"Come," he pleaded, "let me seat you so that all may see."
We followed meekly. The ladies in the box were awaiting us eagerly. They welcomed us with outstretched hands. And as I looked at those people who had been through two grilling years of war, I thanked God I came from a country that had taken up arms against a beast who was trying to crush the red poppies beneath his heel.
It was hard to get leave to go up to Paris. Sailings were uncertain and special permission had to be obtained, but I made up my mind I'd go. General Pershing was to be there for the Fourth of July celebration at the tomb of Lafayette. I knew that would be a never-to-be-forgotten sight.
I was right. It was a glorious morning and the thrill of the day was in the air—crowds everywhere—sky blue and navy blue uniforms rubbing shoulders with the khaki of our own boys. Women, many of them in black, hurrying—hurrying toward the spot where the great Commander-in-Chief of the American Expeditionary Forces could be seen.
"Pershing!" Everywhere you heard his name and an under-current of eager whispers as to whether there would be a chance to see him or not.
The Fourth of July! Paris! And our General, the idol of the hour! I tell you it thrilled me clear down to my heels!
We navy men were let through the crowd and we were able to view the ceremony at close range. I have never heard such cheering in my life! It was Paris' first opportunity to hear our General speak, and he spoke so simply—so quietly—in the face of that great ovation that there was not one among us who could doubt his ability to lead our men as they had never before been led.
There were to be fireworks that night in honor of our presence—concerts and speeches and dancing. Oh, France was showing us that she was glad we had come, but how glad we were to be there she can never guess!
I drifted idly with the crowd. I wandered down to the big station—the Gare de Lyons. What took me there I scarcely know. Fate, I suppose, because there were a thousand and one places I might have gone instead.
The station was full of a bustling mob—uniforms—uniforms everywhere. A train load of soldiers had just arrived on leave from the Front. That was a sight for you, as their eager eyes lighted on some loved one's face! I tell you, it kept your heart jumping in your throat to see them. Some of them were so white and worn and haggard. Most of them bronzed and wiry, a bit grimy from the long train trip, with uniforms faded and sometimes torn. But weariness and dirt and tears could not hide the spirit that shone in their eyes as they clasped their wife and little ones to them.