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Through the courtesy of Miss Ju
dith Watts, the accomplished musician
whose home is in London, this news
paper has been handed a copy of the
London Times, which contains a de
tailed report, from the pen of the pub
lisher, Lord Northcliffe, of the activi
ties of Americans on the French front.
It is the most informing article on
this subject that has appeared in
print, and follows:
HEADQUARTERS, CANADIAN
ARMY, FRANCE.—Embedded in the
heart of the great Canadian army in
France is a body of American citizens
in khaki, who have already succeeded
in effecting another of the several
revolutions produced by warfare by
the United States.
The first and most important was
the aeroplane invented by the
Wrights, of Dayton, Ohio. The sec
ond is the machine gun, originally de
signed by Maxim, with the newer
Lewis light machine gun easily car
ried, or for use on aeroplanes.
The third revolution is one that I
would hardly believe had I not had
ocular demonstration. It is the con
version of the British Tommy to a
faith in pork and beans as a diet in
stead of the beef on which he has
fought since the time of the Norman
conquest of England.
These Americans in the British
army, with whom I have just spent a
day, are part of the topsy-turveydom
in which we are living, and when I
saw them marching back from the
trenches to the tunes of “My Country
Tis of Thee,” “The Star-Spangled
Banner,” and the less classical and
more modem ragtime, I wondered
what the smarf American boys, who
have so often teased me on Indepen
dence Day celebrations in your coun
try, would have thought of a factor in
the war that is not sufficiently known
in the United States.
I propose telling you what the
American soldiers in the British and
French armies are doing, where they
come from, how they live, and why
they came.
The Germans are particularly bitter
towards them and say that these
splendid young Americans were hired
by the allies. From the German point
of view the pay of the Americans, who
are fighting against Prussianism, is,
doubtless, princely. It amounts ex
actly to a dollar and a quarter a day.
I leave people in the United States to
judge whether that be the sort of re
muneration that is calculated to draw
American university graduates—some
with considerable private fortunes—
business men, real estate men, clerks,
lumber men, engineers, across the At
lantic. The falsehood is one of the
bits of German boomerang propagan
da with which neutrals are becoming
acquainted.
The Americans in the British and
French armies enlisted in divers ways
in the first few months of the war.
Many came to England direct and en
tered the British army. Those who
were resident in Europe at the out
break of the *war formed a union with
the British residents in France, and
joined the French, Others came over
later and entered the flying services,
where they have done splendid work.
Early in the war, during the battle
of the Marne, I was billeted with a
number of our dispatch-riders, and
much surprised to find that the par
ticular company with whom I was
spending the night was mainly from
the United States. It is impossible
to estimate the number of Americans
in these two armies, but if we include
those engaged in the noble work of the
American Ambulance in Paris and its
numerous automobile convoys, it has
been estimated at quite a sufficient
number to have made the American
language, American music, and Bos
ton baked beans familiar.
Stalwart Fighters For Freedom.
The great feature of the war on the
western front at the moment is the
day and night raids—a desperate form
of individual fighting encouraged by
the British leader, Sir Douglas Haig,
in which the Canadians and British,
who have a considerable 'force of
Americans with them, are adepts.
Each of these raids is a miniature
battle, and it was in studying this
form of warfare that I had the pleas
ure of seeing the Americans who are
serving with a Canadian regiment re
viewed by a general on their return
from the firing line for a rest and a
New Year’s dinner that was a week
late.
By a curious coincidence the setting
of the scene was that of a thousand of
American and Canadian lumber
camps, even down to the log houses.
We were just out of shell range of the
German guns, though the British ar
tillery was talking all the time. As
the men came down the hillside,
through the tall pine trees, it did not
take long for one-who has visited most
of the states of the union to detect,
despite the mud and fatigue, from
which of the world's continents they
came. They were in the highest of
high spirits. Released from the
cramped tension of the always shelled,
water-logged trenches, they came
tumbling down over each other like
school boys. All are in pleasant and
happy relations with their Canadian
and British officers, which make for
good fighting and do not derogate
from strict discipline. They were pa
raded for a moment or two for in
spection; and, as company after com
pany formed into line, I could not but
admire the quickness, cumbered as
they were with all sorts of equipment,
and an extra suit of caked mud, with
which they came to attention and
eyes right. If I had any doubt as to
the home of these stalwart fighters
for freedom it would have been set
tled by a steady movement of the
jaws, betokening a habit which is rap
idly spreading among the English and
French, and which is said by doctors
to be quite a useful relaxation when
under fire of trench mortars and Min
enwerfer. Before each company was
dismissed I was allowed to make them
a short speech and to mix with them
as freely as I chose. I had brought
with me a newspaper cutting from a
German source, in which it was said
that the Americans complained of
their treatment. I had only to read it
to the first group to have it hotly de
nied. “We are having a perfectly
corking time, despite the mud,” said a
Californian with a figure several sizes
taller and larger than Mr. Hearst’s
and a voice as resonant as Mr. Roose
velt’s. “You will not find a ‘grouch’
in the whole ‘outfit,’ except that we
had not expected to have to learn mud
swimming and that we do not see
enough home newspapers.” “As for
that,” replied another, “I don’t want
to see mine. The folks sent it along
at first, but I stopped it, for it gave
only Fritz’s side of the case.”
I find lack of home newspapers to
be a general complaint, and any
American who sympathizes with these
fine boys fighting out here might do
worse than mail a newspaper every
week—preferably one not giving the
German side. Such newspapers should
be addressed to the American Soldiers,
care of Commanding Officer, Royal
Canadian Regiment, British Expedi
tionary Force, France. I should say
that chewing gum, magazines, woolen
comforts, tobacco, cigarettes, and any
portable luxuries would be welcomed,
though there is no lack of anything
except, as I have said, home newspa
pers.
Heroic Deeds.
These American boys are proud, and
rightly proud, of their deeds of their
own American men and officers. In
the midst of this vast army—the Brit
ish army in France has now been pub
licly stated to exceed two million men
—they occupy an anomalous, if proud,
position.
Among the heroic dead there is no
greater story than that of the gallant
officer, for 12 years in the American
cavalry, who joined in the great Can
adian attack on the Regina trench—
named after the Canadian town of
Regina. Though not engaged in that
particular operation, he could not re
sist the temptation to dash over the
parapet with a cry of "Come on,
boys!" Though terribly wounded, he
endeavored to struggle forward
against the Germans but was carried
back and then killed by shell fire. He
is one of the many Americans whose
dare-devilry has endeared them to
their Canadian and British associates.
While most of the newspaper dis
patches from Washington which reach
the French and English newspapers
are full of of the word "peace," these
husky young American citizens will
not hear of it. “To h-with peace
talk," said a bright-eyed boy from
Kansas City, "while these slantheads
across the line there are enslaving
French and Belgian women and chil
dren. There would be none of this
peace business at home if the people
there knew the facts. On New Year’s
Day the Boche soldiers put out boards
saying “Why not have a peace talk?”
The reply of the whole allied line was
an artillery bombardment which
clinched the question.
A blue-eyed American from Wis
consin, with, I should think, Swedish
blood in his veins, said, “Our people at
home do not seem to realize that talk
ing peace terms with the Germans
still in France means a German vic
tory. The home folks do not know
what we know. In the matter of fight
the Prussians, brave as they are, are
down and out." "The German govern
ment is crying out for peace," added
a hatchet-faced Yankee who had gone
out West as a boy, made good, and
thrown up all for the war, “because
the German army and the German
people know we have got them where
we want .them."
An Army That Thinks.
There is little bitterness against the
enemy among the Canadian, American
and British soldiers. They admire his
mass fighting, his machine-like discip
line, but they have no use for him in
the kind of warfare now going on.
“You will find the Canadians and
Americans a thinking, independent
army,” remarked the distinguished
British general who had given me per
mission to spend this very interesting
day and so I found them to be. They
had brought to the stock of vitality
and knowledge embraced in the won
derful citizen armies of France and
England the qualities inherited by the
generations which have spanned the
North American continent . with %its
railroads, chained Niagara, linked up
the world’s cities and armies by tele
phone, lit the dug-outs with incandes
cent lamps, cheered them with canned
music, and brought a thousand other
mechanical ideas to perfection.
If you take a map of the United
States and go up and down the Ameri
can lines in France, you will find no
city, great or small, which has not
sent a flying man, a bomber, an artil
leryman, a sniper, or dispatch rider to
help to destroy Prussian despotism. In
the United States you probably hear
more of the spectacular part of the
American work—that which enthralls
the whole world—the new art of fight
ing in the skies. I confess, indeed,
that although I have spent many
weeks at the war the spectacle of
winged fighters high in the sunlight is
one that holds my attention as noth
ing in the world ever has. In peace
times, when one was younger, one has
been thrilled by a close baseball or
football match; but when, sheltered
perhaps in a trench, one sees two
specks approaching each other and
with a pair of strong glasses gradu
ally realizes that one is an American
who has given up everything—home,
prosperity and probably life—to throw
himself into a foreign army, and that
the other is a brave German doing
what he conceives to be his duty, one
realizes that here are two combatants
worth watching.
Air Fighting in 1917.
Very rarely do the Germans venture
over our lines, and one has to be very
far forward nowadays to get a good
view of a fight between the allies and
the enemy in the air. I have had that
good fortune several times. Air fight
ing in 1914 bears as much resemblance
to air fighting in 1917 as an old steam
automobile to a six-cylinder of today.
There is a perpetual match in speeding
up between the enemy and the allies.
Four or five miles an hour extra pace
means everything. It is not the in
crease of engine power to over 200 h.
p. that has brought about the changes
so much as the wonderful progress of
the art of flying itself, and it is just
here that the Anglo-Saxon and the
Frenchman beat the slower-minded
German. It is just this reason why
the German Soldiers’ letters are now
(Continued on Page 8.)
XJ WASTE MONEY?
every one does. Bread cast upon the
water comes back again. But when you throw
money away it mighty seldom ever comes back.
What’s going to happen to you when you have
no more money to waste l Why not open an ac
count here? $1.00 does it. Doing it once week
for a year means $52 to the good for you—and
the interest we pay you in our Savings Depart
ment. Try it for a few months, you will be sur
prised to find how fast your account will grow.
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