It was a bright, beautiful Sunday morning, June 23, 1918, when a little

party of Salvationists from Raulecourt started down into the trenches.

The muddy, dirty, unpleasant trenches! Sometimes with their two feet

firmly planted on the duck-board, sometimes in the mud! Such mud! If

you got both feet on it at once you were sure you were planted and

would soon begin to grow!

As soon as they reached the trenches they were told: “Keep your heads

down, ladies, the snipers are all around!” It was an intense moment as

they crept into the narrow housings where the men had to spend so much

time. But it was wonderful to watch the glad light that came into the

men’s eyes as they saw the women.

“Here’s a real, honest-to-goodness American woman in the trenches!”

exclaimed a homesick lad as they came around a turn.

“Yes, your mother couldn’t come to-day,” said the motherly

Salvationist, smiling a greeting, “so I’ve come in her place.”

“All right!” said he, entering into the game. “This is Broadway and

that’s Forty-second Street. Sit down.”

Of course there was nothing to sit down on in the trenches. But he

hunted about till he found a chow can and turned it up for a seat, and

they had a pleasant talk.

“Just wait,” he said. “I’ll show you a picture of the dearest little

girl a fellow ever married and the darlingest little kid ever a man was

father to!” He fumbled in his breast pocket right over his heart and

brought out two photographs.

“I’d give my right arm to see them this minute, but for all that,” he

went on, “I wouldn’t leave till we’ve fought this thing through to

Berlin and given them a dose of what they gave little Belgium!”

They went up and down the trenches, pausing at the entrances to dugouts

to smile and talk with the men. Once, where a grassy ridge hid the

trench from the enemy snipers, they were permitted to peep over, but

there was no look of war in the grassy, placid meadow full of flowers

that men called “No Man’s Land.” It seemed hard to believe, that sunny,

flower-starred morning, that Sin and Hate had the upper hand and Death

was abroad stalking near in the sunlight.

It was a twelve-mile walk through the trenches and back to the hut, and

when they returned they found the men were already gathering for the

evening meeting.

That night, at the close of a heart-searching talk, eighty-five men

arose to their feet in token that they would turn from the ways of sin

and accept Christ as their Saviour, and many more raised their hands

for prayers. One of the women of this party in her three months in

France saw more than five hundred men give themselves to Christ and

promise to serve Him the rest of their lives.

A little Adjutant lassie who was stationed at Boucq went away from the

town for a few hours on Saturday, and when she returned the next day

she found the whole place deserted. A big barrage had been put over in

the little, quiet village while she was away and the entire inhabitants

had taken refuge in the General’s dugout. Her husband, who had brought

her back, insisted that she should return to the Zone Headquarters at

Ligny-en-Barrios, where he was in charge, and persuaded her to start

with him, but when they reached Menil-la-Tour and found that the

division Chaplain was returning to Boucq she persuaded her husband that

she must return with the Chaplain to her post of duty.

That night she and the other girls slept outside the dugout in little

tents to leave more room in the dugout for the French women with their

little babies. At half-past three in the morning the Germans started

their shelling once more. After two hours, things quieted down somewhat

and the girls went to the hut and prepared a large urn of coffee and

two big batches of hot biscuits. While they were in the midst of

breakfast there was another barrage. All day they were thus moving

backward and forward between the hut and the dugout, not knowing when

another barrage would arrive. The Germans were continually trying to

get the chateau where the General had his headquarters. One shell

struck a house where seven boys were quartered, wounding them all and

killing one of them. Things got so bad that the Divisional Headquarters

had to leave; the General sent his car and transferred the girls with

all their things to Trondes. This was back of a hill near Boucq. They

arrived at three in the afternoon, put up their stove and began to

bake. By five they were serving cake they had baked. The boys said:

“What! Cake already?” The soldiers put up the hut and had it finished

in six hours.

While all this was going on the Salvation Army friends over at

Raulecourt had been watching the shells falling on Boueq, and been much

troubled about them.

These were stirring times. No one had leisure to wonder what had become

of his brother, for all were working with all their might to the one

great end.

Up north of Beaumont two aviators were caught by the enemy’s fire and

forced to land close to the enemy nests. Instead of surrendering the

Americans used the guns on their planes and held off the Germans until

darkness fell, when they managed to escape and reach the American

lines. This was only one of many individual feats of heroism that

helped to turn the tide of battle. The courage and determination, one

might say the enthusiasm, of the Americans knew no bounds. It awed and

overpowered the enemy by its very eagerness. The Americans were having

all they could do to keep up with the enemy. The artillerymen captured

great numbers of enemy cannon, ammunition, food and other supplies,

which the trucks gathered up and carried far to the front, where they

were ready for the doughboys when they arrived. One of the greatest

feats of engineering ever accomplished by the American Army was the

bridging of the Meuse, in the region of Stenay, under terrible shell

fire, using in the work of building the pontoons the Boche boats and

materials captured during the fighting at Chateau-Thierry and which had

been brought from Germany for the Kaiser’s Paris offensive in July. The

Meuse had been flooded until it was a mile wide, yet there was more

than enough material to bridge it.

As the Americans advanced, village after village was set free which had

been robbed and pillaged by the Germans while under their domination.

The Yankee trucks as they returned brought the women and children back

from out of the range of shell fire, and they were filled with wonder

as they heard the strange language on the tongues of their rescuers.

They knew it was not the German, but they had many of them never seen

an American before. The Germans had told them that Americans were wild

and barbarous people. Yet these men gathered the little hungry children

into their arms and shared their rations with them. There were three

dirty, hungry little children, all under ten years of age, Yvonne,

Louisette and Jeane, whose father was a sailor stationed at Marseilles.

Yvonne was only four years of age, and she told the soldiers she had

never seen her father. They climbed into the big truck and sat looking

with wonder at the kindly men who filled their hands with food and

asked them many questions. By and by, they comprehended that these big,

smiling, cheerful men were going to take the whole family to their

father. What wonder, what joy shone in their eager young eyes!

Strange and sad and wonderful sights there were to see as the soldiers

went forward.

A pioneer unit was rushed ahead with orders to conduct its own campaign

and choose its own front, only so that contact was established with the

enemy, and to this unit was attached a certain little group of

Salvation Army people. Three lassies, doing their best to keep pace

with their own people, reached a battered little town about four

o’clock in the morning, after a hard, exciting ride.

The supply train had already put up the tent for them, and they were

ordered to unfold their cots and get to sleep as soon as possible. But

instead of obeying orders these indomitable girls set to work making

doughnuts and before nine o’clock in the morning they had made and were

serving two thousand doughnuts, with the accompanying hot chocolate.

The shells were whistling overhead, and the doughboys dropped into

nearby shell holes when they heard them coming, but the lassies paid no

heed and made doughnuts all the morning, under constant bombardment.

Bouconville was a little village between Raulecourt and the trenches.

In it there was left no civilian nor any whole house. Nothing but

shot-down houses, dugouts and camouflages, Y.M.C.A., Salvation Army and

enlisted men.

Dead Man’s Curve was between Mandres and Beaumont. The enemy’s eye was

always upon it and had its range.

Before the St. Mihiel drive one could go to Bouconville or Raulecourt

only at night. As soon as it was dark the supply outfits on the trucks

would be lined up awaiting the word from the Military Police to go.

Everyone had to travel a hundred yards apart. Only three men would be

allowed to go at once, so dangerous was the trip.

Out of the night would come a voice:

“Halt! Who goes there? Advance and give the countersign.”

Every man was regarded as an enemy and spy until he was proven

otherwise. And the countersign had to be given mighty quick, too. So

the men were warned when they were sent out to be ready with the

countersign and not to hesitate, for some had been slow to respond and

had been promptly shot. The ride through the night in the dark without

lights, without sound, over rough, shell-plowed roads had plenty of

excitement.

Bouconville for seven months could never be entered by day. The dugout

wall of the hut was filled with sandbags to keep it up. It was at

Bouconville, in the Salvation Army hut, that the raids on the enemy

were organized, the men were gathered together and instructed, and

trench knives given out; and here was where they weeded out any who

were afraid they might sneeze or cough and so give warning to the

enemy.

Not until after the St. Mihiel drive when Montsec was behind the line

instead of in front did they dare enter Bouconville by day.

Passing through Mandres, it was necessary to go to Beaumont, around

Dead Man’s Curve and then to Rambucourt, and proceed to Bouconville.

Here the Salvation Army had an outpost in a partially destroyed

residence. The hut consisted of the three ground floor rooms, the

canteen being placed in the middle. The sleeping quarters were in a

dugout just at the rear of these buildings. It was in the building

adjoining this hut that three men were killed one day by an exploding

shell, and gas alarms were so frequent in the night that it was very

difficult for the Salvation Army people to secure sufficient rest as on

the sounding of every gas alarm it was necessary to rise and put on the

gas mask and keep it on until the “alerte” was removed. This always

occurred several times during the night.

Map

It was just outside of Bouconville that the famous doughnut truck

experience occurred. The supply truck, driven by two young Salvation

Army men, one a mere boy, was making its rounds of the huts with

supplies and in order to reach Raulecourt, the boy who was driving

decided to take the shortest road, which, by the way, was under

complete observation of the Germans located at Montsec. The truck had

already been shelled on its way to Bouconville, several shells landing

at the edge of the road within a few feet of it. They had not noticed

the first shell, for shells were a somewhat common thing, and the old

truck made so much noise that they had not heard it coming, but when

the second one fell so close one of the boys said: “Say, they must be

shooting at _us!_” as though that were something unexpected.

They stepped on the accelerator and the truck shot forward madly and

tore into the town with shells breaking about it. Having escaped thus

far they were ready to take another chance on the short cut to

Raulecourt.

They proceeded without mishaps for some distance. Just outside of

Bouconville was a large shell hole in the road and in trying to avoid

this the wheels of the truck slipped into the ditch, and the driver

found he was stuck. It was impossible to get out under his own power.

While working with the truck, the Germans began to shell him again. At

first the two boys paid little heed to it, but when more began to come

they knew it was time to leave. They threw themselves into a

communicating trench, which was really no more than a ditch, and

wiggled their way up the bank until they were able to drop into the

main trenches, where they found safety in a dugout.

The Germans meantime were shelling the truck furiously, the shells

dropping all around on either side, but not actually hitting it. This

was about two o’clock in the afternoon.

[Illustration: “It was just outside of Bouconville that the famous

doughnut truck experience occurred”—and this is the Salvation Army boy

who drove it]

[Illustration: Bullionville, promptly dubbed by the American boys

“Souptown”]

At Headquarters they were becoming anxious about the non-appearance of

the truck and started out in the touring car to locate it. Commencing

at Jouey-les-Côtés they went from there to Boucq and Raulecourt, which

were the last places the truck was to visit. Not hearing of it at

Raulecourt, the search was continued out to Bouconville, again, by a

short road. Montsec was in full view. There were fresh shell holes all

along the road since the night before. Things began to look serious.

A short distance ahead was an army truck, and even as they got abreast

of it a shell went over it exploding about twenty-five feet away, and

one hit the side of the road just behind them. It seemed wise to put on

all speed.

But when they reached Bouconville and found that the truck they had

passed was the Salvation Army truck, they were unwilling to leave it to

the tender mercies of the enemy as everybody advised. That truck cost

fifty-five hundred dollars, and they did not want to lose it.

As soon as it was dark a detail of soldiers volunteered to go with the

Salvation Army officers to attempt to get it out, but the Germans heard

them and started their shelling furiously once more, so that they had

to retreat for a time; but later, they returned and worked all night

trying to jack it up and get a foundation that would permit of hauling

it out. Every little while all night the Germans shelled them. About

half-past four in the morning it grew light enough for the enemy to

see, and the top was taken off the truck so that it would not be so

good a mark.

That day they went back to Headquarters and secured permission for an

ammunition truck to come down and give them a tow, as no driver was

permitted out on that road without a special permit from Headquarters.

The journey back was filled with perils from gas shells, especially

around Dead Man’s Curve, but they escaped unhurt. That night they

attached a tow line to the front of the truck, started the engine

quietly, and waited until the assisting truck came along out of the

darkness. They then attached their line without stopping the other

truck and with the aid of its own power the old doughnut truck was

jerked out of the ditch at last and sent on its way. In spite of the

many shells for which it had been a target it was uninjured save that

it needed a new top. The knowledge that the truck was stuck in the

ditch and was being shelled aroused great excitement among all the

troops in the Toul Sector and it was thereafter an object of

considerable interest. Newspaper correspondents telegraphed reports of

it around the world.

In most of the huts and dugouts Salvation Army workers subsist entirely

upon Army chow. At Bouconville the chow was frequently supplemented by

fresh fish. The dugout here was very close to the trenches, less than

five minutes’ walk. Just behind the trenches to the left was a small

lake. When there was sufficient artillery fire to mask their attack,

soldiers would toss a hand grenade into this lake, thus stunning

hundreds of fish which would float to the surface, where they were

gathered in by the sackful. The Salvation Army dugout was never without

its share of the spoils.

Before the soldiers began to think, as they do now, that being detailed

to the Salvation Army hut was a privilege, an Army officer sent one of

his soldiers, who seemed to be in danger of developing a yellow streak,

to sweep the hut and light the fires for the lassies. “You are only fit

to wash dishes, and hang on to a woman’s skirts,” he told the soldier

in informing him that he was detailed. That night the village was

bombed. The boy, who was really frightened, watched the two girls,

being too proud to run for shelter while they were so calm. He trembled

and shook while they sat quietly listening to the swish of falling

bombs and the crash of anti-aircraft guns. In spite of his fright, he

was so ashamed of his fears that he forced himself to stand in the

street and watch the progress of the raid. The next day he reported to

his Captain that he had vanquished his yellow streak and wanted a

chance to demonstrate what he said. The demonstration was ample. The

example of these brave lassies had somehow strengthened his spirit.

Back of Raulecourt the woods were full of heavy artillery. Raulecourt

was the first town back of the front lines. The men were relieved every

eight days and passed through here to other places to rest.

The military authorities sent word to the Salvation Army hut one day

that fifty Frenchmen would be going through from the trenches at five

o’clock in the morning who would have had no opportunity to get

anything to eat.

The Salvation Army people went to work and baked up a lot of biscuits

and doughnuts and cakes, and got hot coffee ready. The Red Cross

canteen was better situated to serve the men and had more conveniences,

so they took the things over there, and the Red Cross supplied hot

chocolate, and when the men came they were well served. This is a

sample of the spirit of cooperation which prevailed. One Sunday night

they were just starting the evening service when word came from the

military authorities that there were a hundred men coming through the

town who were hungry and ought to be fed. They must be out of the town

by nine-thirty as they were going over the top that night. Could the

Salvation Army do anything?

The woman officer who was in charge was perplexed. She had nothing

cooked ready to eat, the fire was out, her detailed helpers all gone,

and she was just beginning a meeting and hated to disappoint the men

already gathered, but she told the messenger that if she might have a

couple of soldiers to help her she would do what she could. The

soldiers were supplied and the fire was started. At ten minutes to nine

the meeting was closed and the earnest young preacher went to work

making biscuits and chocolate with the help of her two soldier boys. By

ten o’clock all the men were fed and gone. That is the way the

Salvation Army does things. They never say “I can’t.” They always can.

In Raulecourt there were several pro-Germans. The authorities allowed

them to stay there to save the town. The Salvation Army people were

warned that there were spies in the town and that they must on no

account give out information. Just before the St. Mihiel drive a

special warning was given, all civilians were ordered to leave town,

and a Military Police knocked at the door and informed the woman in the

hut that she must be careful what she said to anybody with the rank of

a second lieutenant, as word had gone out there was a spy dressed in

the uniform of an American second lieutenant.

That night at eleven o’clock the young woman was just about to retire

when there came a knock at the canteen door. She happened to be alone

in the building at the time and when she opened the door and found

several strange officers standing outside she was a little frightened.

Nor did it dispel her fears to have them begin to ask questions:

“Madam, how many troops are in this town? Where are they? Where can we

get any billets?”

To all these questions she replied that she could not tell or did not

know and advised them to get in touch with the town Major. The visitors

grew impatient. Then three more men knocked at the door, also in

uniform, and began to ask questions. When they could get no information

one of them exclaimed indignantly:

“Well, I should like to know what kind of a town this is, anyway? I

tried to find out something from a Military Police outside and he took

me for a spy! Madam, we are from Field Hospital Number 12, and we want

to find a place to rest.”

Then the frightened young woman became convinced that her visitors were

not spies; all the same, they were not going to leave her any the wiser

for any information she would give.

Several times men would come to the town and find no place to sleep. On

such occasions the Salvation Army hut was turned over to them and they

would sleep on the floor.

The St. Mihiel drive came on and the hut was turned over to the

hospital. The supplies were taken to a dugout and the canteen kept up

there. Then the military authorities insisted that the girls should

leave town, but the girls refused to go, begging, “Don’t drive us away.

We know we shall be needed!” The Staff-Captain came down and took some

of the girls away, but left two in the canteen, and others in the

hospital.

It rained for two weeks in Roulecourt. The soldiers slept in little dog

tents in the woods.

The meetings held the boys at the throne of God each night, they were

the power behind the doughnut, and the boys recognized it.

“One hesitated to ask them if they wanted prayers because we knew they

did,” said one sweet woman back from the front, speaking about the time

of the St. Mihiel drive. “We couldn’t say how many knelt at the altar

because they all knelt. Some of them would walk five miles to attend a

meeting.”

It poured torrents the night of the drive and nearly drowned out the

soldiers in their little tents.

They came into the hut to shake hands and say goodbye to the girls; to

leave their little trinklets and ask for prayers; and they had their

meeting as always before a drive.

But this was an even more solemn time than usual, for the boys were

going up to a point where the French had suffered the fearful loss of

thirty thousand men trying to hold Mt. Sec for fifteen minutes. They

did not expect to come back. They left sealed packages to be forwarded

if they did not return.

One boy came to one of the Salvation Army men Officers and said: “Pray

for me. I have given my heart to Jesus.”

Another, a Sergeant, who had lived a hard life, came to the Salvation

Army Adjutant and said: “When I go back, if I ever go, I’m going to

serve the Lord.”

After the meeting the girls closed the canteen and on the way to their

room they passed a little sort of shed or barn. The door was standing

open and a light streaming out, and there on a little straw pallet lay

a soldier boy rolled up in his blanket reading his Testament. The girls

breathed a prayer for the lad as they passed by and their hearts were

lifted up with gladness to think how many of the American boys, fully

two-thirds of them, carried their Testaments in the pockets over their

hearts; yes, and read them, too, quite openly.

Two young Captains came one night to say good-bye to the girls before

going up the line. The girls told them they would be praying for them

and the elder of the two, a doctor, said how much he appreciated that,

and then told them how he had promised his wife he would read a chapter

in his Testament every day, and how he had never failed to keep his

promise since he left home.

Then up spoke the other man:

“Well, I got converted one night on the road. The shells were falling

pretty thick and I thought I would never reach my destination and I

just promised the Lord if He would let me get safely there I would

never fail to read a chapter, and I never have failed yet!” This young

man seemed to think that—the whole plan of redemption was comprised in

reading his Bible, but if he kept his promise the Spirit would guide

him.

On the way back to the hut one morning the girls picked marguerites and

forget-me-nots and put them in a vase on the table in the hut, making

it look like a little oasis in a desert, and no doubt, many a soldier

looked long at those blossoms who never thought he cared about flowers

before.

Within thirty-six hours after the first gun was fired in the St. Mihiel

drive seven Salvation Army huts were established on the territory.

Three days before the drive opened twenty Salvation Army girls reached

Raulecourt, which was a little village half a mile from Montsec. They

had been travelling for hours and hours and were very weary.

The Salvation Army hut had been turned over to the hospital, so they

found another old building.

That night there was a gas alarm sounded and everybody came running out

with their gas masks on. The officer who had them in charge was much

worried about his lassies because some of them had a great deal of

hair, and he was afraid that the heavy coils at the back of their heads

would prevent the masks from fitting tightly and let in the deadly gas,

but the lassies were level-headed girls, and they came calmly out with

their masks on tight and their hair in long braids down their backs,

much to the relief of their officer.

It had been raining for days and the men were wet to the skin, and many

of them had no way to get dry except to roll up in their blankets and

let the heat of their body dry their clothes while they slept. It was a

great comfort to have the Salvation Army hut where they could go and

get warm and dry once in awhile.

The night of the St. Mihiel drive was the blackest night ever seen. It

was so dark that one could positively see nothing a foot ahead of him.

The Salvation Army lassies stood in the door of the canteen and

listened. All day long the heavy artillery had been going by, and now

that night had come there was a sound of feet, tramping, tramping,

thousands of feet, through the mud and slush as the soldiers went to

the front. In groups they were singing softly as they went by. The

first bunch were singing “Mother Machree.”

There’s a spot in me heart that no colleen may own,

There’s a depth in me soul never sounded or known;

There’s a place in me memory, me life, that you fill,

No other can take it, no one ever will;

Sure, I love the dear silver that shines in your hair,

And the brow that’s all furrowed and wrinkled with care.

I kiss the dear fingers, so toil-worn for me;

O, God bless you and keep you!

Mother Machree!

The simple pathos of the voices, many of them tramping forward to their

death, and thinking of mother, brought the tears to the eyes of the

girls who had been mothers and sisters, as well as they could, to these

boys during the days of their waiting.

Then the song would die slowly away and another group would come by

singing: “Tell mother I’ll be there!” Always the thought of mother. A

little interval and the jolly swing of “Pack up your troubles in your

old kit bag and smile, smile, smile!” came floating by, and then

sweetly, solemnly, through the chill of the darkness, with a thrill in

the words, came another group of voices:

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide,

The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide!’

There had been rumors that Montsec was mined and that as soon as a foot

was set upon it it would blow up.

The girls went and lay down on their cots and tried to sleep, praying

in their hearts for the boys who had gone forth to fight. But they

could not sleep. It was as though they had all the burden of all the

mothers and wives and sisters of those boys upon them, as they lay

there, the only women within miles, the only women so close to the

lines.

About half-past one a big naval gun went off. It was as though all the

noises of the earth were let loose about them. They could lie still no

longer. They got up, put on their rain-coats, rubber boots, steel

helmets, took their gas masks and went out in the fields where they

could see. Soon the barrage was started. Darkness took on a rosy hue

from shells bursting. First a shell fell on Montsec. Then one landed in

the ammunition dump just back of it and blew it up, making it look like

a huge crater of a volcano. It seemed as if the universe were on fire.

The noise was terrific. The whole heavens were lit up from end to end.

The beauty and the horror of it were indescribable.

At five o’clock they went sadly back to the hut.

The hospital tents had been put up in the dark and now stood ready for

the wounded who were expected momentarily. The girls took off their

rain-coats and reported for duty. It was expected there would be many

wounded. The minutes passed and still no wounded arrived. Day broke and

only a few wounded men had been brought in. It was reported that the

roads were so bad that the ambulances were slow in getting there. With

sad hearts the workers waited, but the hours passed and still only a

straggling few arrived, and most of those were merely sick from

explosives. There were almost no wounded! Only ninety in all.

Then at last there came one bearing a message. There _were_ no wounded!

The Germans had been taken so by surprise, the victory had been so

complete at that point, that the boys had simply leaped over all

barriers and gone on to pursue the enemy. Quickly packing up seven

outfits a little company of workers started after their divisions on

trucks over ground that twenty-four hours before had been occupied by

the Germans, on roads that were checkered with many shell holes which

American road makers were busily filling up and bridging as they

passed.

One of the Salvation Army truck drivers asked a negro road mender what

he thought of his job. He looked up with a pearly smile and a gleam of

his eyes and replied: “Boss, I’se doin’ mah best to make de world safe

foh Democrats!”

They had to stop frequently to remove the bodies of dead horses from

the way so recently had that place been shelled. They passed through

grim skeletons of villages shattered and torn by shell fire; between

tangles of rusty barbed wire that marked the front line trenches. Then

on into territory that had long been held by the Huns. More than half

of the villages they passed were partially burned by the retreating

enemy. All along the way the pitiful villagers, free at last, came out

to greet them with shouts of welcome, calling “Bonnes Americaines!

Bonnes Americaines!” Some flung their arms about the Salvation Army

lassies in their joy. Some of the villagers had not even known that the

Americans were in the war until they saw them.

In the village of Nonsard a little way beyond Mt. Sec they found a

building that twenty-four hours before had been a German canteen. Above

the entrance was the sign “Kamerad, tritt’ ein.”

The Salvation Army people stepped in and took possession, finding

everything ready for their use. They even found a lard can full of lard

and after a chemist had analyzed it to make sure it was not poisoned

they fried doughnuts with it. In one wall was a great shell hole, and

the village was still under shell fire as they unloaded their truck and

got to work. One lassie set the water to heat for hot chocolate, while

another requisitioned a soldier to knock the head off a barrel of flour

and was soon up to her elbows mixing the dough for doughnuts. Before

the first doughnut was out of the hot fat several hundred soldiers were

waiting in long, patient, ever-growing lines for free doughnuts and

chocolate. These things were always served free after the men had been

over the top.

The lassies had had no sleep for thirty-six hours, but they never

thought of stopping until everybody was served. In that one day their

three tons of supplies entirely gave out.

The Red Cross was there with their rolling kitchen. They had plenty of

bread but nothing to put on it. The Salvation Army had no stove on

which to cook anything, but they had quantities of jam and potted

meats. They turned over ten cases of jam, some of the cases containing

as many as four hundred small jars, to the Red Cross, who served it on

hot biscuits. Some one put up a sign: “This jam furnished by the

Salvation Army!” and the soldiers passed the word along the line: “The

finest sandwich in the world, Red Cross and Salvation Army!” The first

day two Salvation Army girls served more than ten thousand soldiers in

their canteen. They did not even stop to eat. The Red Cross brought

them over hot chocolate as they worked.

Evening brought enemy airplanes, but the lassies did not stop for that

and soon their own aerial forces drove the enemy back.

That night the girls slept in a dirty German dugout, and they did not

dare to clean up the place, or even so much as to move any of the

_débris_ of papers and old tin and pasteboard cracker boxes, or cans

that were strewn around the place until the engineer experts came to

examine things, lest it might be mined and everything be blown up. The

girls set up their cots in the clearest place they could find, and went

to sleep. One of the women, however, who had just arrived, had lost her

cot, and being very weary crawled into a sort of berth dug by the

Germans in the wall, where some German had slept. She found out from

bitter experience what cooties are like.

The next morning they were hard at work again as early as seven

o’clock. Two long lines of soldiers were already patiently waiting to

be served. The girls wondered whether they might not have been there

all night. This continued all day long.

“We had to keep on a perpetual grin,” said one of the lassies, “so that

each soldier would think he had a smile all his own. We always gave

everything with a smile.” Yet they were not smiles of coquetry. One had

but to see the beautiful earnest faces of those girls to know that

nothing unholy or selfish entered into their service. It was more like

the smile that an angel might give.

Here is one of the many popular songs that have been written on the

subject which shows how the soldiers felt:

Salvation Lassie of Mine

“They say it’s in Heaven that all angels dwell,

But I’ve come to learn they’re on earth just as well;

And how would I know that the like could be so,

If I hadn’t found one down here below?

CHORUS.

A sweet little Angel that went o’er the sea,

With the emblem of God in her hand;

A wonderful Angel who brought there to me

The sweet of a war-furrowed land.

The crown on her head was a ribbon of red,

A symbol of all that’s divine;

Though she called each a brother she’s more like a mother,

Salvation Lassie of Mine.

Perhaps in the future I’ll meet her again,

In that world where no one knows sorrow or pain;

And when that time comes and the last word is said,

Then place on my bosom her band of red.”

_By “Jack” Caddigan and “Chick” Stoy._

That day a shell fell on the dugout where they had slept the night

before, and a little later one dropped next door to the canteen;

another took seven men from the signal corps right in the street near

by, and the girls were ordered out of the village because it was no

longer safe for them.

One of the boys had been up on a pole putting up wires for the signal

corps. These boys often had to work as now under shell fire in daytime

because it was necessary to have telephone connections complete at

once. A shell struck him as he worked and he fell in front of the

canteen. They had just carried him away to the ambulance when his chum

and comrade came running up. A pool of blood lay on the floor in front

of the canteen, and he stood and gazed with anguish in his face.

Suddenly he stooped and patted the blood tenderly murmuring, “My Buddy!

My Buddy!” Then like a flash he was off, up the pole where his comrade

had been killed to finish his work. That is the kind of brave boys

these girls were serving.

IX.

The Argonne Drive

That night they slept in the woods on litters, and the next day they

went on farther into the woods, twelve kilometres beyond what had been

German front.

Here they found a whole little village of German dugouts in the form of

log cabin bungalows in the woods. It was a beautifully laid out little

village, each bungalow complete, with running water and electric lights

and all conveniences. There were a dance hall, a billiard room, and

several pianos in the woods. There were also fine vegetable gardens and

rabbit hutches full of rabbits, for the Germans had been obliged to

leave too hastily to take anything with them.

The boys were hungry, some of them half starved for something different

from the hard fare they could take with them over the top, and they

made rabbit stews and cooked the vegetables and had a fine time.

The girls up at the front had no time for making doughnuts, so the

girls back of the lines made 8000 doughnuts and sent them up by trucks

for distribution. They also distributed oranges to the soldiers.

News came to the girls after they had been for a week in Nonsard that

they were to make a long move.

Back to Verdun they went and stopped just long enough to look at the

city. They were much impressed with St. Margaret’s school for young

ladies, and a wonderful old cathedral standing on the hill with a wall

surrounding it. Just the face of the building was left, all the rest

shot away, and through the concrete walls were holes, with guns

bristling from every one.

[Illustration: Here they found a whole little village of German

dugouts]

[Illustration: The girls who came down to help in the St. Mihiel drive]

They did not linger long for duty called them forward on their journey.

At dusk they stopped in a little village, bought some stuff, and asked

a French woman to cook it for them. They inquired for a place in which

to wash and were given a bar of soap and directed to the village pump

up the street. After supper they went on their way to Benoitvaux. Here

they found difficulty in getting quarters, but at last an old French

woman agreed to let them sleep in her kitchen and for a couple of days

they were quartered with her. The word went forth that there were two

American girls there and people were most curious to see them. One

afternoon two French soldiers came to the kitchen to visit them. It was

raining, as usual, and the girls had stayed in because there was really

nothing to call them out. The soldiers sat for some time talking. They

had heard that America was a wild place with _beaucoup_ Indians who

wore scalps in their belts, and they wanted to know if the girls were

not afraid. It was a bit difficult conversing, but the girls got out

their French dictionary and managed to convey a little idea of the true

America to the strangers. At last one of the soldiers in quite a matter

of fact tone informed one of the girls that he was pleased with her and

loved her very much. This put a hasty close to the conversation, the

lassie informing him with much dignity that men did not talk in that

way to girls they had just met in America and that she did not like it.

Whereupon the girls withdrew to the other end of the kitchen and turned

their backs on their callers, busying themselves with some reading, and

the crest-fallen gallants presently left.

They only had a canteen here one day when they were called to go on to

Neuvilly.

When the offensive was extended to the Argonne the Salvation Army

followed along, keeping in touch with the troops so that they felt that

the Salvation Army was ever with them, sharing their hardships and

dangers, and always ready to serve them.

Just before a drive, close to the front, there are always blockades of

trucks going either way.

The Salvation Army truck filled with the workers on their way to

Neuvilly one dark night was caught in such a blockade. They crawled

along making only about a mile an hour and stopping every few minutes

until there was a chance to go on again. At last the wait grew longer

and longer, the mud grew deeper, and the truck was having such a hard

time that the little company of travellers decided to abandon it to the

side of the road till morning and get out and walk to Neuvilly. There

was a field hospital there and they felt sure they could be of use; and

anyway, it was better than sitting in the truck all night. They were

then about eight kilometers from the front. So they all got off and

walked. But when they reached the place, found the hospital, and

essayed to go in, the mud was so deep that they were stuck and unable

to move forward. Some soldiers had to rescue them and carry them to the

hospital on litters.

Their help was accepted gladly, and they went to work at once. There

were many shell-shocked boys coming in who needed soothing and

comforting, and a woman’s hand so near the front was gratefully

appreciated.

When at last there was a lull in the stream of wounded men the girls

went to find a place to sleep for a little while. It was early morning,

and sad sights met their eyes as they hurried down what had once been a

pleasant village street. Destruction and desolation everywhere. The

house that had been selected for a Salvation Army canteen was nearly

all gone. One end was comparatively intact, with the floor still

remaining, and this was to be for the canteen. The rest of the building

was a series of shell holes surrounding a cellar from which the floor

had been shot away.

The women reconnoitred and finally decided to unfold their cots and try

to get a wink of sleep down in that cellar. It did not take them long

to get settled. The cots were brought down and placed quickly among the

fallen rafters, stone and tiling. Part of the walls that were standing

leaned in at a perilous slant, threatening to fall at the slightest

wind, but the lassies took off their shoes, rolled up in their

blankets, and were at once oblivious to all about them, for they had

been travelling all the day before and had worked hard all night.

One hour later, still early in the morning, they were awakened by the

arrival of the truck and the thumping of boxes, tables and supplies as

the Salvation Army truck drivers unloaded and set up the paraphernalia

of the canteen. The girls opened their eyes and looked about them, and

there all around the building were American soldiers, a head in every

shell hole, watching them sleep. There was something thrilling in the

silent audience looking down with holy eyes—yes, I said holy eyes!—for

whatever the American soldier may be in his daily life he had nothing

in his eyes but holy reverence for these women of God who were working

night and day for him. There was something touching, too, in their

attitude, for perhaps each one was thinking of his mother or sister at

home as he looked down on these weary girls, rolled up in the brown

blankets, with their neat little brown shoes in couples under their

cots, nothing visible above the blankets but their pretty rumpled brown

hair.

The women did not waste much more time in sleeping. They arose at once

and got busy. There were five tables in the canteen above and already

from each one there stretched a long line of men waiting silently,

patiently for the time to arrive when there would be something good to

eat. The girls had no more sleep that day, and there simply was no

seclusion to be had anywhere. Everything was shell-riddled.

When night came on the question of beds arose again. The cellar seemed

hardly possible, and the military officers considered the question.

Across the road from the most ruined end of the canteen building stood

an old church. All of its north wall was gone save a supporting column

in the middle, all the north roof gone. There were holes in all the

other walls, and all the windows were gone. The floor was covered with

_débris_ and wreckage. It had been used all day for an evacuation

hospital.

Just over the altar was a wonderful picture of the Christ ascending to

heaven. It was still uninjured save for a shot through the heart.

The military officer stood on the steps of this ruined church, and,

looking around in perplexity, remarked:

“Well, I guess this is the wholest place in town.” Then stepping inside

he glanced about and pointed:

“And this is the most secluded spot here!”

The seclusion was a pillar! But the girls were glad to get even that

for there was no other place, and they were very weary. So they set up

their little cots, and prepared to roll themselves in their blankets

for a well-earned rest.

The boys had built a small bonfire on the stone floor against a piece

of one wall that was still standing, and now they sent a deputation to

know if the girls would bring their guitars over and have a little

music. The boys, of course, had no idea that the girls had not slept

for more than twenty-four hours, and the girls never told them. They

never even cast one wistful glance toward their waiting cots, but

smilingly assented, and went and got their instruments.

[Illustration: The wrecked house in Neuvilly where the lassies went to

sleep in the cellar and woke up to find the soldiers watching them.]

[Illustration: The wrecked church in Neuvilly where the memorable

meeting was held.]

Beneath the picture of the Christ, in front of the altar a few men were

at work in an improvised office with four candles burning around them.

In the rear of the church Lt.-Col. Frederick R. Fitzpatrick of the One

Hundred and Tenth Ammunition Train had his office, and there another

candle was burning. Some wounded men lay on stretchers in the shadowed

northwest corner, and around the little fire the five Salvation Army

lassies sat among two hundred soldiers. They sang at first the popular

songs that everybody knew: “The Long, Long Trail,” “Keep the Home Fires

Burning,” “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag and Smile! Smile!

Smile!” and “Keep Your Head Down, Fritzie Boy!”

By and by some one called for a hymn, and then other hymns followed:

“Jesus Lover of My Soul,” “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,” and, as

always, the old favorite, “Tell Mother I’ll Be There!”

They sang for at least an hour and a half, and then they did not want

to stop. Oh, but it was a great sound that rolled through the old

broken walls of the church and floated out into the night! One of the

lassies said she would not change crowds with the biggest choir in New

York.

Then they asked the girls to sing and the room was very still as two

sweet voices thrilled out in a tender melody, speaking every word

distinctly:

Beautiful Jesus, Bright Star of earth!

Loving and tender from moment of birth,

Beautiful Jesus, though lowly Thy lot,

Born in a manger, so rude was Thy cot!

Beautiful Jesus, gentle and mild,

Light for the sinner in ways dark and wild,

Beautiful Jesus, O save such just now,

As at Thy feet they in penitence bow!

Beautiful Christ! Beautiful Christ!

Fairest of thousands and Pearl of great price!

Beautiful Christ! Beautiful Christ!

Gladly we welcome Thee, Beautiful Christ!

Before they had finished many eyes had turned instinctively toward the

picture in the weirdly flickering light.

Then the young Captain-lassie asked her sister to read the Ninety-first

Psalm, “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall

abide under the shadow of the Almighty,” and she told them that was a

promise for those who trusted in God, and she wished they would think

about it while they were going to sleep.

“This evening has made me think so much of home,” she said

thoughtfully, drooping her lashes and then raising them with a sweeping

glance that included the whole group, while the firelight flickered up

and lit her lovely serious face, and touched her hair with lights of

gold, “I suppose it has made every one else feel that way,” she went

on; “I mean especially the evenings at home when the family gathered in

the parlor, with one at the piano and brothers with their horns, and

the rest with some kind of instrument, and we had a good ‘sing;’ and

afterward father took the Bible and read the evening chapter, and then

we had family prayers and kissed Mamma and Papa good night and went to

bed. I shouldn’t wonder if many of you used to have homes like that?”

The lassie raised her eyes again and looked on them. Many of the men

nodded. It was beautiful to see the look that came into their faces at

these recollections.

“And you used to have family prayers, too, didn’t you?” she asked

eagerly.

They nodded once more but some of them turned their faces away from the

light quickly and brushed the back of their hands across their eyes.

“To-night has been a family gathering,” she went on, “We girls are

little sisters to all you big brothers, and we have had a delightful

time with just the family, and the evening chapter has been read, and

now I think it would not be complete if we did not have the family

prayers before we separate and go to sleep.”

Down went the heads in response, with reverent mien, and the place was

very still while the lassie prayed. Afterward the boys joined their

gruff voices, husky now with emotion, into the universal prayer with

which she closed: “Our Father which are in heaven——”

They were all sorts and conditions of men gathered around the little

fire in that old shell-torn church in Neuvilly that night. To quote

from a letter written by a military officer, Lt-Col. Frederick R.

Fitzpatrick, to his wife:

“There was the lad who was willing but not strong enough for field

work, who was in the rear with the office; the walking wounded who had

stopped for something to eat; the big, strong mule skinner who could

throw a mule down or lift a case of ammunition, who was rough in

appearance and speech and who would deny that the moisture in his eye

was anything but the effects of the cold. There were the men who had

been facing death a thousand times an hour for the last three days, who

had not had a wash or a chance to take off their shoes and had been

lying in mud in shell holes —men who looked as though they were chilled

through and through; men on their way to the front, well knowing all

the hardships and dangers which were ahead of them, but who were

worried only about the delay in the traffic; doctors who had been

working for three days without rest; men off ammunition and ration

trucks, who had been at the wheel so long that they had forgotten

whether it was three or four days and nights; wounded on their

stretchers enjoying a smoke. And as I stepped in the door there were

the feminine voices singing the good old tunes we all know so well, and

not a sound in the church but as an accompaniment the distant booming

of big guns, the rattle of small arms, the whirl of air craft, the

passing of the ever-present column of trucks with rations and

ammunition going up, and the wounded coming back; the shouted

directions of the traffic police, the sound of the ammunition dump just

outside the door and the rattle of the kitchens which surround the

church, and which are working twenty-four hours a day.

There was the crowd of men, each uncovered, giving absolute undivided

attention to the good, brave girls who were not making a meeting of it;

it was just a meeting which grew—men who in their minds were back with

mother and sister. The girls sang the good old songs, and then one of

them offered a short prayer, in which all the men joined in spirit, and

as I tip-toed out of the church it seemed to me that the four candles

at the altar did not give all the light that was shown on the picture

of Christ our Saviour. Every man in the building that night was in the

very presence of God. It was not a religious meeting; it was a meeting

full of religion. And it was a picture that will ever stand fresh in my

memory and which will be an inspiration in time of doubt. There was

nothing there but the real things, absolutely no sham of any kind. Oh,

it was wonderful! I hope you can get just a little idea of what it was.

I wish you would keep this letter. I want to be able to read it in

future years.”

In what remained of another village not far distant from Neuvilly, the

lassies had a tent erected. The rain was endless—a driving drizzle

which quickly soaked through everything but the staunchest raincoats in

a very few moments. The ground was so thickly covered by shell craters

that they could find no clear space wide enough for the tent. It so

happened that almost in the centre of the tent there was a big shell

crater. In this the girls lighted a fire. All through the night, and

through nights to follow, wounded men limping back through the rain and

mud to the dressing stations came in to warm themselves around the fire

in the shell hole, and to drink of the coffee prepared by the girls. As

they sat around the blazing wood, the fire cast strange shadows on the

bleached brown canvas of the tent. In spite of their wounds, they were

very cheerful, singing as lightly as though they were safe at home.

Everybody had worked hard at Neuvilly, but they felt they must get to

their own outfit as soon as possible at the Field Hospital up in Cheppy

where the wounded were coming in droves and the boys were pouring in

from the front half-starved, having been fighting all night with

nothing to eat except reserve rations. Some had been longer with only

such rations as they took from their dead comrades. The need was most

urgent, but the puzzle was how to get there. The roads had been shelled

and ploughed by explosives until there was no possible semblance of a

way, and there were no conveyances to be had. The Zone Major had gone

back for supplies, telling the girls to get the first conveyance

possible going up the road. That was enough for the girls. “We’ve _got_

to get there” they said, and when they said that one knew they would.

They searched diligently and at last found a way. One girl rode on a

reel cart, one on a mule team and one went with an old wagon. They went

over roads that had to be made ahead of them by the engineers, and late

in the night, bruised and sore from head to foot, they arrived at their

destination.

The next morning they reported at the hospital for work and the Major

in charge said: “I never was so glad to see anybody in my life!”

They went straight to work and served coffee and sandwiches to the poor

half-starved men. The Red Cross men were there, also, with sandwiches,

hot chocolate and candy.

The wounded men continued to pour in, later to be evacuated to the base

hospital; they kept coming and coming, a thousand men where two hundred

had been expected. There was plenty to be done. The girls were put in

charge of different wards. They were under shell fire continually, but

they were too busy to think of that as they hurried about ministering

to the brave soldiers, who gave never a groan from their white lips no

matter what they suffered.

The girls worked about eighteen hours a day, and slept from about one

or two at night to five or six in the morning. The hospital was in

front of the artillery and every shell that went over to Germany passed

over their heads. When they had been there five days under continual

shell fire from the enemy the General gave orders that they _must_

leave, that it was no fit place for women so near to the front.

When the Salvation Army Zone Major brought this order to the girls

rebellion shone in their eyes and they declared they would not leave!

They knew they were needed there, and there they would stay! The Zone

Major surveyed them with intense satisfaction. He turned on his heel

and went back to the General:

“General,” he said, with a twinkle, “my girls say they won’t go.”

The General’s face softened, and the twinkle flashed across to his

eyes, with something like a tear behind its fire. Somehow he didn’t

look like a Commanding Officer who had just been defied. A wonderful

light broke over his face and he said:

“Well, if the Salvation Army wants to stay let them stay!” And so they

stayed.

It was in a German-dug cave that they had their headquarters, cut out

of the side of a hill and opening into the hospital yard. It was a work

of art, that cave. There was a passage-way a hundred feet long with

avenues each side and places for cots, room enough to accommodate a

hundred men.

The German airplanes came in droves. When the bugle sounded every one

must get under cover. There must be nobody in sight for the Germans

were out to get individuals, and even one person was not too

insignificant for them to waste their ammunition upon. They had a

mistaken idea, perhaps, that this sort of thing destroyed our morale.

The tents, of course, were no protection against shells and bombs, and

presently the Boche began to shell the town in good earnest, especially

at night. Gas alarms, also, would sound out in the middle of the night

and everybody would have to rush out and put on their gas masks. They

would not last long at a time, of course, but it broke up any rest that

might have been had, and it was only too evident that the enemy was

trying to get the range on the hospital.

One morning, standing by the window making cocoa for the boys, one of

the lassies saw an eight-inch shell land between the hospital tents,

ten feet in front of the window, and only five feet from the door of

the place where the severely wounded were lying. These shells always

kill at two hundred feet. All that saved them was that the shell buried

itself deep in the soft earth and was a dud.

The shells were coming every twenty minutes and there was no time to

lose for now the enemy had their range. At once all hands got busy and

began to evacuate the wounded men into the Salvation Army cave. The

cave would accommodate seventy men, but they managed to get a hundred

men inside, most of them on litters. They were all safe and the girls

heard the whistle of the next shell and made haste toward safety

themselves. But someone had carelessly dropped a whole outfit of

blankets and things across the passageway of the dugout and the first

woman to enter fell across it, shutting out the other two. Before

anything could be done the next shell struck the doorway, partly

burying the fallen young woman. Inside the dugout rocks came down on

some of the men on litters, and anxious hands extricated the lassie

from the _débris_ that had fallen upon her, and lifted her tenderly.

She was pretty badly bruised and lamed, besides being wounded on her

leg, but the brave young woman would not claim her wound, nor let it

become known to the military authorities lest they would forbid the

girls to stay at the front any longer. So for three weeks she patiently

limped about and worked with the rest, quietly bearing her pain, and

would not go to the hospital. One lassie outside was struck on the

helmet by a piece of falling rock. If she had not had on her helmet she

would have been killed.

The shelling continued for six hours.

The hospital was all the time filled with wounded men and there was

plenty to be done twenty-four hours out of every day. The women moved

about among the men as if they were their own brothers.

A poor shell-shocked boy lay on his cot talking wildly in delirium,

living over the battle again, charging his men, ordering them to

advance.

“Company H. Advance! See that hill over there? It’s full of Germans,

but _we’ve got to take it_!”

Then he turned over and began to sob and cry, “Oh God! Oh God!”

A lassie went to him and soothed him, talking to him gently about home,

asking him questions about his mother, until he grew calm and began to

answer her, and rested back quite rationally. The stretcher-bearers

came to take him to another hospital, and he started up, put out his

hand and cried: “Oh, nurse! I’ve got to get back to my men! _I’m the

only one left_!”

Thus the heart-breaking scenes were multiplied.

One boy came back to the hospital in the Argonne badly wounded. He

called the lassie to him one day as she passed through the ward, and

motioned her to lean down so he could talk to her. He said he knew he

was hard hit and he wanted to tell her something.

“I was wounded, lying on the ground over there in No Man’s Land,” he

went on. “It was all dark and I was waiting for someone to come along

and help me. I thought it was all up with me and while I was lying

there I felt something. I can’t explain it, but I knew it was there and

I saw my mother and I prayed. Then my Buddy came along and I asked him

if he could baptize me. He said he wasn’t very good himself but he

guessed the heavenly Father would understand. So he stooped down and

got some muddy water out of a shell hole close by and put it on my

forehead, and prayed; and now I know it’s all right. I wanted you to

know.”

Often the boys, just before they went over the top, would come to these

girls and say:

“We’re going up there, now. You pray for us, won’t you?”

One day some boys came to the hut when there were not many about and

asked the girls if they might talk with them. These boys were going

over the top that night.

“We fellows want to ask you something,” they said. “Some of the

chaplains have been telling us that if we go over there and die for

liberty that it’ll be all right with us afterward. But we don’t believe

that dope and we want to know the truth. Do you mean to tell me that if

a man has lived like the devil he’s going to be saved just because he

got killed fighting? Why, some of us fellows didn’t even go of our own

accord. We were drafted. And do you mean to tell me that counts just

the same? We want to know the truth!”

And then the girls had their opportunity to point the way to Jesus and

speak of repentance, salvation from sin, and faith in the Saviour of

the world.

A lassie was stooping over one young boy lying on a cot, washing his

face and trying to make him more comfortable, and she noticed a hole in

his breast pocket. Stooping closer she examined it and found it was a

piece of high explosive shell that had gone through the cloth of his

pocket and was embedded in his Testament, which he, like many of the

boys, always kept in his breast pocket.

Another boy lay on a cot biting his lips to bear the agony of pain, and

she asked him what was the matter, was the wound in his leg so bad? He

nodded without opening his eyes. She went to ask the doctor if the boy

couldn’t have some morphine to dull the pain. The Sergeant in charge

came over and looked at him, examined the bandage on the boy’s leg and

then exclaimed: “Who bandaged this leg?”

“I did” said the boy weakly, “I did the best I could.”

The poor fellow had bandaged his own leg and then walked to the

hospital. The bandage had looked all right and no one had examined it

until then, but the Sergeant found that it was so tight that it had

stopped the circulation. He took off the bandage and made him

comfortable, and the agony left him. In a little while the Salvation

Army lassie passed that way again and found the boy with a little book

open, reading.

“What is it?” she asked, looking at the book.

“My Testament,” he answered with a smile.

“Are you a Christian?”

“Oh, yes,” he said with another smile that meant volumes.

It grew dark in the tent for they dared not have lights on account of

the enemy always watching, but stooping near a little later she could

see that his lips were murmuring in prayer. There was an angelic smile

on his white, dead face in the morning when they came to take him away.

There was a funeral every day in that place. A hundred boys were buried

that week. Always the girls sang at the graves, and prayed. There would

be just the grave digger, a few people, and some of the boys. Off to

one side the Germans were buried. When the simple services over our own

dead were complete one of the girls would say: “Now, friends, let us go

and say a prayer beside our enemy’s graves. They are some mother’s

boys, and some woman is waiting for them to come home!”

And then the prayers would be said once more, and another song sung.

Those were solemn, sorrowful times, death and destruction on every

side. The fighting was everywhere. United States anti-aircraft guns

firing at German planes; Germans firing at us; air fights in the sky

above.

And in the midst of it all the boys had meetings every night on log

piles out in the open. These meetings would begin with popular songs,

but the boys would soon ask for the hymns and the meetings would work

themselves out without any apparent leading up to it. The boys wanted

it. They wanted to hear about religious things. They hungered for it.

So they were held at the throne of God each night by the wonderful men

and girls who had learned to know human hearts, and had attained such

skill in leading them to the Christ for whom they lived.

It was not alone the doughnut that bound the hearts of the boys to the

Salvation Army in France, it was what was behind the doughnut; and

here, in these wonderful God-led meetings they found the secret of it

all. Many of them came and told the girls they did not believe in the

so-called “trench religion” and wanted to know the truth from them. And

those girls told them the way of eternal life in a simple, beautiful

way, not mincing matters, nor ignoring their sins and unworthiness, but

pointing the way to the Christ who died to save them from sin, and who

even now was waiting in silent Presence to offer them Himself. Great

numbers of the men accepted Christ, and pledged themselves to live or

die for Him whatever came to them.

How close the Salvation Army people had grown to the hearts and lives

of the men was shown by the fact that when they came back from the

fight they would always come to them as if they had come to report at

home:

“We’ve escaped!” they would say. “We don’t know how it is, but we think

it’s because you girls were praying for us, and the folks at home were

praying, too!”

There were three cardinal principles which were deemed necessary to

success in this work. The first and most important depended upon

winning the confidence of the boys. This was a prime requisite in any

work with the boys, especially by a religious organization.

_The first quality_ looked for in a person professing religion is

always consistency. It was felt that if the boys saw that the Salvation

Army was consistent, that it stood only for those things in France

which it was known to stand for in the United States, that the first

step would be established in winning the confidence of the boy. It was

therefore determined that the Salvation Army would not, under any

circumstances, compromise, and that it should stand out in its

religious work and adhere to its teachings as firmly and as vigorously

as it was known to do at home.

A stand upon the tobacco question was, therefore, highly important.

Other organizations were encouraging the use of tobacco but those who

had come in contact with the Salvation Army at home knew that it had

always discouraged its use, and although the officers had to go against

the judgment of many high military authorities who thought they should

handle it, they decided that the Salvation Army would not handle

tobacco and that no one wearing its uniform should use it. The

consistency of the Salvation Army and the careful conduct of its

workers won the esteem of the boys.

_The second requisite_ was that the Salvation Army should be willing to

share their hardships. To accomplish this, it was made a rule that

Salvation Army workers should not mess with the officers but should

draw their rations at the soldiers’ mess, also that they should not

associate with the officers more than was absolutely necessary and that

in the huts. It was neither possible nor desirable that officers should

be kept out of the huts, but as far as possible soldiers were made to

feel that the Salvation Army was in France to serve them and not for

its own pleasure or convenience.

_The third requisite_ was that the Salvation Army should be willing to

share their dangers and this was proved to them when they went to the

trenches—the Salvation Army moved to the trenches with them and

established huts and outposts as close to the front line as was

permitted.

X.

The Armistice

After the Armistice was signed, on November 11th, it was a great

question what disposition would be made of the troops. It was concluded

that they would be sent home as rapidly as possible and that the three

ports—Brest, St. Nazaire and Bordeaux—would be used for that purpose.

Immediately arrangements were made for the opening of Salvation Army

work at the base ports with a view to letting the boys have a last

sight of the Salvation Army as they left the shores of France. The

Salvation Army had served them in the training area and at the front

and were still serving them as they left the shores of the old world

and it would meet them again when they arrived on the shores of the

home-land. In this way the contact of the Salvation Army would be

continuous, so that when they returned, it would be able to reach their

hearts and affect their lives with the Gospel of Christ.

The problem of buildings was, of course, the first one and a very

difficult one. To secure buildings of adequate size, which could be

constructed in a short space of time, was almost out of the question,

but it occurred to the officers that the aviation section would be

demobilizing and that they had brought over portable steel buildings,

for use as hangars. The matter was taken up at once with the military

authorities and twenty of these steel buildings were secured—each of

them sixty-six feet wide by one hundred feet long. It was planned to

place eight of them at Bordeaux, six at St. Nazaire and six at Brest.

By placing two of them end to end it was possible to secure one

auditorium sixty-six feet wide by two hundred feet long—capable of

seating three thousand men. Adjoining that could be another building

sixty-six feet by one hundred feet, to be used for canteen and rest

room.

It was planned to proceed with a religious campaign at these Base

Ports, holding Salvation meetings in these extensive departments.

When the Army of Occupation was started for Germany, two Salvation Army

trucks were assigned to go along with the Army. Whenever the Army of

Occupation stopped for a space of two or three days, places were

secured where doughnuts could be fried, pies made, and at all times hot

coffee and chocolate were available for the men.

When the American soldiers marched through the villages of

Alsace-Lorraine the Salvationists marched with them. At Esch and

Luxemburg they were in all the rejoicing and triumph of the parade,

bringing succor and comfort wherever they could find an opportunity.

When the men arrived at Coblenz the Salvation Army was there before

them, and on their crossing the Rhine, arrangements had been made for

the location of the Salvation Army work at the principal points in the

Rhine-head. They are now conducting Salvation Army operations with the

Army of Occupation.

One of the occasions when President Wilson clapped for the Salvation

Army was at the inauguration of the Soldiers’ Association in Paris. The

Y had invited all the other organizations to be present. The meeting

was held in the Palais de Glace, which seats about ten thousand people.

President and Mrs. Wilson were present, accompanied by many prominent

American officials. Representatives of the various War Work

Organizations spoke.

The Salvationist who had been selected to represent the Army at this

meeting had been in the United States Navy for twelve years and was a

chaplain.

When he was called upon to speak the boys with one accord as if by

preconcerted action arose to their feet and gave him an ovation. Of

course, it was not given to the man but to the uniform.

A soldier of the Rainbow Division sitting next to one of the Salvation

Army workers over there, kept telling him what the boys thought of the

Salvation Army, and when the cheering began he poked the Salvationist

in the ribs and whispered joyously:

“I told you! I told you! We’ve just been waiting for eight months to

pull this off! Now, you see!”

The speaker when given opportunity did not attempt to make a great

speech. He told in simple, vivid sentences of the services of the

Salvation Army just back of the trenches under fire; and President

Wilson sat listening and applauding with the rest.

The chaplain paid a tribute to President Wilson, finishing with these

words:

“President Wilson was not man-elected, but God-selected!”

Chaplains.

For some little time after the War started it was a question as to

whether the Salvation Army was entitled to any representation in the

realm of Chaplaincies of the United States forces. During the progress

of the consideration Adjutant Harry Kline secured an appointment with

the Nebraska National Guard, and his regiment being made a part of the

National Army, he was received as an officer of the same and thus

became our first Army Chaplain.

The War Office decided favorably with regard to the question of our

general representation, and shortly thereafter Adjutant John Allan, of

Bowery fame, was given a first lieutenancy and then followed, in the

order given, Captain Ernest Holz, Adjutant Ryan and Captain Norman

Marshall.

The exceptional service that these men have rendered is of sufficient

importance to have a much wider notice than where only the barest of

reference is possible. Shortly after arrival in France Chaplain Allan

was being very favorably noticed because of the character of the work

which he was doing, and it was gratifying to learn that this confidence

was reflected in his appointment as Senior Chaplain of his regiment and

his assignment to special service where probity and wisdom were

essential. Shortly thereafter he was taken to the Army Headquarters,

where up to the present time he is most highly esteemed as a co-laborer

with Bishop Brent, the Chaplain-General of the overseas forces.

Typical of the enthusiasm of each of the five men appointed as

Chaplains, the following story is told of First Lieutenant Ernest Holz,

who was inducted into his office as Senior Chaplain of his regiment

right at the commencement of his career.

At the beginning of the year, when Chaplain Holz knew his Salvation

Army comrades would, as usual, be engaged in special revival work, he

thought it would be a worthy thing to time a similar effort among the

men of his regiment. Approaching the Colonel, he found him in hearty

agreement concerning the effort, and so securing the assistance of his

fellow chaplains they arranged for a series of meetings nightly for one

week, with the result that two hundred of the men of the regiment

confessed Christ and practically all of them were deeply interested.

The effort was wholly directed to the uplift of the men and God

commanded His blessing in a most gratifying manner.

XI.

Homecoming

The boat docked that morning, and one soldier at least, as he stood on

the deck and watched the shores of his native land draw nearer, felt

mingling with the thrill of joy at his return a vague uneasiness. He

was coming back, it is true, but it had been a long time and a lot of

things had happened. For one thing he had lost his foot. That in itself

was a pretty stiff proposition. For another thing he was not wearing

any decorations save the wound stripes on his sleeve. Those would have

been enough, and more than enough, for his mother if she were alive,

but she had gone away from earth during his absence, and the girl he

had kissed good-bye and promised great things was peculiar. The

question was, would she stand for that amputated foot? He didn’t like

to think it of her, but he found he wasn’t sure. Perhaps, if there had

been a croix de guerre! He had promised her to win that and no end of

other honors, when he went away so buoyant and hopeful; but almost on

his first day of real battle he had been hurt and tossed aside like a

derelict, to languish in a hospital, with no more hope of winning

anything. And now he had come home with one foot gone, and no

distinction!

He hadn’t told the girl yet about the foot. He didn’t know as he

should. He felt lonely and desolate in spite of his joy at getting back

to “God’s Country.” He frowned at the hazy outline of the great city

from which tall buildings were beginning to differentiate themselves as

they drew nearer. There was New York. He meant to see New York, of

course. He was a Westerner and had never had an opportunity to go about

the metropolis of his own country. Of course, he would see it all.

Perhaps, after he was demobilized he would stay there. Maybe he

wouldn’t send word he had come back. Let them think he was killed or

taken prisoner, or missing, or anything they liked. There were things

to do in New York. There were places where he would be welcome even

with one foot gone and no cross of war. Thus he mused as the boat drew

nearer the shore and the great city loomed close at hand. Then,

suddenly, just as the boat was touching the pier and a long murmur of

joy went up from the wanderers on board, his eyes dropped idly to the

dock and there in her trim little overseas uniform, with the sunlight

glancing from the silver letters on the scarlet shield of her trench

cap and the smile radiating from her sweet face, stood the very same

Salvation Army lassie who had bent over him as he lay on the ground

just back of the trenches waiting to be put in the ambulance and taken

to the hospital after he had been wounded. He could feel again the

throbbing pain in his leg, the sickening pain of his head as he lay in

the hot sun, with the flies swarming everywhere, the horrible din of

battle all about, and his tongue parched and swollen with fever from

lying all night in pain on the wet ground of No Man’s Land. She had

laid a soft little hand on his hot forehead, bathed his face, and

brought him a cold drink of lemonade. If he lived to be a hundred years

old he would never taste anything so good as that lemonade had been.

Afterward the doctor said it was the good cold drink that day that

saved the lives of those fever patients who had lain so long without

attention. Oh, he would never forget the Salvation lassie! And there

she was alive and at home! She hadn’t been killed as the fellows had

been afraid she would. She had come through it all and here she was

always ahead and waiting to welcome a fellow home. It brought the tears

smarting to his eyes to think about it, and he leaned over the rail of

the ship and yelled himself hoarse with the rest over her, forgetting

all about his lost foot. It was hours before they were off the ship.

All the red tape necessary for the movement of such a company of men

had to be unwound and wound up again smoothly, and the time stretched

out interminably; but somehow it did not seem so hard to wait now, for

there was someone down there on the dock that he could speak to, and

perhaps—just perhaps—he would tell her of his dilemma about his girl.

Somehow he felt that she would understand.

He watched eagerly when he was finally lined up on the wharf waiting

for roll-call, for he was sure she would come; and she did, swinging

down the line with her arms full of chocolate, handing out telegraph

blanks and postal cards, real postal cards with a stamp on them that

could be mailed anywhere. He gripped one in his big, rough hand as if

it were a life preserver. A real, honest-to-goodness postal card! My it

was good to see the old red and white stamp again! And he spoke

impulsively:

“You’re the girl that saved my life out there in the field, don’t you

remember? With the lemonade!” Her face lit up. She had recognized him

and somehow cleared one hand of chocolate and telegrams to grasp his

with a hearty welcome: “I’m so glad you came through all right!” her

cheery voice said.

All right! _All right!_ Did she call it all right? He looked down at

his one foot with a dubious frown. She was quick to see. She

understood.

“Oh, but that’s nothing!” she said, and somehow her voice put new heart

into him. “Your folks will be so glad to have you home you’ll forget

all about it. Come, aren’t you going to send them a telegram?” And she

held out the yellow blank.

But still he hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking down at his foot again. “Mother’s

gone, and——”

Instantly her quick sympathy enveloped his sore soul, and he felt that

just the inflection of her voice was like balm when she said: “I’m so

sorry!” Then she added:

“But isn’t there somebody else? I’m sure there was. I’m sure you told

me about a girl I was to write to if you didn’t come through. Aren’t

you going to let her know? Of course you are.”

“I don’t know,” said the boy. “I don’t think I am. Maybe I’ll never go

back now. You see, I’m not what I was when I went away.”

“Nonsense!” said the lassie with that cheerful assurance that had

carried her through shell fire and made her merit the pet name of

“Sunshine” that the boys had given her in the trenches. “Why, that

wouldn’t be fair to her. Of course, you’re going to let her know right

away. Leave it to me. Here, give me her address!”

Quick as a flash she had the address and was off to a telephone booth.

This was no message that could wait to go back to headquarters. It must

go at once.

He saw her again before he left the wharf. She gave him a card with two

addresses written on it:

“This first is where you can drop in and rest when you are tired,” she

explained. “It’s just one of our huts; the other is where you can find

a good bed when you are in the city.”

Then she was off with a smile down the line, giving out more telegraph

blanks and scattering sunshine wherever she went. He glanced back as he

left the pier and saw her still floating eagerly here and there like a

little sister looking after more real brothers.

The next day, when he was free and on a few days leave from camp, he

started out with his crutch to see the city, but the thought of her

kept him from some of the places where his feet might have strayed. Yet

she had not said a word of warning. Her smile and the look in her eyes

had placed perfect confidence in him, and he could remember the prayer

she had uttered in a low tone back there at the dressing station behind

the trenches in the ear of a companion who was not going to live to get

to the Base Hospital, and who had begged her to pray with him before he

went. Somehow it lingered with him all day and changed his ideas of

what he wanted to see in New York.

But it was a long hard tramp he had set for himself to see the town

with that one foot. He hadn’t much money for cars, even if he had known

which cars to take, so he hobbled along and saw what he could. He was

all alone, for the fellows he started with went so fast and wanted to

do so many things that he could not do, that he had made an excuse to

shake them off. They were kind. They would not have left him if they

had known; but he wasn’t going to begin his new life having everybody

put out on his account, so he was alone. And it was toward evening. He

was very tired. It seemed to him that he couldn’t go another block. If

only there were a place somewhere where he could sit down a little

while and rest; even a doorstep would do if there were only one near at

hand. Of course, there were saloons, and there would always be soldiers

in them. He would likely be treated, and there would be good cheer, and

a chance to forget for a little while; but somehow the thought of that

Salvation lassie and the cheery way she had made him send that telegram

kept him back. When a girl with painted cheeks stopped and smiled in

his face he passed her by, and half wondered why he did it. He must go

somewhere presently and get a bite to eat, but it couldn’t be much for

he wanted to save money enough and hunt up that lodging house where

there were nice beds. How much he wanted that bed!

[Illustration: Right in the midst of the busy hurrying throng of Union

Square]

[Illustration: “Smiling Billy” “One Game Little Guy”]

It was quite dark now. The lights were lit everywhere. He was coming to

a great thoroughfare. He judged by his slight knowledge of the city

that it might be Broadway. There would likely be a restaurant somewhere

near. He hurried on and turned into the crowded street. How cold it

was! The wind cut him like a knife. He had been a fool to come off

alone like this! Just out of the hospital, too. Perhaps he would get

sick and have to go to another hospital. He shivered and stopped to

pull his collar up closer around his neck. Then suddenly he stood still

and stared with a dazed, bewildered expression, straight ahead of him.

Was he getting a bit leary? He passed his hand over his eyes and looked

again. Yes, there it was! Right in the midst of the busy, hurrying

throng of Union Square! He made sure it was Union Square, for he looked

up at the street sign to be certain it wasn’t Willow Vale—or

Heaven—right there where streets met and crossed, and cars and trolleys

and trucks whirled, and people passed in throngs all day, just across

the narrow road, stood the loveliest, most perfect little white

clapboard cottage that ever was built on this earth, with porches all

around and a big tree growing up through the roof of one porch. It

stood out against the night like a wonderful mirage, like a heavenly

dove descended into the turmoil of the pit, like home and mother in the

midst of a rushing pitiless world. He could have cried real tears of

wonder and joy as he stood there, gazing. He felt as though he were one

of those motion pictures in which a lone Klondiker sits by his campfire

cooking a can of salmon or baked beans, and up above him on the screen

in one corner appears the Christmas tree where his wife and baby at

home are celebrating and missing him. It seemed just as unreal as that

to see that little beautiful home cottage set down in the midst of the

city.

The windows were all lit up with a warm, rosy light and there were

curtains at the windows, rosy pink curtains like the ones they used to

have at the house where his girl lived, long ago before the War spoiled

him. He stood and continued to gaze until a lot of cash-boys, let loose

from the toil of the day, rushed by and almost knocked his crutch from

under him. Then he determined to get nearer this wonder. Carefully

watching his opportunity he hobbled across the street and went slowly

around the building. Yes, it was real. Some public building, of course,

but how wonderful to have it look so like a home! Why had they done it?

Then he came around toward the side, and there in plain letters was a

sign: “Soldiers and Sailors in Uniform Welcome.” What? Was it possible?

Then he might go in? What kind of a place could it be?

He raised his eyes a little and there, slung out above the neatly

shingled porch, like any sign, swung an immense fat brown doughnut a

foot and a half in diameter, with the sugar apparently still sticking

to it, and inside the rough hole sat a big white coffee cup. His heart

leaped up and something suddenly gave him an idea. He fumbled in his

pocket, brought out a card, saw that this was the Salvation Army hut,

and almost shouted with joy. He lost no time in hurrying around to the

door and stepping inside.

There revealed before him was a great cozy room, with many easy-chairs

and tables, a piano at which a young soldier sat playing ragtime, and

at the farther end a long white counter on which shone two bright

steaming urns that sent forth a delicious odor of coffee. Through an

open door behind the counter he caught a glimpse of two Salvation Army

lassies busy with some cups and plates, and a third enveloped in a

white apron was up to her elbows in flour, mixing something in a yellow

bowl. By one of the little tables two soldier boys were eating

doughnuts and coffee, and at another table a sailor sat writing a

letter. It was all so cozy and homelike that it took his breath away

and he stood there blinking at the lights that flooded the rooms from

graceful white bowl-like globes that hung suspended from the ceiling by

brass chains. He saw that the rosy light outside had come from soft

pink silk sash curtains that covered the lower part of the windows, and

there were inner draperies of some heavier flowered material that made

the whole thing look real and substantial. The willow chairs had

cushions of the same flowered stuff. The walls were a soft pearly gray

below and creamy white above, set off by bands of dark wood, and a dark

floor with rush mats strewn about. He looked around slowly, taking in

every detail almost painfully. It was such a contrast to the noisy,

rushing street, a contrast to the hospital, and the trenches and all

the life with which he had been familiar during the past few dreadful

months. It made him think of home and mother. He began to be afraid he

was going to cry like a great big baby, and he looked around nervously

for a place to get out of sight. He saw a fellow going upstairs and at

a distance he followed him. Up there was another bright, quiet room,

curtained and cushioned like the other, with more easy willow chairs,

round willow tables, and desks over by the wall where one might write.

The soldier who had come up ahead of him was already settled writing

now at a desk in the far corner. There were bookcases between the

windows with new beautifully bound books in them, and there were

magazines scattered around, and no rules that one must not spit on the

floor, or put their feet in the chairs, or anything of the sort. Only,

of course, no one would ever dream of doing anything like that in such

a place. How beautiful it was, and how quiet and peaceful! He sank into

a chair and looked about him. What rest!

And now there were real tears in his eyes which he hastened to brush

roughly away, for someone was coming toward him and a hand was on his

shoulder. A man’s voice, kindly, pleasant, brotherly, spoke:

“All in, are you, my boy? Well, you just sit and rest yourself awhile.

What do you think of our hut? Good place to rest? Well, that’s what we

want it to be to you, Home. Just drop in here whenever you’re in town

and want a place to rest or write, or a bite of something homelike to

eat.”

He looked up to the broad shoulders in their well-fitting dark blue

uniform, and into the kindly face of the gray-haired Colonel of the

Salvation Army who happened to step in for a minute on business and had

read the look on the lonesome boy’s face just in time to give a word of

cheer. He could have thrown his arms around the man’s neck and kissed

him if he only hadn’t been too shy. But in spite of the shyness he

found himself talking with this fine strong man and telling him some of

his disappointments and perplexities, and when the older man left him

he was strengthened in spirit from the brief conversation. Somehow it

didn’t look quite so black a prospect to have but one foot.

He read a magazine for a little while and then, drawn by the delicious

odors, he went downstairs and had some coffee and doughnuts. He saw

while he was eating that the front porch opened out of the big lower

room and was all enclosed in glass and heated with radiators. A lot of

fellows were sitting around there in easy-chairs, smoking, talking, one

or two sleeping in their chairs or reading papers. It had a dim, quiet

light, a good place to rest and think. He was more and more filled with

wonder. Why did they do it? Not for money, for they charged hardly

enough to pay for the materials in the food they sold, and he knew by

experience that when one had no money one could buy of them just the

same if one were in need.

Later in the evening he took out the little card again and looked up

the other address. He wanted one of those clean, sweet beds that he had

been hearing about, that one could get for only a quarter a night, with

all the shower-bath you wanted thrown in. So he went out again and

found his way down to Forty-first Street.

There was something homelike about the very atmosphere as he entered

the little office room and looked about him. Beyond, through an open

door he could see a great red brick fireplace with a fire blazing

cheerfully and a few fellows sitting about reading and playing

checkers. Everybody looked as if they felt at home.

When he signed his name in the big register book the young woman behind

the desk who wore an overseas uniform glanced at his signature and then

looked up as if she were welcoming an old friend:

“There’s a telegram here for you,” she said pleasantly. “It came last

night and we tried to locate you at the camp but did not succeed. One

of our girls went over to camp this afternoon, but they said you were

gone on a furlough, so we hoped you would turn up.”

She handed over the telegram and he took it in wonder. Who would send

him a telegram? And here of all places! Why, how would anybody know he

would be here? He was so excited his crutch trembled under his arm as

he tore open the envelope and read:

“Dear Billy (It was a regular letter!):

“I am leaving to-night for New York. Will meet you at Salvation

Hostel day after to-morrow morning. What is a foot more or less?

Can’t I be hands and feet for you the rest of your life? I’m proud,

proud, proud of you!

Signed “Jean”

He found great tears coming into his eyes and his throat was full of

them, too. It didn’t matter if that Salvation Army lassie behind the

counter did see them roll down his cheeks. He didn’t care. She would

understand anyway, and he laughed out loud in his joy and relief, the

first joy, the first relief since he was hurt!

Some one else was coming in the door, another fellow maybe, but the

lassie opened a door in the desk and drew him behind the counter in a

shaded corner where no one would notice and brought him a cup of tea,

which she said was all they had around to eat just then. She didn’t pay

any attention to him till he got his equilibrium again.

She was the kind of woman one feels is a natural-born mother. In fact,

the fellows were always asking her wistfully: “May we call you Mother?”

Young enough to understand and enter into their joys and sorrows, yet

old enough to be wise and sweet and true. She mothered every boy that

came.

A sailor boy once asked if he might bring his girl to see her. He said

he wanted her to see her so she could tell his mother about her.

“But can’t you tell her about your girl?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, but I want you to tell her.” he said. “You see, whatever you

say mother’ll know is true.”

So presently she turned to this lonely boy and took him upstairs

through the pleasant upper room with its piano and games, its sun

parlor over the street, lined with trailing ferns, with cheery canaries

in swinging tasseled cages, who looked fully as happy and at home as

did the soldier boys who were sitting about comfortably reading. She

found him a room with only one other bunk in it. Nice white beds with

springs like air and mattresses like down. She showed him where the

shower-baths were, and with a kindly good-night left him. He almost

wanted to ask her to kiss him good-night, so much like his own mother

she seemed.

Before he got into that white bed he knelt beside it, all clean and

comfortable and happy like a little child that had wandered a long way

from home and got back again, and he told God he was sorry and ashamed

for all the way he had doubted, and sinned, and he wanted to live a new

life and be good. Then he lay down to sleep. To-morrow morning Jean

would be there. And she didn’t mind about the foot! She didn’t mind!

How wonderful!

And then he had a belated memory of the little Salvation Army lassie on

the wharf who had brought all this about, and he closed his eyes and

murmured out loud to the clean, white walls: “God bless her! Oh, God

bless her!”

This is only one of the many stories that might be told about the boys

who have been helped by the various activities of the Salvation Army,

both at home and abroad.

It would be well worth one’s while to visit their Brooklyn Hospital and

their New York Hospital and all their other wonderful institutions. In

several of them are many little children, some mere infants, belonging

to soldiers and sailors away in the war. In some instances the mother

is dead, or has to work. If she so desires she is given work in the

institution, which is like a real home, and allowed to be with her

child and care for it. Where both mother and father are dead the child

remains for six years or until a home elsewhere is provided for it.

Here the little ones are well cared for, not in the ordinary sense of

an institution, but as a child would be cared for in a home, with

beauty and love, and pleasure mingling with the food and shelter and

raiment that is usually supplied in an institution. These children are

prettily, though simply, dressed and not in uniform; with dainty bits

of color in hair ribbon, collar, necktie or frock; the babies have wee

pink and blue wool caps and sacks like any beloved little mites, they

ride around on Kiddie Cars, play with doll houses and have a fine

Kindergarten teacher to guide their young minds, and the best of

hospital service when they are ailing. But that is another story, and

there are yet many of them. If everybody could see the beautiful

life-size painting of Christ blessing the little children which is

painted right on the very wall and blended into the tinting, they could

better comprehend the spirit which pervades this lovely home.

The New York Hospital, which has just been rebuilt and refurnished with

all the latest appliances, is in charge of a devoted woman physician,

who has given her life to healing, and has at the head of its Board one

of the most noted surgeons in the city, who gives his services free,

and boasts that he enjoys it best of all his work. Here those of small

means or of no means at all, especially those belonging to soldiers and

sailors, may find healing of the wisest and most expert kind, in

cheery, airy, sanitary and beautiful rooms. But here, too, to

understand, one must see. Just a peep into one of those dainty white

rooms would rest a poor sick soul; just a glance at the room full of

tiny white basket cribs with dainty blue satin-bound blankets—real wool

blankets—and white spreads, would convince one.

And what one sees in New York in the line of such activities is

duplicated in most of the other large cities of the United States.

Not the least of the Salvation Army service for the returning soldiers

is the work that is done on the docks by the lassies meeting returning

troop ships. They send telegrams free, not C.O.D., for them, give the

men stamped postal cards, hunt up relatives, answer questions, and give

them chocolate while they wait for the inevitable roll call before they

can entrain. Often these girls will sit up half the night after having

met boats nearly all day, to get the telegrams all off that night. It

is interesting to note that on one single day, April 20th, 1919, the

Salvation Army Headquarters in New York sent 2900 such free telegrams

for returning soldiers.

The other day the father of a soldier came to Headquarters with an

anxious face, after a certain unit from overseas had returned. It was

the unit in which his boy had gone to France, but he had written saying

he was in the hospital without stating what was the matter or how

serious his wound. No further word had been received and the father and

mother were frenzied with grief. They had tried in every way to get

information but could find out nothing. The Salvation Army went to work

on the telephone and in a short time were able to locate the missing

boy in a Casual Company soon to return, and to report to his anxious

father that he was recovering rapidly.

Another soldier arrived in New York and sent a Salvation Army telegram

to his father and mother in California who had previously received

notification that he was dead. A telegram came back to the Salvation

Army almost at once from the West stating this fact and begging some

one to go to the camp where the boy’s Casual Company was located and

find out if he were really living. One of the girls from the office

went over to the Debarkation Hospital immediately and saw the boy, and

was able to telegraph to his parents that he was perfectly recovered

and only awaiting transportation to California. He was overjoyed to see

someone who had heard from his parents.

A portion of one troop ship had been reserved for soldiers having

influenza. These men were kept on board long after all the others had

left the ship. A Salvation Army worker seeing them with the white masks

over their faces went on board and served them with chocolate,

distributing post cards and telegraph blanks. When she was leaving the

ship a Captain said to her rather brusquely: “Don’t you realize that

you have done a foolish thing? Those men have influenza and your

serving them might mean your death!”

Looking up into the man’s eyes the Salvationist said: “I am ready to

die if God sees fit to call me.”

The officer laughed and told her that was the first time in his life he

had known anyone to say they were ready to die and would willingly

expose themselves to such a contagious disease.

“Aren’t you ready to die?” asked the girl. “Certainly not,” replied the

Captain. “Sometimes I think I am hardly fit to live, much less die.”

“Don’t you realize that there is a Power which can enable you to live

in such a way as to make you ready to die?”

“Oh, well, I don’t bother about going to church, in fact, I don’t

bother about religion at all, although I must say once or twice when I

was up the line over there I wished I did know something about

religion, that is, the kind that makes a fellow feel good about dying;

but I don’t want to go to church and go through all that business.”

“It is possible to accept Christ here and now on this very spot—on this

ship—if you’ll only believe,” said the girl wistfully.

The Captain could not help being interested and thoughtful. When she

left, after a little more talk he put out his hand and said:

“Thank you. You’ve done me more good than any sermon could have done

me, and believe me, I am going to pray and trust God to help me live a

different life.”

Sad things are seen on the docks at times when the ships come into

port, and the boys are coming home.

A soldier in a basket, with both arms and both legs gone and only one

eye, was being carried tenderly along.

“Why do you let him live?” asked one pityingly of the Commanding

Officer.

The gruff, kindly voice replied:

“You don’t know what life is. We don’t live through our arms and legs.

We live through our hearts.”

Some of our boys have learned out there amid shell fire to live through

their hearts.

One of these lying on a litter greeted the lassie from Indiana, just

come back to New York from France to meet the boys when they landed:

“Hello, Sister! _You here?_”

Her eyes filled with tears as she recognized one of her old friends of

the trenches, and noticed how helpless he was now, he who had been the

strongest of the strong. She murmured sympathetically some words of

attempted cheer:

“Oh, that’s all right, Sister,” he said, “I know they got me pretty

hard, but I don’t mind that. I’m not going to feel bad about it. I got

something better than arms and legs over in one of your little huts in

France. I found Jesus, and I’m going to live for Him. I wanted you to

know.”

A few days later she was talking with another boy just landed. She

asked him how it seemed to be home again, and to her surprise he turned

a sorrowful face to her:

“It’s the greatest disappointment of my life,” he said sadly, “the

folks here don’t understand. They all want to make me forget, and I

don’t want to forget what I learned out there. I saw life in a

different way and I knew I had wasted all the years. I want to live

differently now, and mother and her friends are just getting up dances

and theatre parties for me to help me to forget. They don’t

understand.”

Forty miles west of Chicago is Camp Grant and there the Salvation Army

has put up a hut just outside of the camp.

During the days when the boys were being sent to France, and were under

quarantine, unable to go out, no one was allowed to come in and there

was great distress. Mothers and sisters and friends could get no

opportunity to see them for farewells.

The Salvation officer in charge suggested to the military authorities

that the Salvation Army hut be the clearing place for relatives, and

that he would come in his machine and bring the boys to the hut, taking

them back again afterwards, that they might have a few hours with their

friends before leaving for France.

This offer was readily accepted by the authorities, and so it was made

possible for hundreds and hundreds of mothers to get a last talk with

their boys before they left, some of them forever.

One day a young man came to the Salvation Army officer and told him

that his regiment was to depart that night and that he was in great

distress about his wife who on her way to see him had been caught in a

railroad wreck, and later taken on her way by a rescue train. “I think

she is in Rockford somewhere,” he said anxiously, “but I don’t know

where, and I have to leave in three hours!”

The Ensign was ready with his help at once. He took the young soldier

in his car to Rockford, seven miles away, and they went from hotel to

hotel seeking in vain for any trace of the wife. Then suddenly as they

were driving along the street wondering what to try next the young

soldier exclaimed: “There she is!” And there she was, walking along the

street!

The two had a blessed two hours together before the soldier had to

leave. But it was all in the day’s work for the Salvation Army man, for

his main object in life is to help someone, and he never minds how much

he puts himself out. It is always reward enough for him to have

succeeded in bringing comfort to another.

One of the Salvation Army Ensigns who was assigned to work at Camp

Grant hut had been an all-round athlete before he joined the Salvation

Army, a boxer and wrestler of no mean order.

The fame of the Ensign went abroad and the doctor at the Base Hospital

asked him to take charge of athletics in the hospital. He was also

appointed regularly as chaplain in the hospital. Every day he drilled

the five hundred women nurses in gymnastics, and put the men attendants

and as many of the patients as were able through a set of exercises.

Thus mingling his religion with his athletics he became a great power

among the men in the hospital.

The Salvation Army asked the hospital if there was anything they could

do for the wounded men. The reply was, that there were eighty wards and

not a graphophone in one of them, nothing to amuse the boys. The need

was promptly filled by the Salvation Army which supplied a number of

graphophones and a piano. Then, discovering that the nurses who were

getting only a very small cash allowance out of which they had to

furnish their uniforms, were short of shoes, the indefatigable good

Samaritan produced a thousand dollars to buy new shoes for them. The

Salvation Army has always been doing things like that.

The Salvation Army built many huts, locating them wherever there was

need among the camps. They have a hut at Camp Grant, one at Camp

Funston, one at Camp Travis, San Antonio, one at Camp Logan, Houston,

Texas, one at Camp Bowie, Fort Worth, one at Camp Cody, Deming, New

Mexico, one at Camp Lewis, Tacoma, a Soldiers’ Club at Des Moines, a

Soldiers’ Club with Sitting Room, Dining Room, and rooms for a hundred

soldiers just opened at Chicago. There is a charge of twenty-five cents

a night and twenty-five cents a meal for such as have money. No charge

for those who have no money. There is such a Soldiers’ Club at St.

Louis, Kansas City, St. Paul and Minneapolis. All of these places at

the camps have accommodations for women relatives to visit the

soldiers, and all of the rooms are always full to the limit.

In Des Moines the Army has an interesting institution which grew out of

a great need.

The Federal authorities have placed a Woman’s Protective Agency in all

Camp towns. At Des Moines the woman representative of the Federal

Government sent word to the Salvation Army that she wished they would

help her. She said she had found so many young girls between the ages

of fourteen and sixteen who were being led into an immoral life through

the soldiers, and she wished the Salvation Army would open a home to

take care of such girls.

With their usual swiftness to come to the rescue the Salvation Army

opened such a home. The Brigadier up in Chicago gave up his valued

private secretary, a lovely young girl only twenty-four years old, to

be at the head of this home. It may seem a pretty big undertaking for

so young a girl, but these Salvation Army girls are brought up to be

wonderfully wise and sweet beyond others, and if you could look into

her beautiful eyes you would have an understanding of the consecration

and strength of character that has made it possible for her to do this

work with marvellous success, and reach the hearts and turn the lives

of these many young girls who have come under her influence in this

way. In her work she deals with the individual, always giving immediate

relief for any need, always pointing the way straight and direct to a

better life. The young girls are kept in the home for a week or more

until some near relative can be sent for, or longer, until a home and

work can be found for them. Every case is dealt with on its own merits;

and many young girls have had their feet set upon the right road, and a

new purpose in life given to them with new ideals, from the young

Christian girl whom they easily love and trust.

So great has been the success of the Salvation Army hut and women’s

hostel at Camp Lewis that the United States Government has asked the

Salvation Army to put up a hundred thousand dollar hotel at that camp

which is located twenty miles out of Tacoma. The Salvation Army hut at

this place was recently inspected by Secretary of War Baker and Chief

of Staff who highly complimented the Salvationists on the good work

being done.

A Christmas box was sent by the Salvation Army to each soldier in every

camp and hospital throughout the West. Each box contained an orange, an

apple, two pounds of nuts, one pound of raisins, one pound of salted

peanuts, one package of figs, two handkerchiefs in sealed packets, one

book of stamps, a package of writing paper, a New Testament, and a

Christmas letter from the Commissioner at Headquarters in Chicago.

No Officer in the Salvation Army has been more successful in ingenious

efforts to further all activities connected with the work than

Commissioner Estill in command of the Western forces. He is an

indefatigable and tireless worker, is greatly beloved, and his efforts

have met with exceptional success.

It was a new manager who had taken hold of the affairs of the Salvation

Army Hostel in a certain city that morning and was establishing family

prayers. A visitor, waiting to see someone, sat in an alcove listening.

There in the long beautiful living-room of the Hostel sat a little

audience, two black women-the cooks-several women in neat aprons and

caps as if they had come in from their work, a soldier who had been

reading the morning paper and who quietly laid it aside when the Bible

reading began, a sailor who tiptoed up the two low steps from the café

beyond the living-room where he had been having his morning coffee and

doughnuts—the young clerk from behind the office desk. They all sat

quiet, respectful, as if accorded a sudden, unexpected privilege.

[Illustration: Thomas Estill Commissioner of the Western Forces]

[Illustration: The hut at Camp Lewis]

The reading was a few well-chosen verses about Moses in the mount of

vision and somehow seemed to have a strange quieting influence and

carried a weight of reality read thus in the beginning of a busy day’s

work.

The reader closed the book and quite familiarly, not at all pompously,

he said with a pleasant smile that this was a lesson for all of them.

Each one should have his vision for the day. The cook should have a

vision as she made the doughnuts—and he called her by her name—to make

them just as well as they could be made; and the women who made the

beds should have a vision of how they could make the beds smooth and

soft and fine to rest weary comers; and those who cleaned must have a

vision to make the house quite pure and sweet so that it would be a

home for the boys who came there; the clerk at the desk should have a

vision to make the boys comfortable and give them a welcome; and

everyone should have a vision of how to do his work in the best way, so

that all who came there for a day or a night or longer should have a

vision when they left that God was ruling in that place and that

everything was being done for His praise.

Just a few simple words bringing the little family of workers into

touch with the Divine and giving them a glimpse of the great plan of

laboring with God where no work is menial, and nothing too small to be

worth doing for the love of Christ. Then the little company dropped

upon their knees, and the earnest voice took up a prayer which was more

an intimate word with a trusted beloved Companion; and they all arose

to go about that work of theirs with new zest and—a vision!

In her alcove out of sight the visitor found refreshment for her own

soul, and a vision also.

This is the secret of this wonderful work that these people do in

France, in the cities, everywhere; they have a vision! They have been

upon the Mountain with God and they have not forgotten the injunction:

“See that thou do all things according to the pattern given thee in the

Mount”

But the stories multiply and my space is drawing to a close. I am

minded to say reverently in words of old:

“And there are also many other things which these disciples of Jesus

did, the which if they should be written every one, I suppose that even

the world itself could not contain the books that should be written;”

but are they not graven in the hearts of men who found the Christ on

the battlefield or the hospital cot, or in the dim candle-lit hut,

through these dear followers of His?

XII.

Letters of Appreciation

My Dear Miss Booth:

You may be sure that your telegram of November fifteenth warmed my

heart and brought me very real cheer and encouragement. It is a message

of just the sort that one needs in these trying times, and I hope that

you will express to your associates my profound appreciation and my

entire confidence in their loyalty, their patriotism, and their

enthusiasm for the great work they are doing.

Cordially and sincerely yours,

Woodrow Wilson.

Nov. 30,1917.

My Dear Miss Booth:

I am very much interested to hear of the campaign the Salvation Army

has undertaken for money to sustain its war activities, and want to

take the opportunity to express my admiration for the work that it has

done and my sincere hope that it may be fully sustained.

(Signed) Woodrow Wilson.

The President of the United States of America.

Commander Evangeline Booth,

Paris, 7 April, 1919.

122 W. 14th Street, New York, U.S.A.

I am very much interested to know that the Salvation Army is about to

enter into a campaign for a sustaining fund.

I feel that the Salvation Army needs no commendation from me. The love

and gratitude it has elicited from the troops is a sufficient evidence

of the work it has done and I feel that I should not so much commend as

congratulate it.

Cordially and sincerely yours,

Woodrow Wilson.

British Delegation, Paris, 8th April, 1919.

Dear Madam:

I have very great pleasure in sending you this letter to say how highly

I think of the great work which has been done by the Salvation Army

amongst the Allied Armies in France and the other theatres of war. From

all sides I hear the most glowing accounts of the way in which your

people have added to the comfort and welfare of our soldiers. To me it

has always been a great joy to think how much the sufferings and

hardships endured by our troops in all parts of the world have been

lessened by the self-sacrifice and devotion shown to them by that

excellent organization, the Salvation Army.

Yours faithfully,

W. Lloyd George.

General J. J. Pershing, France.

The Salvation Army of America will never cease to hail you with devoted

affection and admiration for your valiant leadership of your valiant

army. You have rushed the advent of the world’s greatest peace, and all

men honor you. To God be all the glory!

Commander Evangeline Booth.

Commander Evangeline Booth, New York City.

“Many thanks for your cordial cable. The American Expeditionary Forces

thank you for all your noble work that the Salvation Army has done for

them from the beginning.”

General Pershing.

With deep feeling of gratitude for the enormous contribution which the

Salvation Army has made to the moral and physical welfare of this

expedition all ranks join me in sending heartiest Christmas greetings

and cordial best wishes for the New Year.

(Signed) Pershing.

Salvation, New York.

Paris, April 22, 1919.

The following cable received, Colonel William S. Barker, Director of

the Salvation Army, Paris: My dear Colonel Barker—I wish to express to

you my sincere appreciation, and that of all members of the American

Expeditionary Forces, for the splendid services rendered by the

Salvation Army to the American Army in France. You first submitted your

plans to me in the summer of 1917, and before the end of that year you

had a number of Huts in operation in the Training Area of the First

Division, and a group of devoted men and women who laid the foundation

for the affectionate regard in which the workers of your organization

have always been held by the American soldiers. The outstanding

features of the work of the Salvation Army have been its disposition to

push its activities as far as possible to the Front, and the trained

and experienced character of its workers whose one thought was the

well-being of its soldiers they came to serve. While the maintenance of

these standards has necessarily kept your work within narrow bounds as

compared to some of the other welfare agencies, it has resulted in a

degree of excellence and self-sacrifice in the work performed which has

been second to none. It has endeared your organization and its

individual men and women workers to all those Divisions and other units

to which they have been attached and has published their good name to

every part of the American Expeditionary forces. Please accept this

letter as a personal message to each one of your workers. Very

sincerely,

John J. Pershing.

Marshal Foch, Paris, France:

Your brilliant armies, under blessing of God, have triumphed. The

Salvation Army of America exults with war-worn but invincible France.

We must consolidate for God of Peace all the good your valor has

secured. Commander Evangeline Booth.

Western Union cablegram

WESTERN UNION

ANGLO-AMERICAN DIRECT UNITED STATES

CABLEGRAM

34 Broadway N.Y.

Received at 16 BROAD STREET, NEW YORK

193 F8 PZ FRANCE 31

EVANGELINE BOOTH

COMMANDER SALVATION ARMY

IN AMERICA NEW YORK