PERSHING’S TROOPS ARRIVE
Paris, June 13, 1917.
M., your birthday is being celebrated by the arrival of General
Pershing in Paris. To-day when I went through the Place de la Concorde,
there was a huge crowd standing outside the Hotel Crillon where he is
going to stay. Among them were many Canadians,--and war-worn veterans
they are,--beautifully tanned, but under it that hollow-cheeked,
drawn-eyed trench look so many of them have from being constantly
tense. One sees so many wounded and tired-looking men, also fine ones,
all with the same stamp on them.
Sometimes the war makes me feel actually sick physically, it is so
overpowering and crushing. I can’t think of anything to compare it to
but a steam-roller in a dream, coming on when you can’t move.
There is no doubt that in spite of the splendid successes of the
English, there is a feeling of awfulness about it all, that I didn’t
feel at first. Gains do not mean so much to people now, for they
know that every gain means fearful losses. Just the same, there is a
dogged determination to win. We feel the awfulness, while waiting for
the United States troops. If only a few come, the moral effect will be
tremendous, but of course, more than a few men are needed, and above
all, food.
June 14, 1917.
To-day I almost got run over by a man on a simple bicycle because I had
turned around to look at the first U. S. soldier I have seen. Oh! but
they are good looking and straight! Paris is quite thrilled over them
and there is a perpetual crowd outside the Crillon all day long. There
are about ten automobiles, beautiful gray ones, with chauffeurs in
steel helmets, waiting outside the hotel this morning. I wonder whether
it means that Pershing is going to take a trip to the front.
One American soldier passed me just now, as I was passing two English
naval men (Paris is full of them now). They both turned around and said
to each other, “Aou, smart looking chap!” Our men certainly do have a
certain “swank” about them, though they don’t have the color scheme
of the French that is so attractive, nor yet the perfect, immaculate
fitness of the British Army.
Paris, August 16, 1917.
“There’s a pause in the day’s occupation,” I having locked myself in my
room so that neither the maid, nor the hotel proprietor, nor any one in
fact, but a locksmith can get me out. Hence, here I am waiting in the
hope that a locksmith will be found to extricate me. If you never get
this letter you’ll know that I’ve slowly died of starvation in my room,
while the hotel people are gone to get the necessary papers to get a
locksmith demobilized long enough to let me out.
To-morrow, I am going down to Bonnaqueil for a three weeks’ vacation.
Thank Heaven! I need the rest badly, and I am probably going up toward
the front when I come back.
Paris, September 14, 1917.
I feel much better after my vacation and am quite rested and joyful to
be at work again. As soon as I get my papers I am going up to Nancy,
and in the meantime I am mostly employed in combining the insides of
“Eddie, Jr.” with “Lizzie’s” cast off appendices and tonsils and making
a Ford out of it. Also “Blighty” came back from the American “front” in
a mess, evidently having been tried by every soldier there, so we’ve
had to amputate her radiator and commutator, and apply disinfectants
to the insides of her cylinders, and grind her valves, and apply
artificial respiration to her carburetor. She is still in a state
of coma, but I hope will be out again by to-morrow. She is called
“Blighty” because she’s English, having a right-hand drive.
On my way up here, I was waiting with the Comtesse and Marie for my
train to Paris when we saw some American troops at the station. One of
our boys about seven feet tall came near us, and the Comtesse who, you
know, is tiny, coming only to my shoulder, said “Vive l’Amérique,” up
at him. He looked all around and up, and then down, and at last saw her
looking up at him, and then he grinned and saluted. They were such nice
and very American soldiers. Her eyes filled with tears and she said,
“Their poor mothers!” I hadn’t thought of that, I was so proud to see
them here, and they all looked so safe and healthy and were joking away
trying to buy tobacco and coffee at the station buffet.
Paris, September 23, 1917.
People here have ceased to discuss Russia, and when the Russian
officers, who are staying in this hotel, go out, they dress in civilian
clothes in order not to be insulted in the streets. I never hear
the end of the war discussed, but there is an atmosphere of tense
determination. People look with hope to the English who are heroic in
their present efforts and victories, and we are very popular. I think
the French have hope and faith in the United States for great things in
the future, but when they look at our straight, efficient, wonderful
looking soldiers they say: “The Americans are magnificent, but if they
had only come two years ago!”
I hope a great effort will be made to give our soldiers proper
amusement both at the front and in Paris. One can’t help noticing
conditions. Just recently a new club has been opened here for the
Canadian and Australian soldiers, but nevertheless one meets them
wandering about the streets in lost-looking groups. They look strong
and brown, but often they look so sad and lost with a patient, worn
expression, and eyes that seem strained from looking at--one doesn’t
know what. They are here for only four to seven days’ leave, and it is
pathetic, when one thinks what they have come through and are going
back to. I suppose our soldiers will get to look like that, too. Just
now they are an inspiring sight of efficiency personified.
I heard the nicest thing about our soldiers the other day from a French
lady. She lives at one of the ports and when the American Engineers
came, opened her house to give them the use of her library and offered
to teach them French. The Colonel was delighted, and thanked her “mais
délicieusement” and all the soldiers were as nice as nice could be
and took great care of the books, always covering them with paper.
Also, they were so polite and modest, and “sérieux” and “convenables”
that the whole place is in love with them, and her daughter is quite
enchanted with one who is a dentist in ordinary life. She says he has
beautiful manners and luckily is “très sérieux” and married!