LAFAYETTE, WE’RE HERE
One of the great moments of this war was when General Pershing, newly
arrived in France, was escorted in state to the tomb of the man who, in
his ardent youth, left the most luxurious court in Europe, crossed the
seas and offered his sword to George Washington.
The President of the French republic, the commander of the French army,
with other dignitaries of the state and army, were in that escorting
party, and when they approached the tomb they paused in silence, with
bared heads, to hear what General Pershing should say. They expected a
formal speech, but I do not think General Pershing could have made a
speech just then. What he felt was too deep and too moving. His hand
touched the hilt of his sword and then the hand went out toward the
marble, and General Pershing said simply:
“Lafayette, we’re here.”
After the passing of a hundred and forty years we are in France to
pay our debt, to offer our sword, the sword of America, to the cause
of liberty. Whoever says we are fighting a profiteers’ war or a
politicians’ war utters a lying slander. Whoever intimates that we
shall ever sheathe the sword of America until the war is won, and the
world is safe, simply does not know the facts, nor the temper of our
army.
To make the world safe for democracy. That phrase has been repeated so
many times that it has become almost a colloquialism. It is used in
jest sometimes. But it is written on the hearts of the millions of men
who have gone out to die, if need be, to make that dream a reality.
Whatever confusion of thought there may have been in the minds of
the first armies that rushed out against the German invasion, there
is no confusion or misunderstanding in the minds of those who fight
to-day. The Belgians and the French fought first to save their homes.
The British fought because they knew that their homes would next be
endangered. The Russians and the Italians fought because they were
attacked.
No doubt there was in the consciousness of some European statesmen
the hope of territorial gains, or diplomatic advantages to follow
after an allied victory. But that has all vanished now, drowned in the
blood of the brave at Malines, Louvain, the Marne, Verdun, Rheims,
Cantigny, Château Thierry, St. Michiel. Europe, except that part of
it still ruled by Attila and his slaves, has purged itself of the old
statesmanship, the old sinuous, scheming diplomacy.
There will never be any more Metternichs, or Talleyrands or
Castlereaghs, never any more secret agreements between kings and
statesmen. The old order has perished and now we have freemen fighting
under leaders like Wilson, Lloyd George, Clemenceau, to make the world
free.
The hope of the toiling masses all over the world, the vision of seers
and prophets and poets since the dawn of time; the dreams dreamed in
garrets, in city slums, in the snows of Siberia, on gallows high, on
the sacred cross. The world set free. Free from the oppression of
tyrants claiming divine rights; free from the cold exploitation of
privilege; free from poverty and all the crime and prostitution and
death that rise like a hideous miasma from the mire of poverty; free
from war!
That is the free world for which our sons have crossed the seas to
fight. That is the freedom for which almost every country in the world
has united against the only remaining countries that do not want it,
Germany, Austria, Turkey, Bulgaria.
In these pages I have tried to tell America, and especially the
mothers of American soldiers, the meaning of the war, as it was shown
to me over there. I have tried to picture to them how their sons are
preparing to take their part in the war. How they are growing up to
their task, how they are building the strong structure of an army,
how they are laying the foundation of true internationalism, how we
through our army are forming with the democratic peoples of the world
a holy alliance much greater and more permanent than anything kings or
statesmen ever planned.
When this is being written the year is barely finished that saw the
first American transports sail for France. Yet over hundreds of miles
of territory behind the battle lines our men, with hard and grueling
labor, have built the industrial forts that in this practical age are
necessary to an army’s life. They have established a base of supplies
for millions of fighting men. They have built barracks, airdromes,
hospitals, warehouses, factories and repair shops.
They have laid railroads, built wharves, dredged a great river. They
have done more, our men, than dig themselves in trenches over there.
They have shown Europe and the world the true heart and metal of
America. What they have built will remain a monument for generations to
point to and admire.
In Paris there stands a noble monument to our Washington, and at no
great distance there is another to the rugged giant Abraham Lincoln.
Each February the French people go and lay wreaths on these monuments.
For years they have done this, and since April 6, 1917, they have kept
their colors entwined with ours there.
Those statues are symbols of the historic friendship of France and
America. I like to think that after the war, when great ships sail
out of an ancient port of France, the sailors will remember that once
they had to wait for the highest tide, but that American brawn and
engineering skill scooped out the centuries of sand and silt that their
biggest transports might pass with ease.
I like to believe that France will grow and prosper because of the
railroads we laid down, the wharves and warehouses we built. Not in a
spirit of boastfulness, but of love and gratitude do I wish that France
may benefit from the things we have created on her soil.
I like also to think that the France of to-morrow, and the Belgium
which will be reborn, will be healthier, happier, stronger of mind and
soul for the work of our Red Cross, for all the relief and succor we
have been able to send there. They will never forget, those martyred
Belgians, those hard pressed French. Our troops never pass through a
village, our flag never appears that the children in the street fail to
salute.
Once they had reason to believe, those brave allies in Europe, that we
were merely generous of money, that we were willing to give only out of
our overflowing pockets. But since we began to give our men they think
otherwise. They know now that everything we have, everything we are, is
pledged to the fight against tyranny and the world’s woe.
This spring and summer will see the preliminary work of building an
army well nigh completed, and the men who have been handling picks
and shovels, those who have been learning the war game, the men in
camps and army schools will be ready to fight. Already they have won
their spurs in several fierce engagements, and not yet has any fight
of theirs been lost. Already American soldiers are in Lorraine and
Alsace, fighting on what Germany calls her soil, but which will never
be hers, even in name, again.
Can you imagine the wild joy, the renewed hope, the quickened spirit
that fills the hearts of the men who have been fighting for nearly four
years? Against terrible odds, against one ally which German cunning
poisoned to death, almost against hope our allies have fought. Thank
heaven that we came up in time.
There is one question every returned correspondent is asked, and the
question has been put to me but I have never answered it. When will the
war end? I am going to answer it now. Not in terms of years, because I,
no more than the greatest general, can do that. The war is going to end
when it is won. Not a day, not an hour before. Much fighting, horrible
suffering, enormous sacrifice lie between us and victory, but victory
is sure.
We shall lose thousands, hundreds of thousands, it may be. But for
every American soldier that falls eight Germans will die, be sure of
that. The only army in the world that is absolutely fresh and untired
is the American army. Our men will tire, but before they do all the
Germans left alive will be exhausted.
The pæan sung by William the accursed to glorify the thirtieth
anniversary of his succession to the throne of the Hohenzollerns is the
last one he will ever sing. The first battle in France by an American
division sealed the doom of the Hohenzollerns. It was the beginning of
the last act of the world’s bloodiest drama.
Lafayette, we’re here. The countrymen of Washington and Lincoln
could not keep out of this fight. We shall never stop coming, never
stop fighting until the war to free the world is won. France, Italy,
Belgium, Russia, wherever the red tide leads take our sons. Spare us
all useless sacrifices, for they are very dear to us, those young,
bright lives.
But take them, take them all if need be, leave this generation wholly
bereft and mourning, rather than surrender to the hordes of Attila.
Better for us any sacrifice of blood and tears than to lose the dream,
now at last so nearly realized, of the world set free.
FINIS
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
The Table of Contents does not appear in the original but was created
by the transcriber for the convenience of the reader.