Jot was with me while I was viewing these wonderful excavations, and translated for me some of the inscriptions which do not bear repeating.
I was so indignant that I hastily said to Jot, “I should be ashamed to speak the language of such brutes!”
To which Jot replied, “If those who speak German were as noble as their language, I could almost forgive them their trespasses.” And then, as though excusing them, quoted a sentence from my Latin reader, “In the midst of wars the laws are silent.”
After two weeks’ march through ruined France, the scenes began to change. Villages and cities unscathed by war’s blighting touch began to appear along our line of march. These were all the more beautiful by contrast with those scorched and withered by the destroying hand of the Hun.
Stately palace-like residences, lovely châteaus, vine-clad cottages, stately public buildings and churches, appeared in vivid contrast to the war-ruined villages over which war had spread its wings of desolation.
We saw many sad faces and heard many sad stories from the brave daughters of France, mothers of heroes then contending with the German hordes. But their faces brightened at the sight of our flag. They recognized it as the emblem of freedom, and those who bore it as faithful allies and friends. Matrons, young women, girls, and children thronged around us at every halting place. Some offered us food, others wreaths and bouquets, and all greeted us with glad smiles and cheers of welcome.
We had halted, stacked arms, and thrown ourselves sprawling upon the ground among the vine-covered cottages when, on a little plateau above us, we saw a fluttering of the stars and stripes from the roof of an unpretentious dwelling. Then word ran around that it was the home of an American woman. Soon there appeared a little matron whose face and bearing proclaimed her nationality—American!
Nothing in all France with its grandeur and beauty of ages had looked so fine to our eyes as this little unassuming American lady. She was attended by her French maid, who, judging by her acts and expressions was devoted to her. We gave her a reception fit for a queen, and in return were treated to coffee in delicate china, and dainty sandwiches, and slices of fragrant American ham. Never to me or my comrades had the American woman and American language, seemed so dear as when in this distant land she had brought to us a breath of home.
A few more days of marching brought us again to the sound of battle and the distant booming of guns. Here again were signs of war’s withering touch. We began to meet hurrying French and American battalions with cannon, machine guns, airplanes, and all the seeming clutter of moving columns. Here and there were fleeing citizens, mostly women, old men and children, with wagons piled high with their household goods.
Airplanes were soaring like the white sea-gulls we had seen when leaving New York harbor. They flew singly and in flocks, some so high as to be but dimly seen, others swooping down as though about to attack us. These latter were said to be German craft in search of information.