Chapter IV: Pershing’s Troops Arrive

Paris, June 13, 1917.

M., your birthday is being celebrated by the arrival of General Pershing in Paris. To-day when I went through the Place de la Concorde, there was a huge crowd standing outside the Hotel Crillon where he is going to stay. Among them were many Canadians,--and war-worn veterans they are,--beautifully tanned, but under it that hollow-cheeked, drawn-eyed trench look so many of them have from being constantly tense. One sees so many wounded and tired-looking men, also fine ones, all with the same stamp on them.

Sometimes the war makes me feel actually sick physically, it is so overpowering and crushing. I can’t think of anything to compare it to but a steam-roller in a dream, coming on when you can’t move.

There is no doubt that in spite of the splendid successes of the English, there is a feeling of awfulness about it all, that I didn’t feel at first. Gains do not mean so much to people now, for they know that every gain means fearful losses. Just the same, there is a dogged determination to win. We feel the awfulness, while waiting for the United States troops. If only a few come, the moral effect will be tremendous, but of course, more than a few men are needed, and above all, food.

June 14, 1917.

To-day I almost got run over by a man on a simple bicycle because I had turned around to look at the first U. S. soldier I have seen. Oh! but they are good looking and straight! Paris is quite thrilled over them and there is a perpetual crowd outside the Crillon all day long. There are about ten automobiles, beautiful gray ones, with chauffeurs in steel helmets, waiting outside the hotel this morning. I wonder whether it means that Pershing is going to take a trip to the front.

One American soldier passed me just now, as I was passing two English naval men (Paris is full of them now). They both turned around and said to each other, “Aou, smart looking chap!” Our men certainly do have a certain “swank” about them, though they don’t have the color scheme of the French that is so attractive, nor yet the perfect, immaculate fitness of the British Army.

Paris, August 16, 1917.

“There’s a pause in the day’s occupation,” I having locked myself in my room so that neither the maid, nor the hotel proprietor, nor any one in fact, but a locksmith can get me out. Hence, here I am waiting in the hope that a locksmith will be found to extricate me. If you never get this letter you’ll know that I’ve slowly died of starvation in my room, while the hotel people are gone to get the necessary papers to get a locksmith demobilized long enough to let me out.

To-morrow, I am going down to Bonnaqueil for a three weeks’ vacation. Thank Heaven! I need the rest badly, and I am probably going up toward the front when I come back.

Paris, September 14, 1917.

I feel much better after my vacation and am quite rested and joyful to be at work again. As soon as I get my papers I am going up to Nancy, and in the meantime I am mostly employed in combining the insides of “Eddie, Jr.” with “Lizzie’s” cast off appendices and tonsils and making a Ford out of it. Also “Blighty” came back from the American “front” in a mess, evidently having been tried by every soldier there, so we’ve had to amputate her radiator and commutator, and apply disinfectants to the insides of her cylinders, and grind her valves, and apply artificial respiration to her carburetor. She is still in a state of coma, but I hope will be out again by to-morrow. She is called “Blighty” because she’s English, having a right-hand drive.

On my way up here, I was waiting with the Comtesse and Marie for my train to Paris when we saw some American troops at the station. One of our boys about seven feet tall came near us, and the Comtesse who, you know, is tiny, coming only to my shoulder, said “Vive l’Amérique,” up at him. He looked all around and up, and then down, and at last saw her looking up at him, and then he grinned and saluted. They were such nice and very American soldiers. Her eyes filled with tears and she said, “Their poor mothers!” I hadn’t thought of that, I was so proud to see them here, and they all looked so safe and healthy and were joking away trying to buy tobacco and coffee at the station buffet.

Paris, September 23, 1917.

People here have ceased to discuss Russia, and when the Russian officers, who are staying in this hotel, go out, they dress in civilian clothes in order not to be insulted in the streets. I never hear the end of the war discussed, but there is an atmosphere of tense determination. People look with hope to the English who are heroic in their present efforts and victories, and we are very popular. I think the French have hope and faith in the United States for great things in the future, but when they look at our straight, efficient, wonderful looking soldiers they say: “The Americans are magnificent, but if they had only come two years ago!”

I hope a great effort will be made to give our soldiers proper amusement both at the front and in Paris. One can’t help noticing conditions. Just recently a new club has been opened here for the Canadian and Australian soldiers, but nevertheless one meets them wandering about the streets in lost-looking groups. They look strong and brown, but often they look so sad and lost with a patient, worn expression, and eyes that seem strained from looking at--one doesn’t know what. They are here for only four to seven days’ leave, and it is pathetic, when one thinks what they have come through and are going back to. I suppose our soldiers will get to look like that, too. Just now they are an inspiring sight of efficiency personified.

I heard the nicest thing about our soldiers the other day from a French lady. She lives at one of the ports and when the American Engineers came, opened her house to give them the use of her library and offered to teach them French. The Colonel was delighted, and thanked her “mais délicieusement” and all the soldiers were as nice as nice could be and took great care of the books, always covering them with paper. Also, they were so polite and modest, and “sérieux” and “convenables” that the whole place is in love with them, and her daughter is quite enchanted with one who is a dentist in ordinary life. She says he has beautiful manners and luckily is “très sérieux” and married!