WHEN THE TIDE TURNED

THE AMERICAN ATTACK AT CHÂTEAU-THIERRY
AND BELLEAU WOOD
IN THE FIRST WEEK OF JUNE, 1918

BY OTTO H. KAHN

AN ADDRESS AT THE UNITED WAR WORK CAMPAIGN MEETING
OF THE BOSTON ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION, NOVEMBER 12, 1918

WHY THE TIDE WAS FATED TO TURN

These are soul-stirring days. To live through them is a glory and a solemn joy. The words of the poet resound in our hearts: "God's in His heaven, all's right with the world."

Events have shaped themselves in accordance with the eternal law. Once again the fundamental lesson of all history is borne in upon the world, that evil—though it may seem to triumph for a while—carries within it the seed of its own dissolution. Once again it is revealed to us that the God-inspired soul of man is unconquerable and that the power, however formidable, which challenges it is doomed to go down in defeat.

A righteous cause will not only stand unshaken through trials and discomfiture, but it will draw strength from the very setbacks which it may suffer. A wrongful cause can only stand as long as it is buoyed up by success.

The German people were sustained by a sheer obsession akin to the old-time belief in the potent spell of "the black arts" that their military masters were invulnerable and invincible, that by some power—good or evil, they did not care which—they had been made so, and that the world was bound to fall before them.

The nation was immensely strong only as long as that obsession remained unshaken. With its destruction by a series of defeats which were incapable of being explained as "strategic retreats," their morale crumbled and finally collapsed, because it was not sustained, as that of the Allies was sustained in the darkest days of the war, by the faith that they were fighting for all that men hold most sacred.

To those who were acquainted with German mentality and psychology, it had been manifest all along that when the end foreordained did come, it would come with catastrophic suddenness.

WHERE THE TIDE TURNED

It is the general impression that the tide of victory set in with Marshal Foch's splendid movement against the German flank on July 18th. That movement, it is true, started the irresistible sweep of the wave which was destined to engulf and destroy the hideous power of Prussianism. But the tide which gathered and drove forward the waters out of which that wave arose, had turned before. It turned with and through the supreme valor of our marines and other American troops in the first battle at Château-Thierry and at Belleau Wood, in the first week of June.

The American force engaged was small, measured by the standard of numbers to which we have become accustomed in this war, but the story of their fighting will remain immortal and in its psychological and strategic consequences the action will take rank, I believe, among the decisive battles of the war.

I am not speaking from hearsay. I was in France during the week preceding that battle, the most anxious and gloomy period, probably, of the entire war. What I am about to relate is based either on authoritative information gathered on the spot, or on my own observations. In telling it, nothing is farther from my thoughts than to wish to take away one tittle from the immortal glory which belongs to the Allied armies, nor from the undying gratitude which we owe to the nations who for four heart-breaking years, with superb heroism, fought the battle of civilization—our battle from the very beginning, no less than theirs—and bore untold sacrifices with never faltering spirit.

JUST BEFORE THE TIDE TURNED

On the 27th of last May the Germans broke through the French position at the Chemin des Dames, a position which had been considered by the Allies as almost impregnable. They overthrew the French as they had overthrown the British two months earlier. Day by day they came nearer to Paris, until only thirty-nine miles separated them from their goal. A few days more at the same rate of advance, and Paris was within range of the German guns of terrific destructive power. Paris, the nerve center of the French railroad system and the seat of many French war industries, not only, but the very heart of France, far more to the French people in its meaning and traditions than merely the capital of the country; Paris in imminent danger of ruthless bombardment like Rheims, in possible danger even of conquest by the brutal invader, drunk with lust and with victory! As one Frenchman expressed it to me: "We felt in our faces the very breath of the approaching beast."

And whilst the Hunnish hordes came nearer and nearer, and the very roar of the battle could be dimly and ominously heard from time to time in Paris, there were air raids over the city practically every night, and the shells from the long-range monster guns installed some sixty or seventy miles distant fell on its houses, places, and streets almost every day.

They were not afraid, these superb men and women of France. They do not know the meaning of fear in defense of their beloved soil and their sacred ideals. There was no outward manifestation even of excitement or apprehension. Calmly and resolutely they faced what destiny might bring. But there was deep gloom in their hearts and dire forebodings.

They had fought and dared and suffered and sacrificed for well-nigh four years. They had buried a million of their sons, brothers, and fathers. They were bleeding from a million wounds and more. They said: "We will fight on to our last drop of blood, but alas! our physical strength is ebbing. The enemy is more numerous by far than we. Where can we look for aid? The British have just suffered grave defeat. The Italians have their own soil to defend after the disaster of last autumn. Our troops are in retreat. The Americans are not ready and they are untried as yet in the fierce ordeal of modern warfare. The Germans know well that in three months or six months the Americans will be ready and strong in numbers. That is why they are throwing every ounce of their formidable power against us now. The Hun is at the gate now. Immeasurable consequences are at stake now. It is a question of days, not of weeks or months. Where can we look for aid now?"

And out of their nooks and corners and hiding places crawled forth the slimy brood of the Bolshevik-Socialists, of the Boloists, Caillauxists, and pacifists, and they hissed into the ears of the people, "Make peace! Victory has become impossible. Why go on shedding rivers of blood uselessly? The Germans will give you an honorable, even a generous peace. Save Paris! Make peace!"

The holy wrath of France crushed those serpents whenever their heads became visible. Clemenceau, the embodiment of the dauntless spirit of France, stood forth the very soul of patriotic ardor and indomitable courage. But the serpents were there, crawling hidden in the grass, ever hissing, "Make peace!"

And then, suddenly out of the gloom flashed the lightning of a new sword, sharp and mighty, a sword which had never been drawn except for freedom, a sword which had never known defeat—the sword of America!

THE TURNING OF THE TIDE

A division of marines and other American troops were rushed to the front as a desperate measure to try and stop a gap where flesh and blood, even when animated by French heroism, seemed incapable of further resistance. They came in trucks, in cattle cars, by any conceivable kind of conveyance, crowded together like sardines. They had had little food, and less sleep, for days.

When they arrived, the situation had become such that the French command advised, indeed ordered, them to retire. But they and their brave general would not hear of it. They disembarked almost upon the field of battle and rushed forward, with little care for orthodox battle order, without awaiting the arrival of their artillery, which had been unable to keep up with their rapid passage to that front.

They stormed ahead, right through the midst of a retreating French division, yelling like wild Indians, ardent, young, irresistible in their fury of battle. Some of the Frenchmen called out a well-meant warning: "Don't go in this direction. There are the boches with machine guns." They shouted back:

"That's where we want to go. That's where we have come three thousand miles to go." And they did go, into the very teeth of the deadly machine guns. In defiance of all precedent they stormed, with rifle and bayonet in frontal attack, against massed machine guns.

They threw themselves upon the victory-flushed Huns to whom this unconventional kind of fierce onset came as a complete and disconcerting surprise. They fought like demons, with utterly reckless bravery. They paid the price, alas! in heavy losses, but for what they paid they took compensation in over-full measure.

They formed of themselves a spearhead at the point nearest Paris, against which the enemy's onslaught shattered itself and broke. They stopped the Hun, they beat him back, they broke the spell of his advance. They started victory on its march.

A new and unspent and mighty force had come into the fray. And the Hun knew it to his cost and the French knew it to their unbounded joy. The French turned. Side by side the Americans and the French stood, and on that part of the front the Germans never advanced another inch from that day. They held for a while, and then set in the beginning of the great defeat.

I was in Paris when the news of the American achievement reached the population. They knew full well what it meant. The danger was still present, but the crisis was over. The boche could not break through. He could and would be stopped and ultimately thrown back, out of France, out of Belgium, across the Rhine and beyond!

The aid for which the sorely beset people of France had been praying, had arrived. The Americans had come, young, strong, daring, eager to fight, capable of standing up against and stopping and beating back German shock troops specially selected and trained, and spurred on by the belief in their own irresistibility and the exhaustion of their opponents. The full wave of the hideous instruments of warfare which the devilish ingenuity of the Germans had invented, liquid fire, monstrous shells, various kinds of gases including the horrible mustard gas, had struck the Americans squarely and fully, and they had stood and fought on and won.

The French, so calm in their trials, so restrained in their own victories, gave full vent to their joy and enthusiasm at the splendid fighting and success of the Americans. The talk of them was everywhere in Paris. Hundreds of thousands of American soldiers already in France, thousands coming upon every steamer, millions more to come if needed—and they had shown the great stuff they were made of! All gloom vanished, overnight. The full magnificence of the French fighting morale shone out again—both behind the lines and at the front. "Ils ne passeront pas!" "On les aura." [1]

And the Bolshevik-Socialists, Boloists, weak-kneed pacifists, and that whole noisome tribe slunk back into their holes and corners and hiding places, and never emerged again.

And, as the people of Paris and the poilus at the front correctly interpreted the meaning of that battle in those early days of June, so did the supreme military genius of Marshal Foch interpret it. He knew what the new great fighting force could do which had come under his orders, and he knew what he meant to do and could do with it. It is an eloquent fact that when six weeks later he struck his great master stroke which was to lead ultimately to the utter defeat and collapse of the enemy, American troops formed the larger portion of an attacking force which, being thrown against a particularly vital position, was meant to deal and did deal the most staggering blow to the enemy; and other American troops were allotted the place which from the paramount responsibility attaching to it, may be termed the place of honor, in the center of the line, in immediate defense of the approaches to Paris.

They made good there—officers and men alike. They made good everywhere, from Cantigny to Sedan. They made good on land, on the seas, and in the air; worthy comrades of the war-seasoned heroes of France and Great Britain, worthy defenders of American honor, eager artisans of American glory. When for the first time the American army went into action as a separate unit under the direct command of its great chief, General Pershing, Marshal Foch allotted them ten days for the accomplishment of the task set for them, i.e., the ejection of the German army from the strongly fortified St. Mihiel salient, which the enemy had held for four years. They did it in thirty hours, and made a complete and perfect job of it.

I have had the privilege of seeing these splendid boys of ours, in all situations and circumstances, from their camps in America to the front in France—the boys and their equally splendid leaders. The sacred inspiration of what I have thus seen will stay with me to my last day.

I confess I find it hard to speak of them without a catch in my throat and moisture in my eyes. I see them before me now in the fair land of France—brave, strong, ardent; keen and quick-witted; kindly and clean and modest and wholly free from boasting; good-humored and good-natured; willingly submissive to unaccustomed discipline; uncomplainingly enduring all manner of hardships and discomforts; utterly contemptuous of danger, daring to a fault, holding life cheap for the honor and glory of America. What true American can think of them or picture them without having his heart overflow with grateful and affectionate pride?

As I observed our army "over there," I felt that in them, in the mass of them, representing as they do all sections and callings of America, there had returned the ancient spirit of knighthood. I measure my words. I am not exaggerating. If I had to find one single word with which to characterize our boys, I should select the adjective "knightly."

A French officer who commanded a body of French troops, fighting fiercely and almost hopelessly in Belleau Wood near Château-Thierry (since then officially designated by the French Government as the Wood of the Marine Brigade), told me that when they had arrived almost at the point of total exhaustion, suddenly the Americans appeared rushing to the rescue. One of the American officers hurried up to him, saluted and said in execrably pronounced French just six words: "Vous—fatigués, vous—partir, notre job." "You—tired, you—get away, our job." And right nobly did they do their job!

[1] "They shall not pass!" "We will get them."

Almost every soldier who goes into battle leaves a letter to be read in the event of his death. Sturgis ("Spud") Pishon, a former famous college athlete, serving in the American air forces in Italy, before his fatal flight wrote this letter, so full of the strength and simplicity of a great soldier:

"What little I have to give to my country I give without reservation. If there ever was a righteous cause it is ours, and I am proud to have worked and died for it.

"Pray God this war will be over soon and that it will be the last war.

"I leave you with a smile on my lips and a heart full of love for you all. God bless you and keep you."

STURGIS.

A BOY OF PERUGIA

In the year 1500, Raphael was a boy of eighteen in Perugia working and studying with the master painter Perugino. Did the city itself, free on its hill top, looking afar over undulating mountains and great valleys, implant in the sensitive soul of Raphael a love of beauty and a vision that made him become one of the greatest painters of the world? Perugia can never be forgotten, for the boy Raphael once lived, worked, and studied there.

In the year 1915 Enzo Valentini was a boy of eighteen in Perugia. He was a high school boy and his father was mayor of the city. One of his teachers says he was an unusually brilliant scholar, with remarkable artistic gifts. Did the city and its beautiful surroundings open his soul to the vision of love and tenderness for his "little mother" and of the duty that called him while but a boy in the high school to serve and, if need be, die for his country?

When Italy entered the war, he gave up his studies, dropped his pen and his brushes, volunteered as a private, and was soon fighting with his countrymen in the Alps.

Certainly his soul was responsive to beauty in nature; for in the midst of war and war's alarms, he found peace of spirit in the wonderful Alpine country. He writes, "The longer I am here, the more I love the mountains. The spell they weave does not come so quickly as that of the sea, but I think it is deeper and more enduring. Every passing moment, every cloud, every morning mist clothes the mountains in a beauty so great that even the coarsest of our brave soldiers stop to admire it. It may be for only an instant but this is enough to prove that the soul never forgets its heavenly birth even though it be the soul of an uneducated peasant, imprisoned in the roughest shell. The days pass one after another calmly, serenely. It seems as if the autumn ought never to end. The divine and solemn peace of the nights is beyond the power of words to express, especially now that the moon is shedding its magic silver over all. There are hours in the day when everything is so filled and covered with light and when the silence is so impressive that at moments the light seems to be gone letting the silence blaze forth in the wonderful harmony of nature."

Enzo Valentini loved nature, loved his native land, and loved his mother. She understood him and knew that because of his love for her he was willing to die for Italy and the mothers of Italy. Shortly before his death he wrote her this beautiful letter:—

"Little mother, in a very few days I am leaving for the front lines. For your dear sake I am writing this farewell which you will read only if I am killed. Let it be my good-by to father, to my brothers, and to all those in the world who cared for me.

"My heart in its love and gratitude to you has always brought its holiest thoughts to you; and now it is to you that I make known my last wishes.

"Many have loved me. To each of them give some little thing of mine in remembrance of me, after you have laid aside all those that you care for most. I wish that all who have loved me should possess something of the friend that is gone to rise like a flame above the clouds, above the flesh, into the sun, into the very soul of the universe.

"Try, if you can, not to weep for me too much. Believe that even though I do not come back to you, I am not dead. My body, the less important part of me, suffers and dies; but not I myself—I, the soul, cannot die, because I come from God and must return to God. I was made for happiness and through suffering I must return to the everlasting happiness. If I have been for a short time a prisoner in the body, I am not the less eternal. My death is freedom, the beginning of the real life, the return to the Infinite.

"Therefore do not mourn for me. If you consider the immortal beauty of the ideals for which my soul is willingly sacrificing my body, you will not mourn. But if your mother heart must weep, let the tears flow; a mother's tears are forever sacred. God will take account of them; they will be the stars of a crown.

"Be strong, little mother. From the great beyond, your son says farewell to you, to father, to brothers, to all who have loved him—your son, who has given his body in the fight against those who would put out the light of the world."

So read the "little mother" of Enzo Valentini after the assault upon Sano di Mezzodi. When his platoon charged he was the first to dash from the trench giving courage to all who hesitated. Together they made the mountains ring with the old Italian war cry, "Savoia! Italia!"

Enzo Valentini fell pierced by five pieces of shrapnel. They carried him back to a grotto where the surgeons dressed his wounds.

A comrade says, "We laid him down on the litter in the grotto, among the great rocks, under the dark vault of the sky, his face upturned to the stars. He was exhausted, and asked for a drink, and fainted. Then they carried him to the hospital and I never saw him again. I have been told they carried him down Mount Mesola to the side of the little lake he loved so well, 'his little lake,' and that he sleeps there in death. But for his comrades he is still living in the glory of his youth, there on the Alps, waving his cap with an edelweiss in it, and crying, 'Savoia! Italia!'"

Wild wind! what do you bear—
A song of the men who fought and fell,
A tale of the strong to do and dare?
—Aye, and a tolling bell!

REDEEMED ITALY

Italy, since 1860 at least, has cherished the dream that sometime all European territory with Italian-speaking inhabitants would be united under Italian government. When the World War began Italy was supposed to be an ally of Germany and Austria. She had agreed to fight with them in case they were attacked—in a defensive war.

At first she did not enter the World War. She perceived from the very beginning that Germany and Austria were the attackers and were not the nations attacked. Her people began to understand what victory for the Central Powers would mean and clamored for war on the side of the Allies. Then the cry went up to redeem the lost Italian provinces held by Austria and called "Italia Irredenta" or "Unredeemed Italy," and Italy entered the war May 23, 1915.

At first she declared war upon Austria but not upon Germany. She made no attempt to work in harmony with the Allies. It was a war of her own upon Austria to regain the lost Italian provinces of the Trentino and Trieste. Although she fought against tremendous obstacles in the mountain passes with wonderful courage and success, her entrance into the war was of assistance to the Allies only as it kept a certain number of Austrian soldiers from the eastern and western fronts.

In 1916, the Italians captured Gorizia and all Italy went wild and began to dream of a more wonderful development than had ever seemed possible before. In 1917, they fought on with seemingly great success and dreamed wilder dreams than ever, for Russia was out of the war and would have no claim to Constantinople and the straits. Italy in this year sent an army across the Adriatic into Albania to assure Italian control of that country.

And then the "castles in the air" were suddenly shattered. The Italian army had not been properly supplied and the country was very short of coal. The army had therefore not been able to follow up its successful attacks. The enemy had also caused great discontent among the common soldiers in the Italian forces by spreading lies among them. The collapse of the Russian armies had also made many of them believe Germany was unbeatable.

Then, too, it is said the Italian generals were too sure, "too confident," as athletic trainers would say, and had not properly protected their armies and their northern provinces against a reverse. Italy had declared war on Germany on August 27, 1916, and German shock troops set free by the downfall of Russia were sent against the incautious Italians and broke through their lines.

No prepared positions were ready back of the lines. The great bases were close up to the lines. Therefore when the Italian armies were obliged to retreat to prevent being surrounded and captured, they had to retreat so far that their army bases with all their supplies were lost and hundreds of thousands of Italian non-combatants were forced to leave their homes on scarcely a "moment's notice." 250,000 Italians and 2000 guns were captured by the enemy.

The greatest humiliation and the worst suffering followed, however, for the Italian people who were left behind in the provinces overrun by the victorious Austrians and Germans. The following proclamation by the Germans in the province of Udine is an excellent example of how the Huns treated conquered territory and conquered peoples.

PROCLAMATION issued by the Headquarters of the German Military Government at Udine to the inhabitants of conquered Italy.

A house-to-house search will be made for all concealed arms, weapons, and ammunition.

All victuals remaining in the houses must be delivered up.

Every citizen must obey our labor regulations.

ALL WORKMEN, WOMEN, AND CHILDREN OVER 15 YEARS OLD ARE obliged to work in the fields every day, Sundays included, from 4 A.M. to 8 P.M.

Disobedience will be punished in the following manner:—

(1) Lazy workmen will be accompanied to their work and watched by Germans. After the harvest they will be IMPRISONED for six months, and every third day will be given NOTHING BUT BREAD AND WATER.

(2) Lazy women will be obliged to work, and after the harvest receive SIX MONTHS' IMPRISONMENT.

(3) LAZY CHILDREN WILL BE PUNISHED BY BEATING.

The Commandant Reserves the Right to Punish Lazy Workmen with 20 Lashes Daily.

What a contrast to the proclamation of General Allenby when the English captured Jerusalem whereby the inhabitants were guaranteed protection in carrying on their business, and all homes and buildings were to be safeguarded. When following the armistice the American soldiers occupied German cities, the Germans were surprised to find that they were in no wise punished or prevented from going about their regular pursuits.

As a result of the World War, Italy recovered the unredeemed provinces, and just before the signing of the armistice, she redeemed herself in war by wiping out the memory of her humiliating defeat about a year earlier at Caporetto.

The Italian war office in its official report of this second battle of the Piave says in substance the following:—

"The war against Austria-Hungary which under the supreme direction of the king, the commander-in-chief of the Italian army, began May 24, 1915, and which since then, with inferior numbers and material, has been conducted with unflagging faith and constant valor for forty-one months has been won.

"The gigantic battle of October 24 is victoriously ended. Fifty-one Italian divisions, three British, two French, one Czechoslovak, and one American regiment fought against sixty-three Austro-Hungarian divisions.

"The Austro-Hungarian army is destroyed. It suffered very heavy losses in the fierce resistance of the first days of the battle, and in retreat it lost an immense quantity of material of all kinds, nearly all its stores and depots, and has left in our hands over 300,000 prisoners, with their commands complete, and not less than 5,000 guns.

"The defeat has left what was one of the most powerful armies in the world in disorder and without hope of returning along the valleys through which it advanced with proud assurance."

Church bells were rung all over Italy and parades and celebrations were held in all the large cities.

President Wilson sent on November 4 the following message to the King of Italy:—

May I not say how deeply and sincerely the people of the United States rejoice that the soil of Italy is delivered from her enemies? In their name I send your Majesty and the great Italian people the most enthusiastic congratulations.

WOODROW WILSON.

During the war, Italy called to the colors from a male population of only 17,000,000 nearly 5,500,000 men and suffered a loss of almost 1,000,000 of them. It is estimated that the nation's man power suffered a permanent loss of over half a million.

But serious as is this loss, Italy inflicted an even greater punishment upon the foe. In Austrian prisoners alone she captured over a million. The Austrian loss in killed and wounded was doubtless far greater than Italy's.

Over 2500 miles of roads were constructed on the mountains of Italy and Albania, and 1000 miles of aërial cable railroads were built to carry food, ammunition, and guns over deep ravines.

Italy's fighters and industrial workers accomplished their work with an inadequate supply of materials and food that meant real and continuous suffering such as probably was felt by no other of the warring peoples.

We will never bring disgrace to this, our city, by any act of dishonesty or cowardice, nor ever desert our suffering comrades in the ranks. We will fight for the ideals and sacred things of the city, both alone and with many; we will revere and obey the city's laws and do our best to incite a like respect and reverence in those above us who are prone to annul or to set them at naught; we will strive unceasingly to quicken the public's sense of civic duty. Thus in all these ways we will transmit this city not only not less but greater, better and more beautiful than it was transmitted to us.

The Oath of the Athenian Youth.

SONG OF THE AVIATOR

(This poem was written for an entertainment given by the Y.M.C.A. at an aviation barracks in a large camp in France. Mrs. Wilcox addressed five hundred aviators, and these verses were recited with great effect by Mrs. May Randall. After the entertainment there was a rush to obtain autographed copies of the poem.)

You may thrill with the speed of your thoroughbred steed,
You may laugh with delight as you ride the ocean,
You may rush afar in your touring car,
Leaping, sweeping by things that are creeping—
But you never will know the joy of motion
Till you rise up over the earth some day
And soar like an eagle, away—away.

High and higher, above each spire,
Till lost to sight is the tallest steeple,
With the winds you chase in a valiant race,
Looping, swooping, where mountains are grouping,
Hailing them comrades, in place of people.
Oh, vast is the rapture the bird man knows
As into the ether he mounts and goes.

He is over the sphere of human fear;
He has come into touch with things supernal.
At each man's gate death stands await;
And dying flying were better than lying
In sick beds crying for life eternal.
Better to fly halfway to God
Than to burrow too long like a worm in the sod.

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

NATIONS BORN AND REBORN

In America, and in many other countries, people have listened with wonder and enjoyment to strangely beautiful music played by, probably the greatest of all pianists of today, Ignace Jan Paderewski. For years he has traveled from country to country and from city to city, playing the piano in a manner no other has been able to imitate, although Chopin's playing, it is said, had much the same effect upon the audiences. In Paderewski's playing as in his composition there is always an undercurrent deeply sad and weird. No one but a genius from the martyred land of Poland, or from some other that had equally suffered, could play as Chopin and Paderewski played or could compose music such as they composed. All the old glory of Poland in the ancient centuries, her grievous losses, the terrible wrongs done her, and the long-treasured dreams of a new and happier day for her people, live in the soul of Paderewski, and vibrate through his very finger tips as they move over the keys of his loved instrument.

Today the dreams of the Polish people are coming true. Hopes cherished since about the twelfth century are through the World War being realized in a new Poland.

The tenth century saw the formation of the first kingdom of Poland in central Europe to the east of the Germans. The country grew and prospered for two hundred years. Then, lacking kingly leadership, it became weak, and was finally divided into many principalities. At that time came the terrible Tartar invasion across Russia and into Poland, resulting in shocking desolation and ruin.

When complete destruction was threatened from hostile peoples, on the north and east, the Poles summoned aid from the Teutonic Knights, a German crusading order.

The Germans drove out the hostile neighbors, promptly taking control of their lands. Then Poland learned that she had even worse enemies to fear in those she had called to help her. She watched them build up military power to conquer her own lands. But by joining with the Lithuanians, she managed at length to defeat the Germans at the famous battle of Tannenberg in 1410.

For over three hundred years the kingdom possessed great power. But at last it again began to weaken, and the year 1772 "saw the beginning of the end." The three great nations, Russia, Prussia, and Austria, then joined against Poland and began to divide the kingdom among themselves. By 1795 Poland had ceased to exist as a nation.

The terrible misfortunes of the Polish people under these hostile foreign powers served really to bind them together with one common purpose—to win back the kingdom and to reëstablish a free country. This was their dream.

When the World War came, the Polish people in many lands, especially in the United States, volunteered for service on the French front. On June 22, 1918, the first division of Polish troops in France was presented with flags at a solemn ceremony, and listened to an address by the French president. Soon large numbers of Poles were fighting the Austrians and Germans in Italy and in Russia, although they knew that capture meant court-martial and death, since Austria and Germany considered them deserters, as they indeed were. The supreme commander of Polish forces, General Josef Haller, had been a colonel in the Austrian army. But he decided to desert the Austrian army to lead an "Iron Brigade" of Poles against the enemies of freedom.

Eighty-eight officers and twenty-six privates in his regiment were captured by the Austrians, court-martialed, and sentenced to death. When offered pardon by the Emperor Karl, they refused, saying, "We are soldiers of the Polish Nation. The Austrian government has no right to grant us pardon even as it has no more right to inflict punishment upon us than upon the soldiers of France and England."

Facing death, these men wrote to the Polish Parliamentary Club in Vienna, their reasons for desertion,—namely, the unfair treatment at the hands of the Austrians and their love for Poland. They had heard a rumor that the Polish organization was about to secure a more liberal sentence for them by agreeing to the cession of certain provinces of Poland. So the prisoners further wrote:—

"We value greatly the love of our countrymen and we were touched deeply by the generosity with which they thought of us, but we desire to protest most energetically against relief and concessions secured for us to the detriment of our country and the ancient rights of our nation.

"Do not permit our personal lot to weaken the united Polish front, for the death penalty can affect us only physically. The sufferings undergone by our grandfathers and fathers, we will continue to endure and with the sincere conviction that we are serving a free, united, and independent Poland."

A few days after they were condemned, the Polish National Committee sent a message to Italy declaring that representatives from all classes of the Polish people had met at Warsaw and proclaimed the union of all Poland.

Italy, France, and Great Britain formally recognized the Polish national army as independent and Allied, and on November 4, 1918, Secretary Lansing, in a letter, to a representative of the Polish National Committee, stated that the United States Government also wished to recognize officially the independence of the Polish army as a part of the Allied forces.

The people of the United States with those of other countries are hoping that Paderewski's great national family shall become united in one free and independent state. They now applaud this master of music as the first leader of free Poland. He will help destroy Bolshevism with its cry, "Death to the educated," which has resulted already in the death of hundreds of doctors, professors, engineers, and in one case, the extermination of all the pupils in a single high school. He will join the other great leaders in their belief that "Economic development, patriotism, and the ennobling of all human souls alone can lead to freedom."

To the south of Poland in the very heart of Europe is another new country, which already has set up a democratic government and elected as its president,—Thomas G. Masaryk, a former professor in the University of Prague, now the capital of Czecho-Slovakia.

Professor Masaryk spent some time in the United States conferring with officials at Washington. He was here when he received word that he had been elected first president of his newly formed country by a convention held in Geneva, Switzerland.

Great preparations for his return were made by the people. When at one o'clock on December 22, the booming of cannon told that the president's train was drawing in at the station, the hundred thousand people who had poured into the city of Prague were massed on every side to welcome him and sang, as only the Slavs can sing, their national song.

Soon President Masaryk's train, with its engine elaborately decorated, steamed in through the silent crowd. In complete silence, Masaryk, gray-haired and distinguished appearing, left the train and entered the station. There he saw groups of Czecho-Slovaks in French uniforms, some wearing the war cross, and groups who had been fighting in the Italian Alps. He saw also a group of university professors who had come to honor him.

In the tense silence, one of the leaders of the new republic came forward. He had for years conspired and worked with Masaryk for the freedom of their country, and now he greeted him by throwing his arms about him. After a further greeting from the government officials, and from the nation's aged and honored poet, Masaryk gave a brief speech telling of his hopes for the republic. He then passed out to the crowd who hailed him in a tumult of joy. One who witnessed Masaryk's return pictures the scenes on the way to the government buildings.