a far different figure, but one of the most famous of the
whole war. Henry Johnson! That Henry, once a mild-mannered
chauffeur, who to protect his comrade, Needham Roberts, waded into
a whole patrol of 'bush Germans' with a lot of hand grenades, his
rifle and his trusty 'steel' in the shape of a bolo knife, and
waded into them so energetically that when the casualties were
counted there were four dead foemen in front of him, thirty-four
others done up so badly they couldn't even crawl away, and heaven
knows how many more had been put to flight.

"And now Henry, in commemoration of this exploit, was riding alone
in an open machine. In his left hand he held his tin hat. In his
right he held high over his head a bunch of red and white lilies
which some admirer had pressed upon him. And from side to side
Henry--about as black as any man in the outfit if not a trifle
blacker--bowed from the waist down with all the grace of a French
dancing master. Yes, he bowed, and he grinned from ear to ear and
he waved his lilies, and he didn't overlook a bet in the way of
taking (and liking) all the tributes that were offered to him.

"A fleet of motor ambulances, back of Henry, carried the wounded
men who were unable to walk, nearly 200 of them. But though they
couldn't walk, they could laugh and wave and shout thanks for the
cheers, all of which they did.

"Almost before the happy colored folk could realize at the official
stand that here were their lads back home again, the last of the
parade rolled along and it was over. With that formation and the
step that was inspired by Lieutenant Europe's band--and by the
Police Band which stood at 60th Street and kept playing after the
music of the other died away--it required only seventeen minutes
for the regiment to pass.

"From this point north the welcome heightened in intensity. Along
the park wall the colored people were banked deeply, everyone
giving them the first ranks nearest the curb. Wives, sweethearts
and mothers began to dash into the ranks and press flowers upon
their men and march alongside with them, arm-in-arm. But this
couldn't be, and Colonel Hayward had to stop the procession for a
time and order the police to put the relatives back on the
sidewalks. But that couldn't stop their noise.