MEN WITH MEDALS
General Pétain was the first of many famous Frenchmen who came to see
the American troops in training. He also had the additional object of
reviewing the chasseurs and of distributing medals, for this crack
division had been withdrawn from one of the most active sectors to
instruct the doughboys. General Pershing accompanied Pétain. The blue
devils were drawn up in formation in the middle of a big meadow cupped
within hills. The seven men who were to be honored stood in a line in
front of the division. Six were officers and they awaited the pleasure
of the general with their swords held at attention. The seventh man who
stood at the right of the little line was an old sergeant with a great
flowing gray and white mustache. The rifle which he held in front of him
overtopped him by at least a foot.
The ceremony began with a fanfare by the trumpeters. As the last notes
came tumbling back from the hills Pétain moved forward. We found that he
was not so tall as Pershing nor quite as straight. The French leader is
also a little gray and about his waist there is just a suggestion of the
white man's burden. But he is soldierly for all that and his eyes are
marvelously keen and steady. His tailor deserved a decoration. The
general wore only one medal, but that was as large as the badge of a
country sheriff. It was a great silver shield hung about his neck and
indicated that he was a commander of the Legion of Honor. He stopped in
front of the first officer in the little line waiting to be honored and
spoke to him for a moment. Then he pinned a red ribbon on his coat and
kissed the man first on the left cheek and then on the right. The
doughboys looked on in amazement.
"Well, I'll be damned," said one under his breath, "it's true."
Four men received the red ribbons, but the other three were down only
for the military medal which is a high decoration but less esteemed
than the Legion of Honor. No kisses went with the green and yellow
ribbons of the military medal but only handshakes. Pétain stopped in
front of the old sergeant at the end of the line and looked at him for a
minute without speaking. Then he called an orderly.
"This man has three palms on his croix de guerre," said Pétain.
Now a palm means that soldier has been cited for conspicuous bravery in
the report of the entire army.
"The military medal is not enough for this man," continued Pétain. "Step
forward," he said.
The old sergeant trembled a little as he stood a tiny, solitary gray
figure in front of the whole division.
"Bring back the trumpets," Pétain commanded and for the lone poilu the
fanfare was sounded again.
"I make you a chevalier of the Legion of Honor," said the commander in
chief of the French army to the old sergeant, and after he had pinned
the red ribbon to his breast he added a hug to the conventional two
kisses. The poilu moved back to the ranks steadily, but as soon as the
general had turned his back the sergeant pulled out his handkerchief and
wept. The soldiers greeted their comrade with cheers and laughter.
"Now," said Pétain turning to Pershing, "let's take it easy for a little
while. I've seen plenty of reviews."
The French general walked across the space cleared for the review and
began to talk with people in the fringe of spectators gathered around
the edge of the meadow. He talked easily without any seeming
condescension.
"How are you, my little man?" he said, patting a boy on the head. "In
what military class are you?"
Encouraged by his father the boy said that he was in the class of 1928.
"Oh," said the general, "that's a long time off. We shall have beaten
the Boches before then."
Next it was a peasant girl who attracted his attention.
"Where have you come from?" he inquired with as much apparent interest
as if he were talking with a soldier just back from Berlin. "That was a
long walk just to see soldiers," he said when the girl told him that she
lived in a little village about ten miles distant. "But we are glad to
have you here," he added.
And so he moved on down the line with handshakes for the grownups, pats
on the head for little boys and kisses for little girls. He turned back
to his reviewing station then and the French troops swept by with brave
display: They were very smart and brisk, horse, foot and artillery, but
Pétain found a few things to criticize although he mingled praise
generously with censure. He told the officers to know their men and to
get on such terms with them that the soldiers would not be afraid to
speak freely. He told of reforms which he planned to introduce in the
French army. He favored longer leaves from the front, he said, and
better transportation for the poilus.
"I shall have time tables made for the men on leave," he said and then
for an instant he became the shrewd French business man rather than the
dashing general.
"I have figured out," he explained, "that the army can afford to sell
these time tables for five sous. It wouldn't do to give them away.
Nobody would value them then."
A week later we had another visitor. French generals and all their
resplendent aides clicked their heels together and stood at attention as
this civilian passed by. He was a short stoutish man in blue serge
knickerbockers and a dark yachting cap. His tailor deserved no
decoration for this seemed a secondary sort of costume and headgear in a
group loaded down with gold braid and valor medals. But their swords
flashed for the man in the yachting cap and a great general saw him into
his car, for the stoutish visitor was the President of the French
Republic. Generals Pétain and Pershing accompanied Poincaré in his car
up to the drill ground. It was an American division which marched this
morning. In fact it was the same unit which had marched through the
streets of the port only a few months before. They had grown browner and
straighter since that day and they looked taller. Group consciousness
had dawned in them now. The only lack of discipline was shown by the
mules. It must be admitted that the mule morale left much to be desired.
Many were new to the task of dragging machine guns and those that did
not sulk tried to run away. Strong arms and stronger words prevailed
upon them.
"Remember," the driver would plead, "you have a part in making the world
safe for democracy," and in a trice all the evil would flee from the
eyes and the heels of the unruly animals.
A number of bands helped to keep the men swinging into the face of a
driving rain. The French officers who accompanied Pétain and Poincaré
were somewhat surprised when one regiment went by to the tune of
"Tannenbaum," but General Pershing explained that it had been played in
America for years under the name of "Maryland, My Maryland." He had a
harder task some minutes later when a band struck up a regimental hymn
called "Happy Heinie," which borrows largely from "Die Wacht am Rhein"
for its chorus.
As soon as the troops marched by, General Pershing sent orders for all
the officers to assemble. They gathered in a great half circle before
the French President who spoke to them slowly and with much earnestness.
Indeed, he spoke so slowly that fair scholars could follow his
discourse. Even those who could grasp no more than such words as
"Lafayette" and "President Wilson" and "la guerre" listened with
apparent interest. M. Poincaré called attention to the fact that the day
was the anniversary of the Battle of the Marne and also the birthday of
Lafayette. These days, he said, linked together the two nations which
were making a common cause in the struggle for civilization and he ended
with a dramatic sweep of his arm as he exclaimed, "Long live the free
United States." However, he called it Les Etats Unis which made it more
difficult.
"What did he say?" a group of doughboys asked a sergeant chauffeur who
had been stationed near enough to hear the speech. "I didn't get it
all," said the sergeant, "but it sounded a good deal like 'give 'em
hell.'"
The President and his party spent the rest of the afternoon inspecting
the billets of the Americans. In one barn Poincaré insisted on climbing
up a ladder to see the quarters at close range and as he climbed slowly
and clumsily it came to my mind that the presidential waist line, the
knickerbockers and the yachting cap were all symbols of the fact that
France even in war was still a civil democracy.
Still it must be admitted that the next civilian we saw was more warlike
than any of the soldiers. The only military equipment worn by Georges
Clemenceau was a pair of leather puttees which didn't quite fit, but he
had eyes and eyebrows and a jaw which all combined to suggest pugnacity.
He was not then premier and indeed he had been in political retirement
for some time, but he made a greater impression on the soldiers than any
of our visitors because he spoke in English. It was on September 16,
1917, that Clemenceau saw American soldiers, but he had seen them once
before and that was in Richmond in 1864 when Grant marched into the
city. Clemenceau was then a school teacher in America. The old Frenchman
watched the sons and grandsons of those dead and gone fighters and
expressed the wish that he might see American troops once again when
they marched into Berlin.
The doughboys he saw in France were not the seasoned troops which swung
by him on those dusty Virginia roads so many years ago, but in their
hands were new weapons which might have turned the tide at Bull Run and
changed Gettysburg from victory into a rout. Certainly Pickett would
have never swept up to the Union lines if there had been machine guns
such as those with which the rookies blistered the targets for the
edification of the distinguished guests and the bombs which sent the
pebbles sky high might have given pause even to Stonewall Jackson.
There were sports as well as military exercises in the program arranged
for Clemenceau. There were footraces and a tug of war and boxing
matches. In one of these American blood was freely shed on French soil
for a middleweight against whom the tide of battle was turning butted
his opponent and cut his forehead.
I did not see Joffre when he paid a visit to the army zone and reviewed
the troops but he left a glamor for us all in our messroom where he had
dinner with General Pershing. It was a reporterless dinner so it meant
less to us than to Henriette who served the dinner for the two generals.
Nothing much had ever happened to Henriette before. She looked like
Jeanne d'Arc, but the only voices she ever heard cried, "L'eau chaude,
Henriette," or "Hot water" or "OEufs" or "Eggs." And if they were not
wanted right away they must be had "toute de suite."
It was Henriette who brushed the boots and cleaned the dishes and swept
the floors and every night she waited on peasants and peddlers and
reporters. Once she had a major in the reserve corps. He was attached to
the quartermaster's department. But on the historic night she stood at
the right elbow of General Joffre and the left elbow of General
Pershing. I was away at the time and the correspondents were telling me
about it before dinner. While we were talking she came into the room
with the roast veal and I said, "Henriette, they tell me that while I
was away you waited upon Marshal Joffre and General Pershing."
One of the men at the table made a warning gesture, but it was too late.
Henrietta put the hot veal down to cool on a side table and pointed to
the seat nearest the window. A large man from a press association sat
there but she looked through him and saw the hero of the Marne.
"Maréchal Joffre là," said Henriette. She turned to a nearer seat and
pointing to the shrinking representative of the Chicago _Tribune_
explained, "General Pearshing ici."
One of the men rose from the table then and got the veal. Something was
said about fried potatoes, but Henriette remained to tell me about the
historic dinner. She admitted that she was very nervous at first. That
was increased by the fact that General "Pearshing" ate none of his
pickled snails. The Maréchal had fifteen. The soup went well, Henriette
said, and General Pearshing cheered her up enormously by his conduct
with the mutton. The chicken was also a success. After the chicken the
generals held their glasses in the air and stood up. Henriette noticed
that when Maréchal Joffre stood up he was "gros comme une maison."
As he left the room Maréchal Joffre pinched her cheek but the mark was
gone before she could show it to the cook. For all that Henriette had
something to show that she waited upon generals at the famous dinner.
She opened a new locket which she wore around her neck and took out a
small piece of gilt paper. She would not let me touch it, but when I
looked closely I saw that it had printed upon it "Romeo and Juliet."
"It's the band off the cigar Pershing smoked at the dinner," explained
one of the correspondents. Henriette put the treasure back in her locket
and sighed. "Je suis très contente," she said.