PERSHING'S ARRIVAL IN EUROPE
Lean, clean, keen--that's the way they looked--that first trim little
band of American fighting men who made their historic landing on the
shores of England, June 8th, 1917.
I went down from London to meet them at the port of arrival. In my
despatches of that date, I, nor none of the other correspondents, was
permitted to mention the name of the port. This was supposed to be the
secret that was to be religiously kept and the British censor was on the
job religiously.
The name of the port was excluded from all American despatches but the
British censor saw no reason to withhold transmission of the following
sentence--"Pershing landed to-day at an English port and was given a
hearty welcome by the Mayor of Liverpool."
So I am presuming at this late date of writing that it would serve no
further purpose to refrain from announcing flatly that General John J.
Pershing, Commander-in-Chief of the American Expeditionary Forces
overseas, and his staff, landed on the date above mentioned, at
Liverpool, England.
The sun was shining brightly on the Mersey when the giant ocean liner,
the _Baltic_, came slowly up the harbour in the tow of numerous puffing
tugs. The great grey vessel that had safely completed the crossing of
the submarine zone, was warped to the dock-side.
On the quay there were a full brass band and an honourary escort of
British soldiers. While the moorings were being fastened, General
Pershing, with his staff, appeared on the promenade deck on the shore
side of the vessel.
His appearance was the signal for a crash of cymbals and drums as the
band blared out the "Star Spangled Banner." The American commander and
the officers ranged in line on either side of him, stood stiffly at
attention, with right hands raised in salute to the visors of their
caps.
On the shore the lines of British soldiery brought their arms to the
present with a snap. Civilian witnesses of the ceremony bared their
heads. The first anthem was followed by the playing of "God Save the
King." All present remained at the salute.
As the gangplank was lashed in place, a delegation of British military
and civilian officials boarded the ship and were presented to the
General. Below, on the dock, every newspaper correspondent and
photographer in the British Isles, I think, stood waiting in a group
that far outnumbered the other spectators.
There was reason for this seeming lack of proportion. The fact was that
but very few people in all of England, as well as in all of the United
States, had known that General Pershing was to land that day.
Few had known that he was on the water. The British Admiralty, then in
complete control of the ocean lines between America and the British
Isles, had guarded well the secret. England lost Kitchener on the sea
and now with the sea peril increased a hundredfold, England took pains
to guard well the passage of this standard-bearer of the American
millions that were to come.
Pershing and his staff stepped ashore. Lean, clean, keen--those are the
words that described their appearance. That was the way they impressed
their critical brothers in arms, the all-observing military dignities
that presented Britain's hearty, unreserved welcome at the water's edge.
That was the way they appeared to the proud American citizens, residents
of those islands, who gathered to meet them.
The British soldiers admired the height and shoulders of our first
military samples. The British soldier approves of a greyhound trimness
in the belt zone. He likes to look on carriage and poise. He appreciates
a steady eye and stiff jaw. He is attracted by a voice that rings sharp
and firm. The British soldier calls such a combination, "a real
soldier."
He saw one, and more than one, that morning shortly after nine o'clock
when Pershing and his staff committed the date to history by setting
foot on British soil. Behind the American commander walked a staff of
American officers whose soldierly bearing and general appearance brought
forth sincere expressions of commendation from the assemblage on the
quay.
At attention on the dock, facing the sea-stained flanks of the liner
_Baltic_, a company of Royal Welsh Fusiliers Stood like a frieze of clay
models in stainless khaki, polished brass and shining leather.
General Pershing inspected the guard of honour with keen interest.
Walking beside the American commander was the considerably stouter and
somewhat shorter Lieutenant General Sir William Pitcairn Campbell,
K.C.B., Chief of the Western Command of the British Home Forces.
Pershing's inspection of that guard was not the cursory one that these
honourary affairs usually are. Not a detail of uniform or equipment on
any of the men in the guard was overlooked. The American commander's
attention was as keen to boots, rifles and belts, as though he had been
a captain preparing the small command for a strenuous inspection at the
hands of some exacting superior.
As he walked down the stiff, standing line, his keen blue eyes taking in
each one of the men from head to foot, he stopped suddenly in front of
one man in the ranks. That man was File Three in the second set of
fours. He was a pale-faced Tommy and on one of his sleeves there was
displayed two slender gold bars, placed on the forearm.
The decoration was no larger than two matches in a row and on that day
it had been in use hardly more than a year, yet neither its minuteness
nor its meaning escaped the eyes of the American commander.
Pershing turned sharply and faced File Three.
"Where did you get your two wounds?" he asked.
"At Givenchy and Lavenze, sir," replied File Three, his face pointed
stiffly ahead. File Three, even now under twenty-one years of age, had
received his wounds in the early fighting that is called the battle of
Loos.
"You are a man," was the sincere, all-meaning rejoinder of the American
commander, who accompanied his remark with a straightforward look into
the eyes of File Three.
Completing the inspection without further incident, General Pershing and
his staff faced the honour guard and stood at the salute, while once
more the thunderous military band played the national anthems of America
and Great Britain.
The ceremony was followed by a reception in the cabin of the _Baltic_,
where General Pershing received the Lord Mayor of Liverpool, the Lady
Mayoress, and a delegation of civil authorities. The reception ended
when General Pershing spoke a few simple words to the assembled
representatives of the British and American Press.
"More of us are coming," was the keynote of his modest remarks.
Afterward he was escorted to the quay-side station, where a special
train of the type labelled Semi-Royal was ready to make the express run
to London.
The reception at the dock had had none of the features of a
demonstration by reason of the necessity for the ship's arrival being
secret, but as soon as the _Baltic_ had landed, the word of the American
commander's arrival spread through Liverpool like wildfire.
The railroad from the station lay through an industrial section of the
city. Through the railroad warehouses the news had preceded the train.
Warehouse-men, porters and draymen crowded the tops of the cotton bales
and oil barrels on both sides of the track as the train passed through.
Beyond the sheds, the news had spread through the many floors of the
flour mills and when the Pershing train passed, handkerchiefs and caps
fluttered from every crowded door and window in the whitened walls. Most
of the waving was done by a new kind of flour-girl, one who did not wave
an apron because none of them were dressed that way.
From his car window, General Pershing returned the greetings of the
trousered girls and women who were making England's bread while their
husbands, fathers, brothers, sweethearts and sons were making German
cemeteries.
In London, General Pershing and his staff occupied suites at the Savoy
Hotel, and during the four or five days of the American commander's
sojourn in the capital of the British Empire, a seemingly endless line
of visitors of all the Allied nationalities called to present their
compliments.
The enlisted men of the General's staff occupied quarters in the old
stone barracks of the Tower of London, where they were the guests of the
men of that artillery organisation which prefixes an "Honourable" to its
name and has been assigned for centuries to garrison duty in the Tower
of London.
Our soldiers manifested naive interest in some of England's most revered
traditions and particularly in connection with historical events related
to the Tower of London. On the second day of their occupation of this
old fortress, one of the warders, a "Beef-eater" in full mediaeval
regalia, was escorting a party of the Yanks through the dungeons.
He stopped in one dungeon and lined the party up in front of a stone
block in the centre of the floor. After a silence of a full minute to
produce a proper degree of impressiveness for the occasion, the warder
announced, in a respectful whisper:
"This is where Anne Boleyn was executed."
The lined-up Yanks took a long look at the stone block. A silence
followed during the inspection. And then one regular, desiring further
information, but not wishing to be led into any traps of British wit,
said:
"All right, I'll bite; what did Annie do?"
Current with the arrival of our men and their reception by the honour
guard of the Welsh Fusiliers there was a widespread revival of an old
story which the Americans liked to tell in the barrack rooms at night.
When the Welsh Fusiliers received our men at the dock of Liverpool, they
had with them their historical mascot, a large white goat with horns
encased in inscribed silver. The animal wore suspended from its neck a
large silver plate, on which was inscribed a partial history of the
Welsh Fusiliers.
Some of these Fusiliers told our men the story.
"It was our regiment--the Welsh Fusiliers," one of them said, "that
fought you Yanks at Bunker Hill. And it was at Bunker Hill that our
regiment captured the great-great-granddaddy of this same white goat,
and his descendants are ever destined to be the mascot of our regiment.
You see, we have still got your goat."
"But you will notice," replied one of the Yanks, "we've got the hill."
During the four days in London, General Pershing was received by King
George and Queen Mary at Buckingham Palace. The American commander
engaged in several long conferences at the British War Office, and then
with an exclusion of entertainment that was painful to the Europeans, he
made arrangements to leave for his new post in France.
A specially written permission from General Pershing made it possible
for me to accompany him on that historic crossing between England and
France. Secret orders for the departure were given on the afternoon and
evening of June 12th. Before four o'clock of the next morning, June
13th, I breakfasted in the otherwise deserted dining-room of the Savoy
with the General and his staff.
Only a few sleepy-eyed attendants were in the halls and lower rooms of
the Savoy. In closed automobiles we were whisked away to Charing Cross
Station. We boarded a special train whose destination was unknown. The
entire party was again in the hands of the Intelligence Section of the
British Admiralty, and every possible means was taken to suppress all
definite information concerning the departure.
The special train containing General Pershing and his staff reached
Folkstone at about seven o'clock in the morning. We left the train at
the dockside and boarded the swift Channel steamer moored there. A small
vociferous contingent of English Tommies returning to the front from
leave in "Blighty" were crowded on all decks in the stern.
With life-boats swinging out over the side and every one wearing
life-preservers, we steamed out of Folkstone harbour to challenge the
submarine dangers of the Channel.
The American commander occupied a forward cabin suite on the upper deck.
His aides and secretaries had already transformed it into a
business-like apartment. In the General's mind there was no place or
time for any consideration of the dangers of the Channel crossing.
Although the very waters through which we dashed were known to be
infested with submarines which would have looked upon him as capital
prey, I don't believe the General ever gave them as much as a thought.
Every time I looked through the open door of his cabin, he was busy
dictating letters to his secretaries or orders or instructions to his
aides or conferring with his Chief of Staff, Brigadier General Harbord.
To the American commander, the hours necessary for the dash across the
Channel simply represented a little more time which he could devote to
the plans for the great work ahead of him.
Our ship was guarded on all sides and above. Swift torpedo destroyers
dashed to and fro under our bow and stern and circled us continually. In
the air above hydro-airplanes and dirigible balloons hovered over the
waters surrounding us, keeping sharp watch for the first appearance of
the dark sub-sea hulks of destruction.
[Illustration: THE ARRIVAL IN LONDON, SHOWING GENERAL PERSHING, MR.
PAGE, FIELD MARSHAL VISCOUNT FRENCH, LORD DERBY, AND ADMIRAL SIMS]
[Illustration: GENERAL PERSHING BOWING TO THE CROWD IN PARIS]
We did not learn until the next day that while we were making that
Channel crossing, the German air forces had crossed the Channel in a
daring daylight raid and were at that very hour dropping bombs on London
around the very hotel which General Pershing had just vacated. Some day,
after the war, I hope to ascertain whether the commander of that flight
of bombing Gothas started on his expedition over London with a special
purpose in view and whether that purpose concerned the supposed presence
there of the commander-in-chief of the American millions that were later
to change the entire complexion of the war against Germany.
It was a beautiful sunlight day. It was not long before the coast line
of France began to push itself up through the distant Channel mists and
make itself visible on the horizon. I stood in the bow of the ship
looking toward the coast line and silent with thoughts concerning the
momentousness of the approaching historical event.
It happened that I looked back amidships and saw a solitary figure
standing on the bridge of the vessel. It was General Pershing. He seemed
rapt in deep thought. He wore his cap straight on his head, the visor
shading his eyes. He stood tall and erect, his hands behind him, his
feet planted slightly apart to accommodate the gentle roll of the ship.
He faced due east and his eyes were directed toward the shores of that
foreign land which we were approaching. It seemed to me as I watched him
that his mind must have been travelling back more than a century to that
day in history when another soldier had stood on the bridge of another
vessel, crossing those same waters, but in an almost opposite direction.
It seemed to me that he must have been thinking of that historical
character who made just such a journey more than a hundred years
before,--a great soldier who left his homeland to sail to other foreign
shores halfway around the world and there to lend his sword in the fight
for the sacred principles of Democracy. It seemed to me that day that
Pershing thought of Lafayette.
As we drew close to the shore, I noticed an enormous concrete breakwater
extending out from the harbour entrance. It was surmounted by a wooden
railing and on the very end of it, straddling the rail, was a small
French boy. His legs were bare and his feet were encased in heavy wooden
shoes. On his head he wore a red stocking cap of the liberty type. As we
came within hailing distance, he gave to us the first greeting that came
from the shores of France to these first arriving American soldiers.
"_Vive l'Amerique!_" he shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth and
sending his shrill voice across the water to us. Pershing on the bridge
heard the salutation. He smiled, touched his hand to his hat and waved
to the lad on the railing.
We landed that day at Boulogne, June 13th, 1917. Military bands massed
on the quay, blared out the American National Anthem as the ship was
warped alongside the dock. Other ships in the busy harbour began blowing
whistles and ringing bells, loaded troop and hospital ships lying nearby
burst forth into cheering. The news spread like contagion along the
harbour front.
As the gangplank was lowered, French military dignitaries in dress
uniforms resplendent with gold braid, buttons and medals, advanced to
that part of the deck amidships where the General stood. They saluted
respectfully and pronounced elaborate addresses in their native tongue.
They were followed by numerous French Government officials in civilian
dress attire. The city, the department and the nation were represented
in the populous delegations who presented their compliments, and
conveyed to the American commander the of the entire people of France.
Under the train sheds on the dock, long stiff, standing ranks of French
poilus wearing helmets and their light blue overcoats pinned back at the
knees, presented arms as the General walked down the lines inspecting
them. At one end of the line, rank upon rank of French marines, and
sailors with their flat hats with red tassels, stood at attention
awaiting inspection.
The docks and train sheds were decorated with French and American flags
and yards and yards of the mutually-owned red, white and blue. Thousands
of spectators began to gather in the streets near the station, and their
continuous cheers sufficed to rapidly augment their own numbers.
Accompanied by a veteran French colonel, one of whose uniform sleeves
was empty, General Pershing, as a guest of the city of Boulogne, took a
motor ride through the streets of this busy port city. He was quickly
returned to the station, where he and his staff boarded a special train
for Paris. I went with them.
That train to Paris was, of necessity, slow. It proceeded slowly under
orders and with a purpose. No one in France, with the exception of a
select official circle, had been aware that General Pershing was
arriving that day until about thirty minutes before his ship was warped
into the dock at Boulogne. It has always been a mystery to me how the
French managed to decorate the station at Boulogne upon such short
notice.
Thus it was that the train crawled slowly toward Paris for the purpose
of giving the French capital time to throw off the coat of war
weariness that it had worn for three and a half years and don gala
attire for this occasion. Paris made full use of every minute of that
time, as we found when the train arrived at the French capital late in
the afternoon. The evening papers in Paris had carried the news of the
American commander's landing on the shores of France, and Paris was
ready to receive him as Paris had never before received a world's
notable.
The sooty girders of the Gare du Nord shook with cheers when the special
train pulled in. The aisles of the great terminal were carpeted with red
plush. A battalion of bearded poilus of the Two Hundred and
Thirty-seventh Colonial Regiment was lined up on the platform like a
wall of silent grey, bristling with bayonets and shiny trench helmets.
General Pershing stepped from his private car. Flashlights boomed and
batteries of camera men manoeuvred into positions for the lens
barrage. The band of the Garde Republicaine blared forth the strains of
the "Star Spangled Banner," bringing all the military to a halt and a
long standing salute. It was followed by the "Marseillaise."
At the conclusion of the train-side greetings and introductions, Marshal
Joffre and General Pershing walked down the platform together. The tops
of the cars of every train in the station were crowded with workmen. As
the tall, slender American commander stepped into view, the privileged
observers on the car-tops began to cheer.
A minute later, there was a terrific roar from beyond the walls of the
station. The crowds outside had heard the cheering within. They took it
up with thousands of throats. They made their welcome a ringing one.
Paris took Pershing by storm.
The General was ushered into the specially decorated reception chamber,
which was hung and carpeted with brilliant red velvet and draped with
the Allied flags. After a brief formal exchange of greetings in this
large chamber, he and his staff were escorted to the line of waiting
automobiles at the side of the station in the Rue de Roubaix.
Pershing's appearance in the open was the cue for wild, unstinted
applause and cheering from the crowds which packed the streets and
jammed the windows of the tall buildings opposite.
General Pershing and M. Painleve, Minister of War, took seats in a large
automobile. They were preceded by a motor containing United States
Ambassador Sharp and former Premier Viviani. The procession started to
the accompaniment of martial music by massed military bands in the
courtyard of the station. It passed through the Rue de Compiegne, the
Rue de Lafayette, the Place de l'Opera, the Boulevard des Capucines, the
Place de la Madeleine, the Rue Royale, to the Place de la Concorde.
There were some fifty automobiles in the line, the rear of which was
brought up by an enormous motor-bus load of the first American soldiers
from the ranks to pass through the streets of Paris.
The crowds overflowed the sidewalks. They extended from the building
walls out beyond the curbs and into the streets, leaving but a narrow
lane through which the motors pressed their way slowly and with the
exercise of much care. From the crowded balconies and windows
overlooking the route, women and children tossed down showers of flowers
and bits of coloured paper.
The crowds were so dense that other street traffic became marooned in
the dense sea of joyously excited and gesticulating French people.
Vehicles thus marooned immediately became islands of vantage. They were
soon covered with men and women and children, who climbed on top of them
and clung to the sides to get a better look at the khaki-clad occupants
of the autos.
Old grey-haired fathers of French fighting men bared their heads and
with tears streaming down their cheeks shouted greetings to the tall,
thin, grey-moustached American commander who was leading new armies to
the support of their sons. Women heaped armfuls of roses into the
General's car and into the cars of other American officers that followed
him. Paris street gamins climbed the lamp-posts and waved their caps and
wooden shoes and shouted shrilly.
American flags and red, white and blue bunting waved wherever the eye
rested. English-speaking Frenchmen proudly explained to the uninformed
that "Pershing" was pronounced "Peur-chigne" and not "Pair-shang."
Paris was not backward in displaying its knowledge of English. Gay
Parisiennes were eager to make use of all the English at their command,
that they might welcome the new arrivals in their native tongue.
Some of these women shouted "Hello," "Heep, heep, hourrah," "Good
morning," "How are you, keed?" and "Cock-tails for two." Some of the
expressions were not so inappropriate as they sounded.
Occasionally there came from the crowds a good old genuine American
whoop-em-up yell. This happened when the procession passed groups of
American ambulance workers and other sons of Uncle Sam, wearing the
uniforms of the French, Canadian and English Corps.
They joined with Australians and South African soldiers on leave to
cheer on the new-coming Americans with such spontaneous expressions as
"Come on, you Yanks," "Now let's get 'em," and "Eat 'em up, Uncle Sam."
The frequent stopping of the procession by the crowds made it happen
quite frequently that the automobiles were completely surrounded by
enthusiasts, who reached up and tried to shake hands with the occupants.
Pretty girls kissed their hands and blew the invisible confection toward
the men in khaki.
The bus-load of enlisted men bringing up the rear received dozens of
bouquets from the girls. The flowers were hurled at them from all
directions. Every two hundred feet the French would organise a rousing
shout, "_Vive l'Amerique!_" for them.
Being the passive recipients of this unusual adulation produced only
embarrassment on the part of the regulars who simply had to sit there,
smiling and taking it. Just to break the one-sided nature of the
demonstrations, one of the enlisted men stood up in his seat and,
addressing himself to his mates, shouted:
"Come on, fellows, let's give 'em a 'veever' ourselves. Now all
together."
The bus-load rose to its feet like one man and shouted "Veever for
France." Their "France" rhymed with "pants," so that none of the French
understood it, but they did understand the sentiment behind the husky
American lungs.
Through such scenes as these, the procession reached the great Place de
la Concorde. In this wide, paved, open space an enormous crowd had
assembled. As the autos appeared the cheering, the flower throwing, the
tumultuous kiss-blowing began. It increased in intensity as the motors
stopped in front of the Hotel Crillon into which General Pershing
disappeared, followed by his staff.
Immediately the cheering changed to a tremendous clamorous demand for
the General's appearance on the balcony in front of his apartments.
"_Au balcon, au balcon_," were the cries that filled the Place. The
crowd would not be denied.
General Pershing stepped forth on the balcony. He stood behind the low
marble railing, and between two enormous white-stoned columns. A cluster
of the Allied flags was affixed to each column. The American commander
surveyed the scene in front of him.
There are no trees or shrubbery in the vast Place de la Concorde. Its
broad paved surface is interrupted only by artistically placed groups of
statuary and fountains.
To the General's right, as he faced the Place, were the trees and
greenery of the broad Champs Elysees. On his left were the fountains and
the gardens of the Tuilleries. At the further end of the Place, five
hundred feet straight in front of him, were the banks and the ornamental
bridges of the Seine, beyond which could be seen the columned facade of
the Chambre des Deputies, and above and beyond that, against the blue
sky of a late June afternoon, rose the majestic golden dome of the
Invalides, over the tomb of Napoleon.
General Pershing looked down upon the sea of faces turned up toward him,
and then it seemed that nature desired to play a part in the ceremony of
that great day. A soft breeze from the Champs Elysees touched the
cluster of flags on the General's right and from all the Allied emblems
fastened there it selected one flag.
The breeze tenderly caught the folds of this flag and wafted them across
the balcony on which the General bowed. He saw and recognised that flag.
He extended his hand, caught the flag in his fingers and pressed it to
his lips. All France and all America represented in that vast throng
that day cheered to the mighty echo when Pershing kissed the tri-colour
of France.
It was a tremendous, unforgettable incident. It was exceeded by no other
incident during those days of receptions and ceremonies, except one.
That was an incident which occurred not in the presence of thousands,
but in a lonely old burial ground on the outskirts of Paris. This
happened several days after the demonstration in the Place de la
Concorde.
On that day of bright sunshine, General Pershing and a small party of
officers, French and American, walked through the gravel paths of Picpus
Cemetery in the suburbs of Paris, where the bodies of hundreds of those
who made the history of France are buried.
Several French women in deep mourning courtesied as General Pershing
passed. His party stopped in front of two marble slabs that lay side by
side at the foot of a granite monument. From the General's party a
Frenchman stepped forward and, removing his high silk hat, he addressed
the small group in quiet, simple tones and well-chosen English words. He
was the Marquis de Chambrun. He said:
"On this spot one can say that the historic ties between our nations
are not the result of the able schemes of skilful diplomacy. No, the
principles of liberty, justice and independence are the glorious
links between our nations.
"These principles have enlisted the hearts of our democracies. They
have made the strength of their union and have brought about the
triumph of their efforts.
"To-day, when, after nearly a century and a half, America and France
are engaged in a conflict for the same cause upon which their early
friendship was based, we are filled with hope and confidence.
"We know that our great nations are together with our Allies
invincible, and we rejoice to think that the United States and
France are reunited in the fight for liberty, and will reconsecrate,
in a new victory, their everlasting friendship of which your
presence to-day at this grave is an exquisite and touching token."
General Pershing advanced to the tomb and placed upon the marble slab an
enormous wreath of pink and white roses. Then he stepped back. He
removed his cap and held it in both hands in front of him. The bright
sunlight shone down on his silvery grey hair. Looking down at the grave,
he spoke in a quiet, impressive tone four simple, all-meaning words:
"Lafayette, we are here."