the field
of glorious strife. But not one was in mourning. The great sacrifice was
bravely accepted as a part of the greater duty.

The friends with whom I talked most--men like Lord Bryce, Sir Sydney
Lee, Sir Herbert Warren, Sir Robertson Nicoll, Sir William Osler--were
lovers of peace, tried and well-known. All were of one mind in holding
that Britain's faith and honor bound her to accept the war when Germany
violated Belgium, and that it must be fought through until the Prussian
military autocracy which began it was broken.

There were restricted rations in England; but no starvation and no sign
of it. There were partisan criticisms and plenty of "grousing." The
Britisher is never contented unless he can grumble--especially at his
own government. But there was no lack of a real unity of purpose, nor of
a solid, cheerful, bull-dog determination to hang on to the enemy until
he came down. It is this spirit that has enabled a nation, which was
almost ignorant of what military preparedness meant, to put between
three and four million troops into the field in defense of justice and
liberty.

At the end of January I went to France, eager to see with my own eyes
the great things that were doing there and to taste with my own lips the
cup of danger. That at least I was bound to do before I could come home
and urge my countrymen to face the duty and brave the peril of a part in
this war.

Paris was not so dark as London but more tragic. After Belgium and
Servia the heaviest brunt of this dreadful conflict has fallen upon
France. She has suffered most. Yet on the faces of her women I saw no
tears and in the eyes of her men no fear nor regret.

If Britain was magnificent, France was miraculous! Loving and desiring
peace she accepted the cross of war without a murmur. Her women were no
less brave than her men. She wears the hero-star of Roland and the
saintly halo of Joan of Arc.

After meeting many men in Paris--statesmen, men of letters,
generals--and after visiting the splendid American Ambulance at Neuilly
and other institutions in which our boys and girls were giving their
help to France in the chivalric spirit of Lafayette, I went out toward
the front.

The first visit was under the escort of Captain Francois Monod to a
chateau beyond Compiegne, where Rudyard Kipling with his family and I
with my family had passed the Christmas week of 1913 together, as joyous
guests of the American chatelaine Mrs. Julia Park.