"BACK FROM HELL"
[Illustration: SAMUEL CRANSTON BENSON
Who went to the war, a pacifist, but returned a fighting American.]
"Back From Hell"
BY
SAMUEL CRANSTON BENSON
_Illustrated_
[Illustration: Logo]
CHICAGO
A. C. MCCLURG & CO.
1918
Copyright
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1918
Published September, 1918
_Copyrighted in Great Britain_
W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO
Dedicated
to
My Wife
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Former Pacifist 1
II Red Tape in Traveling 9
III How I Got into the Service 15
IV A Unit in Its Infancy 20
V The Northwest Front--Mud! 25
VI A Weird Night 30
VII The Red Cross 36
VIII When France Was First "Gassed" 42
IX When Jacques "Went West" 47
X "Trench Nightmare" 51
XI Calm Before a Storm 56
XII If an Ambulance Could Speak 60
XIII A Ticklish Attack 64
XIV The Death of a Comrade 67
XV On an Old Battle Ground 74
XVI The Verdun Attack--Life and Death 79
XVII Barrage, or Curtain Fire 93
XVIII The Ragpicker 106
XIX Camouflage 112
XX The Heroism of the Wounded 116
XXI The Treacherous "German Souvenir" 123
XXII The Nigger's Nose 128
XXIII Getting By the Consuls 132
XXIV A Close Shave 145
XXV Meeting Brand Whitlock 148
XXVI My Maps of Belgium 151
XXVII The "Cat and Mouse" Game 156
XXVIII Shadowed at Liége 159
XXIX Results of "Frightfulness" 163
XXX My Mental Processes 168
XXXI A Night in Louvain 174
XXXII Ruin and Death 178
XXXIII In the Palace of the King 187
XXXIV The Kaiser's Envy 190
XXXV Caught by the Huns and Tried as a Spy 196
XXXVI Threatened with Crucifixion 204
XXXVII My Escape and Return to Good Old France 210
XXXVIII No Man's Land 215
XXXIX Jean and "Frenchie" 223
XL The Psychology of France 228
XLI The Contagious Spirit of Sacrifice 233
XLII The Heritage of Hate 238
XLIII "Back From Hell" 243
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Samuel Cranston Benson _Frontispiece_
American Ambulance Headquarters, Neuilly, France 22
Ambulance Ready to Leave for the Front 22
An American Woman Caring for a Little Wounded
French Child 38
An American Ambulance Ready for Duty 60
American Ambulances on the Road to the Front 80
Allied Troops Charging Through Barbed-Wire
Entanglements 102
A Dressing Station Set Up on Newly Captured
Ground 120
A Hurry Call 134
"Jumbo," the Biggest Ambulance on the Western
Front 134
The Burning of a French Field Hospital 170
Ambulance Men Working Over a "Gassed" Soldier 225
Destruction of a French Hospital by a German Bomb 238
American Hospital at Neuilly Transferred to General
Pershing 246
"Back From Hell"
CHAPTER I
A FORMER PACIFIST
When the old _Chicago_ cut loose from her moorings in an Atlantic port
it was a red letter day for me. She was a good sized craft, of the
French Line, and was to carry a lot of other Americans, besides myself,
from the United States to France. We were all in a spirit of expectancy,
mingled perhaps with sadness, for we were going over to see and have a
hand in the most stupendous event of history, the Great War. Although
many different motives actuated us, our destination was the same, and
all of us would soon be within striking distance of the scene of action.
Some of those on board were going primarily from a sense of duty and
gratitude to the great European Republic, whose men had come over here
in '76 to help America kick off the chains which George III had welded
on her ankles, and secondarily, because they wanted to kill a few of the
Germans whom they right well hated.
Others were going, and made no bones about saying so, because they were
natural born soldiers of fortune and were inclined to go anywhere that
action and excitement were likely to be found. A few were to be mere
onlookers who were crossing the sea as students of a great world
movement, who, from an economic or social point of view, would tabulate
in a cold and matter-of-course way, the facts which they observed and
the conclusions to which they came.
I belonged to neither of these classes. I was an innocent idealist,
though soon, alas, to be disillusioned. I had resigned a comfortable
pastorate in order to go over and, as I conceived of it, relieve the
pain and soothe the fevered brow of those who were in suffering,
irrespective of whether they were Allies or Germans, and thus help usher
in a world Utopia.
I had always taken myself rather too seriously at home, and thought I
was a broad-visioned person whose universality of mind elevated me to a
position where I could see beyond provincial boundary lines, and
overlook such things as race and creed and national ideals, thinking of
all men as made in the image of God, and all destined for one great goal
which was the Brotherhood of Man, where all would be happy, and each
would deal justly and kindly with his neighbor.
It is a natural tendency, I suppose, of most ministers to be optimistic
about the ultimate outcome of the human race, and I was one of this
class. I had buttoned my long frock coat close about my collar and
rubbed my hands in that familiar, good-natured way, saying that sometime
national prejudices would be wiped out and the people of the various
countries would come to see each other's viewpoints, and then their
differences would vanish away. I hadn't yet seen the German at his
worst. The time would come, I thought, when all would fraternize as God
intended that they should and this wicked rivalry and jealousy would
cease.
It seemed to me that even my fellow-Americans, along with the French and
other nations, were too narrow in their views of things, and that, they
were equally guilty with the Germans in failing or refusing to
understand the minds of other people. The men who had urged intervention
in Mexico and intervention in Europe, I took it, were men who were
engaged in manufacturing munitions, or who were directly interested in
war from a business point of view. They wanted dollars. A part of my
philosophy was that God would bring about a settlement of all these
conflicts in His own good time, and we need not worry about it. Another
part of my philosophy, so it happened, was pacifism. I was a great
admirer of William Jennings Bryan, and I thought his peace teaching
was--well--great stuff! I had interpreted the life and teaching of Jesus
as being unalterably opposed to violence of any kind. No matter what the
circumstance, bloodshed could not be justified. "Resist not evil" was
His ideal and, therefore, it should be mine also, and as I look at it
now, I guess I went even further than He did, in my theories at any
rate. For He did use violence occasionally, when it was necessary.
"If a man smite thee on one cheek, turn the other also," was my motto,
and I did not believe in striking back. Tolstoi, with his doctrine of
nonresistance, from whom Mr. Bryan received large influence, as he once
told me, was my ideal man, and the only real Christian since Jesus.
I had also said there would never be another war; a war of any size. I
knew, of course, that there had always been crusades in history, and
even the most religious people had killed each other by thousands, and
had often made the claim that God had told them to do so, but I
considered them to have been misguided fanatics of an outgrown age who
may have thought they were doing right, but who were in reality
committing murder and breaking God's great law.
My father had also been a minister, and he was so meek and peaceful that
he held one pastorate for a quarter of a century, a thing which, by the
way, I doubt if I shall ever do! He was inclined to be a bit pessimistic
and to lament the heartless struggle which takes place all through
nature and human life, and he was extremely pacific. I inherited the
same traits. My mother also had been a peace-loving woman, but she
believed in justice, and I think I inherited from her my aggressive
disposition. I was such a pacifist that I was militant in it and
sometimes alienated even my admirers by my doctrine.
However, after Europe went to war I could see the storm gathering in the
United States, and I looked upon it with feelings of fear and
foreboding. I was down in the depths. I felt that "over there" they were
already, and over here it was likely that we soon would be violating
God's commandment,
"THOU SHALT NOT KILL."
I did not believe in killing. I had lectured with David Starr Jordan and
spoken with Mr. Bryan. I hated war. As a minister of the gospel my
natural inclination was to preach gentle forgiveness and tender mercy,
and how I did preach it! I was for peace at any price. I preached peace
in my church and I preached it on the street. I even went so far as to
rent halls and denounce the doctrine of military preparedness as a
dangerous and vicious propaganda.
I declared with all my power that America ought to keep herself out of
this war and that she ought to suffer any indignity rather than take up
the sword and slay other people. I said that was murder. While not
approving of the sinking of the merchant ships, yet I said that those
people who traveled on belligerent vessels did so at their own risk and
that the United States ought not to bring blood upon her hands because
others had done so. I had no antipathy toward the German people. I liked
them. I had shown this by studying German in college as my only foreign
language. I joined the "Deutscher Verein" as my only fraternity, and
when I went abroad to study, it was a German university that I sought.
I knew of course that Germany's military system was a despotic one and
that her own people were virtually slaves to the government. But above
all I cried "Peace for the United States!" So when I resigned my pulpit
in Patton, Pa., and told my congregation that I was going to the scene
of war in Belgium, they were astonished beyond measure. I hastened to
reassure them, however, that the purpose of my going was not to fight,
but rather to relieve distress and carry in the wounded. I had felt a
call to take up this task, and at this they became somewhat more
reconciled. So in a few weeks' time I was on my way.
When I embarked upon that great ship in New York I was alone. And I want
to tell you if you have never gone down the long pier and walked in
solitude up the gangplank of a transatlantic liner you cannot imagine
the feeling of loneliness I had. Especially strong was this feeling
because that ship was to take me to the hell of a world war and I did
not know to what else. As we put off and glided down by that old Statue
of Liberty, leaving it in the distance, I began to cry, for I didn't
know whether I should ever see it again. It seemed as if I had said
good-bye to my last friend. Many of the people aboard were foreigners
and I suppose I looked a pathetic figure as I stood there. I know I felt
like one.
That night the lights were doused and we began to realize that things
were serious. When great ships sail in darkness there is something
wrong. The ensuing voyage lasted ten days and when I was not walking the
decks those days I used to lie in my berth and look out the porthole and
often wonder what was ahead for me.
After a week and a half on the ocean we finally landed on the coast of
France. Meanwhile I had made several acquaintances, mainly with French
people, and I had begun to think I had learned their language. A rude
awakening was in store for me before I had been in France an hour!