most frequent reply was, "We have submarines; the United States will
make no difference." The answer was so often in the same formula that
it was evident the men had been schooled in the opinion. It was only
the rare man of education who said, "It is bad--very bad; the worst
mistake we have made."

We, in the front-line, were very far from appreciating America's
decision at its full value. For a year we had had the upper-hand of
the Hun. To use the language of the trenches, we knew that we could go
across No Man's Land and "beat him up" any time we liked. To tell the
truth, many of us felt a little jealous that when, after two years of
punishment, we had at last become top-dog, we should be called upon
to share the glory of victory with soldiers of the eleventh hour. We
believed that we were entirely capable of finishing the job without
further aid. My own feeling, as an Englishman living in New York, was
merely one of relief--that now, when war was ended, I should be able
to return to friends of whom I need not be ashamed. To what extent
America's earnestness has changed that sentiment is shown by the
expressed desire of every Canadian, that if Americans are anywhere on
the Western Front, they ought to be next to us in the line. "They are
of our blood," we say; "they will carry on our record." Only those
who have had the honour to serve with the Canadian Corps and know its
dogged adhesion to heroic traditions, can estimate the value of this
compliment.

I should say that in the eyes of the combatant, after President
Wilson, Mr. Ford has done more than any other one man to interpret the
spirit of his nation; our altered attitude towards him typifies our
altered attitude towards America. Mr. Ford, the impassioned pacifist,
sailing to Europe in his ark of peace, staggered our amazement.