"With the most earnest good wishes from myself and entire command to you and our brave British brothers in arms, I remain, always in great respect and high esteem,
"Yours very sincerely,
"John J. Pershing."
In Paris also the celebration was an evidence of the same or even greater enthusiasm. Flags, bands, cheers, songs, public meetings and addresses—these all were like a repetition of the scenes that had greeted the arrival of the American commander on the soil of France. Once more General Pershing was the idol of the day, because in this way the French people best believed they could express their deep appreciation of the part America was promptly taking in the fight for freedom.
The response of America was equally strong when ten days later the great country, more than 3,000 miles away, joined in a hearty celebration of the French national holiday—Bastile Day. As Lafayette had brought to and presented to the United States the key to the famous old prison so it seemed almost as if the key had unlocked the doors of every American heart. The French flag was flying from thousands of buildings. The French national air was heard on every side.
In America, too, just as there had been a brief time before in France, there were great assemblies quickly aroused to the highest pitch of enthusiasm by the words of orators describing the marvelous heroism and devotion of France in the present world war. As one famous, speaker said, "France had not only found her soul and surprised the world by her devotion; she had even surprised herself."
Perhaps the celebration in America reached its highest point in a vast meeting in the Madison Square Garden in New York City on the evening of July 14th. One newspaper glowingly described the vast concourse that filled the Garden: "It isn't too much to say that perhaps the air quivered no more violently around the Bastile on that great day in Paris 129 years ago, than it did in Madison Square Garden last night when at the apex of a day of glorious tribute to France a tall young man wearing the horizon blue of the French army and noted throughout the world for his singing, sang with splendid fervor France's—and now in a way our own—'La Marseillaise.'"
The Garden fairly rocked with the applause, as banners and flags were waved in the hands of the excited, shouting throng. French soldiers with the little marks upon their sleeves that showed the bravery on the battlefield of the men privileged to wear them, soldiers and sailors of many lands, war-nurses in their cool white costumes, men who had fought in France, Belgium, Serbia, Italy, at Gallipoli, at the Marne and at Verdun—and many more were there to assist in expressing the feelings of America for her ally.
"They shall not pass"—it was almost like the determination of the men that doggedly stood before and blocked the Germans as they did their utmost to drive through Verdun.
A message from General Foch was read by the chairman, Charles E. Hughes. "After four years of struggle the plans of the enemy for domination are stopped," began Judge Hughes, but he also was compelled to "stop" until the deafening applause that interrupted the reading of the message from the great French commander had quieted down sufficiently to enable him to proceed. After several minutes passed he resumed. "He (the enemy) sees the numbers of his adversaries increase each day and the young American army bring into the battle a valor and a faith without equal; is not this a sure pledge of the definite triumph of the just cause?"
If the true answer to the question of the commander of all the armies of the allies was to be measured by the mighty roar that spontaneously arose, then the General must have been convinced as well as satisfied.