Since no man has any more lives to give for his country than our schoolteacher spy had, all heroisms are in a sense equal; for, since a man risks the only life he has, it matters little how, whether from a cave-man’s axe or a shell that shoots eighty miles. Bravery is no new thing. It cannot be listed as one of the inventions of this war. It is matter for enough pride that there was no failure of it in quality, but rather an unheard-of versatility in it, and an unequaled quantity; for never before was there a war in which so many soldiers were engaged, or so incessantly engaged or under such hardships, or such varied dangers. To an extent unapproached hitherto, nations were mobilized _en masse_. For the first time they settled down at grips in continuous lines from frontier to frontier with no relaxation of vigilance or activity through long years of sun, snow, rain, and mud. It is curious to note that in this war, innumerable hosts of brave men were dragged into glory—one might say “kicked upstairs”—by conscription. In America we had the small Regular Army, the slightly larger and very irregular National Guard; then armies of volunteers, followed by armies recruited willy-nilly through the exemption boards. Not only did the draft compel enlistment, but the very prospect of it drove many men to volunteer before they were drawn. This is said in no derogation, for obligations vary and many a man who could not find the way to volunteer was glad to be coerced. And some of the men who volunteered at once would better have stayed at home. Though the American Armies began in various strata, in a very short time all distinctions were abolished and everybody was “U. S.” The glory was similarly shuffled. In the records of achievements in ground gained, prisoners taken, casualties endured, the Regular Army, the National Guard divisions and the draft divisions were rivals of such close conclusion that disputes continue as to the actual priorities. In any case the margins are narrow. Here also luck played its part, for the morale of the enemy and the ground to be taken varied enormously from day to day and from place to place. Curiously, the most successful American hero of the war, judging by the score, was a “conscientious objector,” Sergeant York. His conscience did not lead him to the fanatic lengths of many others who defied the government and refused to obey any commands whatever; strange perverse creatures who were such lovers of liberty that they would do nothing to defend it, men who abhorred the thought of killing their fellow creatures so utterly that they would not lift a finger to put a stop to slaughter and disarm the German butchers. Sergeant York’s religious scruples did not carry him so far, yet he was a reluctant and a tardy entrant into the war, and he was with difficulty persuaded to accept the immortal fame awaiting him.