The Defenders of Democracy

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Her silence seemed to give off an icy vapor.

"That's what they all say," she said. "It's like hiding behind a
petticoat, hiding behind a defense like that. Sure you ain't got
a grudge. Maybe you don't know what it's all about--God knows who
does. Nobody can deny that. There ain't nothing reasonable about
war, if there was there wouldn't be none. That talk don't get you
nowheres. The proposition is that we're at war, whatever you or
anybody else may think of it."

"That's just it--we didn't have no say-so."

"Just the same, Hal Sanderson, this great big grand country of ours
is at war, and needs you. It ain't what you think any more that
counts. Before we was in war you could talk all you wanted, but
now that we're IN, there's only one thing to do, only one, and not
all your fine talk about peace can change it. One thing to do.
Fight!"

"No government can make me--"

"If you want peace now it's up to you to help make it, a new peace
and a grander peace, not go baying at the moon after a peace that
ain't no more."

"You better get a soap box. If this is the way you got of trying
to get out of something you're sorry for, I'll let you off easier--you
don't need to try to---"

She regarded him with her lips quivering, a quick layer of tears
forming, trembling and venturing to the edge of her lashes.

"Hal--Hal--a--a fellow that I've banked on like I have you! It
ain't that--you know it ain't. I could have waited for ten times
this long. It's only I--I'm ashamed, Hal. Ashamed. there ain't
been a single gap in the chorus from one of the men enlisting that
my heart ain't just dropped in my shoes like dough. I never envied
a girl on my life the way I did Elaine Vavasour when she stood on
the curb at the Battery the other day crying and watching Charlie
Kirkpatrick go marching off. Charlie was a pacifist, too, as long
as the country was out of war, and there was something to argue
about. The minute the question was settled, he shut up, buckled
on his belt and went! That's the kind of a pacifist to be. The
kind of fellow that when he sees peace slipping, buckles on and
starts out for a new peace; a realer peace. That's the kind of a
fellow I thought you--you---"

Her voice broke then abruptly, in a rain of tears, and she raised
the crook of her arm to her face with the gesture of a child.
"That--that's the kind of a fellow I--I---"

His cigarette discarded and curling up in a little column of smoke
between them, he sat regarding her, a heave surge of red rising
above the impeccable white of his collar into the roots of his hair.
It was as if her denouncement had come down in a welt across his
face.

"Nobody ever--nobody ever dared to talk like this to me before.
Nobody ever dared to call me a coward. Nobody. Because it ain't
so!"

"I know it ain't, Hal. If it was could I have been so strong for
you all these months? I knew the way you showed yourself in the
Fifty-fifth Street fire. I read about it in the papers before I
ever knew you. I--I know the way you mauled Ed Stein, twice your
size, the night he tried to--to get fresh with me. I know you
ain't a slacker in your heart, Hal, but I--I couldn't marry a man
that got fake exemption. Couldn't, no matter how it broke my heart
to see him go marching off! Couldn't! Couldn't!"

"That's what it means, Blossum--marching off!"

"I know it, but how--how could I marry a man that wasn't fit to
war his country's uniform even in a show. I--I couldn't marry a
man like that if it meant the solid gold suite in the solid goldest
hotel in this town. I couldn't marry a--a fake khaki-boy!"

"Ain't there no limit, Bloss, to the way you can make a fellow feel
like dirt under your feet? My God! ain't there no limit?"

"There--there's nothing on earth can make a man of you, Hal, nothing
on God's earth but War! Every once in a while there's some little
reason seems to spring up for there bein' a war. You're one of them
reasons, Hal. Down in my heart I know it that you'll come back,
and when I get a hunch it's a hunch! Down in my heart I know it,
dear, that you'll come back to me. But you'll come back a man,
you'll come back with the yellow streak pure gold, you'll-you'll
come back to me pure gold, dear. I know it. I know it."

His head was back as if his throat were open to the stroke of her
words, but there was that growing in his face which was enormous,
translucent, even apogean.

He tore up the paper between them, slowly, and in criss crosses.

"And you, Blossom?" he said, not taking his eyes, with their growing
lights, off her.

"Why, I'll be waiting, Hal," she said, the pink coming out to flood
her face, "I'll be waiting--Sweetheart."

[signed] Fannie Hurst

The Married Slacker

[This is a comic strip in three panels. I'll do my best to describe
each panel and then put the text which comes beneath the panel.]

[Panel 1: A man and woman sit at a meal with pictures of Washington
and Lincoln glowering from the wall in the man's full view behind
the woman. The woman is reading a paper. The man is listening,
but not looking at the woman, rather at his meal in front of him.
A maid brings coffee cups on a platter.]

SHE (reading)--"At 5:15, the barrage was raised, and the Americans
advanced to attack. The long line moved forward like the steady
on-sweep of the tide--unwavering, irresistible, implacable." Oh,
isn't it perfectly wonderful! I knew our men would fight gloriously!
And just listen to this:

[Panel 2: The images of Washington and Lincoln have doubled
in size and the eyes clearly glare at the man. The man now shows
beads of sweat around his head and wears an expression of distress.
The woman continues to read the paper. The maid departs the scene
having delivered the coffee cups.]

SHE (reading)--"The Germans fought desperately but the American
lines never wavered in their onward course. Sometimes the broad
stretch of the battlefield was enveloped in great volumes of smoke,
but a moment later, as the air cleared, the same lines were to
be seen moving onward. At 6:45, the sound of cheering was heard
amidst the din of the battle and a few moments later, the message
was sent back that the American troops had captured the great German
position."

[Panel 3: The images of Washington and Lincoln are now almost
fully the size of the wall and marks of consternation and anger are
clear on their brows as they glare at the man. The woman continues
to read the paper without looking up. The man is fleeing the room
in great haste with his arms in the air. He has knocked over his
chair in his haste and has bumped into the maid who was returning
with a coffee pot and biscuits. The man's face is obscured by
raised hands and his overcoat, but he is clearly fleeing.]

SHE (reading)--"The American victory of yesterday may well mark
the beginning of the end of the war. London and Paris are ringing
with the praises of the American soldiers. President Wilson has
proclaimed a national holiday in celebration of the triumph, and
the American soldier has won imperishable glory as a fighting man."

[The last panel is signed] McCutcheon

Hymn for America

Air: "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled"

Where's the man, in all the earth--
Man of want or man of worth--
Who shall now to rank or birth
Knee of homage bend?
Though he war with chance or fate,
If his heart be free of hate,
If his soul with love be great,
He shall be our friend.

Where's the man, of wealth or wage,
Dare be traitor to his age,
To the people's heritage
Won by war and woe,--
Counting but as private good
All the gain of brotherhood
By the base so long withstood?
He shall be our foe.

Where's the man that does not feel
Freedom as the common weal,
Duty's sword the only steel
Can the battle end?
Comrades, chant in unison
Creed the noblest 'neath the sun:
"One for all and all for one,"
Till each foe be friend.

[signed] Robert Underwood Johnson

The Breaking Out of the Flags

It is April,
And the snow lingers on the dark sides of evergreens;
The grass is brown and soggy
With only a faint, occasional overwash of green.
But under the leafless branches
The white bells of snowdrops are nodding and shaking
Above their green sheaths.
Snow, fir-trees, snowdrops--stem and flower--
Nature offers us only white and green
At this so early springtime.
But man gives more.

Man has unfurled a Nation's flags
Above the city streets;
He has flung a striped and starry symbol of bright colors
Down every curving way.
Blossoms of War,
Blossoms of Suffering,
Strange beautiful flowers of the New Year:
Flags!

Over door lintels and cornices,
Above peaked gables and flat mansard-roofs
Flutter the flags.
The avenues are arcaded with them,
The narrow alleys are bleached with stripes and stars.
For War is declared,
And the people gird themselves
Silently--sternly--
Only the flags make arabesques in the sunshine,
Twining the red of blood and the silver of achievement
Into a gay, waving pattern
Over the awful, unflinching Destiny
Of War.

The flags ripple and jar
To the tramp of marching men,
to the rumble of caissons over cobblestones.
From seaboard to seaboard
And beyond, across the green waves of the sea,
They flap and fly.
Men plant potatoes and click typewriters
In the shadow of them,
And khaki-clad soldiers
Lift their eyes to the garish red and blue
And turn back to their khaki tasks
Refreshed.

America,
The clock strikes.
The spring is upon us,
The seed of our forefathers
Quickens again in the soil,
And these flags are the small, early flowers
Of the solstice of our Hope!

Thru suffering to Peace!
Thru sacrifice to Security!
Red stripes,
Turn us not from our purpose,
Lead us up as by a ladder
To the deep blue quiet
Wherein are shining
The silver stars.

Soldiers, sailors, clerks, and office boys,
Men, and Women--but not children,
No! Not children!
Let these march
With their paper caps and toy rifles
And feel only the panoply of War--
But the others,
Welded and forged,
Seared, melted, broken,
Molded without flaw,
Slowly, faithfully pursuing a Purpose,
A Purpose of Peace,

Even into the very flame of Death.
Over the city,
Over all the cities,
Flutter flags.
Flags of spring,
Flags of burgeoning,
Flags of fulfillment.

[signed] Amy Lowell

Our Day

London, April 20, 1917

It was the evening of our Day; that young April day when in
the solemn vastness of St. Paul's were held the services to mark
America's historic entrance into the Great World War. Across the
mighty arch of the Chancel on either side hung the Stars and Stripes
and the Union Jack.

From the organ pealed those American songs to which half a century
ago, in another war for Freedom, men marched to battle, and, even
if by ways of defeat and death, to ultimate Victory. How many there
were that April day for whom the sight of the Stars and Stripes was
blurred with tears. How the familiar airs and simple words pained
us with the memory of our distant homes. Perhaps for the first
time we understood the solemn significance of this dedication to
war of what we hardly knew was so unspeakably dear.

In the Crypt of St. Paul's, Mausoleum of England's greatest soldier
and sailor heroes, their ashes rest who once fought and conquered.
If it is given to those who have gone before to hear our human
appeal, perhaps the immortal spirits of Nelson, of Wellington, of
Kitchener, whose tragic fate is its unfulfilled destiny, may have
rested like an inspiration on that kindred nation offering the
sacrifice of all it holds most sacred to the cause of Divine Justice.

After the solemn benediction thousands streamed slowly out to mingle
with the multitudes gathered before the great Entrance where Queen
Anne in crown and scepter keeps majestic guard, and where in peaceful
days doves flit and flutter down to peck at the grain strewn about
her royal feet.

Stern and momentous times have passed over that old, gray Cathedral;
times of a Nation's grief and a Nation's rejoicing. But of all such
days, in its centuries of existence, none has been so momentous for
the destiny of the Empire as that sunny April day. And yet--and
yet--perhaps more touching, more solemn, even than the High
Service at St. Paul's, that which stirred Americans even more who
love England with only a lesser love, and made us realize as never
before what America stands for, joint defender now of the new
Civilization, was the silent symbol of her dedication to the Cause
of Human Freedom, for all London to see and on which, seeing, to
reflect. It was the symbol of that for which Statesmen who were
also prophets, have lived and toiled.

It rose against the glowing West, never to be forgotten by those
who saw it at the close of Our Day, for it marked the new Epoch.

Now at last "Let the dead Past bury its Dead."

Along Whitehall, down Parliament Street, and where towards the left
Westminster Bridge spans its immortal river, stand the Houses of
Parliament, their delicate tracery of stonework etched against the
sunset sky.

Hurrying crowds, released from the day's toil, stopped here, as if
by a common impulse, to gaze upwards, and, gazing in silent wonder,
they saw such a sight as London has never seen before. On the
highest pinnacle of the Victoria tower where the flag of another
nation has never before shared its proud eminence there floated
together from one flagstaff Old Glory and the Union Jack.

That was America's supreme consecration.

[signed] Annie E. Lane (Mrs. John Lane)

Pour La Patrie

They were brothers, Louis and Francois, standing in the presence of
the Prussian commander, looking hopelessly into his cold, unsmiling
eyes. For the third time in as many days he was bargaining with
them for that which God had given them and they in turn had promised
to France: their lives.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking that we exalt you for what
you may call courage, or that your country will sing your praises,"
said the general harshly. "Your country will never know how or when
you die. You have nothing to gain by dying, not even the credit
of dying."

Francois allowed his hot, dry eyes to sweep slowly around the group.
He was pale, his forehead wet.

"You are soldiers," said he, his voice low and steady. "Is there
one among you who would do the thing we are asked to do? If there is
one man here who will stand forth in the presence of his comrades
and say that he would betray Germany as you are asking us to
betray France,--if there is such a man among you, let him speak,
and the,--then I will do what you ask of me."

A dozen pairs of hard implacable eyes returned his challenge. No
man spoke. No man smiled.

"You do not even pretend," cried the little poilu. "well, I too
am a soldier. I am a soldier of France. It is nothing to me that
I day to-day or to-morrow, or that my country knows when or how.
Take me out and shoot me," he shouted, facing the commander. "I
am but one poor soldier. I am one of millions. What is my little
life worth to you?"

"Nothing," said the commander. "Ten such as you would not represent
the worth of one German soldier."

"We say not so over there," said Francois boldly, jerking his thumb
in the direction of Pont-a-mousson.

And now for the first time the Prussians about him smiled.

"What is it, pray, that you do say over there?" inquired the general
mockingly.

"That the worst of the Frenchmen is worth five of your best," said
Francois, unafraid. Why should he be afraid to speak the truth?
He was going to die.

"And one of your frog-eating generals is the equal of five of me,
I suppose?" The commander's grim face relaxed into a smile. "That
is good! Ha-ha! That is good!"

"So we say, excellency," said Francois simply. "Our Papa Joffre--ah,
he is greater than all of you put in one."

The Prussian flushed. His piggish eyes glittered.

"Your Papa Joffre!" he scoffed.

"He is greater than the Kaiser,--though I die for saying it," cried
the little poilu recklessly.

The commander turned his eyes from the white, impassioned face
of Francois and looked upon the quivering, ghastly visage of the
brother who stood beside him. The fire that glowed in the eyes of
Francois was missing in those of Louis.

The grizzled Prussian smiled, but imperceptibly. What he saw
pleased him. Louis, the big one, the older of the two, trembled.
It was only by the supremest effort that he maintained a pitiable
show of defiance. His face was haggard and blanched with fear;
there was a hunted, shifty look in his narrowed eyes. The general's
smile developed. It proffered comfort, consolation, encouragement.

"And you," he said, almost gently, "have not you profited by the
reflections of your three days of grace? Are you as stubborn as
this mule of a brother, this foolish lad who spouts even poorer
French than I address to you?"

Francois shot a quick, appealing glance at his big brother's face.
There were tiny rivulets of slaver at the corners of Louis's mouth.

"Louis!" he cried out sharply.

Louis lifted his sagging shoulders. "I have nothing to say," he
said thickly, and with the set of his jaws Francois breathed deeply
of relief.

"So!" said the general, shrugging his shoulders. "I am sorry. You
are young to die, you two. To die on the field of battle,--ah,
that is noble! To die with one's back to a wall, blindfolded, and
to be covered with earth so loosely that starving dogs may scratch
away to feast--But, no more. You have decided. You have had many
hours in which to consider the alternative. You will be shot at
daybreak."

The slight figure of Francois straightened, his chin went up. His
thin, dirt-covered hands were tightly clenched.

"For France!" he murmured, lifting his eyes above the head of the
Prussian.

A vast shudder swept over the figure of Louis, a hoarse gasp broke
through his lips. The commander leaned forward, fixing him with
compelling eyes.

"For France!" cried Francois again, and once more Louis lifted his
head to quaver:

"For France!"

"Take them away," said the commander. "But stay! How old are
you?" He addressed Francois.

"I am nineteen."

"And you?"

Louis's lips moved but no sound issued.

"My brother is twenty-one," said Francois, staring hard at Louis.

"He has a sweetheart who will grieve bitterly if he does not
return for her caresses, eh? I thought so. Oh, you French! But
she will soon recover. She will find another,--like that! So!"
He snapped his fingers. "She will not wait long, my good Louis.
Take them away!"

Louis's face was livid. His chin trembled, his lips fell apart
slackly; he lowered his eyes after an instant's contact with the
staunch gaze of his brother.

"You have until sunrise to change your minds," said the Prussian,
turning on his heel.

"Sunrise," muttered Louis, his head twitching.

They were led from the walled-in garden and across the cobblestones
of the little street that terminated in a cul de sac just above.
Over the way stood the shattered remnants of a building that once
had been pointed to with pride by the simple villagers as the finest
shop in town. The day was hot. Worn-out German troopers sprawled
in the shade of the walls, sound asleep, their mouths ajar,--beardless
boys, most of them.

"Poor devils," said Francois, as he passed among them. He too was
very young.

They were shoved through the wrecked doorway into the mortar-strewn
ruin, and, stumbling over masses of debris, came to the stone steps
that led to the cellar below. Louis drew back with a groan. He
had spent centuries in that foul pit.

"Not there--again!" he moaned. He was whimpering feebly as he
picked himself up at the bottom of the steps a moment later.

"Dogs!" cried Francois, glaring upward and shaking his fist at the
heads projecting into the turquoise aperture above. Far on high,
where the roof had been, gleamed the brilliant sky. "Our general
will make you pay one of these days,--our GREAT general!"

Then he threw his arms about his brother's shoulders and--cried a
little too,--no in fear but in sympathy.

The trap door dropped into place, a heavy object fell upon it with
a thud, and they were in inky darkness. There was no sound save
the sobs of the two boys, and later the steady tread of a man who
paced the floor overhead,--a man who carried a gun.

They had not seen, but they knew that a dead man lay over in the
corner near a window chocked by a hundred tons of brick and mortar.
He had died some time during the second century of their joint
occupance of the black and must hole. On the 28th he had come in
with them, wounded. It was now the 31st, and he was dead, having
lived to the age of nine score years and ten! When they spoke to
their guards at the beginning of the third century, saying that
their companion was dead and should be carried away, the Germans
replied:

"There is time enough for that," and laughed,--for the Germans
could count the time by hours out there in the sunshine. But that
is not why they laughed.

A hidden French battery in the wooded, rocky hills off to the
west had for days kept up a deadly, unerring fire upon the German
positions. Shift as he would, the commander could not escape the
shells from those unseen, undiscovered guns. They followed him
with uncanny precision. His own batteries had searched in vain,
with thousands of shrieking shells, for the gadfly gunners. They
could find him, but he could not find them. For every shell he
wasted, they returned one that counted.

Three French scouts fell into his hands on the night of the 28th.
Two of them were still alive. He had them up before him at once.

"On one condition will I spare your lives," said he. And that
condition had been pounded into their ears with unceasing violence,
day and night, by officers high and low, since the hour of their
capture. It was a very simple condition, declared the Germans.
Only a stubborn fool would fail to take advantage of the opportunity
offered. The exact position of that mysterious battery,--that
was all the general demanded in return for his goodness in sparing
their lives. He asked no more of them than a few, truthful words.

They had steadfastly refused to betray their countrymen.

Francois could not see his brother, but now and then he put out a
timid hand to touch the shaking figure. He could not understand.
Why was it not the other way about? Who was he to offer consolation
to the big and strong?

"Courage," he would say, and then stare hard ahead into the blackness.
"You are great and strong," he would add. "It is I who am weak
and little, Louis. I am the little brother."

"You have not so much to live for as I," Louis would mutter, over
and over again.

Their hour drew near. "Eat this," persuaded Francois, pressing
upon Louis the hunk of bread their captors had tossed down to them.

"Eat? God! How can I eat?"

"Then drink. It is not cold, but--"

"Let me alone! Keep away from me! God in heaven, why do they
leave that Jean Picard down here with us--"

"You have seen hundreds of dead men, Louis. All of them were
heroes. All of them were brave. It was glorious to die as they
died. Why should we be afraid of death?"

"But they died like men, not like rats. They died smiling. They
had no time to think."

And then he fell to moaning. His teeth rattled. He turned upon
his face and for many minutes beat upon the stone steps with his
clenched hands, choking out appeals to his Maker.

Francois stood. His hot, unblinking eyes tried to pierce the darkness.
Tears of shame and pity for this big brother burnt their way out
and ran down his cheeks. He was wondering. He was striving to
put away the horrid doubt that was searing his soul: the doubt of
Louis!

The dreary age wore on. Louis slept! The little brother sat with
his chin in his hands, his heart cold, his eyes closed. He prayed.

Then came the sound of the heavy object being dragged away from
the door at the top of the steps. They both sprang to their feet.
An oblong patch of drab, gray light appeared overhead. Sunrise!

"Come! It is time," called down a hoarse voice. Three guns hung
over the edge of the opening. They were taking no chances.

"Louis!" cried Francois sharply.

Louis straightened his gaunt figure. The light from above fell
upon his face. It was white,--deathly white,--but transfigured.
A great light flamed in his eyes.

"Have no fear, little brother," he said gently, caressingly. He
clasped his brother's hand. "We die together. I have dreamed.
A vision came to me,--came down from heaven. My dream was of our
mother. She came to me and spoke. So! I shall die without fear.
Come! Courage, little Francois. We are her soldier boys. She
gave us to France. She spoke to me. I am not afraid."

Glorified, rejoicing, almost unbelieving, Francois followed his
brother up the steps, there was comfort in the grip of Louis's
hand.

"This general of yours," began Louis, facing the guard, a sneer on
his colorless lips, his teeth showing, "he is a dog! I shall say
as much to him when the guns are pointed at my breast."

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