One day an old friend of mine, whom I had not seen for nearly twenty
years, burst into my office. After the gladsome handshakes and slaps of
affection, I asked him to tell me about himself.
“Well,” he said, “I got married.”
“Hm,” I said, “That’s good.”
“No,” he said, “Not so good. My wife turned out to be a tartar.”
“Well,” I said, “That’s bad.”
“No,” he said, “Not so bad. She brought me twenty thousand dollars.”
“O,” I said, “that’s good.”
“No,” he said, “Not so good. I invested the money in sheep and they all
died.”
“Hm,” I said, “that’s bad.”
“No,” he said, “Not so bad. I sold the wool for more than the sheep
cost me.”
“Well,” I said, “that’s good.”
“No,” he said, “Not so good. I bought a fine home and a fire burned it
to the ground.”
“Hm,” I said, “that’s bad.”
“No,” he said, “Not so bad. My wife was in it.”
Before and during our part of the World War we were not so good and
not so bad. Two years after that comedy of errors and tragedy of blood
called the Spanish-American War, we did the most unusual thing in our
life as a nation. For the first time after a war, we increased and
helped our land forces. Under the pressure of Philippine Wars and
onward-looking men like Elihu Root and Theodore Roosevelt, we raised
our army to one hundred thousand for a hundred million people. We set
up new service schools and broadened others for the higher military
education of our officers. We at last formed a general staff. And in
1911 we assembled during peace a regular division of troops for the
first time in our history. To be sure, it took months to do so, it
drained the country of nearly all its trained forces, and the division
couldn’t be entirely collected, but the move wasn’t so bad. For
several years it looked as though our army would be a going concern.
Then we lagged. The wolf in sheep’s clothing began to bleat. In 1913,
Congressman Dies, in the House of Representatives, stated: “God has
placed us on this great, rich continent, separate and secure from the
broils of Europe.” Dr. David Starr Jordan, President of Leland Stanford
University, flooded the country with his prophesies. Here is one. “It
is apparently not possible for another real war among the nations of
Europe to take place.” As for our getting into any war, he threw it
off as so much silliness. That was just the opium the country wanted
in 1913 and early ’14. The people ate up the idea. Anyone who spoke
preparedness was a jingoist and wanted war. Why, war was impossible.
It meant too much to Wall Street. European nations were too poor to
fight. Modern weapons would be too horrible to allow a war. What was
the use of paying out good money for scientific training--for modern
materials--for being ready at all? War couldn’t be. Not so good.
For war suddenly _was_. Right in the midst of this dangerous
propaganda. Someone struck a match at Sarajevo and set all Europe
on fire. Despite those priceless brains that had so lately invented
no war, Russia, England, France, Belgium, Austria and Germany were
flaming. What a sight! Americans rushed for front seats and bought
concessions. Wasn’t it an awful fire! What a pity! As for us--poof!
We couldn’t get into it. It was Europe’s affair. We sensed no tidal
wave of emotions. We didn’t even send experts over there to see how
modern war was conducted. Not so good, for the rumblings grew plainer
and plainer. In 1915, Colonel House, the President’s confidential
adviser, wrote to Woodrow Wilson: “If war comes with Germany, it will
be because of our unpreparedness and her belief that we are more or
less impotent to do her harm.” He was on the ground and saw. But did
we take his word and see? Our mobile army _then_ was smaller than our
trained force before the Spanish-American War. Our general staff was
reduced and our equipment laughable. No so good. We entered 1916 still
unconcernedly watching the drama in Europe, while U-boats were sinking
our shipping, Germany was sticking out her tongue at us and we were
getting hotter and hotter. Were we doing anything for our safety? No,
no, that would be a violent gesture. Despite our watchful waiting and
utter helplessness, General Leonard Wood established the business men’s
training camp. And Congress, by some miracle, put over our first real
National Defense Act--a comprehensive thing built on sound lines. Not
so bad.
But the legislation wouldn’t be fulfilled for five years--and here we
were ten months before we got into the war. Even if the act had been
immediately and wholly effective, we wouldn’t have had time to get the
men and train them. Not so good.
Then out of the blue came Pancho Villa. He crossed our border March 9,
1916, raided the defenseless town of Columbus, New Mexico, and killed
eleven civilians and nine soldiers. It looked like a horror for us.
Not so good. But the tragedy was a blessing in disguise. It probably
kept France from being German today. It gave an excuse to the President
for rushing to the border a large part of the regular army and one
hundred and fifty thousand National Guardsmen. There they received fine
training in fundamentals. Their experience gave the foundation for the
1st, 2nd, 26th and 42nd Divisions--the first ones to be factors in
France later. Not so bad. But it took a brutal act to compel us to do
what we wouldn’t do under our own steam. Even so we were magnificently
unready. And we jumped into the European War, April 6, 1917, because we
were angry, inflamed, anxious to punish Germany at any cost. No catch
phrases, no plottings of a few could possibly have pitched us into the
struggle without that general hatred. And we had little with which
to carry out the wholesale desire for force. Immediately we needed
two hundred thousand officers. We hadn’t ten thousand trained ones
to instruct them and at the same time lead our forces. In equipment
we were worse off. We had a few out-of-date airplanes, only enough
artillery ammunition for a two-day battle, no automatic rifles and
comparatively few machine guns and ordinary rifles. Materially we
lacked almost everything. Although we had the best rifle in the world,
there was not anywhere near enough. We had to arm our men largely with
British Enfields--unfamiliar to Americans--at best poor makeshifts.
We couldn’t manufacture any of these things in time. In July 1917,
Congress voted six hundred forty million dollars for airplanes. Nearly
a year later we hadn’t any of our aircraft in Europe. Where had the
money gone? An investigation was ordered. After seventeen thousand
pages of testimony were taken down, it was found that aircraft couldn’t
be built and shipped abroad in that time. Not so good.
In our equipment we were helpless without our Allies. But in our
manpower, we did surprisingly well. A little over a month after war was
declared, we did the astonishing thing of passing a Draft Act. We put
teeth in the law of 1792 promoted by George Washington, which had been
a dead statute for over one hundred and twenty-five years. Instead of
the horrors of volunteering, of utterly untrained men, of political
shilly-shallying, we turned to a just and equalizing system. We did
away with the woes of extra disease and death--and put our soldiers
into training. Not in _this_ war would absolutely green officers send
into eternity helpless volunteers. Our best men went to training camps,
where they at least had to qualify in leading others. Not so bad. But
of course these candidates couldn’t be fully trained in eighty days.
And the regular officers, who had been deprived of modern methods in
Europe, couldn’t give them all they needed. But they _did_ get many
essentials, which they could pass on to the drafted men.
Today, many don’t realize what a vast amount of hardship, sickness and
death was saved by our moves of the draft and officers’ training camps.
It has been estimated that by the draft alone we saved five per cent
in money and possibly twenty per cent in human life. Not so bad. To be
sure we had unnecessary suffering and mortality. No system invented as
late as 1917 could have overcome our shiftlessness during the years
before. A month after we declared war, General Pershing was sent to
Europe with a handful. “Where are the Americans?” asked our Allies.
“Why,” he had to explain, “they are back in the United States getting
ready.” And for a year they had to keep getting ready before they were
of real physical help.
Suppose you were attacked on the street by a strong bandit. I calmly
from my window watch you struggling against him for several hours.
Finally my wrath gets the best of me. I rush out to the curb. I see
blood and bruises on your face. I yell to you: “I’m for you, old man.
I’ll fight on your side, but chuck me a pair of brass knuckles. I’ll go
down town and have them made to fit me. I may get a few boxing lessons
too. I’ll be back in about an hour. Just keep on going. You’re doing
fine.” What would you think of me? Not so good. Well, we did that very
thing to our Allies. Sixteen months after we entered the war, General
Pershing pathetically stated: “This is the first time the American
Army has been recognized as a participant alongside of the Allies.”
What we did after war was declared was about as good as could humanly
be expected. What we didn’t do beforehand was about as dumb as could
humanly be expected. Most of the unnecessary woes of the war can justly
be laid to this stupidity. Out of nearly two million Americans who went
to Europe, over fifty thousand were killed by battle. Out of the three
and one-half millions in service, sixty-five thousand died of accident
or disease. Much of this waste could have been avoided. It is estimated
that there are fifteen thousand graves of our soldiers in France, which
should not be there. Men were sent overseas who didn’t know how to load
their rifles, use their gas masks, or take the simplest precautions of
taking cover or care of themselves. They hadn’t been given a chance to
learn. There was no time to teach them. The training camp products,
though better than untrained volunteers, were too often uncertain
in their movements and orders. There were times when they brought
unnecessary slaughter to themselves and their commands. The German
General Ludendorff after the war, paid great tribute to the gallantry
of the individual American soldier, but at the same time told of the
inferior quality of some American troops--as troops. General Pershing’s
complaints about the lack of training of men sent over, remind us of
George Washington’s pitiful pleas during our Revolution. We waited for
the calamity to get us, instead of getting the calamity beforehand.
The sad part is that our losses, our hardships, our waste of money and
material could all have been prevented, had we had strength in ’14, ’15
and ’16. German records and statements brought to light since the war,
prove beyond doubt that we would never have been insulted by Germany,
had our people drowned at sea and been drawn into the war at all, had
we not been considered so senselessly weak. And we were weak--just
as weak as Germany estimated us. As it was we were barely able to
help. In the spring of 1918 all looked lost for our Allies. They were
making their last stand. A matter of hours and nothing could stem the
German onrush. By the greatest fortune and luck we had, by that time,
a few troops worthy of taking the places of French and British reserve
divisions and releasing them to the front. It was that plugging up
of the tiny hole in the dyke that let the Allies hold on. Had we not
shown an unbelievable efficiency over all of our other wars, after we
got into the fight, and had not Villa crossed our border in 1916, the
hole could not have been plugged--and America would have been on the
losing side. Our unreadiness before war--not so good. Our surprising
efficiency after we got into the war--not so bad. Our dependence upon a
Mexican bandit for partial preparation--not so good.
But suppose we had been forced to fight our enemy alone. Suppose
we hadn’t had Allies to spend their lives in defense for a whole
year. Suppose in wandering off for brass knuckles and boxing lessons
we’d have been left alone with him. Can you picture the frightful,
extravagant, tremendous deaths we would have dealt out to our own young
men?
_XIII_