The British set their backs to the wall. The French repeated their Verdun watchword, “No thoroughfare,” and the Americans began to come up. The Allies were driven finally to what they had always realized to be necessary, but had never consented to––a unified command. They put all their destinies into the hands of Foch.
Instantly and melodramatically the omens changed. Foch could live up to his own motto now, “Attack, attack, attack.” He had been like a man gambling his last francs. Now he had word that unlimited funds were on the way from his Uncle Sam. He did not have to count his money over and over. He could squander it regardless.
In every direction he attacked, attacked, attacked. The stupefied world saw the German hordes checked, driven rearward, here, there, the other place.
Towns were redeemed, rivers regained, prisoners scooped up by the ten thousand. The pins began a great forward march along the maps. People fought for the privilege of placing them. Geography became the most fascinating sport ever known.
Davidge had come from the hospital minus one arm just as the bulletins changed from grave to gay. He was afraid now that the war would be over before his ships could share the glorious part that ships played in all this victory. The British had turned all their hulls to the American shores and the American troops were pouring into them in unbelievable floods.
Secrecy lost its military value. The best strategy that could be devised was to publish just how many Americans were landing in France.
General March would carry the news to Secretary Baker and he would scatter it broadcast through George Creel’s Committee on Public Information, using telegraph, wireless, telephone, cable, post-office, placard, courier.
Davidge had always said that the war would be over as soon as the Germans got the first real jolt. With them war was a business and they would withdraw from it the moment they foresaw a certain bankruptcy ahead.
But there was the war after the war to be considered––the 326 war for commerce, the postponed war with disgruntled labor and the impatient varieties of socialists and with the rabid Bolshevists frankly proclaiming their intention to destroy civilization as it stood.
Like a prudent skipper, Davidge began to trim his ship for the new storm that must follow the old. He took thought of the rivalries that would spring up inevitably between the late Allies, like brothers now, but doomed to turn upon one another with all the greater bitterness after war. For peace hath her wickedness no less renowned than war.