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not that what the whole course and action of the German armies have meant wherever they have moved? I do not wish, even in this moment of utter disillusionment, to judge harshly or unrighteously. I judge only what the German arms have accomplished with unpitying thoroughness throughout every fair region they have touched.

What, then, are we to do? For myself, I am ready, ready still, ready even now, to discuss a fair and just and honest peace at any time that it is sincerely purposed-a peace in which the strong and the weak shall fare alike. But the answer, when I proposed such a peace, came from the German commanders in Russia, and I cannot mistake the meaning of the answer.

I accept the challenge. I know that you accept it. All the world shall know that you accept it. It shall appear in the utter sacrifice and self-forgetfulness with which we shall give all that we love and all that we have to redeem the world and make it fit for free men like ourselves to live in. This now is the meaning of all that we do. Let everything that we say, my fellow-countrymen, everything that we henceforth plan and accomplish, ring true to this response till the majesty and might of our concerted power shall fill the thought and utterly defeat the force of those who flout and misprize what we honor and hold dear.

Germany has once more said that force, and force alone, shall decide whether justice and peace shall reign in the affairs of men, whether right as America conceives it or dominion as she conceives it shall determine the destinies of mankind. There is, therefore, but one response possible from us: Force, force to the utmost, force without stint or limit, the righteous and triumphant force which shall

make right the law of the world and cast every selfish dominion down in the dust.

II. BATTLES AND HEROES

We have now seen what spirit animates the Allies, how they interpret their cause, and the pledges they have given to overthrow the enemy of Freedom. Now we are to see something of the individual soldier-his bravery, and the victories that he wins. These are stories of men who have obeyed the command, "Throw Me Away!" All may be summed up in the story of the French boy, whose arm was so crushed in battle that it was necessary to take it off. At the end of the operation, the surgeon said, "It is too bad that you had to lose your right arm." The boy's eyes flashed. "I didn't lose it," he said; "I gave

it-to France !"

THE HELL-GATE OF SOISSONS

HERBERT KAUFMAN

My name is Darino, the poet. You have heard? Oui, Comédie Française.

Perchance it has happened, mon ami, you know of my unworthy lays.

Ah, then you must guess how my fingers are itching to

talk to a pen;

For I was at Soissons, and saw it, the death of the twelve Englishmen.

My leg, malheureusement, I left it behind on the banks of the Aisne.

Regret? I would pay with the other to witness their valor

again.

A trifle, indeed, I assure you, to give for the honor to tell How that handful of British, undaunted, went into the Gateway of Hell.

Let me draw you a plan of the battle. Here we French and your Engineers stood;

Over there a detachment of German sharpshooters lay hid in a wood.

A mitrailleuse battery planted on top of this well chosen

ridge

Held the road for the Prussians and covered the direct approach to the bridge.

It was madness to dare the dense murder that spewed from those ghastly machines.

(Only those who have danced to its music can know what the mitrailleuse means.)

But the bridge on the Aisne was a menace; our safety demanded its fall:

"Engineers-volunteers!" In a body, the Royals stood out at the call.

Death at best was the fate of that mission-to their glory not one was dismayed.

A party was chosen-and seven survived till the powder was laid.

And they died with their fuses unlighted. Another detachment! Again

A sortie is made-all too vainly. The bridge still commanded the 'Aisne.

We were fighting two foes-Time and Prussia-the moments were worth more than troops.

We must blow up the bridge. A lone soldier darts out from the Royals and swoops

For the fuse! Fate seems with us. We cheer him; he answers our hopes are reborn!

A ball rips his visor-his khaki shows red where another

has torn.

Will he live-will he last-will he make? Hélas! And so near to the goal!

A second, he dies! Then a third one! A fourth! Still the

A

Germans take toll!

fifth-magnifique! It is magic! How does he escape them? He may—

Yes, he does! See, the match flares! A rifle rings out from the wood and says "Nay!"

Six, seven, eight, nine take their places, six, seven, eight, nine brave their hail;

Six, seven, eight, nine-how we count them! But the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth fail!

A tenth! Sacré nom! But these English are soldiersthey know how to try;

(He fumbles the place where his jaw was)—they show, too, how heroes can die.

Ten we count-ten who ventured, unquailing—ten there were and ten are no more!

Yet another salutes and superbly essays where the ten failed before.

God of Battles, look down and protect him! Lord, his heart is as Thine-let him live!

But the mitrailleuse splutters and stutters, and riddles him into a sieve.

Then I thought of my sins, and sat waiting the charge that we could not withstand.

And I thought of my beautiful Paris, and gave a last look at the land,

At France, my belle France, in her glory of blue sky and green field and wood.

Death with honor, but never surrender. And to die with such men-it was good.

They are forming-the bugles are blaring-they will cross in a moment, and then

When out of the line of the Royals—(your island, mon ami, breeds men)

Burst a private, a tawny-haired giant-it was hopeless, but, ciel! how he ran!

Bon Dieu please remember the pattern, and make many more on his plan!

No cheers from our ranks, and the Germans, they halted in wonderment, too;

See, he reaches the bridge; ah! he lights it! I am dreaming, it cannot be true.

Screams of rage! Fusillade! They have killed him! Too late, though; the good work is done.

By the valor of twelve English martyrs, the Hell-Gate of Soissons is won!

FILE THREE

PAYSON S. WILD

["General Pershing stopped in his walk, turned sharply, and faced File Three."-London Dispatch.]

File Three stood motionless and pale,

Of nameless pedigree;

One of a hundred on detail

But would I had been he!

In years a youth, but worn and old,
With face of ivory;

Upon his sleeve two strands of gold—
Oh, would I had been he!

The General passed down the line,
And walked right rapidly,

But saw those threads and knew the sign—
Ah, had I been File Three!

"Twice wounded? Tell me where you were,"
The man of stars asked he.
"Givenchy and Lavenze, sir"—

Oh, where was I, File Three!

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