The Benson signal., 1917-04-07
Point View of the French Po Reported by Phillips Open
hem Writing From Somewhere in France-"It Is Belgium
Who Shall Make Peace When Comes Who Has
a Better Right?"
Rv E. PHILLIPS oPPENHElM.
Un the New York Worldly

Qn the New York Worldly
Somewhere in France.-It was
slow and tedious crawl In the long
French train away from the battle
Scared country. There was nothing
particular going on at the front, yet
we seemed to be continually snunteo
for the passing of huge supply trains
moving eternally in the other olrec-
ton. When the morning twilight roileo
slowly away from the face OF the
country, leaving at first little CLOUDS
of white mist lowering over the fresh
ly plowed fields, the sound or the
guns was still in our ears. Inc race
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 ana
young girls at work in the fields.
We stopped at the station of some
small town and stretched out our
eager hands for the cups Of hot coffee
and the rolls and butter wheeled
along the length of the platform. The
warmth Of the coffee was like talls-
man. My two companions thawed, as
I,did, under it's genial influence. Mon
sieur Poilu accepted sip from my
flask and a cigarette with grateful
little ejaculation. Madame, elderly,
In deep mourning, little shabby but
wonderfully neat, beamed content
upon us. The smoke did not incom-
mode her. AS for the f1ask-ah, well,
she took only coffee and 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 f1ourished. At first l
barely listened. We were passing
through a marshy district which 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!" I turned away from
the window and listened.
"But, my son, have patience" the
old woman was saying. II speak
who may speak, for l have lost
husband and two sons. Yet l 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 it's 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 weeks beard bristling upon his
chin. Yet his voice suddenly pro-
claimed him a. man of some. education.
Madame" he demanded, 'who are
they to offer peace as gift, they
who deliberately brought this war up
on the world? And what sort of a
peace do you suppose Is in their
minds? You have read the boastful,
arrogant words or tnelr emperor
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,"
at Shall Be Belgian Peace"
Madame sighed. She felt herself no
match for this man in whom her
words had kindled sudden elo-
quence. But in her heart there was
the longing.
"They are brutes and savages, my
son." she admitted, "and our people
would do we'll never to clasp again in