"With the American Armies in France, Aug. 6.
"President Poincaré personally decorated General Pershing with the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor this morning with impressive military ceremonies at American General Headquarters."
This was all that was cabled, but a column would not have added to the meaning. As far as military recognition was concerned France could do no more. Her choicest honor, the one most highly prized by her patriotic soldiers, had been bestowed upon a soldier from across the sea, not only as a token of her esteem for the man, but also for the country which had chosen him to be the leader of her armies.
Nor was this the only honor of its kind. England already had shown her appreciation by awarding him the Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath—an honor which it is said was then bestowed for the first time upon a soldier of a foreign nation, or at least upon a soldier from the United States.[D] And other similar orders and decorations were given and by different nations. It is difficult in democratic America to appreciate just how much such recognition means in the lands in which they were so generously bestowed. We may be certain, however, that these honors, which are rare, were not bestowed thoughtlessly and that General Pershing was deeply appreciative in each instance of the motive and feeling that lay behind the gift.
Without question, the honor which most deeply touches the General is the confidence and affection of the men he commands. This is more and deeper than mere popularity. The latter varies and shifts as a weathercock veers with the changing winds. Many of the world's great characters have not only not had it, but have suffered martyrdom because they or their teachings were unpopular. But the deep regard, the confidence and pride which the American forces universally manifest for their leader are based primarily, not upon their impulses or impressions, but upon their belief in the qualities he has quietly manifested, the record he has made, and the power of his own personality.
Deeply impressed as the American commander must be by the receptions given him, the formal honors bestowed upon him by his own and other countries, there is still a minor chord that sounds in the chorus of acclaim. What would the mother, who in the little Missouri village first fired his boyish heart with an earnest desire to make the most of himself, say now if she was here to treasure in her heart the words that have been spoken in memory of the deeds he has done? And his wife—if she had not perished in the fire at the Presidio, and now could follow his career with the pride which a good woman ever has in the recognition of her husband, what added strength her sympathy and fellowship would give to the arm and heart of the man whose name and lot she shared. Sometimes there are tragedies for our soldiers greater even than the battlefields provide.