Gascony with a hard guttural sound it is more like German. It would
seem to indicate that in an earlier day the ancestors had lived on the
Rhine. Up in northern France they have softened the name to sound like
"Fush." The meaning of the name is said to be "Fire"--and certainly
the Germans kindled a greater fire than they could quench, when their
invasion produced the quiet leader with this flaming name.
Napoleon Foch did not rise very high in his official positions. His
work was chiefly clerical and caused him to remove from one town to
another. He did not want to lose sight of his boys, by placing them in
an academy, but kept them with him, placing them in first one public
school and then another, as he was compelled to move. The first school
that Ferdinand attended was the old college at Tarbes, where he
remained until ten or eleven years old. The family home at Valentine,
in the country, was always visited in the summer and other holiday
seasons, and here the youngsters had many a romp. Their father on his
infrequent visits home would enter into the sport like one of them.
A favorite excursion was up one of the neighboring hills to a cliff
known as the Bout du Puig, which commanded a wonderful view up and down
the valley. Here they would take their lunch and feel like true
mountaineers.
From Tarbes, the family moved to Polignac, where Napoleon Foch was
Public Treasurer. After Ferdinand and his brothers had attended the
school at this place for a time, they removed to the town of Rodez--and
another school.
In these early days Foch was on a par with the average schoolboy,
neither better nor worse, if local records are to be believed. He did,
however, win an honorable mention at Tarbes for good work in the
general course, consisting of geography, history, Latin, and theology.
At twelve he began to show a decided bent for mathematics, that _sine
qua non_ of the successful soldier. He had also developed into a great
reader, but preferred history to works of fiction. One of his chief
military heroes was, quite naturally, Napoleon, and he must have taken
part in imagination with the charge of the Old Guard at Waterloo, or
thrilled at the tale of Austerlitz. But never in the wildest flights
of his imagination could he have dreamed of commanding a far greater
army than was ever assembled under the eagles of Napoleon.
In 1867, at the age of sixteen, another change came in his schooling.
His father was stationed at St. Étienne near Lyons, and Ferdinand was
entered at St. Michel, a Jesuit college near by. Here he studied for
his university examinations, and made his choice of a life
profession--and it is not strange to note that he decided to be a
soldier. The choice made, his future studies, as is the way in French
colleges, were planned to follow specialized lines. It was not alone
necessary to choose the army, for example,--one must select a certain
branch of the army. Foch's aptitude at mathematics led him to take up
the artillery.
The principal school of this branch of the service was the École
Polytechnique, at Paris, but a stiff entrance examination was required
here. So Foch decided to do preliminary work at St. Clement's College,
Metz, a training school with a high reputation.
In those days the city and fortress of Metz were on French soil. This
was just before the short but memorable Franco-Prussian War, but
already the air was rife with rumors of an impending conflict. The
French, however, were undisturbed. They thought, and expressed the
open opinion that it would be fought out on the other side of the
Rhine, and that the peace terms would be dictated in Berlin.
Metz! How much history does the name suggest in the light of the Great
War! If the young artillery student could have foreseen the backward
and forward swing of the pendulum, as exemplified in that ancient city,
how his blood would have quickened!
The summer of 1870 arrived. Ferdinand Foch, a well-grown lad of
nineteen, went home to St. Étienne on his first vacation. It had been
his first year away from home, and there must have been a joyful
reunion. But over the vacation season hung a war cloud. In the middle
of July, France was persuaded to declare war. Her first great clash
with Germany was on.
The news, however, was not displeasing to Ferdinand. He had supreme
confidence in the ability of the trained French army to subdue the
"Prussian militia." All France had been soundly fooled as to the
extent of the German preparedness. Foch thought of Metz as the
starting point of the war which was to wage its victorious course
eastward. But the reverse soon proved to be the case. From Metz the
Germans drove westward into France. The school at St. Clement was
transformed into a military hospital. Ferdinand remained at home
watching the turn of events with surprised eyes. When the defeat at
Sedan came, in September, it seemed to him like the end of the world.
Then came the frantic call from Paris for new troops. Young Foch was
one of the first to respond to this appeal. He could do his bit, at
any rate, and once the Second Army was assembled, the invader would
see! But alas! he was destined to do no fighting. For four months he
remained with his regiment, a high private in the rear ranks, doing
drill and garrison duty until peace was declared.
The war was over. France had concluded a shameful peace but one that
was forced upon her. This sort of war had brought bitter
disillusionment to a host of French boys, and they always thought in
their hearts of the day of reckoning which must come later on--and
hoped that they would be alive to see it. Such must have been the
dream of Foch, the "sleeping firebrand."
For the present, there was nothing for it, but to doff his uniform and
take up his studies again. The college of St. Clement had ceased to be
a hospital and was again full of classrooms. But over the old fort
floated a strange flag--the black, white and red emblem of Germany, and
German officers strutted everywhere on the streets. The French signs
over the shops and on the street corners were rapidly disappearing.
Soon came an official order from Berlin forbidding the teaching of
French in the schools of Alsace and Lorraine. The work of benevolent
assimilation was begun.
Foch privately shook his fist at the broad backs of the swaggering
conquerors, and set to work at his studies with renewed vim. French or
German, the old Jesuit college was going to aid him in his task of
becoming a soldier--and then his country would have one more recruit at
any rate!
We are not surprised to find, therefore, that he passed his entrance
examinations with flying colors, and in November, 1871, donned his
uniform as a cadet in the École Polytechnique. This building, like the
one at Metz, still bore evidences of the recent war. During the siege
of Paris it had been used as a hospital; and in the civil war which
followed the peace, when the Empire was overthrown, it had been through
severe fighting. Shell holes were still to be seen in its roofs and
walls. But such scars seemed to make it still more what it was in
name, a military school. Foch already felt like a soldier.
Among Foch's fellow students were two others who were destined to play
a part in the World War. One was a cadet named Ruffey, who was
destined to become a General, in command of the Third Army of France,
during 1914. The other was a short, stocky fellow, who came from the
Gascon country near Foch's home, and who had been more fortunate than
he in seeing some actual fighting during the recent war. He had been
in command of a battery of guns during the siege of Paris, and had also
taken a physical part in the fighting. Foch looked at this strapping
cadet, and then at his own much slighter frame, and a feeling akin to
envy came over him, as he may have said to himself:
"If only I could have got into it like that fellow Joffre!"
During the second year of his work here, in 1873, it was announced
that, as the army was short of officers, the course would be shortened
for the more advanced students, so that they could receive their
commissions as soon as possible. Among the students who were granted
this honor were Joffre and Foch--the former choosing the engineers, and
the latter the artillery. As a special aid in completing his course,
Foch secured a transfer to the Artillery School at Fontainebleau.
Here he felt more at home and in more congenial surroundings. He was
out of the city with its clamor and clang. Always a country boy at
heart, he recalled his beloved St. Étienne in these parks and hills.
He had always been fond of horseback riding, and now he had full
opportunity of perfecting himself in this art. The daily canters kept
his body sound, his brain clear. He came out third in his classes, a
highly creditable mark, and received his commission as a
sub-lieutenant. He was a soldier at last.
As a reward for his scholarship he was informed that he might choose
any post where he would prefer to be stationed. He selected Tarbes,
his birthplace, and the town nearest his home. Truly, the fates were
kind!
Two years were spent with the garrison at Tarbes, in a round of
regimental duties. Then the routine began to pall upon him. He wanted
something approaching active service. He had perfected himself in
artillery maneuvers; and during his four months as a volunteer in the
War, he had drilled in the infantry. So he now applied for transfer to
the third branch, the cavalry. His love of horses may also have
influenced this desire.
He received the transfer and spent a year in the Cavalry School at
Saumur. On completing this course he was given a commission as
Captain, and placed in command of a field battery, in Brittany. This
transfer marked the beginning of a new era in his life. From being a
Gascon, he was now about to become a Breton. He spent so many years of
his life in Brittany, that in later years he called his soldiers "my
brother Bretons."
Another reason for his change of sentiment was his fortunate marriage
to a lady whom he met at Rennes, where his regiment was
stationed--Mademoiselle Julie Bienvenue. Her name means "Welcome," and
to the lonely and possibly homesick soldier, her advent must have been
welcome indeed.
He bought a home in Finisterre, that wild, rocky, well-wooded cape
which juts out into the Atlantic. It was an old manor house set in the
midst of an estate which from the outset spelled the word "home" for
him. There were long sloping meadow lands flanked by stately trees and
hills beyond. The old house itself with its somber gray walls and
quaint dormer windows seemed always to have nestled here.
Such an idyllic setting, away out on the most sheltered spot of
France--far removed from the tramp of an invader, or the other changes
which came to the central provinces of France--while pleasant in the
extreme was hardly the fitting environment to produce a soldier, a real
fighting man. It might produce a fine preacher, or artist, or poet, or
farmer--but not likely a famous general.
But Foch did not yield to the blandishments of his new home to the
extent of vegetating here. His active mind was looking continually
forward. He could not rest content with mediocrity, or a merely
comfortable living. "Do what you ought, come what may" was his guiding
motto. He applied for admission to the École de Guerre, a higher
school recently established for staff officers, but admission to its
walls came by favoritism or political pull, and it was many months
(1885) before he gained admission.
The course which he took required two years to complete--years which
kept him away from home, but were worth while. He graduated as fourth
in a large class, and better still had made some valuable acquaintances
here. His professors and classmates soon recognized in this quiet,
studious Artillery Captain a man worth watching--one who would do in an
emergency.
The next eight or ten years were filled with the usual routine of an
army officer in peace times. He was transferred from one post to
another for periods of two or three years, but always it was active
field service which he liked, rather than the routine of office duty.
He established a brilliant reputation for horsemanship and cavalry
tactics which later were to be of advantage.
But still he had never seen actual warfare, nor heard the bullets whizz
about his head. He was an academic soldier, and seemed destined to
remain one for the rest of his natural life when, in 1895, he was
appointed Assistant Professor of Military History and Strategy, in the
École de Guerre, the college from which he had last graduated, a few
years before. The faculty had not forgotten him. It was an honor in a
way, but Foch doubtless debated long before he accepted it. It meant
the giving up of the freedom of his broad outdoors.
He was a major by this time; and after a few years of lecturing, he was
made full professor, with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. The work in
his classes was highly important. This being a post-graduate school,
the men to whom he lectured were not cadets but trained soldiers, many
of them seasoned veterans. They would have instantly detected any flaw
in his teaching. The impress which this college professor then made
upon the future heads of the French army was destined to have a
profound and far-reaching effect. In the years to come, when France
and the civilized world was in search of a leader big enough to measure
up to the crisis--they turned to this quiet college professor!
Foch won his position as "the most gifted and original of the
professors in the École de Guerre" by no trick or sensational methods.
He spoke in an even, almost monotonous voice, using few gestures. But
his speech was clear-cut and precise. He reminded his hearers of a
scientist dissecting a foreign body, as he expounded the clash of
armies or the turning points of battle. He had, in fact, precise
knowledge of an event in which he had never actually participated. He
had analyzed war and resolved it into its component parts, as though it
were heated in a test-tube. And how exact were his theories, later
events were to show.
In 1901, Foch returned for a time to active service, being given
command of the 29th Regiment at Laon. After the classroom routine, the
change was indeed welcome. A few months later we find him stationed
again in his beloved Brittany, with the rank of Colonel. But promotion
had come slowly. During these years he prepared his class lectures for
book publication, forming two volumes, the first being his
since-celebrated "Principles of War," and the second "The Conduct of
War." In these books he proved himself a master of terse, epigrammatic
statement. There did not seem to be a superfluous word in them. They
were favorably received by military critics everywhere, and still
further established his reputation.
But it was not until 1907, when Foch was fifty-six, that he at last
received the rank of Brigadier General, with an assignment to the
General Staff at Paris. With this belated appointment it seemed that
the tale of his military career was told. Fate had more than one
surprise in store, even then, however.
The position as head or Director General of the École de Guerre was
vacant. A keen rivalry arose among several Generals for the
appointment, but Foch did not present his name. He belonged to the
wrong party, the Clerical, or Church Party, and the Anti-Clericals were
then in power. Clemenceau was Premier, this being his first term.
One day Foch was surprised by being invited to dine with the Premier.
When he arrived he was still further surprised to note that he was the
only guest. The "Tiger" did not broach the subject of the invitation
until the coffee cups were cleared away. Then he said abruptly, and
apropos of nothing that had gone before:
"I have some news for you, General. You are appointed Director of the
École de Guerre."
"But I am not a candidate, sir," replied Foch, taken completely by
surprise.
"Possibly not," replied the Premier drily, "but you are appointed
nevertheless, and I am sure you will do good work there."
"I thank you for the honor," said Foch with some embarrassment, "but
aren't there--difficulties? I am a Churchman, you know."
Clemenceau laughed.
"Probably you are not aware," continued Foch, finding it difficult to
proceed, "that one of my brothers is a Jesuit."
Clemenceau laughed again.
"I know all about it, and I don't care a rap," he answered. "Mon
Général, or rather, Monsieur le Directeur, you may consider yourself
appointed, Jesuit or no Jesuit. We need men of your stamp to train up
officers in our army."
Foch held this responsible position for several years just preceding
the Great War. Whether he saw it or not, lowering upon the horizon, he
bent every effort to making the command of the French army fit, ready
for any emergency. He had never forgotten the dreadful invasion of his
boyhood days. With him the teaching of preparedness was almost as
sacred as religion.
And when the Great War at last descended, Foch was like a shining sword
in its path, one that had never been allowed to rust in its scabbard.
The story of his dogged perseverance and his brilliant strategy has
been fully told in the annals of war. Two or three strongly
characteristic points yet demand mention. He was a firm believer in
the element of surprise; he outguessed the enemy. And he never knew
when he was beaten.
"The weaker we are, the more important it is for us to attack," is one
of his famous sayings.
At the Battle of the Marne, when his corps was hard pressed at a
critical salient, he telegraphed Joffre:
"My left flank has been driven in. My right flank has been driven in.
Consequently nothing remains but for me to attack with my center."
And attack he did, hurling back the surprised Teutons and aiding Joffre
to turn the invader, and save Paris.
Foch, in brief, is a soldier of the intellectual type. His
headquarters when at last he was made Marshal of France and
Generalissimo of the Allied forces, resembled a classroom more nearly
than the center of a vast and far-reaching activity. There was no
bustle, no confusion. Orderlies pored over papers and presented
reports quietly. The commander looked them over with keen appraising
glance, then issued orders without raising his voice. But that very
quietness and precision pronounced the doom of Germany. It was a
triumph of science over brute force.
If in America we have had a "schoolmaster in politics," the French have
had a "schoolmaster in war"--one who taught the Hun a lesson!
IMPORTANT DATES IN FOCH'S LIFE
1851. October 2. Ferdinand Foch born.
1862. Entered school, Tarbes, France.
1867. Entered Jesuit College of St. Michel.
1870. Volunteered in the Franco-Prussian War, but saw no service.
1871. Entered the Polytechnic Academy.
1873. Second-lieutenant in artillery.
1878. Captain. Married Julie Bienvenue.
1885. Entered École de Guerre, a college for staff officers.
1891. Major in artillery.
1900. Lieutenant-colonel. Professor in École de Guerre.
1905. Director of École de Guerre.
1914. General, in command 20th corps.
1917. Chief of general staff.
1918. Commander-in-chief of Allied forces.
1918. Marshal of France.
PERSHING
THE LEADER OF AMERICA'S BIGGEST ARMY
It was a historic moment, on that June day, in the third year of the
World War. On the landing stage at the French harbor of Boulogne was
drawn up a company of French soldiers, who looked eagerly at the
approaching steamer. They were not dress parade soldiers nor smart
cadets--only battle-scarred veterans home from the trenches, with the
tired look of war in their eyes. For three years they had been hoping
and praying that the Americans would come--and here they were at last!
As the steamer slowly approached the dock, a small group of officers
might be discerned, looking as eagerly landward as the men on shore had
sought them out. In the center of this group stood a man in the
uniform of a General in the United States Army. There was, however,
little to distinguish his dress from that of his staff, except the
marks of rank on his collar, and the service ribbons across his breast.
To those who could read the insignia, they spelled many days of arduous
duty in places far removed. America was sending a seasoned soldier,
one tried out as by fire.
The man's face was seamed from exposure to the suns of the tropics and
the sands of the desert. But his dark eyes glowed with the untamable
fire of youth. He was full six feet in height, straight,
broad-shouldered, and muscular. The well-formed legs betrayed the
old-time calvalryman. The alert poise of the man showed a nature
constantly on guard against surprise--the typical soldier in action.
Such was General Pershing when he set foot on foreign shore at the head
of an American army--the first time in history that our soldiers had
ever served on European soil. America was at last repaying to France
her debt of gratitude, for aid received nearly a century and a half
earlier. And it was an Alsatian by descent who could now say:
"Lafayette, we come!"
Who was this man who had been selected for so important a task? The
eyes of the whole world were upon him, when he reached France. His was
a task of tremendous difficulties, and a single slip on his part would
have brought shame upon his country, no less than upon himself. That
he was to succeed, and to win the official thanks of Congress are now
matters of history. The story of his wonderful campaign against the
best that Germany could send against him is also an oft-told story.
But the rise of the man himself to such commanding position is a tale
not so familiar, yet none the less interesting.
The great-grandfather of General Pershing was an emigrant from
Alsace--fleeing as a boy from the military service of the Teutons. He
worked his way across to Baltimore, and not long thereafter volunteered
to fight in the American Revolution. His was the spirit of freedom.
He fled to escape a service that was hateful, because it represented
tyranny; but was glad to serve in the cause of liberty.
The original family name was Pfirsching, but was soon shortened to its
present form. The Pershings got land grants in Pennsylvania, and began
to prosper. As the clan multiplied the sons and grandsons began to
scatter. They had the pioneer spirit of their ancestors.
At length, John F. Pershing, a grandson of Daniel, the first immigrant,
went to the Middle West, to work on building railroads. These were the
days, just before the Civil War, when railroads were being thrown
forward everywhere. Young Pershing had early caught the fever, and had
worked with construction gangs in Kentucky and Tennessee. Now as the
railroads pushed still further West, he went with them as section
foreman--after first persuading an attractive Nashville girl, Ann
Thompson, to go with him as his wife.
Their honeymoon was spent among the hardships of a construction camp in
Missouri; and here at Laclede, in a very primitive house, John Joseph
Pershing was born, September 13, 1860.
The boy inherited a sturdy frame and a love of freedom from both sides
of the family. His mother had come of a race quite as good as that of
his father. They were honest, law-abiding, God-fearing people, who saw
to it that John and the other eight children who followed were reared
soberly and strictly. The Bible lay on the center table and the willow
switch hung conveniently behind the door.
After the line of railroad was completed upon which the father had
worked, he came to Laclede and invested his savings in a small general
store. It proved a profitable venture. It was the only one in town,
and Pershing's reputation for square-dealing brought him many
customers. A neighbor pays him this tribute:
"John F. Pershing was a man of commanding presence. He was a great
family man and loved his family devotedly. He was not lax, and ruled
his family well.
"The Pershing family were zealous church people. John F. Pershing was
the Sunday School superintendent of the Methodist Church all the years
he lived here. Every Sunday you could see him making his way to church
with John on one side and Jim on the other, Mrs. Pershing and the girls
following along."
John F. Pershing was a strong Union man, and although local feeling ran
high between the North and the South, he retained the esteem of his
neighbors. He had one or two close calls from the "bushwhackers," as
roving rangers were called, but his family escaped harm.