these and an added admiration that bursts in such fervor of approval
that men shout and toss their caps in air. It has been true, since the
world began.

The first honors came to him from his soldier associates. Then the men
of other regiments, and the regiments of other nations, wanted to see
the American who single-handed had fought and forced a battalion of
machine gunners to come to him. The people of France, too, were calling
for him.

It was with a military yardstick the soldiers measured the deed, for
they knew the fighting competency of a single machine gun and had seen
the destructive power of the scythe-like sweep of a battalion of them.
The civilian, in doubt and wonder, realized the magnitude of the
achievement in visualizing the number of prisoners that had surrendered
to one man.

The only contact Alvin York had had to the role of a man of prominence
was to stand in line, at attention, as persons of importance passed
before him. But when his regiment came out of the Argonne Forest, where
its almost unbroken battle had lasted twenty-eight days, he was taken
from the line and passed in review before the soldiers of other
regiments. Under orders from headquarters of the American Expeditionary
Force he traveled through the war zone. As a guest of honor he was sent
to cities in southern France. In Paris he was received with impressive
ceremonies by President Poincare and the government officials, It was
during this period that many of the military awards were made to him,
and brigade reviews were selected as the occasions for his decoration.

Against this background of enthusiasm, the tall, reserved, silent
mountaineer, in natural repose, moved through the varying programs of a
day. As all was new to him, he complied with almost childlike docility
to the demands upon him, but he was ever watchful that his conduct
should conform to that of those around him. If called upon to speak, he
responded; and he stood before the cheering crowds in noticeable mental
control. The few words he used did not misfire nor jam. They ended in a
smile of real fellowship that beamed from a rugged face that was
furrowed and tanned, and always with the quaint mountain phrase of
appreciation, "I thank ye!" In the months he remained with the army in
France he grew in personal popularity from his unaffected bearing.

The letters written home to his mother during this period show him
basically unchanged.

These letters, usually t