have his son win his laurels in the classroom rather than on the gridiron. The father, while in Yale, had won honors, and why shouldn't his son? Furthermore, Bill had some pride, for already his brother had carried away from Yale high honors in scholarship, and, if possible, Bill was not to be outdone by his brother. Accordingly, he settled down to four years of downright hard work, and "from day to day, lesson by lesson, he slowly made his way close to the head of the class."

That he acquired, while in college, a relish for hard work is shown by the fact that as soon as he had graduated he undertook three jobs at the same time: he studied law in his father's law office, carried the regular work of the Cincinnati Law School, and was court reporter for _The Times Star_ of Cincinnati.

So rapid was his achievement that at the age of twenty-four he was made Internal Revenue Collector at a salary of $4500 a year. Surely this was a good salary for a man so young. But other promotions were destined to come in close succession; for, at the age of twenty-nine he was made Judge of the Superior Court of Ohio, and a year later was appointed by President Harrison Solicitor-General of the United States at a salary of $7000 a year.

After three years of service as a Solicitor-General, President Harrison made him Judge of the Federal Court of the Sixth Circuit that included Michigan, Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee. As judge of this court, several of the most famous cases in our history came before him, and in every case his power of analysis was so manifest, and his decision so just that the entire nation learned to look to him with confidence. Into his court came, on the one hand employers who were eager for every possible advantage, and were willing to crush labor in order to gain it; and on the other hand laborers who distrusted their employers and were morbid and resentful. To preside over a court where force was thus meeting force, where battle lines were distinctly drawn was no small task. Mr. Taft, however, since he was always fair and kind, since he possessed largeness of vision and pureness of soul, was big enough for the task.

At this time in Judge Taft's life he seems to have had but one ambition--he desired to become a Judge of the Supreme Court of the United States. But while he was eagerly looking in that direction, his nation was preparing other and greater tasks for him.

Far across the broad Pacific lie the Philippine Islands--more than three thousand of them. On these islands live eight million people. As a result of our war with Spain these islands came into our possession; but what were we to do with them? Representing as they did every stage of development from University graduates to Moro headhunters, the task of governing them was indeed difficult.

Who should be assigned this task? Where was a man big enough to bring order out of confusion and mould these widely divergent tribes into a unified colony?

President McKinley and those in authority with him finally decided that Judge Taft was the man for the place. Accordingly, he was soon seen on the broad Pacific hurrying to the task that awaited him. From island to island he and his commissioners journeyed studying conditions. Everywhere he found the people suspicious and eager to state their grievances. Naturally kind, frank and fair, he so won their confidence that he was soon able to direct their efforts. It is impossible here to tell of his remarkable work in the Islands. As Governor-General he greatly reduced the death rate by introducing sanitary conditions; he established and developed a free public school system, and, most important of all, he trained the Filipinos in the art of self government.

From Governor-General of the Philippines Mr. Taft was made Secretary of War. Fortunately, his experiences in the Islands, in a peculiar manner, fitted him for this new responsibility; for, during his entire sojourn in the Philippines he had come in closest contact with the soldiers. As they at all times were his closest companions, he learned to understand them perfectly. Able to get their viewpoint on all matters pertaining to war, he was able to secure from the start the highest possible cooperation. His greatest single task as Secretary of War was to finish building the Panama Canal, and indeed this was a task; but the Big Man kept at the big job until finally it was completed.

But the crowning event in the life of this great man was his election to the presidency of the United States. Here he was the same frank, genuine man he had always been. Had he been more of a politician he, no doubt, would have gained greater popular favor, but, after all, the approval of the multitudes is not the highest goal to be sought. Above this is fidelity to duty, and this Mr. Taft always possessed in an unusual degree.

With the completion of his term in the White House he did not withdraw from active life as so many ex-presidents have done; on the contrary, he became at once a member of the faculty of his beloved Yale University.

During the great World War, Mr. Taft was made director of the American Red Cross Association, and in 1920 he became the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court.

LUTHER BURBANK

To whom does Luther Burbank belong? Massachusetts, in old New England, claims him as her son. But far to the west, proud California, kissed by the majestic Pacific, declares that he more truly belongs to her. But why argue? A man whose life has so materially blessed mankind everywhere belongs to the whole world. Recently, in far way France, when the name of Mr. Burbank was spoken in the Chamber of Deputies in Paris, every member arose to his feet as a tribute of honor.

But why do we all claim Luther Burbank? Why is his name a household word in every country? Because, without him, the world today would no doubt be hungry.

Mr. Burbank was born almost beneath the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument on the seventh day of March, 1849. When able to toddle about, his playmates were plants rather than animals. Oddly enough his first doll was a cactus plant that he carried about proudly until one day he fell and broke it.

As a boy he was not strong, and did not like the rougher sports. In school he was bashful, retiring, and serious. Though a good student he could neither recite well nor speak pieces, as he was afraid even of his own voice.

When he was just a lad he was taken out of school and put to work in a plow factory that belonged to his uncle. But he did not like the factory. Often he longed for the out of doors with its plants and flowers. So strong was this desire for the out of doors that he left the factory and began truck gardening on a small scale; and it was while caring for this truck garden that he developed the Burbank potato, thus achieving his first success. So valuable was this discovery that the United States Department of Agriculture declares that the Burbank potato has added to the wealth of this country seventeen million dollars each year since this variety was developed.

When twenty-six years of age, Mr. Burbank decided that the climate and soil of far-away California were best suited to his work. Accordingly, with ten of his best potatoes, and his small savings, he started across the continent. When his journey was ended he found himself in a fertile but unimproved valley about fifty miles north of San Francisco. On either side of this beautiful valley were spurs of the Coast Range Mountains.

His first task was to find work, but as few people at that time lived in the region, jobs were hard to get. In speaking of this period of his life, Mr. Burbank says: "One day I heard that a man was building a house. I went to him and asked him for the job of shingling it. He asked me what I would do it for. The regular price was two dollars and a half a thousand, but I was so anxious for the work that I offered to do it for one dollar and seventy-five cents. 'All right,' he said, 'come and begin tomorrow.' But I had no shingling hammer and all the cash I had in the world was seventy-five cents, which I at once expended in purchasing the necessary hammer. Next morning when I reached the job, my new hammer in hand, all ready to go to work, I was surprised and--what shall I say--dismayed, to find another man already at work, while the owner calmly came to me and said, 'I guess you'll have to let that job go, as this man here has undertaken to do it for one dollar a thousand.'

"How disappointed I was! I had spent my last cent, had a hammer that was no use to me now, and no job. But I kept a stiff upper lip and work soon came, and I've never been so hard up since."

Mr. Harwood in describing this period in the life of Mr. Burbank says: "The man who was to become the foremost figure in the world in his line of work, and who was to pave the way by his own discoveries and creations for others of all lands to follow his footsteps, was a stranger in a strange land, close to starvation, penniless, beset by disease, hard by the gates of death. But never for an instant did this heroic figure lose hope, never did he abandon confidence in himself nor did he swerve from the path he had marked out. In the midst of all he kept an unshaken faith. He accepted the trials that came, not as a matter of course, not tamely, nor with any mock heroism, but as a passing necessity. His resolution was of iron, his will of steel, his heart of gold; he was fighting in the splendid armor of a clean life."

As a result of his industry, in a few years, Mr. Burbank was able to buy four acres of land where he started a nursery. From the first this enterprise was successful. Upon this plot he built a modest home where he still resides. Here, and on a larger plot a few miles distant, all his remarkable experiments have been made.

Before we learn more about his achievements I am sure we should like to become better acquainted with the man. Suppose, then, we invite Professor Edward Wickson of the University of California, who knows him well, to tell us about him.

"Mr. Burbank is of medium stature and rather slender form; light eyes and dark hair, now rapidly running to silver. His countenance is very mobile, lighting up quickly and as quickly receding to the seriousness of earnest attention, only to rekindle with a smile or relax into a laugh, if the subject be in the lighter vein. He is exceedingly quick in apprehension, seeming to anticipate the speaker, but never intruding upon his speech. There is always a suggestion of shyness in his manner, and there is ever present a deep respectfulness. He is frank, open-hearted, and out-spoken. All his actions are artless and quiet; even the modulations of his voice follow the lower keys."

But, you ask, what marvelous things has this modest man done that should make his name a household word the world over?

All truly great people have high ideals that guide them in their work. The one ideal that guides Mr. Burbank is his love for humanity. Naturally sympathetic, he cannot endure the thought of human suffering.

Since so much human misery is due to lack of food, to hunger, he has resolved if possible to make the world produce more bread. But how can he do this? If only he can get each head of wheat to produce just one additional grain then the problem will be solved--for then the wheat crop of this country will be increased five million two hundred thousand bushels. Year after year he worked at this task until finally each head of wheat actually did produce more grains. Now that he has succeeded in increasing the yield of wheat, he has resolved not to stop until the yield of all the cereals is increased in a like manner.

By what principle, then, does he accomplish these marvelous feats? What are his methods? Eager as we are to understand them, doubtless most of us must wait until we have learned a great deal about science, for his methods are extremely scientific.

Though unable to comprehend his methods, we are able to appreciate the results of his work. So marvelous are these results that they seem like fairy tales. For example, he has developed a white blackberry; but this is not all, he has developed blackberry plants so large that a single plant produces more than a bushel of berries.

I am sure that we all like strawberries so well that sometimes we have wished that the strawberry season were not so short; and in the future it will not be, for he has produced plants that bear strawberries all summer.

Mr. Burbank, knowing that boys and girls are likely to hit their fingers cracking walnuts, has developed a walnut with a very thin shell, so thin in fact that the birds can break through it and help themselves to the meat. Now he has to thicken the shell again.

How should you like to eat a peach that had, instead of the ordinary stone, a fine almond in the center? In the future you may eat just such peaches, for Mr. Burbank has developed them.

Most of us have seen the ordinary cactus. We have been very careful, however, not to touch it as the spines are sure to prick us. It is interesting to know that the cactus is a desert plant--that, though millions of acres of arid land in the West can produce little else, they can produce enormous quantities of cactus. Unfortunately, these plants have always been useless as neither man nor beast would eat them. True, cattle liked them, but the cruel spines made the eating of them impossible.

As good pasture lands are so scarce in the West, Mr. Burbank wondered why a cactus could not be developed that had no spines. Accordingly, he began his work, and already has accomplished results far greater than he had expected. Not only has he developed spineless cactus, thus redeeming millions of acres of desert land for the use of animals, but he has also developed scores of varieties that are pleasing to the taste of man. Some taste like the cantaloupe, others like the peach, and still others like the plum or pomegranate. Fortunately, they ripen at all times during the year and can be carried to every part of the country without decaying en route. Through the efforts of Mr. Burbank the hitherto worthless cactus has become the most promising fruit of the desert.

Just as Mr. Burbank has improved the wheat, the blackberry, the strawberry, the peach, and the cactus, so he has increased the yield and improved the quality of practically every cereal, fruit, and vegetable.

True, he has not made a great fortune for himself, but a knowledge that tens of thousands who otherwise might go hungry are, because of his efforts, fed, must give him a satisfaction that is far greater than money could give. And, after all, doesn't true greatness lie in giving to others rather than in gathering to one's self?

* * * * *

_"And he gave it as his opinion, that whoever could make two ears of corn, or two blades of grass, to grow upon a spot of ground where only one grew before, would deserve better of mankind and do more essential service to his country, than the whole race of politicians put together."_

--DEAN SWIFT.

CLARA BARTON

In the little Maryland village of Glen Echo, a frail, gentle old lady was taking leave of this world one April day, in the year 1912. She was greatly beloved and many friends from every state in the Union sent her words of comfort and cheer. They praised her noble work and called her "The Guardian Angel" of the suffering, but the little old lady looked into the faces of those about her and said, "I know of nothing remarkable that I have done."

She was Clara Barton, the woman who brought the Red Cross to our country; but, being accustomed to working always for others, her labors did not seem great or unusual to her. Today we know she is one of the heroines of the world, for she believed in the brotherhood of man, and her aim was to relieve suffering humanity, irrespective of nationality or creed.

Her childhood was a happy, joyous one spent in the little village of North Oxford, Massachusetts. She was the youngest child of a large family, and her brothers and sisters were very proud of her because she learned so rapidly and because she was never afraid of anything. She would follow her oldest brother about the house with a slate, begging him to give her hard sums to do. Out of doors she was eager for adventure; her brother David often said, "Clara is never afraid, she can ride any colt on the farm," and often he would throw her on the bare back of a young horse and cry, "Hold fast to the mane," and away she would gallop over the fields.

Winter evenings the family would gather about the great fireplace in the living room and listen to the father tell of his experiences on the battle fields of the Revolutionary War. He had been a soldier under the dashing General Anthony Wayne, called "Mad Anthony" Wayne, because of his reckless daring. Clara was thrilled by these stories of army life, and never tired of hearing her father recount them.

When Clara was eleven years of age, her brother David had a terrible fall, and for more than two years he was a helpless invalid. At once she became his nurse and he relied upon her for all manner of service, preferring her to his older sister or even his mother. "Clara is a born nurse," said the family, as they saw the care she was giving the boy, and indeed she was. It was a joy to her to wait upon the sick, and she considered it no hardship to sacrifice herself.

When David was well, Clara went to school and prepared herself to teach. Her scholars found her an able teacher and liked her ways of instructing them. We know this to be true, because when she opened her first school she had only six pupils, but her fame spread so rapidly that when June came six hundred children had entered her classes and were much disappointed when they found she could not teach them all but had to have assistant teachers.

The strain of planning for so many pupils was too heavy for her, so she gave up teaching and took a position in the pension office at Washington. She was there at the beginning of the great war between the North and South, and at once felt it to be her duty to leave her work and minister to the wounded soldiers.

At first she busied herself in the hospitals at Washington, but she longed to go to the front and help on the battle fields. She told her father of her strong desire, and he said to her, "Go, if you feel it your duty to go! I know what soldiers are, and I know that every true soldier will respect you and your errand."

At last our government gave her permission, and she went to the front as fearless as any officer in the army. Amid the rain of shot and shell she went about on errands of mercy. Then there was no organized relief for the soldiers, no Red Cross, no Y. M. C. A., no help of any kind except what kind persons here and there over the country tried to give. This was very little, when compared to the vast amount of suffering, but Clara Barton managed to gather supplies and money so that she was able to give assistance to both the boys in blue and the boys in gray. She saved many lives, she wrote countless letters home for wounded soldiers, and she stood alone by the death-bed of many a brave fellow, speaking words of comfort and cheer. Whenever anyone suggested that she was working beyond her strength, she would say, "It is my duty," and go on regardless of her personal welfare. One of her best friends, Miss Lucy Larcom, wrote of her as follows:

"We may catch a glimpse of her at Chantilly in the darkness of the rainy midnight, bending over a dying boy who took her supporting arm and soothing voice for his sister's--or falling into a brief sleep on the wet ground in her tent, almost under the feet of flying cavalry; or riding in one of her trains of army-wagons towards another field, subduing by the way a band of mutinous teamsters into her firm friends and allies; or at the terrible battle at Antietam, where the regular army supplies did not arrive till three days afterward, furnishing from her wagons cordials and bandages for the wounded, making gruel for the fainting men from the meal in which her medicines had been packed, extracting with her own hand a bullet from the cheek of a wounded soldier, tending the fallen all day, with her throat parched and her face blackened by sulphurous smoke, and at night, when the surgeons were dismayed at finding themselves left with only one half-burnt candle, amid thousands of bleeding, dying men, illuming the field with candles and lanterns her forethought had supplied. No wonder they called her 'The Angel of the Battle Field'."

After the war, President Lincoln asked her to search for the thousands of men who were missing. She at once visited the prisons, helped the prisoners to regain their health, and get in touch with their families. Besides this, she searched the National Cemeteries and had grave stones put over many of the graves telling who were buried there. This work took four years, and at the end of it she was so broken in health that she went abroad for a long rest.

While she was in Switzerland she heard first of the Red Cross Society and attended a meeting called to establish an International Society. Twenty-four nations were represented at the meeting, but the United States was not among that number. For some years it refused to join. Miss Barton devoted herself to showing our government that in joining the International Red Cross we would not be entangling ourselves in European affairs but would be working for the good of all men. At last, in 1887, she won her victory, and the United States signed the agreement of the Red Cross Society. This is called the Treaty of Geneva.

When the first meeting was held in Geneva, Switzerland, there were persons present who found fault with the plan. They said the world should do away with warfare instead of caring for those it injured. But the Swiss President said it would take a long time for the world to learn to do without warfare. He believed the Red Cross would help to bring about the era of peace by caring for the afflicted and relieving the horror of war. The terrible struggle in Europe is showing us the truth of his words, for, when we hear about the frightful happenings, all the glory and grandeur of warfare fade away.

A man who sees far into the future, has written, "Some day the Red Cross will triumph over the cannon. The future belongs to all helpful powers, however humble, for two allies are theirs, suffering humanity and merciful God."

Clara Barton, who also could look beyond her day, saw another use for the Red Cross besides war service. She said: "It need not apply to the battle field alone, but we should help all those who need our help." So the American Red Cross passed an amendment to the effect that its work should apply to all suffering from fires, floods, famine, earthquake, and other forms of disaster. This amendment was finally adopted by all nations.

At the time of the Spanish War, Miss Barton was seventy years old, but she went to Cuba and did heroic work. When the Galveston flood occurred she was eighty, but she went to the stricken community and helped in every way. After giving up her active work, she retired to Glen Echo and spent the remainder of her days quietly, always interested in the great cause to which she had given her life.

We know what the American Red Cross does for our soldiers, and whenever we see its emblem we should think of Clara Barton, as a "Noble type of good, heroic womanhood; one who was kind, humane, and helpful to all peoples, one who longed for the time when suffering and horror should pass away."

GEORGE W. GOETHALS

The men who worked on the Panama Canal used to sing this little song of their own composing:

"See Colonel Goethals,
Tell Colonel Goethals,
It's the only right and proper thing to do.
Just write a letter, or even better,
Arrange a little Sunday interview."

Colonel George W. Goethals was the chief engineer of the canal, and when he arrived in Panama he found that many of the men were discontented. They felt they were not treated fairly. Now there were sixty-five thousand persons employed there, and Colonel Goethals knew that if they were not kept well and in good spirits the great work would never be completed. So he said he would be in his office every Sunday morning at seven o'clock. Then, any man or woman who had a complaint could come and tell him about it. He was so wise, and decided the cases with such fairness that the men came to believe in their new chief and were anxious to serve him.

It was when Theodore Roosevelt was President of the United States that Colonel Goethals was sent to Panama. President Roosevelt was anxious to have our dream of a canal across the Isthmus of Panama come true, but many persons in our country as well as in other parts of the world told him it was foolish to spend money on such an uncertain undertaking. They said the great slides of gravel and sand along the sides of the canal could never be stopped. They said the locks would never work. President Roosevelt paid no attention to these comments, but selected Colonel Goethals because he was sure he could build the canal.

Colonel Goethals cared as little as President Roosevelt for the opinion that the task was impossible. In fact, he told the President: "Say nothing to such doubting persons. By and by we will answer them with the canal."

We know that he did give such an answer. He built the canal right through the red shifting hills of sand that threatened to slide down and choke his work. He cut away a jungle so the banks of the canal could be kept free and open. But best of all, he taught order to the men who worked under him, and they found out that he believed in them, he believed in the work that he was doing, and he believed in the Government of the United States. No wonder they made a song about him and praised his splendid leadership.

As his title tells us, Colonel Goethals belongs to the regular army. Until he was appointed as the chief engineer of the Panama Canal, no military man had been in charge there. The men working on the canal were performing civil duties, and in no way resembled soldiers. When they heard a regular army officer was coming down, they did not like the idea of having to obey just as if they were soldiers. Many of the foremen and officials told their men they would have to spend their time saluting Colonel Goethals and standing at attention with their little fingers against the seams of their trousers.

During the first days of his stay in Panama, a banquet was given in honor of Colonel Goethals, for the men felt they must entertain their new chief, though they were not friendly to him.

At this banquet, they cheered the former engineer, John G. Stevens, and did not applaud Colonel Goethals when he appeared. However he was exceedingly polite and did not notice their bad manners. The men had expected to see him wear a full dress uniform, and you can imagine how surprised they were when they saw him dressed in citizens' clothes. Never once while he was in Panama did Colonel Goethals appear in uniform.

After the banquet there was a program of speeches. Each speaker made cutting remarks about the new military control, but the Colonel did not seem to notice their insults. At last it was his time to speak. He said only a few words, but they changed the minds of his hearers. He told them they were all there to build the canal. They were working for their government, the United States of America. He wanted no salutes, but he wanted work. This pleased the men and they were ashamed of their impoliteness.

The Colonel's first act was to organize the workmen into three divisions, the Atlantic, the Central, and the Pacific.

He put each under a superintendent. Then he stirred up contests between these divisions. He would tell the men on the Pacific division how rapidly the men on the Atlantic division were digging or putting in concrete. Of course, each division wanted to make the best showing, and the men were always eager to get the Canal Record, a small weekly newspaper, so they could read the scores of the different divisions. These scores grew to be more exciting than those of ball games, and the men worked hard and well.

They liked Colonel Goethals and whenever he went by they saluted him; not with the army salute which they had scorned, but by waving their hands, lifting their caps, and greeting him with a smile on their lips and in their eyes.

They felt free to talk to him because they knew he was their friend. Shortly after he started his Sunday morning office hours, some of the lowest paid men told him that their bosses swore at them all day and used the worst kind of language. At once he sent the following order out all over the Canal Zone.

PROFANE LANGUAGE

Culebra, C. Z. Aug. 4, 1911

Circular No. 400:

The use of profane or abusive language by foremen or others in
authority, when addressing subordinates, will not be
tolerated.

Geo. W. Goethals,
Chairman and Chief Engineer.

Some of the foreman did not talk much for a while, they had been so used to swearing, but the Colonel's orders were obeyed.

The work then moved along smoothly and Colonel Goethals was looking forward to the end of his labors, when one day an engineer on the Panama Railroad paid no attention to the signals and let his train run into the rear coaches of another train, killing the conductor.

This engineer was drunk, and it is against the rules of any railroad for an intoxicated person to be in its employ. Colonel Goethals had the engineer arrested and put in jail. However, the man belonged to a labor union, and this union sent a committee demanding that he release the engineer by seven o'clock that evening. If he did not, they would order all the men working along the canal to strike. This meant that the work on the canal would stop, and it might be weeks before it would be resumed. They would wait, they said, for his answer until seven o'clock that evening. Colonel Goethals listened to the committee, then shook hands with them and went to his home.

Seven o'clock came, then eight. The committee was worried. They telephoned Colonel Goethals and asked for his answer. He replied in surprise that they had it. They said it had not reached them. He reminded them that they intended to strike at seven o'clock if the man was not released, and then said, "It is now eight o'clock; if you call the penitentiary, you will find the man is still there."

The leaders did not want to strike. They had expected to make Colonel Goethals do what they wanted. Then they said, "Do you want to tie up the work down here, Colonel"?

"I am not tying it up," he told them. "You are. You forget that this is not a private enterprise, but a government job."

When asked what he was going to do, his answer was: "Any man not at work tomorrow morning will be given his transportation to the United States. He will go out on the first steamer and he will never come back."

There was only one man who had failed to report, and he sent a doctor's certificate saying he was too sick to work. There were no more strikes.

In May, 1913, a Congressman introduced a bill into the House of Representatives providing for the promotion of Colonel Goethals from Colonel to Major-General as a reward for his services in building the canal. At once Colonel Goethals wrote the gentleman saying he appreciated his kindness but he did not believe he should be singled out for such an honor. There were many men, he said, who had done great work in Panama, and they, as well as himself, felt repaid for their services not only by their salary but by the honor of being connected with such a wonderful task. He said also that the United States Government had educated and trained him so it was but right that it should have his services. The bill was withdrawn and Colonel Goethals was satisfied.

When we look at the life of this successful man it seems as if all the years before his going to the Canal Zone were but a preparation for the great feat that awaited him there. He was always eager to work, and when he was a little boy in New York City he earned his first money by doing errands. At that time he was eleven years of age, but by the time he was fifteen he was the cashier and bookkeeper in a market. Other boys spent their time playing ball, but he worked after school and every Saturday. He was paid five dollars a week. His first hope was to be a physician, but the steady indoor work had weakened his health and he decided to become a soldier. He thought the excellent military training would make him well and strong, so he passed the examinations for West Point Military Academy.

As he knew no one there, George Goethals' entry into the famous school was but little noticed. However, as the months and years passed, every one there was proud to claim him as a pupil or classmate.

There are three great honors to be won at West Point. Any man who wins one of these is called an honor man, and the entire school looks up to him. The first honor is to have the highest grade as a student. The second is to be named a leader and an officer over all the rest of the class. The third is to be chosen for an office by one's classmates because they like him. George W. Goethals won all three of these. He was an honor man in his studies; his teachers chose him as one of the four captains taken from his class; and this same class elected him president in his senior year.

With such a school record it is not at all surprising that Colonel Goethals made steady progress in the army and so was considered by President Roosevelt to be the one person who could build the canal. Since its completion, this able soldier has continued to serve his country, and when President Wilson declared we were in a state of war with Germany, Colonel Goethals was among the first persons summoned to help plan and supervise the great war program; for at the root of his success lies loyalty,--loyalty to his work, to his fellow men, and to the Government of the United States.

* * * * *

_CHILDREN'S PLEDGE_

_I pledge allegiance to my Flag
And to the Republic for which it stands;
One Nation indivisible,
With liberty and justice for all._

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

On one of the more modest streets of Indianapolis there lived, in 1916, an invalid. He was a man sixty-two years of age, with a genial face that had not been hardened by his years of suffering. This man, though living in a modest home and a confirmed invalid, had the rare distinction of being the most beloved man in America. While all classes loved him, the children loved him most; and fortunately they did not wait until he was dead to show their love. One of the nice things they used to do was to send him post cards on his birthdays. Sometimes he would get, on a single birthday, as many as a thousand cards from school children in all parts of the country.

While he could not answer all these cards, he did his best to let them know that he appreciated their kindly attention, as the following letter shows:

"To the School Children of Indianapolis:

"You are conspirators--every one of you, that's what you are! You
have conspired to inform the general public of my birthday, and I
am already so old that I want to forget all about it. But I will
be magnanimous and forgive you, for I know that your intent is
really friendly, and to have such friends as you are makes
me--don't care how old I am! In fact it makes me so glad and
happy that I feel as absolutely young and spry as a very
schoolboy--even as one of you--and so to all intents I am.

"Therefore let me be with you throughout the long, lovely day, and
share your mingled joys and blessings with your parents and your
teachers, and, in the words of little Tim Cratchit: 'God bless us,
every one.'

Ever gratefully and faithfully
Your old friend,
James Whitcomb Riley."

On one of his birthdays the school children of Indianapolis decided to march in a great throng by his house and greet him as he sat by his window in an invalid's chair. To their sorrow, when this birthday came it rained hard all day--so hard that they could not think of going out in the storm. But in the high school was a group of pupils who decided that no storm could keep them from showing their love. Accordingly, early in the evening, in the pouring rain, they gathered about his home and in clear, ringing tones sang several of his beautiful poems that had been set to music. So delighted was the great poet that he invited them in and they packed his large sitting room. And what an hour they had together! As they sang he forgot his suffering and was young again. Before they left he recited several of his poems in such a pleasing and impressive manner that I am sure those present will never forget it. One of these, and one which is a great favorite, is entitled _The Old Swimmin'-Hole_.

THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE

Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! Whare the crick so still and deep
Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,
And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below
Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know
Before we could remember anything but the eyes
Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;
But the merry days of Youth is beyond our controle,
And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole.

Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore,
When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,
Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide
That gazed back at me so gay and glorified,
It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress
My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.
But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll
From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole.

Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days
When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways,
How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,
Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane
You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole
They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole
But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll
Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole.