on even of excitement
or apprehension. Calmly and resolutely they faced what destiny might
bring. But there was deep gloom in their hearts and dire forebodings.

They had fought and dared and suffered and sacrificed for well-nigh
four years. They had buried a million of their sons, brothers, and
fathers. They were bleeding from a million wounds and more. They
said: "We will fight on to our last drop of blood, but alas! our
physical strength is ebbing. The enemy is more numerous by far than
we. Where can we look for aid? The British have just suffered grave
defeat. The Italians have their own soil to defend after the disaster
of last autumn. Our troops are in retreat. The Americans are not
ready and they are untried as yet in the fierce ordeal of modern
warfare. The Germans know well that in three months or six months the
Americans will be ready and strong in numbers. That is why they are
throwing every ounce of their formidable power against us _now_. The
Hun is at the gate _now_. Immeasurable consequences are at stake
_now_. It is a question of days, not of weeks or months. Where can we
look for aid _now_?"

And out of their nooks and corners and hiding places crawled forth the
slimy brood of the Bolshevik-Socialists, of the Boloists, Caillauxists,
and pacifists, and they hissed into the ears of the people, "Make
peace! Victory has become impossible. Why go on shedding rivers of
blood uselessly? The Germans will give you an honorable, even a
generous peace. Save Paris! Make peace!"

The holy wrath of France crushed those serpents whenever their heads
became visible. Clemenceau, the embodiment of the dauntless spirit of
France, stood forth the very soul of patriotic ardor and indomitable
courage. But the serpents were there, crawling hidden in the grass,
ever hissing, "Make peace!"

And then, suddenly out of the gloom flashed the lightning of a new
sword, sharp and mighty, a sword which had never been drawn except for
freedom, a sword which had never known defeat--the sword of America!

THE TURNING OF THE TIDE

A division of marines and other American troops were rushed to the
front as a desperate measure to try and stop a gap where flesh and
blood, even when animated by French heroism, seemed incapable of
further resistance. They came in trucks, in cattle cars, by any
conceivable kind of conveyance, crowded together like sardines. They
had had little food, and less sleep, for days.