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Show PEACE?" WE SHALL FIGHT UNTIL FRANCE IS SAFEI . Point of View of the French Poilu as Reported by E. Phillips Oppen-heim, Oppen-heim, Writing From "Somewhere in France" "It Is Belgium Who Shall Make Peace When It Comes; Who Has a Better Right?" friendship the hand of one of them, but behold, I have two sons left. I have lost much and suffered much. Day by day I have seen the losses of those about nie increasing. I am fifty-eight fifty-eight years old, and peace would give me back my two sons. There are so many like me." "Madame," the soldier answered and tin's time he seemed to include me in the argument "peace will not give back to the many hundreds of thousands of French mothers the sons and husbands they have lost. Peace would only dishonor their memories, would bring the cruelest of all bitterness bitter-ness into their lives. Look you, they fought for their homes and their womankind, they fought for a sacred cause, they fought for others besides themselves. See how it is today with By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM. (In' the New York World.) Somewhere in France. It was a slow and tedious crawl in the long French train away from the battle-scarred battle-scarred country. There was nothing particular going on at the front, yet we seemed to be continually shunted for the passing of huge supply trains, moving eternally ip the other direction. direc-tion. When the morning twilight rolled slowly away from the face of the country, leaving at first little clouds of white mist hovering over the freshly fresh-ly plowed fields, the sound of the guns was still in our ears. The face of the country, however, had changed. There were farmhouses to be seen, some of them Intact and apparently prosperous, a chateau or two on the hillsides, old men and women and young girls at work in the fields. We stopped at the station of some small town and stretched out our eager hunds for the cups of hot coffee and the rolls and butter wheeled along the length of the platform. The warmth of the coffee wus like a talisman. talis-man. My two companions thawed, as I did, under its genial influence. Monsieur Mon-sieur Poilu accepted a sip from my flask and a cigarette with a grateful little ejaculation. . Madame, elderly, in deep mourning, a little shabby but wonderfully neat, beamed content upon us.' The smoke did not incommode incom-mode her. As for the flask ah, well, she took only coffee and a little wine and water herself, but nothing in the world was too good for the brave soldiers. A German Peace. Conversation blossomed out between the two and flourished. At first I barely listened. We were passing through a marshy district which reminded re-minded me of home, little pools of water, tall rushes moving in the morning breeze, sedgy places from which, at the sound of the shrill whistle of our locomotive, a flight of ducks rose hastily. Then I heard a word behind me which in these days inevitably stirs the blood. The word was "Peace 1" I turned away from the window and listened, "But, my son, have patience," the old woman was saying. "I speak who may speak, for I have lost a husband and two sons. Yet I have others fighting, and it is of them I think. If indeed these Boches are weary of fighting, if indeed it is peace they offer, why should not one at least listen?" The Poilu turned toward her. His haversack, with its queer collection of miscellaneous articles, was on the seat by his side. The mud of the trenches was thick upon his clothes. There was a week's beard bristling upon his chin. Yet his voice suddenly proclaimed pro-claimed him a man of some education. "Madame," he demanded, "who are they to offer peace as a gift, they who deliberately brought this war upon up-on the world? And what sort of a peace do you suppose is in their minds? You have read the boastful, arrogant words of their emperor's declaration? Is there anything there of the humility of the wrongdoer, of the man who wishes to restore what he has stolen, to repair the greatest wrongs which have ever stained the pages of history? Peace, indeed, mother ! There Is no peace in their hearts." "It Shall Be a Belgian Peace." Madame sighed. She felt herself no match for this man in whom her words had kindled a sudden eloquence. elo-quence. But in her heart there was the longing. "They are brutes and savages, my son," she admitted, "and our people would do well never to clasp again in expected. France stands firm and undismayed, un-dismayed, ready to spring when the hour comes. And Russia Russia has shown what she can do. Wait till the mountain snows have gon ! Germany has scattered her men, sacrificed them on every battlefield, the pawns of the game. It is not forever she can do this. In the end it is the pawns who count." The woman's eyes were filled with tears. "Bravb Talk, My Son." "It is brave talk," she cried ; "brave talk, my son. I shall speak to them in the village of you." "Not of me, madame," he begged. "Look at me. I speak for what I represent. I am the common soldier of France. I am the man who bids good morning to Death, day by day, and will continue to do so until the end comes rather than leave our be. loved land to face the dread of mutilation mu-tilation again." There was no sound of guns here. The train clanked across the streets of an old country town and drew up at the platform. Madame laid down her basket and embraced the Poilu. "Son of my country," she exclaimed, "the good God guard you !" She kissed his cheeks and departed. The Poilu handed dowa her basket and waved bis hand, He was once more gay. "One is tempted, perhaps, to talk overmuch, monsieur," he ventured, turning to me. "One can never say too much in the language you speak," I assured him. He accepted more of my cigarettes and our journey was resumed. Presently he leaned out of the window win-dow and looked forward, shading his eyes with his hand. "What Did M. le President Mean?" "Soon," he announced, "I reach my home. For a week I shall rest. Monsieur Mon-sieur is English?" he asked, turning suddenly toward me, "not American?" "I am English," I told him once more. "America," he said thoughtfully, "is a great country. America has been the good friend of yourselves and of France. I would not say a word which might seem lacking in courtesy, and yet there is this note which started this peace babble, the note which, they say, Monsieur le President wrote." "It has been answered," I reminded him. "It has been answered with great words," the Poilu assented, "and of that no more. But always this puzzles me what did Monsieur le President, mean when, in black and white, he set It down as an accepted thing that Germany, Ger-many, that our enemies, were fighting for the same cause as we, the cause of the smaller nations? Have they heard of Belgium over there, monsieur? mon-sieur? Have they heard of the many thousands of slaves being dragged weekly from that country? Have they heard of Serbia and Montenegro? They were small countries, monsieur. Germany is very great, indeed, in her care for the small nations, but it is her way of caring, not ours. What did he mean, do you think, monsieur?" I shook my head. "The ways of diplomacy are not always al-ways so easy as they may seem," I replied. re-plied. "Besides, there is much which remains behind all that is said in print." "That Is Why We Fight." The man's attention had wandered. He was gazing ecstatically out of the window. He beckoned me to his side. About a little wood-crested slope a space had been cut. A white farmhouse farm-house stood there, and near by a few cottages, and a church with a quaint tower. "My home," he pointed out with a little catch in his throat. "You see the hills yonder, monsieur? It was there that the Boches swung round. A few more miles and I might have been homeless, wifeless and the children chil-dren " He stooped and picked up his haversack. haver-sack. His eyes were curiously bright. "You see," he concluded, "that Is why we fight, that Is why the word j 'peace' today stinks in our nostrils. We shall tight until France is safe." those others ! Belgium ! Can one speak of it I It is Belgium who shall make peace when it comes. Who has a better right? What will she ask for, I wonder? Fifty thousand German Ger-man men and women to make slaves of them? The maidenhood of Germany Ger-many to debauch? No, they are not Boches. But strict justice would give them all that, and more." Madame shook her head. She, too, was moved. "One must forget," she muttered. "I had a niece myself at Lille but one must not speak of those horrors. God alone can punish such crimes." The Poilu rolled another cigarette viciously. "Monsieur," he said, glancing across at me, "I appeal to you. You p-e English, Eng-lish, are you not?" "I am English," I told him; "but with your permission I will be silent. Even our friends call us a somewhat obstinate nation. They say that we find difficulty in seeing any side of these great issues save our own. Let me hear you speak more of the peace." The Poilu lit his cigarette. Madame leaned forward. "There Is the Trap." "Listen," she intervened. "I have heard it said that the Boches now are willing to restore all Belgium, that they will give back the thole of their conquered territory." "If we leave their military machine, their great engine of tyranny, autocracy, autoc-racy, aggression and destruction, with all the power in it that made them begin the war," the Poilu interrupted vigorously. "Ah, madame, there is the trap. We trusted once to German treaties and German faith. See how they regarded them ! Treaties ! It was Germany who dismissed them with the immortal phrase, 'Mere scraps of paper !' Premises ! Listen, madame. Their own chancellor, he stood up in their parliament and he pleaded guilty to a great broken faith. Necessity, he declared, demanded it. And I tell you this, when necessity, which with them means German ambition, demands anything, then a German promise and a German treaty are worth just a snap of the fingers no more. That is why I say I and those others who have lived and fought through these desolate deso-late years that with an unconquered Germany there can be no peace." One Who Had Thought Much. "My son," the old lady declared, looking at him with , interest, "you speak like one who has thought much." The Poilu glanced down at his mud-stained mud-stained clothes. "I was an advocate's clerk before the war," he said grimly. "What I am now God only knows; 'but up there in the front it Is not all fighting. There are long, lonely hours when the rain works, hours of solitude when one sees the truth." Madame sighed. "It is not often," she confessed, "that I read the journals. My eyesight eye-sight Is falling, and my daughter well, we will not speak of her. I lost her. Therefore it is a new thing for me to talk to one like yourself. Remember Re-member now, if you please, that I speak only in the language of the village. vil-lage. They say I have heard it said that Germany hungers for peace ; that therefore it is better for us to give peace now and so spare needless suffering." A little cloud of smoke surrounded the soldier's head. His clinched fist struck the knapsack by his side. His eyes hot and red they were with fatigue fa-tigue flashed. Forty Years of Preparation. "They talk like cattle, madame," he declared vigorously. "Where are Germany's Ger-many's conquests? Belgium, with odds against her of ten to one in men and fifty to one In artillery ! Montenegro, a mountain tribe! Serbia? Well, it , took them eighteen mouths and cost them a good many army corps to drive the Serbians from their country, and the end of them is not yet ! Rou-mania? Rou-mania? Victims of a foolish campaign, cam-paign, if you will, but even then overpowered over-powered with the war machine which it has taken Germany thirty-five years to evolve. Where are her victories against France, or Russia, or England? Eng-land? Her victories, I say, when you come to consider that for forty years she was slowly preparing while we refused re-fused to believe. Man for man, gun for gun, we are the better race. England Eng-land is the better race; Russia is the better race! Therefore I say to you, madame, wait! Germany's last hour cif triumph h:n struck. England has gathered strength beyond all that was |