My Experiences in the World War

THE MAN of the MONTH

[Stokes, 2 vols., $10.00]

THE Commander in Chief of the A.E.F. relates his experiences in the World War in terms that are masculine, straightforward, and modest. How quietly the epic opens! At Fort Sam Houston, Texas, in May 1917, far from the turmoil of Washington, General Pershing is suddenly interrogated as to whether he ‘can read and write French.’ The answer is soon on the wire. The General expresses complete confidence that he can ‘reacquire a satisfactory working knowledge of it.’ He is summoned to the Capital to take command of the first contingent for France, and a few days later, without more palaver, he is told that he has been selected to serve as Generalissimo of the greatest army that was ever sent across the seas.

Of course no one knew better than Pershing that the army he was called to Command was a myth, that not a single one of its phantom regiments — or battalions, for that matter — had ever known anything approaching a war footing or combat preparation since 1865. But

seventeen months later the incredible was realized, the great Army of the Republic had been improvised, and with Pershing at the head of a million combat troops, with millions more behind, had won the battle of the Meuse-Argonne offensive and was in possession of many miles of German trenches, a hundred thousand prisoners, and many hundred cannon.

In the martial law the young Napoleon loved to study, Jomini warned the student that when he came up with the enemy the sharp horns of dilemma would be presented to him. Both he must avoid, or at worst only take contact with the dullest. It was Pershing’s misfortune that he had to encounter the horns of his greatest dilemma before he came to grips with the enemy. They were presented by our gallant but naturally self-centred allies, who had decided, even before the vanguard of our host appeared, that it would be the best policy to feed our recruits into the veteran organizations of the French and English armies. It was held that these battle-tried units could receive into their ranks, without suffering deterioration, as many as 30 or even 40 per cent of our brawny greenhorns from across the seas.

It was a simple plan, and that was in its favor; but it ignored the essential human equation. Pershing countered with the statement. ‘We are fighting a common enemy, and the best way to help toward victory is for the Americans to fight under their own flag and their own officers.’ On this issue the war within the war was joined, and it never was settled until the Armistice. Pershing’s task of bringing eighty divisions to France and a million and a quarter men to the battle front was a less wearing job than seeing to it that Foch or Haig did not divert from the growing American army a division here or a number of brigades there. Once his great purpose was accomplished and he had called his American army into life, it is pleasant, to chronicle that Pershing never turned a deaf ear to the needs of these great commanders.

Whenever an emergency arose, — and from March to October 1918 they were frequent, — American soldiers, trained and untrained, were fed into the lines of our allies. In the fall battle, — the ‘Battle for France,’ as Poincaré calls it, — eight American divisions were serving with the French and English armies; and even in the critical stage of the Meuse-Argonne drive, Foch asking and Gouraud in dire need, Pershing gave his beloved Second Division. Once the unity of the American army was accomplished, there was nothing stiff or stilted in the General’s attitude. What he had was at the service of the Allies and gladly given, because in that tremendous conflict the need was always greater than generosity could satisfy.

When he speaks of the manifold shortcomings of the services of supply and procurement, Pershing never minces matters, nor when he refers to the ‘apparent routine attitude with which our cables are viewed at the other end.’ The failure to produce serviceable planes and the complete fiasco of the tanks are frankly stated, with the result, as Pershing admits, of’ more sponging on the French,’ who were themselves reduced to the absolute minimum of equipment. These authoritative revelations raise the question whether responsibility for these scandalous failures should not even at this late day be placed, especially as many who seem to be involved enjoy the renown ‘of strong silent men’ who won the war but let the credit go to others less deserving.

It is a great story ably told, and in it Secretary of War Baker at last comes into his own. Frank in his praise as in his blame, General Pershing says, ‘No American general in the field ever received the perfect support accorded me by Mr. Baker.’ Men who wrought mightily in a great crisis cannot ‘escape history,’ as Lincoln said long ago. It is pleasant to know that after all their battles Pershing parted with Clemenceau on a friendly note. The old Tiger said to me when I last saw him in the Vendée, ‘Tell Pershing I love him and I hope he loves me. We obstinate fellows must stand shoulder to shoulder — or the world will tear us to pieces! Tell him all is forgiven, all — except the day on the Montfaucon road when he invented that traffic jam and kept me from the American front, where all the American boys wanted me to be. Çà! But perhaps even that will be smoothed out; in the next world, for which they tell me I should prepare. Come, let’s look at my roses.’

STEPHEN BONSAL

As Dr. Gay points out, our ‘best sellers,’ generally speaking, have shown improvement. That is not necessarily to say that the quality of our books is better, but rather that our better books have to-day a better chance of being known than was possible fifteen years ago. The growth and influence of our literary supplements, the expansiveness of our review columns and columnists, have helped to bring this about; so have the book clubs, with their emphasis on selection. So, they say, have the radio book talks — not to mention the critics.