families, and acted as a sort of local bank. After the War he was
postmaster.
The close of the War found the younger John a stocky boy of five. He
began to attend the village school and take an active part in the
boyish sports of a small town. There was always plenty to do, whether
of work or play. One of his boyhood chums writes:
"John Pershing was a clean, straight, well-behaved young fellow. He
never was permitted to loaf around on the streets. Nobody jumped on
him, and he didn't jump on anybody. He attended strictly to his own
business. He had his lessons when he went to class. He was not a big
talker. He said a lot in a few words, and didn't try to cut any swell.
He was a hard student. He was not brilliant, but firm, solid, and
would hang on to the very last. We used to study our lessons together
evenings. About nine-thirty or ten o'clock, I'd say:
"'John, how are you coming?'
"'Pretty stubborn.'
"'Better go to bed, hadn't we?'
"'No, Charley, I'm going to work this out.'"
Another schoolmate gives us a more human picture:
"As a boy, Pershing was not unlike thousands of other boys of his age,
enjoying the same pleasures and games as his other boyhood companions.
He knew the best places to shoot squirrels or quail, and knew where to
find the hazel or hickory nuts. He knew, too, where the coolest and
deepest swimming pools in the Locust, Muddy, or Turkey creeks were.
Many a time we went swimming together in Pratt's Pond."
About this time Pershing's father added to his other ventures the
purchase of a farm near Laclede, and the family moved out there. Then
there was indeed plenty of work to do. The chores often began before
sun-up, and lasted till after dark; and the children were lucky to find
time for schooling during the late Fall and Winter months. John,
however, kept doggedly at it, and managed to get a fair, common-school
education.
When he was barely in his 'teens, his first set task was given him--to
teach in a negro school. This school had been established after the
War ended, but the teacher had gone, and no one else seemed available
for the job. John was sober and studious, and besides was so well
grown for his age that they banked on his ability to "lick" any negro
boy that got obstreperous.
He succeeded sufficiently in this venture, to cause him to take up
teaching regularly, in white schools, with a view to paying for his
education. He wanted to study law, and his parents encouraged the
idea. His work in these country schools was invaluable to him in
teaching him how to govern others. A former pupil of his writes:
"Though he never sought a quarrel, young Pershing was known as 'a game
fighter,' who never acknowledged defeat. One day, at Prairie Mound, at
the noon hour a big farmer with red sideburns rode up to the
schoolhouse with a revolver in his hand. Pershing had whipped one of
the farmer's children, and the enraged parent intended to give the
young schoolmaster a flogging.
"I remember how he rode up cursing before all the children in the
schoolyard, and how another boy and I ran down a gully because we were
afraid. We peeked over the edge, though, and heard Pershing tell the
farmer to put up his gun, get down off his horse, and fight like a man.
"The farmer got down and John stripped off his coat. He was only a boy
of seventeen or eighteen and slender, but he thrashed the old farmer
soundly. And I have hated red sideburns ever since."
After several terms of country school teaching, young Pershing saved up
enough money to enter the State Normal School, at Kirksville, Mo. One
of his sisters went with him. He remained there for two terms, doing
his usual good steady work, but was still dissatisfied. He wanted to
get a better education.
About this time he happened to notice an announcement of a competitive
examination in his district for an entrance to West Point. The
soldiering side did not appeal to him, but the school side did.
"I wouldn't stay in the army," he remarked to a friend. "There won't
be a gun fired in the world for a hundred years, I guess. If there
isn't, I'll study law, but I want an education, and now I see how I can
get it."
His mother was by no means "sold" on the idea of his becoming a soldier
either, and it was only when he assured her that there wouldn't be a
gun fired in a hundred years, that she finally consented. If she could
have looked ahead to his future career, and final part in the greatest
war the world has ever known--one wonders what her emotions would have
been!
Pershing passed his entrance examination by a narrow margin, and then
entered a training school at Highland Falls, N. Y., for tutoring in
certain deficient branches. At last in June, 1882, when he was just
rounding his twenty-second year, he became a freshman in the great
Academy on the Hudson.
The young plebe from the West speedily fell in love with the
institution and all that it represented. He found the soldier life
awakening in him, along with his desire for a good education. Four
happy years were spent there--and while he didn't shine, being number
thirty in a class of seventy-seven, his all-around qualities made him
many friends among both faculty and students. He was made ranking
cadet captain in his senior year, and chosen class president.
Twenty-five years later, writing from clear around the world, at
Manila, to his class, at a reunion, he gives a long, breezy account of
his experience there, from which we have space to quote only a few
sentences:
"This brings up a period of West Point life whose vivid impressions
will be the last to fade. Marching into camp, piling bedding, policing
company streets for logs or wood carelessly dropped by upper classmen,
pillow fights at tattoo with Marcus Miller, sabre drawn, marching up
and down superintending the plebe class, policing up feathers from the
general parade; light artillery drills, double-timing around old Fort
Clinton at morning squad drill; Wiley Bean and the sad fate of his
seersucker coat; midnight dragging, and the whole summer full of events
can only be mentioned in passing.
"No one can ever forget his first guard tour with all its preparation
and perspiration. I got along all right during the day, but at night
on the color line my troubles began. Of course, I was scared beyond
the point of properly applying any of my orders. A few minutes after
taps, ghosts of all sorts began to appear from all directions. I
selected a particularly bold one and challenged according to orders:
'Halt, who comes there?' At that the ghost stood still in its tracks.
I then said: 'Halt, who stands there?' Whereupon the ghost, who was
carrying a chair, sat down. When I promptly said: 'Halt, who sits
there?' . . .
"The career of '86 at West Point was in many respects remarkable.
There were no cliques, no dissensions, and personal prejudices or
selfishness, if any existed, never came to the surface. From the very
day we entered, the class as a unit has always stood for the very best
traditions of West Point."
While Pershing was still in West Point, the Indian chief Geronimo was
making trouble in the Southwest. For several years he led a band of
outlaw braves, who terrorized the Southern border. General Crook was
sent in pursuit of him, and afterwards General Miles took up the chase.
Finally in August, 1886, the chief and his followers were rounded up.
Pershing graduated in the spring of this year, with the usual rank
given to graduates, second lieutenant, and was immediately assigned to
duty under Miles. He had an inconspicuous part in the capture. But
the next year in the special maneuvers he was personally complimented
by the General for "marching his troops with a pack train of 140 mules
in 46 hours and bringing in every animal in good condition." Doubtless
his early experience with the Missouri brand of mule aided him.
Thereafter, for the next five years, Pershing's life was that of a
plainsman. He was successively at Fort Bayard, Fort Stanton, and Fort
Wingate, all in New Mexico, in the center of troubled country. In 1890
he was shifted north to take the field against the Sioux Indians, in
South Dakota, and in the Battle of Wounded Knee he had a considerable
taste of burnt powder, where the tribe that had massacred General
Custer and his band was practically wiped out. The next year he was
stationed at Fort Niobrara, in Nebraska, in command of the Sioux Indian
Scouts.
This rapid summary of a busy and adventurous life on the plains does
not convey any idea of its many activities. But it was an exceedingly
valuable period of training to the young officer. He was finding
himself, and learning something of the inner art of military science
that he was later to put to such good use.
Here is the opinion of an officer who was Pershing's senior in the
Sixth Cavalry by six years--all of them spent in the Apache country:
"In those days, when a youngster joined a regiment, he was not expected
to express himself on military matters until he had some little
experience. But there was a certain something in Pershing's appearance
and manner which made him an exception to the rule. Within a very
short time after he came to the post, a senior officer would turn to
him, and say: 'Pershing, what do you think of this?' and his opinion
was such that we always listened to it. He was quiet, unobtrusive in
his opinions, but when asked he always went to the meat of a question
in a few words. From the first he had responsible duties thrown on
him. We all learned to respect and like him. He was genial and full
of fun. No matter what the work or what the play, he always took a
willing and leading part. He worked hard and he played hard; but
whenever he had work to do, he never let play interfere with it."
His experiences in the Wild West (and it was the Wild West in those
days) cannot be passed over without relating one typical anecdote.
Three cattle rustlers, white men, had gotten into a fight with the Zuni
Indians, who caught them driving off some cattle. Three of the red men
were killed before the outlaws were finally surrounded in a lonely
cabin.
Word was sent of their predicament to the nearest fort, and Lieutenant
Pershing was sent with a small detachment to their rescue. He rode
straight up to the Zuni chief, who was now on the warpath, and told him
he must call off his braves--that the United States Government would
punish these men. The chief finally grunted assent, and Pershing
strode forward alone into the clearing and approached the cabin. At
any time a shot might have come out, but disregarding his own danger he
went on, pushed open the door, and found himself looking into the
muzzles of three guns.
A single false move on his part would probably have ended him, but he
did not waver. He folded his arms and said quietly:
"Well, boys, I've come to get you."
The outlaws laughed noisily and swore by way of reply.
"You might as well come along," he went on, without raising his voice.
"My men are posted all around this cabin."
More profanity, but the men at last consented to go, if they could
carry their guns. They wouldn't budge otherwise.
"You'll come as I say, and you'll be quick about it," said Pershing, a
note of command coming into his voice.
And they did.
The next duty which fell to Lieutenant Pershing was quite different.
From chasing Indians and outlaws on the plains, he was assigned to the
task of putting some "half baked" cadets through their paces. In
September, 1891, he became Professor of Military Science and Tactics at
the University of Nebraska.
The discipline at this school was of a piece with that of other State
colleges, where a certain amount of drilling was demanded, but beyond
this the students were allowed to go their own gait. At Nebraska it
had become pretty lax--but the arrival of the new instructor changed
all that. A student of this time, in a recent article in _The Red
Cross Magazine_, gives a humorous account of what happened.
It was the general belief that the students in these Western colleges,
many of them farmers' sons, could never be taught the West Point idea.
"But the Lieutenant who had just arrived from Lincoln received an
impression startlingly in contrast to the general one. He looked over
the big crowd of powerful young men, and, himself a storehouse and
radiating center of energy and forcefulness, recognized the same
qualities when he saw them.
"'By George! I've got the finest material in the world,'" he told the
Chancellor, his steel-like eyes alight with enthusiasm. 'You could do
anything with those boys. They've got the stuff in them! Watch me get
it out!'
"And he proceeded to do so.
"By the middle of the first winter the battalion was in shape to drill
together. Moreover, the boys had made a nickname for their leader, and
nicknames mean a great deal in student life. He was universally called
'the Lieut.' (pronounced 'Loot,' of course, in the real American
accent), as though there were but one lieutenant in the world. This he
was called behind his back, of course. To his face they called him
'sir,' a title of respect which they had never thought to give to any
man alive.
"By the end of that first academic year every man under him would have
followed 'the Lieut.' straight into a prairie fire, and would have kept
step while doing it."
As he gradually got his group of officers licked into shape, he found
less to do personally. So he promptly complained to the Chancellor, to
this effect, and asked, like Oliver Twist, for more.
"After a moment's stupefaction (the Lieut. was then doing five times
the work that any officer before him had ever done) the Chancellor
burst into a great laugh and suggested that the Lieut. should take the
law course in the law school of the University. He added that if two
men's work was not enough for him, he might do three men's, and teach
some of the classes in the Department of Mathematics. Without changing
his stride in the least, the young officer swept these two occupations
along with him, bought some civilian clothes and a derby hat, and
became both professor and student in the University, where he was also
military attaché.
"During the next two years he ate up the law course with a fiery haste
which raised the degree of class work to fever heat. Those who were
fellow students with him, _and survived_, found the experience
immensely stimulating."
Of course he graduated, and was thus entitled to write another title
after his name--that of Bachelor of Arts. About this time, also, he
was promoted to a first lieutenancy, the first official recognition for
his many long months of work. Then he was sent back to the field
again, to join the Tenth Cavalry at Fort Assiniboine, Montana.
Next came a welcome command to take the position of Assistant
Instructor of Tactics, at West Point. It was almost like getting back
home, to see these loved hills, the mighty river, and the familiar
barracks again.
But after a few months here, the Spanish War broke out. Eager to get
into the action, he resigned his position at the Military Academy, and
was transferred to his former regiment, the Tenth Cavalry. This
regiment was sent immediately to Santiago, and took part in the short
but spirited fighting at El Caney and San Juan hill--where a certain
Colonel of the Rough Riders was in evidence. Side by side these two
crack regiments charged up the slope, dominated by the Spanish fort,
and here Roosevelt and Pershing first met.
We would like to fancy these two intrepid soldiers as recognizing each
other here in the din of battle. But the truth is sometimes more
prosaic than fiction; and the truth compels us to reprint this little
anecdote from _The World's Work_.
Five years after the Spanish War, when Roosevelt was President and
Pershing was a mere Captain, he was invited to luncheon at the White
House.
"Captain Pershing," said the President, when the party was seated at
the table, "did I ever meet you in the Santiago campaign?"
"Yes, Mr. President, just once."
"When was that? What did I say?"
"Since there are ladies here, I can't repeat just what you said, Mr.
President."
There was a general laugh in which Roosevelt joined.
"Tell me the circumstances, then."
"Why, I had gone back with a mule team to Siboney, to get supplies for
the men. The night was pitch black and it was raining torrents. The
road was a streak of mud. On the way back to the front, I heard noise
and confusion ahead. I knew it was a mired mule team. An officer in
the uniform of a Rough Rider was trying to get the mules out of the
mud, and his remarks, as I said a moment ago, should not be quoted
before the ladies. I suggested that the best thing to do, was to take
my mules and pull your wagon out, and then get your mules out. This
was done, and we saluted and parted."
"Well," said Roosevelt, "if there ever was a time when a man would be
justified in using bad language, it would be in the middle of a rainy
night, with his mules down in the mud and his wagon loaded with things
soldiers at the front needed."
Pershing, as a result of the Cuban campaign, was twice recommended for
brevet commissions, for "personal bravery and untiring energy and
faithfulness." General Baldwin said of him: "Pershing is the coolest
man under fire I ever saw."
But it was not until 1901 that he became Captain. He had now been
transferred at his own request to the Philippines. Whether or not he
won promotion through the slow-moving machinery of the war office, his
energetic spirit demanded action.
"The soldier's duty is to go wherever there is fighting," he said, and
vigorously opposed the idea that he be given a swivel-chair job.
His first term of service in the Philippines was from 1899 to 1903. In
the interval between his first and second assignments, the latter being
as Governor of the Moros, he returned to America to serve on the
General Staff, and also to act as special military observer in the
Russo-Japanese War.
His duties during the years, while arduous and often filled with
danger, were not of the sort to bring him to public notice. But they
_were_ being followed by the authorities at Washington, who have a way
of ticketing every man in the service, as to his future value to the
army. And Pershing was "making good." He had turned forty, before he
was Captain. Out in the Philippines he worked up to a Major. Now
advancement was to follow with a startling jump.
It all hinged upon that luncheon with Roosevelt, about which we have
already told, and the fact that Roosevelt had a characteristic way of
doing things. The step he now took was not a piece of favoritism
toward Pershing--it arose from a desire to have the most efficient men
at the head of the army.
Pershing was nominated for Brigadier General, and the nomination was
confirmed. Of course it created a tremendous sensation in army
circles. The President, by his action, had "jumped" the new General
eight hundred and sixty-two orders.
On his return to the Philippines, as Governor of the Moro Province, he
performed an invaluable service in bringing peace to this troubled
district. He accomplished this, partly by force of arms, partly by
persuasion. The little brown men found in this big Americano a man
with whom they could not trifle, and also one on whose word they could
rely.
It was not until 1914 that he was recalled from the Philippines, and
then very shortly was sent across the Mexican border in the pursuit of
Villa. It would seem as though this strong soldier was to have no
rest--that his muscles were to be kept constantly inured to
hardship--so that, in the event of a greater call to arms, here would
be one commander trained to the minute.
The Fates had indeed been shaping Pershing from boyhood for a supreme
task. Each step had been along the path to a definite goal.
The punitive expedition into Mexico was a case in point. It was a
thankless job at best, and full of hardship and danger. A day's march
of thirty miles across an alkali desert, under a blazing sun, is hardly
a pleasure jaunt. And there were many such during those troubled
months of 1916.
Then, one day, came a quiet message from Washington, asking General
Pershing to report to the President. The results of that interview
were momentous. The Great War in Europe was demanding the intervention
of America. Our troops were to be sent across the seas to Europe for
the first time in history. The Government needed a man upon whom it
could absolutely rely to be Commander-in-chief of the Expeditionary
Forces. Would General Pershing hold himself in readiness for this
supreme task?
The veteran of thirty years of constant campaigning stiffened to
attention. The eager look of battle--battle for the right--shone in
his eye. Every line of his upstanding figure denoted confidence--a
confidence that was to inspire all America, and then the world itself,
in this choice of leader. He saluted.
"I will do my duty, sir," he said.
IMPORTANT DATES IN PERSHING'S LIFE
1860. September 13. John Joseph Pershing born.
1881. Entered Highland Military Academy, New York.
1882. Entered U. S. Military Academy, West Point.
1886. Graduated from West Point, senior cadet captain.
Sent to southwest as second-lieutenant, 6th cavalry.
1891. Professor, military tactics, University of Nebraska.
1898. Took part in Spanish-American War.
1901. Captain, 1st Cavalry, Philippines.
1905. Married Frances Warren.
1906. Brigadier-general.
1914. Recalled from Philippines.
1915. Lost his wife and three children in a fire.
1915. Sent to Mexico in pursuit of Villa.
1917. Sent to France as commander-in-chief of American
Expeditionary Force.
1919. Appointment of general made permanent.
1924. Retired from active service.