diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:52:30 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:52:30 -0700 |
| commit | b64f6ca8b752b1bdf0ee67b96ac6ddcd1800d574 (patch) | |
| tree | 9bded57448a40c088f4138bc3771c1e8fcee3b39 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-8.txt | 4112 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 77177 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 400888 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-h/18078-h.htm | 5744 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-h/images/img-022.jpg | bin | 0 -> 42369 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-h/images/img-078.jpg | bin | 0 -> 37889 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-h/images/img-088.jpg | bin | 0 -> 39657 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-h/images/img-104.jpg | bin | 0 -> 42502 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-h/images/img-142.jpg | bin | 0 -> 39618 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-h/images/img-178.jpg | bin | 0 -> 38341 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-h/images/img-202.jpg | bin | 0 -> 38847 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078-h/images/img-front.jpg | bin | 0 -> 40546 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078.txt | 4112 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 18078.zip | bin | 0 -> 77164 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
17 files changed, 13984 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18078-8.txt b/18078-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..159f60e --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4112 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Soldier Silhouettes on our Front, by William +L. Stidger, Illustrated by Jessie Gillespie + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Soldier Silhouettes on our Front + + +Author: William L. Stidger + + + +Release Date: March 30, 2006 [eBook #18078] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLDIER SILHOUETTES ON OUR FRONT*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 18078-h.htm or 18078-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/7/18078/18078-h/18078-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/7/18078/18078-h.zip) + + + + + +SOLDIER SILHOUETTES ON OUR FRONT + +by + +WILLIAM L. STIDGER + +Y. M. C. A. Worker with the A. E. F. + +Illustrated by Jessie Gillespie + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as +mine?"] + + + + +New York +Charles Scribner's Sons +1918 +Copyright, 1918, by Charles Scribner's Sons +Published October, 1918 + + + + +TO + +DOCTOR ROBERT FREEMAN + + + PIONEER RELIGIOUS WORK DIRECTOR + OF THE Y. M. C. A. + + + AND THE HUNDREDS OF PREACHER-SECRETARIES + WHO ARE SERVING SO BRAVELY AND EFFICIENTLY + ON THE CRUSADE OF SERVICE IN FRANCE + AND TO THE CHURCHES THAT SENT THEM + + + + +FOREWORD + +Some human experiences that one has in France stand out like the +silhouettes of mountain peaks against a crimson sunset. I have tried +in this book to set down some of those experiences. I have had but one +object in so doing, and that object has been to give the father and +mother, the brother and sister, the wife and child and friend of the +boys "Over There" an accurate heart-picture. I have not attempted the +too great task of showing the soul of the soldier, although I have +tried to picture him at some of his great moments when he forgets +himself and rises to glorious heights, just as he might do at home if +the opportunity called. + +I have tried to show his experiences on the transports, when he lands +in France, his welcome there, the reactions of the trench life; +something of his self-sacrifice, his willingness to serve even unto the +end; his courage, his sunshine. I have also given some other pictures +of France that aim to show his heart-relations to his allies and to the +folks at home. + +If I have done this, sufficient shall be my reward. + + + + +CONTENTS + + I. SILHOUETTES OF SONG + II. SHIP SILHOUETTES + III. SILHOUETTES OF SACRIFICE + IV. SILHOUETTES SPIRITUAL + V. SILHOUETTES OF SACRILEGE + VI. SILHOUETTES OF SILENCE + VII. SILHOUETTES OF SERVICE + VIII. SILHOUETTES OF SORROW + IX. SILHOUETTES OF SUFFERING + X. SOLDIER SILHOUETTES + XI. SKY SILHOUETTES + XII. THE LIGHTS OF WAR + XIII. SILHOUETTES OF SUNSHINE + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"_Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as + mine?_" . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ + +"_What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman + shouted to me_ + +_The upturned roots of an old tree were just in front_ + +"_The last seen of Dale he was gathering together a + crowd of little children_" + +"_The boys call her 'The Woman with Sandwiches + and Sympathy'_" + +_What was the difference? He had gotten a letter_ + +_One night I had the privilege of seeing a plane caught + by the search-light_ + +_The air-raid had not dampened her sense of humor_ + + + + +I + +SILHOUETTES OF SONG + +The great transport was cutting its sturdy way through three dangers: +the submarine zone, a terrific storm beating from the west against its +prow, and a night as dark as Erebus because of the storm, with no +lights showing. + +I had the midnight-to-four-o'clock-in-the-morning "watch" and on this +night I was on the "aft fire-control." Below me on the aft gun-deck, +as the rain pounded, the wind howled, and the ship lurched to and fro, +I could see the bulky forms of the boy gunners. There were two to each +gun, two standing by, with telephone pieces to their ears, and six +sleeping on the deck, ready for any emergency. The greatcoats made +them look like gaunt men of the sea as they huddled against their guns, +watching, waiting. I wondered what they could see in that impenetrable +darkness, if a U-boat could even survive in that storm; but Uncle Sam +never sleeps in these days, and this transport was especially worth +watching, for it carried a precious cargo of wounded officers and men +back to the homeland, west bound. + +For an hour I had heard no sound from the boys on the gun-deck below +me. When I was on watch in the daylight I knew them to be just a great +crowd of fine, buoyant, happy American lads, full of pranks and play +and laughter, but they were strangely silent to-night as the ship +ploughed through the storm. The storm seemed to have made men of them. +They were just boys, but American boys in these days become men +overnight, and acquit themselves like men. + +I watched their silent forms below me with a great feeling of +wonderment and pride. The ship lurched as it swung in its zigzag +course. Then suddenly I heard a sweet sound coming from one of the +boys below me. I think that it was big, raw-boned "Montana" who +started it. It was low at first and, with the storm and the vibrations +of the ship, I could not catch the words. The music was strangely +familiar to me. Then the boy on the port gun beside "Montana" took the +old hymn up, and then the two reserve gunners who were standing by, and +then the gunners on the starboard side, and I caught the old words of: + + "Jesus, Saviour, pilot me + Over life's tempestuous sea; + Unknown waves before me roll + Hiding rock and treacherous shoal; + Chart and compass came from Thee; + Jesus, Saviour, pilot me." + + +Above the creaking and the vibrations of the great ship, above the +beating of the storm, the gunners on the deck below, all unconsciously, +in that storm-tossed night were singing the old hymn of their memories, +and I think that I never heard that wonderful hymn when it sounded +sweeter to me than it did then, as the second verse came sweetly from +the lips and hearts of those gunners: + + "As a mother stills her child + Thou canst hush the ocean wild; + Boistrous waves obey Thy will + When Thou sayst to them, 'Be still.' + Wondrous Sovereign of the sea, + Jesus, Saviour, pilot me." + + +We hear a good deal of how our boys sing "Hail! Hail! The Gang's All +Here" and "Where Do We Go From Here, Boys?" as a ship is sinking. I +know American soldiers pretty well. I do not know what they sang when +the _Tuscania_ went down, but I am glad to add my picture to the other +and to say that I for one heard a crowd of American gunners singing +"Jesus, Saviour, Pilot Me Over Life's Tempestuous Sea." The mothers +and fathers of America must know that the average American boy will +have the lighter songs at the end of his lips, but buried down deep in +his heart there is a feeling of reverence for the old hymns, and +whether he sings them aloud or not they are there singing in his heart; +and sometimes, under circumstances such as I have described, he sings +them aloud in the darkness and the storm. + +If you do not believe this because you have been told so often by +magazine correspondents, who see only the surface things, that all the +boys sing is ragtime, let Bishop McConnell, of the Methodist Episcopal +Church, tell you of that Sunday evening when, at the invitation of +General Byng, he addressed, under the auspices of the Y. M. C. A., a +great regiment of the Scottish Guards. That night, in a +shell-destroyed stone theatre, he spoke to them on "How Men Die." In a +week from that night more than two-thirds of them had been killed. +When Bishop McConnell asked them what they would like to sing, this +great crowd of sturdy, bare-kneed soldiers of democracy, who had borne +the brunt of battle for three years, asked for "O God, Our Help in Ages +Past." + +Yes, I know that the boys sing the rag-time, but this must not be the +only side of the picture. They sing the old hymns, too, and memories +of nights "down the line," when I have heard them in small groups and +in great crowds singing the old, old hymns of the church, have burned +their silhouettes into my memory never to die. + +One night I remember being stopped by a sentry at "Dead Man's Curve," +because the Boche was shelling the curve that night, and we had to stop +until he "laid off," as the sentry told us. Between shells there was a +great stillness on the white road that lay like a silver thread under +the moonlight. The shattered stone buildings, with a great cathedral +tower standing like a gaunt ghost above the ruins, were tragically +beautiful under that mellow light. One almost forgot there was war +under the charm of that scene until "plunk! plunk! plunk!" the big +shells fell from time to time. But the thing that impressed me most +that waiting hour was not the beauty of the village under the +moonlight, but the fact that the lone sentry who had stopped us, and +who amid the shelling stood silently, was unconsciously singing an old +hymn of the church, "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me." I got down from my +truck and walked over to where he was standing. + +"Great old hymn, isn't it, lad?" + +"I'll say so," was his laconic reply. + +"Belong to some church back home?" I asked him. + +"Folks do; Presbyterians," he replied. + +"Like the old hymns?" I asked. + +"Yes, it seems like home to sing 'em." + +I didn't get to talk with him for a few minutes, for he had to stop +another truck. Then he came back. + +"Folks at home, Sis and Bill and the kid, mother and father, used to +gather around the piano every Sunday evening and sing 'em. Didn't +think much of them then, but liked to sing. But they mean a lot to me +over here, especially when I'm on guard at nights on this 'Dead Man's +Curve.' Seems like they make me stronger." As I walked away I still +heard him humming "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me." + +One of the most vivid song silhouettes that I remember is that of a +great crowd of negroes singing in a Y. M. C. A. hut. There must have +been a thousand of them. I was to speak to them on "Lincoln Day." I +remember how their white teeth shone through the semidarkness of that +candle-lighted hut, and how their eyes gleamed, and how their bodies +swayed as they sang the old plantation melodies. + +The first song startled me with the universality of its simple +expression. It was an adaptation of that old melody which the negroes +have sung for years, "It's the Old-Time Religion." + +A boy down front led the singing. A curt "Sam, set up a tune," from +the Tuskegee colored secretary started it. + +This boy sat with his back to the audience. He didn't even turn around +to face them. Low and sweetly he started singing. You could hardly +hear him at first. Then a few boys near him took up the music. Then a +few more. Then it gradually swept back over that crowd of men until +every single negro was swaying to that simple music, and then it was +that I caught the almost startlingly appropriate words: + + "It is good for a world in trouble; + It is good for a world in trouble; + It is good for a world in trouble; + And it's good enough for me. + + It's the old-time religion; + It's the old-time religion; + It's the old-time religion; + And it's good enough for me. + + It was good for my old mother; + It was good for my old mother; + It was good for my old mother; + And it's good enough for me." + + +Then much to my astonishment they did something that I have since +learned is the very way that these songs grew from the beginning. They +extemporized a verse for the day, and they did it on the spot. I made +absolutely certain of that by careful investigation. They sang this +extra verse: + + "It was good for ole Abe Lincoln; + It was good for ole Abe Lincoln; + It was good for ole Abe Lincoln; + And it's good enough for me." + + +"That first verse, 'It is good for a world in trouble,' is certainly a +most appropriate one for these times in France," I said aside to the +secretary. + +"Yes," he replied; "if ever this pore ole worl' needed the sustainin' +power of the religion of the Christ, it does now; an' if ever this pore +ole worl' was in trouble, that time suttinly is right now," he added +with fervor. + +And now I can never think of the world, nor of the folks back here at +home, nor of the millions of our boys over there that I do not hear the +sweet voices of that crowd of negroes singing reverently and fervently: + + "It is good for a world in trouble; + It is good for a world in trouble; + It is good for a world in trouble; + And it's good enough for me." + + +Another Silhouette of Song that stands out against the background of +memory is that of a hymn that I heard in Doctor Charles Jefferson's +church just before I sailed for France. I was lonely. I walked into +that great city church a stranger, as thousands of boys who have sailed +from New York have done. I never remember to have been so unutterably +lonely and homesick. It was cold in the city, and I was alone. I +turned to a church. Thousands of boys have done the same, may the +mothers and fathers of America know, and they have found comfort. If +the parents of this great nation could know how well their boys are +guarded and cared for in New York City before they sail, they would +have a feeling of comfort. + +I sat down in this great church. I was thinking more of other Sabbath +mornings at home, with my wife and baby, than anything else. A hymn +was announced. I stood up mechanically, but there was no song in my +throat. There was a great lump of loneliness only. But suddenly I +listened to the words they were singing. Had they selected that hymn +just for me? It seemed so. It so answered the loneliness in my heart +with comfort and quiet. That great congregation was singing: + + "Peace, perfect peace; + With loved ones far away; + In Jesus' keeping, we are safe; and they." + + +A great sense of peace settled over my heart, and I have quoted that +old hymn all over France to the boys, and they have been comforted. +Many a boy has asked me to write him a copy of that verse to stick in +his note-book. It seemed to give a sense of comfort to the lads, for +their loved ones, too, were "far away," and since I have come home I +find that this, too, comes as a great comfort hymn to those who are +here lonely for their boys "over there." + +And who shall forget the silhouette of approaching the shores of France +by night as they have sailed down along the coast, cautiously and +carefully, to find the opening of the submarine nets? Who shall forget +the sense of exhilaration that the news that land was near brought? +Who shall forget the crowding to the railings by all on board to scan +anxiously through the night for the first sight of land? Then who +shall forget seeing that first light from shore flash out through the +darkness of night? Who shall forget the red and green and white lights +that began to twinkle, and gleam, and flash, and signal, and call? How +beautiful those lights looked after the long, dangerous, eventful, and +dark voyage, without a single light showing on the ship! And who shall +forget the man along the railing who said, "I never knew before the +meaning of that old song, 'The Lights Along the Shore'"? And then, who +can forget the fact that suddenly somebody started to sing that old +hymn, "The Lights Along the Shore," and of how it swept along the lower +decks, and then to the upper decks, until a whole ship-load of people +was singing it? And then who shall forget how somebody else started +"Let the Lower Lights Be Burning"? Can such scenes ever be obliterated +from one's memory? No, not forever. That silhouette remains eternally! + +Five great transports were in. They were lined up along the docks in +the locks. A Y. M. C. A. secretary was standing on the docks yelling +up a word of welcome to the crowded railings of the great transports. +The boats were not "cleared" as yet. It would take an hour, and the +secretary knew that something must be done, so he started to lead first +one ship and then another in singing. + +"What shall we sing, boys?" he would shout up to them from the docks +below. Some fellow from the railing yelled, "Keep the Home Fires +Burning," and that fine song rang out from five thousand throats. I +have heard it sung in the camps at home, I have heard it sung in great +huts in France, but I never heard it when it sounded so significant and +so sweet in its mighty volume as it sounded coming from that great +khaki-lined transport, which had just landed an hour before in France. +I stood beside the song-leader there on the docks looking up at that +great mass of American humanity, a hundred feet above us, so far away +that we could not recognize individual faces, on the high decks of one +of the largest ships that sails the seas, and as that sweet song of war +swept out over the docks and across the white town, and back across the +Atlantic, I said to myself: "That volume sounds as if it could make +itself heard back home." + +The man beside me said: "The folks back home hear it all right, for +they are eagerly listening for every sound that comes from that crowd +of boys. Yes, the folks back home hear it, and they'll 'keep the home +fires burning' all right. God bless them!" + +The last Silhouette of Song stands out against a background of green +trees and spring, and the odor of a hospital, and Red Cross nurses +going and coming, and boys lying in white robes everywhere. My friend +the song-leader had gone with me to hold the vesper service in the +hospital. Then we visited in the wards in order to see those who were +so severely wounded that they could not get to the service. + +There was a little group of men in one room. The first thing I knew my +friend had them singing. At first they took to it awkwardly. Then +more courageously. Then sweetly there rang through the hospital the +strains of "My Daddy Over There." + +It melted my heart, for I have a baby girl at home who says to the +neighbors, "My daddy is the prettiest man in the world," and believes +it. I said to Cray: "Why did you sing that particular song?" + +"Oh," he replied, "my baby's name is 'Betty,' and I found a guy whose +baby's name is 'Betty' too, and we had a sort of club formed; and +another guy had a baby boy, and then I just thought they'd like to sing +'My Daddy Over There.' But we ended up with 'Jesus, Lover of My Soul,' +so that ought to suit you." + +"Suit me, man? Why I got a 'Betty' baby of my own, and that 'Daddy +Over There' song you sang is the sweetest thing I've heard in France, +and it will help those daddies more than a hymn would. I'm glad you +got them to singing." + +And now I'm back home, and I thought the Silhouettes of Song were all +over, but I stepped into a church the other Sunday. Up high above the +sacred altars of that church fluttered a beautiful silk service flag. +It was starred in the shape of a letter "S." In the circle of each "S" +was a red cross. The church had two members in the Red Cross. Above +the "S" and below it were two red triangles. The church had men in the +service of the Y. M. C. A. Then grouped about the "S" were the stars +of boys in the service. + +As I looked up at this cross a flood of memories swept over me. I +could not keep back the tears. All the love, all the loneliness, all +the heartache, all the pride, all the hope of the folks at home, their +reverence, their loyalty, was summed up in that flag. I stood to sing, +my eyes brimming with tears. The great congregation started that +beautifully sweet hymn that is being sung all over America in the +churches in loving memory of the boys over there: + + "God save our splendid men, + Send them safe home again, + God save our men. + Make them victorious, + Patient and chivalrous, + They are so dear to us, + God save our men. + + God keep our own dear men, + From every stain of sin, + God keep our men. + When Satan would allure, + When tempted, keep them pure, + Be their protection sure-- + God keep our men. + + God hold our precious men, + And love them to the end. + God hold our men. + Held in Thine arms so strong + To Thee they all belong. + This ever be our song: + God hold our men." + +I stood the pressure until that great congregation came to that line +"They are so dear to us," and the voice of the mother beside me broke, +and she had to stop. Then I had to stop, too, and we looked at each +other through our tears and smiled and understood, so that when she +sweetly said, "I have a boy over there," her words were superfluous. +And so I have added another memory of song to the hours that will never +die. + + + + +II + +SHIP SILHOUETTES + +It was nearing the dawn, and flaming heralds gave promise of a +brilliant day coming up out of France to the east. Three of us stood +in the "crow's-nest" on an American transport, where we had been +standing our "watch" since four o'clock that morning. + +Suddenly as we peered through our glasses off to the west we saw the +masts of a great cruiser creeping above the horizon of the sea. We +reported it to the "bridge," where it was confirmed. Then in a few +minutes we saw another mast, and then another, and another; four, five, +six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twenty--five, six--twenty-six ships +coming up over the western horizon, bound for France, bearing the most +precious burden that ever a caravan of the sea carried across the +waters of the deep; American boys! Your boys! + +It was a marvellous sight. We had been so intently watching this that +we had forgotten about the dawn. Then we turned for a minute, and off +to the east a brilliant red dawn was splashing its way out of the sea. + +"What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman shouted to me. + +[Illustration: "What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman shouted +to me.] + +"Why, I believe it's the convoy of destroyers coming out to meet those +transports," I replied. + +Then before our eyes, up out of the eastern horizon, just as we had +watched the transports and the cruiser come up over the western +horizon, those slender guardians of the deep came toward us in +formation. There were ten of them, and they met the great American +convoy just abreast our transport. We saw the American flag fly to the +winds on each ship, and the flashing of signal-lights even in the +dawning. + +"Those destroyers coming out of the east against that sunrise remind me +of the experiences one has in France in these vivid war days," I said +to my fellow watcher in the "crow's-nest." + +"How is that?" + +"They stand out like the Silhouettes of Mountain Peaks against a +crimson sunrise," I replied. + +And so have many Silhouettes of the Sea stood out. + +There was the afternoon that we stood on the deck of a ship bound for +France. The voyage had been full of dangers. Submarines had harassed +us for days. One night such a lurch came to the ship as threw +everybody about in their staterooms. We thought it was a storm until +the morning came, and we were informed that it was a sudden lurch to +avoid a submarine. The voyage had been full of uneasiness, and now we +were coming to the most dangerous part of it, the submarine zone. + +Everybody was on deck. It was Sunday afternoon. Suddenly off to the +east several spots appeared on the horizon. What were they, friendly +craft or enemy ships? + +Nobody knew, not even the captain. There was a wave of uneasiness over +the boat. + +Speculation was rife. + +Then we saw the signal boy go aft, and in a moment the tricolor of +France was fluttering in the winds, and we knew that the approaching +craft were friendly. Then through powerful glasses we could make them +out to be long, low-lying, lithe, swift destroyers coming out to meet +us. They were a welcome sight. Like "hounds of the sea" they came, +long and lean. Headed straight for us, they came like the winds. Then +suddenly a slight mist began to fall, but not enough to obscure either +the destroyers or the sun. Through this mist the sun burned its way, +and almost as if a miracle had been performed by some master artist, a +beautiful rainbow arched the sky to the east, and under the arch of +this rainbow fleetly sailed those approaching destroyers. + +It was a beautiful sight, a Silhouette of the Sea never to be forgotten +while memory lasts. The French flag fluttered, the band started to +play the "Marseillaise," and a ship-load of happy people sang it. + +A sense of peace settled down over us all. The rainbow, covenant of +old, promise of the eternal God to his people, seemed to have new +significance that memorable day. + +Another Silhouette of the Sea! Troops are expected in at a certain +port of entry. The camp has been emptied of ten thousand men. That +means but one thing, that new troops are expected. The great +dirigibles sailed out a few hours ago. The sea-planes followed. +Thousands of American men and women lined the docks waiting, peering +with anxious eyes out toward the "point." Here at this point a great +cape jutted out into the ocean, and around this cape we were accustomed +to catch sight of the convoys first. + +A sense of great expectancy was upon us. We had heard rumors of +submarines off the shore for several days. Then suddenly we heard a +terrific cannonading, and we knew that the transports and the convoys +were in a battle with the U-boats that had lain in wait for them. An +anxious hour passed. The sun was setting and the west was a great rose +blanket. + +Then a shout went up far down the line of waiting Americans as the +first great transport swung around the cape. Then another, and a third +and a fourth, and finally a fifth; great gray bulks, two of them +camouflaged until you could not tell whether they were little +destroyers or a group of destroyers on one big ship. Then they got +near enough to see the American boys, thousands of them, lining the +railings. Through the glasses we could make out the names of the +transports. They were some of the largest that sail the Atlantic. +When as they came slowly in on the full tide, with that rose sunset +back of them, the bands on their decks playing across the waters, and +five thousand boys on the first boat singing "Keep the Home Fires +Burning," then the "Marseillaise," and finally "The Star-Spangled +Banner," in which the crowd on the shore joined, there was a Silhouette +of the Sea that burned its way into our souls. + +There were the great ships, and beyond them the cape, and beyond that +the hovering dirigibles, and beyond them the great bird seaplanes, and +beyond them the background of a rose-colored sky, and beyond that the +memories of home. + + + + +III + +SILHOUETTES OF SACRIFICE + +Every day for two months, February and March, sometimes when the roads +were hub-deep with mud, and sometimes when the roads were a glare of +ice and snow and driving the big truck was dangerous work, we passed +the crucifix. + +It was the guide-post where four roads forked. One road went up to the +old monastery, where we had, in one corner, a canteen. Another road +led down toward divisional headquarters. Another road led into Toul, +and a fourth led directly toward the German lines, over which, if we +had driven far enough, as we started to do one night in the dark, we +could have gone straight to Berlin. + +The first night that I went "down the line" alone with a truck-load I +was trembling inside about directions. The divisional man said: "Go +straight out the east gate of the city, down the road until you come to +the cross at the forks of the road. Take the turn to the left." + +But even with these directions I was not certain. I was frankly +afraid, for I knew that a wrong turn would take me into German lines. +I did not like that prospect at all. + +I drove the big car cautiously through the night. There were no +lights, and at best it was not easy driving. This night was +impenetrably dark. When I came to the cross-roads I stopped the +machine and climbed down. I wanted to make sure of the directions, and +they were printed in French on the sign-board that was near the +crucifix about which he had told me. + +I got my directions all right, and then, moved by curiosity, flashed my +pocket-light on the figure of the bronze Christ on the crucifix there +at the crossroads guide-post. There was an inscription. Laboriously +finding each small letter with my flash in the darkness, my engine +panting off to the side of the road, I spelled it all out: + +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +Off in the near distance the star-shells were lighting up No Man's +Land. "Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" they +seemed to say to me. + +I climbed into the machine and started on. + +Suddenly I heard the purring of Boche planes overhead. One gets so +that he can distinguish the difference between French planes and Boche +planes. These were Boche planes, and they were bent on mischief. Then +the search-lights began to play in the sky over me. But they were too +late, for hardly had I started on my way when "Boom! boom! boom! boom!" +one after another, ten bombs were dropped, and as each dropped it +lighted up the surrounding country like a great city in flames. + +As I saw this awful desecration of the land the phrase of the cross +seemed to sing in unison with the beating of the engine of my truck: + +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +Suddenly out of the night crept an ambulance train, which passed my +slower and larger machine. They had no time to wait for me. They were +American boys on their errands of mercy, and the front was calling +them. I knew that something must be going on off toward the front +lines, for the rumbling of the big guns had been going on for an hour. +As these ambulances passed me--more than twenty-five of them passed as +silent ships pass in the night--that phrase kept singing: "Traveller, +hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +Then I drove a bit farther on my way, and off across a field I saw the +walls of a great hospital. It was an evacuation hospital, and I had +visited in its wards many times after a raid, when hundreds of our boys +had been brought in every night and day, with four shifts of doctors +kept busy day and night in the operating-room caring for them. As I +thought of all that I had seen in that hospital, again that singing +phrase of the crucifix at the crossroads was on my lips: "Traveller, +hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +A mile farther, and just a few feet from the road, I passed a little +"God's acre" that I knew so well. As its full meaning swept over me +there in the darkness of that night, the heartache and loneliness of +the folks at home whose American boys were lying there, some two +hundred of them, the old crucifix phrase expressed it all: + +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +And, somehow, as I drove back by the crucifix in the darkness of the +next morning, about two o'clock, I had to stop again and with my +flash-light spell out the lettering on the cross. + +Then suddenly it dawned on me that this was France speaking to America: + +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +And when I paused in the darkness of that night and thought of the one +million and a quarter of the best manhood of France who had given their +lives for the precious things that we hold most dear: our homes, our +children, our liberty, our democracy; and when I thought that France +had saved that for us; and when I remembered the funeral processions +that I had seen every day since I had been in France, and when I +remembered the women doing the work of men, handling the baggage of +France, ploughing the fields of France; doing the work of men because +the men were all either killed or at the front; when I remembered the +little fatherless children that I had seen all over France, whose sad +eyes looked up into mine everywhere I went; and when I remembered the +young widows (every woman of France seems to be in black); and when I +remembered the thousands of blind men and boys that I had seen being +led helplessly about the streets of the cities and villages of France; +and when I remembered that lonely wife that one Sunday afternoon in +Toul I had watched go and kneel beside a little mound and place flowers +there--the dates on the stone of which I later saw were "March, 1916," +then I cried aloud in the darkness as I realized the tremendous +sacrifice that France has made for the world, as well as England and +Belgium. "No, France! No, England! No, little Belgium! this +traveller has never seen so great a grief as thine!" + +"No, mothers and fathers, little children, wives, brothers, sisters of +France, and England, and Belgium, this traveller, America, has never +seen so great a grief as thine!" + +And later I learned, after living in the Toul sector for two months, +that the challenging sentence on the crucifix had been read by nearly +every boy who had passed it; and all had. Either he had read it +himself or it had been quoted to him, and this one crucifix question +had much to do with challenging the boys who passed it to a new +understanding of all that France had passed through in the war. + +The American boys have learned to respect the French soldier because of +the sacrifice that he has made. The American soldier remembers that +crowd of men called "Kitchener's Mob," which Kitchener sent into the +trenches of France to stem the tide of inhumanity, and to whom he gave +a message: "Go! Sacrifice yourselves while I raise an army in +England!" The American soldier knows all of this. He knows that +little Belgium might have said to all the world, "The forces were too +great for us," and she could have stepped aside and the world would +have forgiven her. + +But instead she chose deliberately to sacrifice herself for the cause +of freedom, and sacrifice herself she did. And that sentence on the +crossroads crucifix in the Toul sector, day after day, sends its +reminder into the heart of the American soldiers, who stop their trucks +and their ammunition wagons, pause their weary marches to read it; +sends its reminder of the sacrifices that our allies have already made, +and the sacrifices that we may be called upon to make. "Traveller, +hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +And the American officer and soldier must admit that he has not; and he +prays God silently in the night as he rides by on his horse, or as he +drives by on his motor-truck, or as he flashes by on his motor-cycle, +though they may be willing to suffer as France has suffered, if need +be, prays God that that may never be necessary, for the American +soldier, since he has been in France, has seen what suffering means. + +And so that crossroads crucifix stands out against the lurid night of +France, with its reminder constantly before the American soldier, and +it tends to make him more gentle with French children and women, and +more kindly with French men. There is a new understanding of each +other, a new cement of friendship binding our allies together in +France; there is a new world-wide brotherhood breaking across the +horizon of time, coming through sacrifice. + +The world is once again being atoned for. Its sin is being washed +away. Innocent men are suffering that humanity may be saved. + +The last time I saw this cross was by night. I had seen it first at +night, and fitting it was that I should see it last at night. There +was a terrible bombardment down the lines. Hundreds of American boys +had been killed. One was wounded who was a son of one of the foremost +Americans. News of the fight had been coming in to us all day long. +Night came and "runners" were still bringing in the gruesome details. +The ambulances were running in a continuous procession. We had seen +things that day and night that made our hearts sick. We had seen +American boys white and unconscious. We had seen every available room +in the great evacuation hospital crowded. We had been told that a +hundred surgical cases were in the hospital, mostly shrapnel wounds, +and that every available doctor and nurse was working night and day. + +We had seen, under one snow-covered canvas, six boys who had been +killed by one shell early that morning--boys that the night before we +had talked with down in a front-line hut--boys who had been killed in +their billet in one room. We had seen a captain come staggering into +our hut wet to the skin, soaked with blood, his hair dishevelled, his +face haggard. He had been fighting since three o'clock that morning. +He had been shell-shocked, and had been sent into the hospital. + +"My God!" he cried, "I saw every officer in my company killed. First +it was my first lieutenant. They got him in the head. Then about ten +o'clock I saw my second lieutenant fall. Then early in the afternoon +my top-sergeant got a bayonet, and a hand-grenade got a group of my +non-commissioned officers. Half of my boys are gone." + +Then he sat down and we got him some hot chocolate. This seemed to +revive his spirits, and he said: "But, thank God, we licked them! We +licked them at their own game! We got them six to one, and drove them +back! No Man's Land is thick with their beastly bodies. They are +hanging on the wires out there like trapped rabbits!" + +Then the thoughts of his own officers came back. + +"My God! Now we know what war means. We've been playing at war up to +this time. Now we've got to suffer! Then we'll know what it all +means." He was half-delirious, we could see, and sent for an ambulance. + +As I drove home that night I passed the crossroads crucifix. This time +I needed no lights to guide me. The whole horizon was alight with +bursting shells and Very lights. Long before I got to it I could see +the gaunt form of the cross reaching its black but comforting arms up +against the background of lurid light along the front where I knew that +American men were dying for me. The picture of that wayside cross, +looming against the lurid light of battle, shall never die in my memory. + +It was the silhouette of France and America suffering together, a +silhouette standing out against a livid horizon of fire. + +I needed no tiny pocket search-light to read the words on the cross. +They had already burned their way into my heart and into the hearts of +that whole division of American soldiers, that division which has since +so distinguished itself at Belleau Woods! But now America has a new +understanding of the meaning of that sentence, for America, too, is +suffering, and she is sacrificing. + +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +"Yes, France; we understand now." + + + + +IV + +SILHOUETTES SPIRITUAL + +It was the gas ward. I had held a vesper service that evening and had +had a strange experience. Just before the service I had been +introduced to a lad who said to the chaplain who introduced me that he +was a member of my denomination. + +The boy could not speak above a whisper. He was gassed horribly, and +in addition to his lungs being burned out and his throat, his face and +neck were scarred. + +"I have as many scars on my lungs as I have on my face," he said quite +simply. I had to bend close to hear him. He could not talk loud +enough to have awakened a sleeping child. + +He said to me: "I used to be leader of the choir at home. At college I +was in the glee-club, and whenever we had any singin' at the fraternity +house they always expected me to lead it. Since I came into the army +the boys in my outfit have depended upon me for all the music. In camp +back home I led the singing. Even the Y. M. C. A. always counted on me +to lead the singing in the religious meetings. Many's the time I have +cheered the boys comin' over on the transport and in camp by singin' +when they were blue. But I can't sing any more. Sometimes I get +pretty blue over that. But I'll be at your meeting this evening, +anyway, and I'll be right down on the front seat as near the piano as I +can get. Watch for me." + +And sure enough that night, when the vesper service started, he was +right there. I smiled at him and he smiled back. + +I announced the first hymn. The crowd started to sing. Suddenly I +looked toward him. We were singing "Softly Now the Light of Day Fades +Upon My Sight Away." His book was up, his lips were moving, but no +sound was coming. That sight nearly broke my heart. To see that boy, +whose whole passion in the past had been to sing, whose voice the cruel +gas had burned out, started emotions throbbing in me that blurred my +eyes. I couldn't sing another note myself. My voice was choked at the +sight. A lump came every time I looked at him there with that book up +in front of him, a lump that I could not get out of my throat. I dared +not look in his direction. + +After the service was over I went up to him. I knew that he needed a +bit of laughter now. I knew that I did, too. So I said to him: "Lad, +I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't helped us out on the +singing this evening." + +He looked at me with infinite pathos and sorrow in his eyes. Then a +look of triumph came into them, and he looked up and whispered through +his rasped voice: "I may not be able to make much noise any more, and I +may never be able to lead the choir again, but I'll always have singing +in my soul, sir! I'll always have singing in my soul!" + +And so it is with the whole American army in France--it always has +singing in its soul, and courage, and manliness, and daring, and hope. +That kind of an army can never be defeated. And no army in the world, +and no power, can stand long before that kind of an army. + +That kind of an army doesn't have to be sent into battle with a barrage +of shells in front of it and a barrage of shells back of it to force it +in, as the Germans have been doing during the last big offensive, +according to stories that boys at Château-Thierry have been telling me. +The kind of an army that, in spite of wounds and gas, "still has +singing in its soul" will conquer all hell on earth before it gets +through. + +Then there is the memory of the boys in the shell-shock ward at this +same hospital. I had a long visit with them. They were not permitted +to come to the vesper service for fear something would happen to upset +their nerves. But they made a special request that I come to visit +them in their ward. After the service I went. I reached their ward +about nine, and they arose to greet me. The nurse told me that they +were more at ease on their feet than lying down, and so for two hours +we stood and talked on our feet. + +"How did you get yours?" I asked a little black-eyed New Yorker. + +"I was in a front-line trench with my 'outfit,' down near Amiens," he +said. "We were having a pretty warm scrap. I was firing a machine-gun +so fast that it was red-hot. I was afraid it would melt down, and I +would be up against it. They were coming over in droves, and we were +mowing them down so fast that out in front of our company they looked +like stacks of hay, the dead Germans piled up everywhere. I was so +busy firing my gun, and watching it so carefully because it was so hot, +that I didn't hear the shell that suddenly burst behind me. If I had +heard it coming it would never have shocked me." + +"If you hear them coming you're all right?" I asked. + +"Yes. It's the ones that surprise you that give you shell-shock. If +you hear the whine you're ready for them; but if your mind is on +something else, as mine was that day, and the thing bursts close, it +either kills you or gives you shell-shock, so it gets you both going +and coming." He laughed at this. + +"I was all right for a while after the thing fell, for I was +unconscious for a half-hour. When I came to I began to shake, and I've +been shaking ever since." + +"How did you get yours?" I asked another lad, from Kansas, for I saw at +once that it eased them to talk about it. + +"I was in a trench when a big Jack Johnson burst right behind me. It +killed six of the boys, all my friends, and buried me under the dirt +that fell from the parapet back of me. I had sense and strength enough +to dig myself out. When I got out I was kind of dazed. The captain +told me to go back to the rear. I started back through the +communication-trench and got lost. The next thing I knew I was +wandering around in the darkness shakin' like a leaf." + +Then there was the California boy. I had known him before. It was he +who almost gave me a case of shell-shock. The last time I saw him he +was standing on a platform addressing a crowd of young church people in +California. And there he was, his six foot three shaking from head to +foot like an old man with palsy, and stuttering every word he spoke. +He had been sent to the hospital at Amiens with a case of acute +appendicitis. The first night he was in the hospital the Germans +bombed it and destroyed it. They took him out and put him on a train +for Paris. This train had only gotten a few miles out of Amiens when +the Germans shelled it and destroyed two cars. + +"After that I began to shake," he said simply. + +"No wonder, man; who wouldn't shake after that?" I said. Then I asked +him if he had had his operation yet. + +"It can't be done until I quit shaking." + +"When will you quit?" I asked, with a smile. + +"Oh, we're all getting better, much better; we'll be out of here in a +few months; they all get better; 90 per cent of us get back in the +trenches." + +And that is the silver lining to this Silhouette Spiritual. The +doctors say that a very large percentage of them get back. + +"We call ourselves the 'First American Shock Troops,'" my friend from +the West said with a grin. + +"I guess you are 'shock troops,' all right. I know one thing, and that +is that you would give your folks back home a good shock if they saw +you." + +Then we all laughed. Laughter was in the air. I have never met +anywhere in France such a happy, hopeful, cheerful crowd as that bunch +of shell-shocked boys. It was contagious. I went there to cheer them +up, and I got cheered up. I went there to give them strength, and came +away stronger than when I went in. It would cheer the hearts of all +Americans to take a peep into that room; if they could see the souls +back of the trembling bodies; if they could get beyond the first shock +of those trembling bodies and stuttering tongues. And, after all, that +is what America must learn to do, to get beyond, and to see beyond, the +wounds, into the soul of the boy; to see beyond the blinded eyes, the +scarred faces, the legless and armless lads, into the glory of their +new-born souls, for no boy goes through the hell of fire and suffering +and wounds that he does not come out new-born. The old man is gone +from him, and a new man is born in him. That is the great eternal +compensation of war and suffering. + +I have seen boys come out of battles made new men. I have seen them go +into the line sixteen-year-old lads, and come out of the trenches men. +I saw a lad who had gone through the fighting in Belleau Woods. I +talked with him in the hospital at Paris. His face was terribly +wounded. He was ugly to look at, but when I talked with him I found a +soul as white as a lily and as courageous as granite. + +"I may look awful," he said, "but I'm a new man inside. What I saw out +there in the woods made me different, somehow. I saw a friend stand by +his machine-gun, with a whole platoon of Germans sweeping down on him, +and he never flinched. He fired that old gun until every bullet was +gone and his gun was red-hot. I was lying in the grass where I could +see it all. I saw them bayonet him. He fought to the last against +fifty men, but, thank God, he died a man; he died an American. I lay +there and cried to see them kill him, but every time I think of that +fellow it makes me want to be more of a man. When I get back home I'm +going to give up my life to some kind of Christian service. I'm going +to do it because I saw that man die so bravely. If he can die like +that, in spite of my face I can live like a man." + +The boys in the trenches live a year in a month, a month in a week, a +week in a day, a day in an hour, and sometimes an eternity in a second. +No wonder it makes men of them overnight. No wonder they come out of +it all with that "high look" that John Oxenham writes about. They have +been reborn. + +Another wounded boy who had gone through the fighting back of +Montdidier said to me in the hospital: + +"I never thought of anybody else at home but myself. I was selfish. +Sis and mother did everything for me. Everything at home centred in +me, and everything was arranged for my comfort. With this leg gone I +might have some right now, according to the way they think, to that +attention, but I don't want it any longer. I can't bear the thoughts +of having people do for me. I want to spend the rest of my life doing +things for other folks. + +"Back of Noyon I saw a friend sail into a crowd of six Germans with +nothing but his bayonet and rifle. They had surrounded his captain, +and were rushing him back as a prisoner. They evidently had orders to +take the officers alive as prisoners. That big top-sergeant sailed +into them, and after killing two of them, knocking two more down, and +giving his captain a chance to escape, the last German shot him through +the head. He gave his life for the captain. That has changed me. I +shall never be the same again after seeing that happen. There's +something come into my heart. I'm going back home a Christian man." + +Yes, America must learn to see beyond the darkness, beyond the +disfigured face, to the soul of the boy. And America will do it. +America is like that. And so back of these shaking bodies and these +stuttering tongues of the shell-shocked boys I saw their wonderful +souls. And after spending that two hours with them I can never be the +same man again. + +I could, as Donald Hankey says, "get down on my knees and shine their +boots for them any day," and thank God for the privilege. I think that +this is the spirit of any non-combatant in France who has any immediate +contact with our men on the battle-front or in the hospitals. They are +so brave and so true. + +"How do the Americans stand dressing their wounds and the suffering in +the hospitals?" a friend of mine asked a prominent surgeon. + +"They bear their suffering like Frenchmen. That is the highest +compliment I can pay them," he replied. + +And so back of their wounds are their immortal, undying, unflinching +souls. And back of the tremblings of these boys that night, thank God, +I had the glory of seeing their immortal souls, and to me the soul of +an American boy under fire and pain is the biggest, finest, most +tremendous thing on earth. I bow before it in humility. It dazzled +mine eyes. All I could think of as I saw it was: + + "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord." + + +That night I said, just before I left: "Boys, it's Sunday evening, and +they wouldn't let you come to my meeting! Would you like for me to +have a little prayer with you?" + +"Yes! Sure! That's just what we want!" were the stammered words that +followed. + +"All right; we'll just stand, if it's easier for you." + +Then I prayed the prayer that had been burning in my heart every minute +as we stood there in that dimly lit ward, talking of home and battle +and the folks we all loved across the seas. All that time there had +been hovering in the background of my mind a picture of a cool body of +water named Galilee, and of a Christ who had been sleeping in a boat on +that water with some of his friends, when a storm came up. I had been +thinking of how frightened those friends had been of the storm; of the +tossing, tumbling, turbulent waves. I had thought of how they had +trembled with fear, and then of how they had appealed to the Master. I +told the boys simply that story, and then I prayed: + +"O Thou Christ who stilled the waves of Galilee, come Thou into the +hearts of these boys just now, and still their trembling limbs and +tongues. Bring a great sense of peace and quiet into their souls." + +"Oh, ye of little faith!" When I looked up from that prayer, much to +my own astonishment, and to the astonishment of the friend who was with +me, the tremblings of those fine American boys had perceptibly ceased. +There was a great sense of quiet and peace in the ward. + +The nurse told me the next day that after I had gone the boys went +quietly to bed; that there was little tossing that night and no walking +the floors, as there had been before. A doctor friend said to me: +"After all, maybe your medicine is best, for while we are more or less +groping in the dark as to our treatment of shell-shock, we do know that +the only cure will be that something comes into their souls to give +them quiet of mind and peace within." + +"I know what that medicine is," I told him. "I have seen it work." + +"What is it?" he asked. + +Then I told him of my experience. + +"You may be right." + +And so it is all over France; where I have worked in some twenty +hospitals--from the first-aid dressing-stations back through the +evacuation hospitals to the base hospitals--and have found that the +reaction of our boys to wounds and suffering is always a spiritual +reaction. I know as I know no other thing, that the boys of America +are to come back, wounded or otherwise, a better crowd of men than they +went away. They are men reborn, and when they come back, when it's +"over, over there," there is to be a nation reborn because of the +leaven that is within their souls. + + + + +V + +SILHOUETTES OF SACRILEGE + +During the last year there has come into French art a new era of the +silhouette. In every art store in Paris one sees wonderful silhouettes +which tell the story of the horror of the Hun better than any words can +paint it, and when one attempts to paint it he must attempt it in word +silhouettes. + +The silhouette catches the picture better than color. Gaunt, naked, +ruined cathedrals, homes, towers, and forests are better pictured in +black silhouettes than any other way. There is nothing much left in +some places in France but silhouettes. + +Those who have seen Rheims know that the best reproduction of its ruins +has been conveyed by the simple silhouette of the artist. There it +stands outlined against the sky. Rheims that was once the wonder of +the world is now naked ruins, tottering walls, with its towers still +standing, looming against the sky like tottering trees. And when, +during the past year, the walls fell, they: + + "Left a lonesome place against the sky" + +of all the world. + +The church at Albert was like that. Only a silhouette can describe or +picture it. There it stood against the sky by day and night, with the +figure on its top leaning. The old legend of the soldiers that when +the figure of the Virgin fell to the earth the war would end has been +dissipated, for during the last drive that figure fell, and the tower +with it. But forever (although it has fallen to dust and debris, +because of descriptions we have seen of it) it shall stand out in our +memories like a lonely, toppling tree against a crimson sunset! + +Every day on the Toul line we used to drive through a village that had +been shelled until it was in ruins. Only the tower and the walls of a +beautiful little church remained. Every other house in the village was +razed to the ground. Nothing else remained. + +There it stands to this day, for when I saw it last in June it was +still standing as it was in January. Every evening about sunset we +used to drive down that way, taking supplies to the front-line huts. +Many things stand out in one's memory of a certain road over which he +drives night after night and day after day. There is the cross at the +forks of the roads. There is the old monastery, battered and in ruins, +that stood out like a gaunt ghost of the vandal Hun. There was the +little God's acre along the road which we passed every day. There were +always the observation-balloons against the evening sky. There were +always the fleet-winged birds of the air outlined against the evening. +There were always the marching men and the ambulance trains. But +standing out above them all, etched with the acid of regret and anger +and horror, stood that lonely tower. Night after night we approached +it with a beautiful sunset off to the west where the Germans lay buried +in their trenches. Coming back from the German lines we would see this +church-tower outlined against the crimson sky like a finger pointing +God-ward, and declaring to all the world that the God above would +avenge this silent, accusing Silhouette of Sacrilege. + +There has been a good deal of discussion over a certain book entitled +"I Accuse." I never saw that finger pointing into the sky as we drove +through this village that it did not cry out to the heavens and across +the short miles to the German Huns, looking down, as it did, at its +feet where the ruined homes lay, the village that it had mothered and +fathered, the village that had worshipped within its simple walls, the +village that had brought its joys and sorrows there, the village that +had buried the dead within its shadows, the village that had brought +its young there to be married and its aged to be buried; there it +stood, night after night, against the crimson sky sometimes, against +the golden sky at other times; against the rose, against the blue, +against the purple sunsets; and ever it thundered: "I accuse! I +accuse! I accuse!" + +Then there is that Silhouette of Sacrilege up on the Baupaume Road. +This is called "the saddest road in Christendom," because more men have +been killed along its scarred pathway than along any other road in all +the world. Not even the road to Calvary was as sad as this road. + +Along this road when the French held it, during the first year of the +war, they gathered their dead together and buried them in a little +cemetery. Above the sacred remains of their comrades these French +soldiers erected a simple bronze cross as a symbol not only of the +faith of the nation, but a symbol also of the cause in which they had +died. + +A few months later when the Germans had recaptured this spot, and it +had been fought over, and the bronze cross still stood, the Hun, too, +gathered his dead together and buried them side by side with the +French. Then he did a characteristic thing. He got a large stone as a +base and mounted a cannon-ball on top of this stone, and left it there, +side by side with the French cross. + +Whether he meant it or not, his sacrilege stands as a fitting +expression of his philosophy, the philosophy of the brute, the religion +of the granite rock and the iron cannon-ball. + +He told his own story here. Side by side in those two monuments the +contrast is made, the causes are placed. One is the cause of the +cross, the cause of men willing to die for brotherhood; the other is +the cause of those who are willing to kill to conquer. + +And these two monuments, side by side on the Baupaume Road, stand out +as one of the Silhouettes of Sacrilege. + +Then there is St. Gervais. On Good Friday afternoon a Hun shell +pierced the side of this beautiful cathedral as the spear-thrust +pierced the side of the Master so long ago. On the very hour that +Jesus was crucified back on that other and first Good Friday the Hun +threw his bolt of death into the nave of this church, and crucified +seventy-five people kneeling in memory of their Saviour's death. + +I was in that church an hour after this terrible sacrilege happened. +Never can one forget the scene. I dare not describe it here in its +awful details. + +The entire arches of stone that held up the roof had fallen in from the +concussion of the gases of the shell. Three feet of solid stones +covered the floor. Men and women were being carried out. Silk hats, +canes, shoes, hats, baby clothes, an expensive fur, lay buried in the +stone and dirt. + +As I stood horrified, looking on this scene of death and destruction, +the phrase came into my heart: + + "And the veil of the temple was rent in twain." + + +And this scene, too, shall remain as one of the Silhouettes of +Sacrilege. + +But perhaps the worst Silhouette of Sacrilege that the film of one's +memory has brought away from France is that of a certain afternoon in +Paris. + +I happened to be walking along the Boulevard to my hotel. The big gun +had been throwing its shells into the city all day. Suddenly one fell +so close to where I was walking that it broke the windows around me, +and I was nearly thrown to my feet. In my soul I cursed the Hun, as +all who have lived in Paris finally come to be doing as each shell +bursts. But I had more reason to curse than I knew at that moment. + +The people were running into a side street, the next one toward which I +was approaching. I followed the crowd. My uniform got me past the +gendarmes in through a little court, up a pair of stairs where the +shell had penetrated the walls of a maternity hospital. + +What I saw there in that room shall make me hate the Hun forever. + +New-born babes had been killed, a nurse and two mothers. When I +thought of the expectant homes into which those babes had come, when I +thought of the fathers at the front who would never see again either +their wives or those new babies, when I saw the blood that smeared the +plaster and floors of that room, when I saw the little twisted baby +beds, a flush of hatred swept over me, as it did over all who saw it, a +new birth of hatred that could never die until those little babies and +those mothers and the nurse are avenged. That is a Silhouette of +Sacrilege that makes the gamut complete. + +There was the desecration of the holy sanctuaries; there was the +desecration of the graves of brave soldiers of France; there was the +derision of his bronze cross; there was the desecration of the most +sacred day in Christendom, Good Friday, and then the desecration of +little children, mothers of new-born babes, and nurses. Could the case +be more complete? Could Silhouettes of Sacrilege cover a wider gamut +of hatred and disgust than these silhouettes picture? + + + + +VI + +SILHOUETTES OF SILENCE + +Two o'clock in the morning on the sea is sometimes cold and +disagreeable, and sometimes it is glorious with wonder and beauty. But +whether it is beautiful or whether it is cold and disagreeable, at that +exact hour in the war zone on every American transport, now, every boy +is summoned on deck until daylight. This is only one of the many +precautions that the navy is taking to save life in case of a U-boat +attack. One thing that ought to comfort every mother and father in +America is the care that is manifested and the precautions that are +taken by the navy in getting the soldiers to France. One of the most +thrilling chapters of the history of this war, when it is written, will +be that chapter. And one of the most wonderful, the most colossal +feats will be the safe transportation overseas of those millions of +soldiers with so little loss of life while doing it. + +And one of the best precautions is this of getting every boy up out of +the hold and out of the staterooms, officers and all, on deck, standing +by the assigned life-boats and rafts. Not a single boy remains below +in the war zone. + +Day is just breaking across the sea. It is a beautiful dawning. Five +thousand American boys line the railings of a certain great transport. +They are not allowed to smoke. They do not sing. They do not talk +much. Some of them are sleepy, for the average American boy is not +used to being awakened at two in the morning. They just stand and wait +and watch through five hours of silence as the great ship plunges its +way defiantly through the danger zone, saying in so many words: "We're +ready for you!" + +And the silhouette of that great ship, lined with khaki-clad American +boys, waiting, watching, as seen from another transport, where the +watcher who writes this story stands, is a sight never to be equalled +in art or story. To see the huge bulk of a great transport just a +stone's throw away, moving forward, without a sound from its +rail-lined, soldier-packed deck, is one of the striking Silhouettes of +Silence. + +Thomas Carlyle once said of man: "Stands he not thereby in the centre +of Immensities, in the conflux of Eternities?" One day I saw the +American army standing "in the centre of immensities, in the conflux of +eternities," at the focus of histories. One day I saw the American +army in France march in answer to General Pershing's offer to the +Allies at the beginning of the big drive, march to its place in history +beside its Allies, the English and the French. + +The news came. The first division of American troops was to leave +overnight and march overland into the Marne line. Our Allies needed +us. They had called. We were answering. + +As a tribute to the efficiency of the American army, may I say that the +one well-trained, seasoned division of troops that we had in a certain +quiet sector picked up bag and baggage overnight and, like the Arabs, +"silently stole away," and did it so well and so efficiently that not +even the Y. M. C. A. secretaries, who had been living with this +division intimately for months, knew that they were gone, and that a +new division had taken its place, until the next morning. Talk about +German efficiency--that phrase, "German efficiency," has become a +bugaboo to frighten the world. American efficiency is just as great, +if not greater. + +I saw that division marching overland. It was a thrilling sight. +Coming on it suddenly, and looking down upon its marching columns from +the brow of a hill, and then riding past it in a Ford camionet all day +long with Irving Cobb, riding past its ammunition-wagons, past its +machine-gun battalion, past its great artillery company, past its +hundreds of infantrymen, past its trucks, past its clean-cut officers +astride their horses, past its supply-trains, past its flags and +banners, past its kitchen-wagons, seeing it stop to eat, seeing it +shoulder its rifles, seeing its ambulances and its Red Cross groups, +seeing its khaki-clad American boys wind through the valleys and up the +hills and over the bridges (the white stone bridge), through its +villages, many in which American soldiers had never been seen before; +welcomed by the people as the saviors of France, seeing its way strewn +with the flowers of spring by little children, and with the welcome and +the tears of French mothers and daughters clad in black, seeing it +march along the French streams from early morning until late at night, +this was a sight to stir the pride of any American to the point of +reverence. + +But all day as we rode along that winding trail I thought of the song +that the soldiers are singing, "There's a Long, Long Trail Awinding to +the Land of Our Dreams," and when I looked into the faces of those +American boys I saw there the determination that the trail that they +were taking was a trail that, although it was leading physically +directly away from home, and toward Berlin, yet it was, to their way of +thinking, the shortest way home. The trail that the American army took +that day as it marched into the Marne line was the "home trail," and +every boy marched that road with the determination that the sooner they +got that hard job ahead over with, the sooner they would get home. I +talked with many of them as they stopped to rest and found this +sentiment on every lip. + +But it was a silent army. I heard no singing all day long--not a song. +Men may sing as they are marching into training-camps; they may sing +when they board the boats for France now; they may sing as they march +into rest-billets, but they were not singing that day as they marched +into the great battle-line of Europe. + +I heard no laughter. I heard no loud talking, I heard no singing; I +heard only the tramp, tramp, tramp of marching feet, and the crunching +of the great motor-trucks, and the patter of horses as the officers +galloped along their lines. That army of American men knew that the +job on which they were entering was not child's play. They knew that +democracy depended upon what they did in that line. They knew that +many of them would never come back. They knew that at last the real +thing was facing them. They were not like dumb, driven beasts. They +were men. They were American men. They were thinking men. They were +silent men. They were brave men. + +They were marching to their place in history unafraid, and unflinching, +but thoughtful and silent. + +Another Silhouette of Silence. It was after midnight on the Toul line. +We were driving back from the front. The earth was covered with a +blanket of snow. Everything was white. We were moving cautiously +because with the snow over everything it was hard to tell where the icy +road left off and the ditches began; and those ditches were four feet +deep, and a big truck is hard to get out of a hole. Then there were no +lights, for we were too near the Boche batteries. + +"Halt!" rang out suddenly in the night, and a sentry stepped into the +middle of the road. + +I got down to see what he wanted. + +"There are fifty truck-loads of soldiers going into the trenches +to-night, and they are coming this way. Drive carefully, for it is +slippery." + +In a few moments we came to the first truck filled with soldiers, and +passed it. A hundred yards farther we came to the second one, loaded +down with American boys. Their rifles were stacked in the front of the +truck, and their helmets made a solid steel covering over the trucks. +One by one, fifty trucks loaded with American soldiers passed us. One +can hardly imagine that many American boys anywhere without some noise, +but the impressive thing about that scene was that not a single word, +not a sound of a human voice, came from a single one of those fifty +trucks. The only sound to be heard breaking the silence of the night +was the crunching of the chained wheels of the heavy trucks in the +snow. We watched that strangely silent procession go up over a +snow-covered hill and disappear. Not a single sound of a human voice +had broken the silence. + +Another Silhouette of Silence: It is an operating-room in an evacuation +hospital. The boy was brought in last night. An operation was +immediately imperative. I had known the boy, and was there by courtesy +of the major in charge of the hospital. The boy had asked that I come. + +For just one hour they worked, two skilled American surgeons, whose +names, if I were to mention them, would be recognized as two of +America's greatest specialists. France has many of them who have given +up their ten-thousand-dollar fees to endure danger to save our boys. +During that hour's stress and strain, with sweat pouring from their +brows, they worked. Now and then there was a nod to a nurse, who +seemed to understand without words, and a motion of a hand, but not +three words were spoken. It made a Silhouette of Silence that saved a +boy's life. + +The next scene is a listening-post. Two men are stretched on their +stomachs in the brown grass. A little hole, just enough to conceal +their bodies, has been dug there. The upturned roots of an old tree +that a bursting shell had desecrated was just in front. "Tap! Tap! +Tap!" came the sounds of Boches at work somewhere near and underground. +It is needless to say that this was a Silhouette of Silence, and that a +certain Y. M. C. A. secretary was glad when it was all over and he got +back where he belonged. + +[Illustration: The upturned roots of an old tree were just in front.] + + +The beautiful columns of the Madeleine bask under the moonlight. Paris +was never so quiet. The silence of eternity seemed to have settled +down over her. As one looked at the Madeleine under that magical white +moonlight he imagined that he had been transported back to Athens, and +that he was no longer living in modern times and in a world at war. It +was all so quiet and peaceful, with a great moon floating in the +skies---- + +But what is that awful wail that suddenly smites the stillness as with +a blow? It seems like the wailing of all the lost souls of the war. +It sounds like the crying of the more than five million sorrowing women +there are left comfortless in Europe. It is the siren. An air-raid is +on. The "alert" is sounding. The bombs begin to fall. The Boches +have gotten over even before the barrage is up. Hell breaks loose for +an hour. No battle on the front ever heard more terrific cannonading +than the next hour. The barrage was the heaviest ever sent up over +Paris. The six Gothas that got over the city dropped twenty-four bombs. + +The terrific bombardment, however, now as one looks back, only serves +to make the preceding silence stand out more emphatically, and the +Madeleine, basking in the moonlight the hour before, more beautiful in +its silhouette of grace and bulk against the golden light. + +A month on the front lines with thunder beating always, a month of +machine-gun racket, a month of bombing by Gothas every night, a month +of crunching wheels, a month of pounding motors and rumbling trucks, a +month of marching men, a month of the pounding of horses' hoofs on the +hard roads of France, a month of sirens and clanging church-bells in +the _tocsin_, and then a day in the valley of vision, down at Domremy +where Jeanne d'Arc was born, was a contrast that gave a Silhouette of +Silence to me. + + +One day on the Toul line, a train by night, and the next morning so far +away that all you could hear was the singing of birds. Peasants +quietly tended their flocks. Children played in the roads. The valley +was beautiful under the sunlight of as warm and as beautiful a spring +day as ever fell over the fields of France. I stood on the very spot +where the peasant girl of Orleans caught her vision. I looked down +over the valley with "the green stream streaking through it," with +silence brooding over it, a bewildering contrast with the day and the +month that had just preceded; and it all stands out as one of the +Silhouettes of Silence. + +Another day, another hour, another part of France. They call it +"Calvaire." It covers several acres. The peasants go there to worship +in pilgrimage every year. There is a Garden of Gethsemane, with +marvellous statues built life-size. Then through the woods there is a +worn pathway to the Sanhedrin. This is of marble. Jesus is here +before his accusers in marble statuary. + +As his accusers question him and he answers them not, they wonder. But +those who have seen "Calvaire" in France do not wonder, for from that +room there is a clean swath of trees cut, and a quarter of a mile away +looms, on a hill, a real Calvary, with the tree crosses silhouetted +against the sky, and Jesus is seeing down the pathway the hill of the +cross. + +Then there is "The Way of the Cross," built by peasant hands. It is a +road covered with flintstones as sharp as knives. This flint road must +be a mile long, and it winds here and there leading to Calvary, and +along its way are the various stations of the cross in life-size +figures. Jesus is seen at every step of this agony bearing his cross +until relieved by Simon. Over this flintstone every year the people +come by thousands, and crawl on their naked knees or walk on their +naked feet. Every stone is stained with blood; stumbling, cruelly +hurt, bleeding, they go "The Way of the Cross," and I have no doubt but +that they go back to their homes better men and women for having done +so. + +The day that we went to "Calvaire" it was a fitful June afternoon. As +we walked along "The Way of the Cross," across the field, past the +living, almost breathing, statues of the Master bearing his cruel +cross, past the sneering figures of those who hated him, and past the +weeping figures of those who loved and would aid him, and as we came to +the hill itself, suddenly black clouds gathered behind it and rain +began to pour. + +"I am glad the clouds are there back of Calvary. I am glad it is +raining as we climb the hill of Calvary. I am willing to be soaked. +It seems more fitting so, with the black clouds there and all. It +reminds me of 'The Return from Calvary' in the painting," one of the +party said impressively. + +Up the winding hill we climbed, and there gaunt and cruel against a +sombre sky stood the three crosses, just as we have always imagined +them. The hill was so high that it overlooked as beautiful a valley as +I had seen in all France. It was in Brittany, as yet untouched by the +war as far as its fields are concerned (not so its men and its women +and its homes); but on that spring day as we looked down from the hill +of Calvary we could see off in the distance the tomb, with the stone +rolled away, and life-size angels standing there with uplifted wings. +Then farther along the road, perhaps another quarter mile away, on +another hill, were the figures of the disciples, and the women watching +the ascension with rapt faces, and a glory shone round about them all. + +And as we stood there on that Calvary, built in memory of the +crucifixion and resurrection and ascension of their Master by the +peasants, and looked down over the earth, bright with crimson poppies +everywhere in field and hill, brilliant with the old-gold blossom of +the broom flower, as we stood there, our hearts subdued to awe and +wonder, looking down, suddenly the rain ceased and the sun shone in its +full glory and lighted anew the white marble of the figures of the +ascension far below us in the field. + +As we stood there the thought came to me: + +"So is the Christian world standing today on the hill of 'Calvaire.' +The storms have been black about the Christian world. The clouds have +seemed impenetrable. The earth has been desolate. We have walked on +our hands and knees and in our bare feet up the flinty road of +Baupaume, 'the saddest road in Christendom,' and along this road we +have borne the cross. We, the Christian world, the mothers, the +fathers, the little children, have bled. We have stumbled and fallen +along the way. And when we climbed the hill of Calvary, as we have +been doing for these years of war, the clouds darkened and we saw only +the ominous silhouettes of the three crosses. + +"But the sun is now breaking the clouds, and it shall burn its way to a +glorious day. Across the fields we see the open tomb and the +resurrection is about to dawn; the day of brotherhood, democracy, +justice, love, and peace forever. + +"Hope is in the world, hope brooding, hope dominant, hope triumphant, +hope in its supreme ascension." + +One could not see this Silhouette of Silence, this "Calvaire" of the +French nation, and not come away knowing the full meaning of the war. +It is "The New Calvary" of the world. + + + + +VII + +SILHOUETTES OF SERVICE + +A newspaper paragraph in a Paris paper said: "Dale was last seen in a +village just before the Germans entered it, gathering together a crowd +of little French children, trying to get them to a place of safety." + +Dale has never been seen since, and that was two months ago. Whether +he is dead or alive we do not know, but those who knew this manly +American lad best, say unanimously: "That was just like Dale; he loved +kids, and he was always talking about his own and showing us their +pictures." + +No monument will ever be erected to Dale, for he was just a common +soldier; but I for one would rather have had the monument of that +simple paragraph in the press despatches; I for one would rather have +it said of me, "The last seen of Dale he was gathering together a crowd +of little children"; I would rather have died in such a service than to +have lived to be a part of the marching army that is one day to enter +the streets of Berlin. That was a man's way to die; dying while trying +to save a crowd of little children from the cowardly Hun. + +[Illustration: "The last seen of Dale he was gathering together a crowd +of little children."] + +If I had died in that kind of service, in my dying moments I could have +heard the words of John Masefield from "The Everlasting Mercy" singing +in my heart: + + "Whoever gives a child a treat + Makes joybells ring in Heaven's street; + Whoever gives a child a home, + Builds palaces in Kingdom Come; + Whoever brings a child to birth, + Brings Saviour Christ again to earth." + + +Or, better, I would have seen the Master blessing little children, +taking them up in His arms and saying to the Hebrew mothers that stood +about with wondering eyes: "Suffer the little children to come unto me, +and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." + +And perhaps I should have heard the echo of Joaquin Miller's sweet +interpretation of that scene, for when men die, strange, sweet +memories, old hymns and verses, old faces, all come back: + + "Then lifting His hands He said lowly, + Of such is my Kingdom, and then + Took the little brown babes in the holy + White hands of the Savior of men; + Held them close to His breast and caressed them; + Put His face down to theirs as in prayer; + Put His cheek to their cheeks; and so blessed them + With baby hands hid in His hair." + + +And I am certain that last of all I should have heard the voice of the +Master himself saying: + +"Insomuch as ye have done it unto the least of one of these little +ones, my children, ye have done it unto me." + +Thank God for a death like that. One could envy such a passing, a +passing in the service to little children. + +I have seen some of the most magnificent episodes of service on the +part of men in France, scenes that have thrilled me to the bone. + +I know a Protestant clergyman in France who walked five miles on a +rainy February day to find a rosary for a dying Catholic boy. + +I know a Y. M. C. A. secretary who in America is the general secretary +of one of the largest organizations in one of the largest Eastern +cities. He has always had two hobbies: one is seeing men made whole, +and the other has been fighting cigarettes. Never bigger fists or more +determined fists pounded down the walls that were building themselves +up around American youth in the cigarette industry. He was militant +from morning till night in his crusade against cigarettes. Some of his +friends thought he was a fanatic. He even lost friends because of his +uncompromising antagonism to the cigarette. + +But the last time I heard of him he was in a front-line dugout. This +was near Château-Thierry. The boys were coming and going from that +awful fight. Men would come in one day and be dead the next. He had +been with them for months, and they had come to love him in spite of +his fighting their favorite pastime. They knew him for his +uncompromising antagonism to cigarettes. They loved him none the less +for that because he did not flinch. Neither was he narrow about +selling them. He sold them because it was his duty, but he hated them. + +Then for three days in the midst of the Château-Thierry fighting the +matches played out. Not a match was to be had for three days. The +boys were frantic for their smokes, for the nervous strain was greater +than anything they had suffered in their lives. The shelling was +awful. The noise never ceased. Machine-gun fire and bombing by planes +at night kept up every hour. They saw lifelong friends fall by their +sides every hour of the day and night. They needed the solace of their +smokes. + +Their secretary found two matches in his bag. He lit a cigarette for a +boy, and the match was gone. Then he used the other one. Then he did +a magnificent piece of service for which his name shall go down forever +in the memory of those lads. Forever shall he hold their affections in +the hollow of his hands. He proved to those boys that his sense of +service was greater than his prejudices. He kept three cigarettes +going for two days and two nights on the canteen beside him, smoking +them himself in order that that crowd of boys, coming and going into +the battle, in and out of the underground dugout, might have a light +for the cigarettes during the few moments of respite that they had from +the fight. + +What a thrill went down the line when that news got to the boys out +there in the woods fighting. One boy told me that a fellow he told +wept when he heard it. Another said: "Good old ----! I knew he had +the guts!" Another said: "I'll say he's a man!" Another came in one +evening and said: "I'm going to quit cigarettes from now. If you're +that much of a man, you're worth listening to!" Another said: "If I +get out of this it's me for the church forever if it has that kind of +men in it!" + +Is it any wonder that they brought their last letters to him before +they went into the trenches? Is it any wonder that they asked him for +a little prayer service one night before they went into the trenches? +Is it any wonder that they love him and swear by him? + +Is it any wonder that when one of them was asked how they liked their +secretary, the boy said: "Great! He's a man!" + +Is it any wonder that when another boy was asked if their secretary was +very religious, responded in his own language: "Yes, he's as religious +as hell, but he's a good guy anyhow!" + +That kind of service will win anybody, and that is exactly the kind of +service that the boys of the American army, your boys, are getting all +over France from big, heroic, unprejudiced, fatherly, brotherly men, +who are willing to die for their boys as well as to live for them and +with them down where the shells are thickest and the dangers are +constant. + +More than a hundred Y. M. C. A. men gassed and wounded to date, and +more than six killed. One friend of mine stepped down into his cellar +one morning, got a full breath of gas, and was dead in two minutes. +There had been a gas-raid the day before, and the gas had remained in +the cellar. Another I know stayed in his hut and served his men even +though six shell fragments came through the hut while he was doing it. +Another I know lived in a dugout for three months, under shell fire +every day. One day a shell took off the end of the old château in +which he was serving the men. His dugout was in the cellar. But he +did not leave. Another day another shell took off the other end of the +château, but he did not leave. He had no other place to go, and the +boys couldn't leave, so why should he go just because he could leave if +he wished? That was the way he looked at it. One man whom I +interviewed in Paris, a Baptist clergyman, crawled four hundred yards +at the Château-Thierry battle with a young lieutenant, dragging a +litter with them across a stubble wheat-field under a rain of +machine-gun bullets and shells, in plain view of the Germans, and +rescued a wounded colonel. When they brought him back they had to +crawl the four hundred yards again, pushing the litter before them inch +by inch. It took them two hours to get across that field. A piece of +shrapnel went through the secretary's shoulder. He is nearly sixty +years of age, but he did not stop when a service called him that meant +the almost certain loss of his own life. + +I know another secretary, Doctor Dan Poling, a clergyman, and Pest, a +physical director, who carried a wounded German, who had two legs +broken, through a barrage of German shells across a field to safety. + +But all the Silhouettes of Service are not in the front lines. + +There are two divisions to the army. They used to be "The Zone of +Advance" and "The Zone of the Rear." Now they call the second division +"The Services of Supplies." All the men who are not in the actual +fighting belong to "The Services of Supplies." + +"How many men does it take to keep one pilot in the machine flying out +over those waters to guard the transports in?" I asked the young ensign +in charge of a seaplane station. + +"Twenty-eight," he replied. "There are twenty-eight men back of every +machine and every pilot." + +The service that these men render, although it is hard for them to see +it, is just as real and just as heroic as the service of those in the +front lines. The boys in "The Services of Supplies" are eager to get +up front. I have had the joy of making them see in their huts and +camps that their service is supremely important. + +One cannot tell what service is more important. + +When I landed at Newport News, the first sound that I heard was the +machine-gun hammering of thousands of riveters building ships. I know +how vital that service is to the boys "over there." They could not +live without the ships. + +Then I came from Newport News to Washington, on my way home, and we +entered that great city by night. The Capitol dome was flooded with +light. As I looked at it I said to myself: "To-day from this city +emanates the light of the world. The eyes of the whole of humanity are +turned toward this city. That lighted dome is symbol of all this." + +As I looked out of the train window as we entered Washington from +Richmond, Virginia, I thought: "Surely not the shipbuilding but the +ideals that go out from the Capitol are the most important 'Services of +Supplies.'" + +The next morning I was in Pittsburgh. As my train pulled into that +great city, all along the Ohio River I saw great armies of laboring men +going and coming from work. As one tide of humanity flowed out of the +mills across the bridges, another flowed in, and I said: "Surely not +the shipbuilders, nor the ideal-makers at Washington, but this great +army of laboring men in America forms the most important part of 'The +Services of Supplies'!" + +Then I came to New York. In turn I spoke before two significant groups +of men and women. One was a group of women meeting each day to make +Red Cross bandages, and knowing the scarcity of such in France, and +knowing how at times nurses have had to tear up their skirts to bandage +wounds of dying boys, I said: "Surely this is it!" + +Then I spoke before the artists of New York, with Mr. Charles Dana +Gibson heading them, and as I had seen their stirring posters +everywhere arousing the nation to action, and knew what an important +part the artists and writers in France had played in "The Services of +Supplies," I said: "Surely these are the most important!" + +But I have found at last that none of these are the most important of +all. There is another section to "The Services of Supplies," and that +is more important than the mechanic behind the pilot, more important +than the man who assembles the motor trucks and the ambulances in +France, more important than the ship-builders, more important than the +lawmakers themselves, more important even than the President, more +important than that great army of laborers which I saw in Pittsburgh, +more important than the artists and the Red Cross workers, and that +supreme and important part of the great "Services of Supplies" is the +father and mother, the wife, the child, the home, the church, the great +mass of the common thinking, feeling, suffering, praying, hoping people +of America. If these fail, all fails. If these lose faith and courage +and hope, all lose faith and courage and hope. If these grow +faint-hearted, all before them lose heart. These are they who furnish +the real sinews of war. These are they who must furnish the morale, +the love, the letters, the prayers, the support to both government and +soldier. Yes, the common folks over here at home, I have seen clearly, +are the most important part of the great division of the army that we +call "The Services of Supplies." May we never fail the boy in France. + +These are the Silhouettes of Service. + + + + +VIII + +SILHOUETTES OF SORROW + +I wondered at his hold on the hearts of the boys in a certain hospital +in France. It was a strange thing. I went through the hospital with +him and it seemed to me, judging by the conversation with the boys in +the hundreds of cots, that he had just done something for a boy, or he +was just in the process of doing something, or he was just about to do +something. + +They called him "daddy." + +All day long I wondered at his secret, for he was so unlike any man I +had seen in France in the way he had won the hearts of the boys. I was +curious to know. Something in his eyes made me think of Lincoln. They +had a look like Lincoln in their depths. + +That night when I was about to leave I blunderingly stumbled on his +secret. About the only ornament in his bare pine room in the hut was a +picture on the desk. I seized on it immediately, for next to a +sweet-faced baby about the finest thing on earth to look at is a boy +between five and twelve. And here were two, dressed in plaid suits, +with white collars, tousled hair, clean, fine American boys. + +I exclaimed as I picked the picture up: + +"What a fine pair of lads!" + +Then I knew that I had, unwittingly, stumbled into his secret, for a +look of infinite pain swept over his face. + +"They are both dead. Last August wife called me on the phone and said +that something awful had happened to the boys. They were all we had, +and I hurried home. + +"They had gone out on a Boy Scout picnic. The older had gone in +swimming in the river and had gotten beyond his depth. The younger +went in after him and both were drowned." + +"I'm sorry I brought it back," I said humbly. + +He didn't notice what I said, but went on. + +"Wife and I were broken-hearted. There didn't seem much to live for. +We had lost all. Then came this Y. M. C. A. work, and we thought that +we would like to come over here and do for all the boys in the army +what we could not do for our own. And now wife and I are here, and +every time I do something for a wounded boy in this hospital, I feel as +if I were serving my own dear lads." + +"And you are," I said. "And if the mothers and fathers of America know +that men and women of your type are here looking after their lads it +will give them a new sense of comfort and you will be serving them +also." + +"And my wife," he added. "You know the boys up at ---- call her 'The +Woman with the Sandwiches and Sympathy.' She got her name because one +night a drunken soldier staggered into the hut and asked for her. He +didn't remember her name, but she had darned his socks, she had written +letters for him, she had mothered him, she had tried to help him. They +wanted to put the poor lad out, but he insisted upon seeing my wife. +Finally, in desperation, seeing that he couldn't think of her name, he +said, 'Wan' see that woman wif sandwiches and sympathy,' and after that +the name stuck." + +[Illustration: "The boys call her 'The Woman with Sandwiches and +Sympathy.'"] + +And as we knelt in prayer together there in the hut and I arose to +clasp his hand in sympathy, I knew that through service there in +France, through service to your sons, mothers and fathers of America, +this brave man, as well as his wife, were solacing their grief. They +were conquering sorrow in service, thank God. + +Yes, there are Silhouettes of Sorrow, but these silhouettes always have +back of them the gold of a new dawn of hope. They are black +silhouettes, but they have a glorious background of sunrise and hope. +I tell of no sorrows here that are not triumphant sorrows, such as will +hearten the whole world to bear its sorrow well when it comes, pray God. + +Up at ---- on the beautiful Loire is my friend the secretary. It is a +humble position, and there are not many soldiers there, but he is +serving and brothering, tenderly and faithfully, the few that are +there. No one would ever think of him as a hero, but I do. He, too, +is a hero who is conquering sorrow in service. + +His only daughter had been accepted for Y. M. C. A. service in France. +She was all he had. He was a minister at home, and had given up his +church for the duration of the war. Both were looking forward with +keen anticipation to her coming to France. Then came the cable of her +death. + +I was there, the morning it arrived, to preach for him. He said no +word to me about the blow. We went on with the service as usual. I +noticed that no hymns had been selected, and that things were not in +very good order for the service. I was a little annoyed at this, but I +am thankful with all my heart this day that I said nothing. I had +decided in my heart that he was not a very efficient religious director +until I heard the next day. + +When I asked him why he had not told me, he said a characteristic +thing: "I didn't want to spoil the service. I thought I would keep my +grief in my own heart and fight it out alone." + +And fight it out he did. Letters kept coming for several weeks after +the cable, letters full of girlish hope about France, and full of joy +at the thoughts of seeing "daddy" soon. This was the hardest of all. +He could not tear up those precious letters. Her last words and +thoughts were treasures; all that he had left; but they were +spear-thrusts of pain also. But bravely he fought out his battle of +grief, and tenderly he ministered, mothers and fathers of America, to +your boys. Is it any wonder that they loved him, that they went to him +with their loneliness and their heartaches; is it any wonder that he +understood all the troubles that they brought and that they bring to +him? + +And then there was the young secretary who had just landed in France. +It had been hard to leave home, especially hard to leave that little +tot of a six-year-old girl, the apple of his eye. + +Some of us who have such experiences will understand this story; some +of us who remember what the parting from loved ones meant when we went +to France. One such I remember vividly. + +There was the night before in the hotel in San Francisco, when "Betty," +six-year-old, said, "Don't cry, mother. Be brave like Betty," and who +even admonished her daddy in the same way, "Don't cry, daddy! Be brave +like Betty!" for it was just as hard for the daddy to keep the tears +back, as he thought of the separation, as it was for the mother. + +Then the daddy would say to the mother: "I feel ashamed of myself to +cry when I think of the thousands of daddies and husbands who are +leaving their homes, not for six months' or a year's service, but 'for +the period of the war,' and leaving with so much more of a cloud +hanging over them than I. I have every hope that I will be back with +you in six or eight months, but they----" + +"Yes, but your own grief will make you understand all the better what +it means to the daddies in the army who leave their babies and their +wives, and oh, dear, be good to them!" + +Then there was the next morning at the Oakland pier as the great +transcontinental train pulled out, when the little six-year-old lady +for the first time suddenly saw what losing her daddy meant. She +hadn't visualized it before. Consequently, she had been brave, and had +even boasted of her bravery. But now she had nothing to be brave +about, for as the train started to move she suddenly burst into sobs +and started down the platform after the train as fast as her sturdy +little legs could carry her, crying between sobs, "Come back, daddy! +Come back to Betty! Don't go away!" with her mother after her. + +The daddy had no easy time as he watched this tragedy of childhood from +the observation-car. It was a half-hour before he dared turn around +and face the rest of the sympathetic passengers. + +Going back on the ferry to San Francisco the weeping did not cease. In +fact it became contagious, for a kindly old gentleman, thinking that +the little lady was afraid of the boat, said: "What's the matter, dear? +Are you afraid?" + +"No, sir, I'm not afraid; but my daddy's gone to France, and I want him +back! I want my daddy! I want my daddy!" and the storm burst again. +Then here and there all over the boat the women wept. Here and there a +man pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pretended to blow his +nose. + +And so we understand what it meant to this young secretary when, upon +landing in France, he got the cable telling of the death of his baby +girl. + +At first he was stunned by the blow. + +Then came a brave second cable from his wife telling him that there was +nothing that he could do at home; to stay at his contemplated task of +being a friend to the boys. + +The brave note in the second cable gave him new spirit and new courage, +and in spite of a heavy heart he went into a canteen, and will any +wonder who read this story that he has won the undying devotion of his +entire regiment by his tireless self-sacrificing service to the +American boys? + +What triumphs these are, what triumphs over sorrow and pain. + +All of France is filled with these Silhouettes of Sorrow, but each has +a background of triumphant, dawning light. + +There was the woman and child that I saw in the Madeleine in Paris, +both in black. They walked slowly up the steps and in through the +great doors to pray for their daddy aviator, who had been killed a year +before. + +A man at the door told me that every day they come, that every day they +keep fresh the memory of their loved one. + +"But why does she come so long after he is dead?" I asked. + +"She comes to pray for the other aviators," he added simply. + +It was a tremendous thing to me. I went into the great, beautiful +cathedral and reverently knelt beside them in love and thankfulness +that no harm had come to my own wife and baby. But the memory of that +woman's brave pilgrimage of prayer each day for a year, "for the other +aviators," the picture of the woman and child kneeling, etched its way +into my soul to remain forever. + +"As I shot down through the night, falling to what I was certain was +immediate death, I had just one thought," a young aviator said, as we +sat talking in a hotel in Paris. + +I said: "What was it?" + +"I said to myself: 'What will the poor kiddie do without his dad?"' + +Then there is that Silhouette of Sorrow that my friend brought back +from Germany, he who was on the Peace Ship Commission, and who saw a +train-load of German boys leaving a certain German town to fill in the +gaps caused by the losses at Verdun; and because this sorrow is +characteristic of the mother sorrow of the whole world, and especially +of the American mother, and because it has a note of wonderful triumph, +I tell it. + +"I thought they were the hardest women in the world," he said, "for as +I watched them saying farewell to their boys there wasn't a tear. +There was laughter everywhere, shouting and smiles, as if those poor +boys were going off to school, or to a picnic, when we all knew that +they were going to certain death. + +"I felt like cursing their indifference to the common impulses of +motherhood. I watched a thousand mothers and women as that train +started, and I didn't see a tear. They stood waving their hands and +smiling until the train was out of sight. I turned in disgust to walk +away when a woman near me fainted, and I caught her as she fell. Then +a low moan went up all over that station platform. It was as if those +mothers moaned as one. There was no hysteria, just a low moan that +swept over them. I saw dozens of them sink to the floor unconscious. +They had kept their grief to themselves until their lads had gone. +They had sent their boys away with a smile, and had kept their +heartache buried until those lads had departed." + +I think that this is characteristic of the triumphant motherhood of the +whole world. It is a Silhouette of Sorrow, but it has a background of +the golden glory of bravery which is the admiration of all the world. +A recent despatch says that a woman, an American, sent her boy away +smiling a few weeks ago, and then dropped dead on the station, dead of +grief. + +One who has lived and worked in France has silhouette memories of +funeral processions standing out in sombre blackness against a lurid +nation. He has memories of funeral trains in little villages and in +great cities; he has memories of brave men standing as doorkeepers in +hotels, with arms gone, with crosses for bravery on their breasts, but +somehow the cloud of sorrow is always fringed with gold and silver. He +has memories of funeral services in Notre Dame and the Madeleine, and +in little towns all over France, but in and around them all there is +somewhere the glory of sunlight, of hope, of courage. Indeed, one +cannot have silhouettes, even of sorrow, if there is no background of +light and hope. + +For we know that even in war-time God "still makes roses," as John +Oxenham, the English poet, tells us: + + "Man proposes--God disposes; + Yet our hope in Him reposes + Who in war-time still makes roses." + + +John Oxenham, one of the outstanding poets of the war, wrote this +verse, and for me it has been a sort of a motto of faith during my +service in France. I have quoted it everywhere I have spoken, and it +has sung its way into my heart, like a benediction with its comfort and +its assurance. + +It has been surprising, too, the way the boys have grasped at it. I +have quoted it to them privately, in groups, and in great crowds down +on the line, and back in the rest-camps, and in the ports, and +everywhere I have quoted it I have had many requests to give copies of +it to the boys. I quoted it once in a negro hut, hesitating before I +did so lest they should not appreciate it enough to make quoting it +excusable. But I took a chance. + +When the service was over a long line of intelligent-looking negro boys +waited for me. I thought that they just wanted to shake hands, but +much to my astonishment most of them wanted to know if I would give +them a copy of that verse, and so I was kept busy for half an hour +writing off copies of that brief word of faith. + +One never quite knows all that this verse means until he has been in +France and has seen the suffering, the heartache, the loneliness, the +mud, and dirt and hurt; the wounds and pain and death which are +everywhere. + +Then he turns from all the suffering to find a blood-red poppy blooming +in the field behind him; or a million of them covering a green field +like a great blanket. These poppies are exactly like our golden +California poppies. Like them they grow in the fields and along the +hedges; even covering the unsightly railroad-tracks, as if they would +hide the ugly things of life. + +I thought to myself: "They look as if they had once been our golden +California poppies, but that in these years of war every last one of +them had been dipped in the blood of those brave lads who have died for +us, and forever after shall they be crimson in memory of these who have +given so much for humanity." + +One day in early June I was driving through Brittany along the coast of +the Atlantic. On the road we passed many old-fashioned men, and women +in their little white bonnets and their black dresses. + +We stopped at a beautiful little farmhouse for lunch. It attracted us +because of its serene appearance and its cleanliness. A gray-haired +little old woman was in the yard when we stopped our machine. + +The yard was literally sprinkled with blood-red poppies. As we walked +in and were making known our desire for lunch a beautiful girl of about +twenty-five, dressed in mourning, stepped to the doorway, her black +eyes flashing a welcome, and cried out: "Welcome, comrade Americaine." +Behind her was a little girl, her very image. + +I guessed at once that in this quiet Brittany home the war had reached +out its devastating hand. I had remarked earlier in the day as we +drove along: "It is all so quiet and beautiful here, with the old-gold +broom flowering everywhere on hedge and hill, and with the crimson +poppies blowing in the wind, that it doesn't seem as if war had touched +Brittany." + +A friend who knew better said: "But have you not noticed that women are +pulling the carts, women are tilling the fields? Look at that woman +over there pulling a plough. Have you not noticed that there are no +men but old men everywhere?" + +He was right. I could not remember to have seen any young men, and +everywhere women were working in the field, and in one place a woman +was yoked up with an ox, ploughing, while a young girl drove the odd +pair. + +"And if that isn't enough, wait until we come to the next cathedral and +I'll show you what corresponds to our 'Honor Rolls' in the churches +back home. Then you'll know whether war has touched Brittany or not." + +We entered with reverent hearts the next ancient cathedral of Brittany, +in a little town with a population of only about two thousand, we were +told, and yet out of this town close to five hundred boys had been +killed in the Great War. Their names were posted, written with many a +flourish by some village penman. In the list I saw the names of four +brothers who had been killed, and their father. The entire family had +been wiped out, all but the women. + +So I was mistaken. As quiet and peaceful as Brittany was during May +and June, as beautiful with broom and poppies as were its fields, it +had not gone untouched by the cruel hand of war. It, too, had +suffered, as has every hamlet, village, and corner of fair France; +suffered grievously. + +Thus I was not surprised to hear that this beautiful young woman was +wearing black because her husband had been killed, and that the little +girl behind her in the doorway had no longer any hope that her soldier +daddy would some day come home and romp with her as of old. At the +lunch we were told all about it. True, there were tears shed in the +telling, and these not alone by these brave Frenchwomen and the little +girl, but it was a sweet, simple story of courage. Several times +during its telling the little girl ran over to kiss the tears out of +her mother's eyes, and to say, with such faith that it thrilled us: +"Never mind, mother, the Américains are here now; they will kill the +cruel Boches." + +After dinner we walked amid the red poppies in the great lawn that was +the crowning feature of that white-stone home. On the walls of the +ancient house grew the most wonderful roses that I have ever seen +anywhere, not excepting California. Great white roses, so large and +fragrant that they seemed unreal, delicately moulded red roses, which +unfolded like a baby's lips, climbed those ancient stone walls. The +younger woman cared for them herself, and was engaged in that task of +love even before we went away. + +I said to her, in what French I could command: "They are the most +beautiful roses I have ever seen." + +"Even in your own beautiful America?" she asked with a smile. + +"Yes, more beautiful even than in my own America." + +"Yes," she said, "they are most beautiful, but they are more than that; +they are full of hope for me. They are my promise that I shall see him +some time again. They come back each spring. He loved them and cared +for them when he was alive. Even on his leave in 1915 he gloried in +them. And when they come back each spring they seem to come to give me +promise that I shall see him again." + +Then I translated Oxenham's verses about the roses for her. The +translation was poor, but she caught the idea, and her face beamed with +a new light, and she said: "Ah, yes, it is as I believe, that the good +God who still makes the beautiful roses, he will not take him away from +me forever." + +I never read Oxenham's verse now that I do not see that little cottage +in Brittany that has sheltered the same family for centuries; twined +about with great red and white roses; and the old mother and the young +mother and the little lonely girl. + + "Yet our hope in Him reposes + Who in war-time still makes roses." + +Another time, down on the Toul front lines, I had this thought forced +home by a strange scene. It was in mid-March and for three days a +heavy blizzard had been blowing. I, who had lived in California for +several years, wondered at this blizzard and revelled in it, although I +had had to drive amid its fury, sometimes creeping along at a snail's +pace, without lights, down near the front lines. It was cruelly cold +and hard for those of us who were in the "truck gang." + +One night during this blizzard, which blew with such fury as I have +never seen before, we were lost. At one time we were headed directly +for the German lines, which were close, but an American sentry stopped +us before we had gone very far, demanding in stern tones: "Where are +youse guys goin' that direction?" + +I replied: "To Toul." + +"To Toul! You're going straight toward the Boche lines. Turn around. +You're the third truck that's got lost in this blizzard. Back that +opposite way is your direction." + +The morning after it had cleared it was worth all the discomfort to see +the hills and fields of France. One group of hills which I had heard +were the most heavily fortified in all France, loomed like two huge +sentinels before the city. The Germans knew this also, and military +experts say that that is the reason why they did not try to reach Paris +by this route in the beginning of the war. + +We were never permitted on these hills, but we had seen them belch fire +many a time as the German airplanes came over the city. + +But on this morning, after three days of snow, those great black hills +were transformed, covered with a pure white blanket. The trees were +robed in white. Not a spot of black appeared. Even the great guns on +the top of the hill looked like white fingers pointing toward Berlin. +The roads and fields and hills of France had suddenly been transformed +as by a magic wand into things beautiful and white. + +War is black. War is muddy. War is bloody. War is gray. War is full +of hate and hurt and wounds and blood and death and heartache and +heartbreak and homesickness and loneliness. + +Thomas Tiplady, in "The Cross at the Front," was right when he +described war as symbolized by the great black cloud of smoke that +unrolled in the sky when a great Jack Johnson had exploded. Everything +that war touches it makes ugly, except the soul, and it cannot blacken +that. + +It ruins the fields and makes them torn and cut; it tears the trees +into ragged stumps. It kills the grass and tramples it underfoot. It +takes the most beautiful architecture in the world and makes a pile of +dust and dirt of it. It takes a beautiful face and makes it horrible +with the scars of bayonet and burning gases. + +But on this morning God seemed to be covering up all of that ugliness +and dirt and mud and blackness. Fields that the day before had been +nothing but ugly blotches were white and beautiful. Ammunition dumps, +horrible in their suggestion of death, seemed now to have been covered +over and hidden by some kindly hand of love. The great brown-bronzed +hills, the fortifications filled with death and horror were gleaming +white in the morning sunlight. + +I said to the other driver: "Well, it's too beautiful to be true, isn't +it? It's a shame to think that when we get back from the front it will +all be gone, melted, and the old mud and dirt will be back again." + +"Yes, but it means something to me," he said. + +"What does it mean?" + +"It means the future." + +"What are you talking about, man?" + +"Why, it means that some day this land will be beautiful again. It +means that, impossible as that idea seems, the war will cease, that +people will till these fields again, that grass will grow, that flowers +will bloom in these fields again, that people will come back to their +homes in peace. It is symbolical of that great white peace that will +come forever, when the ugly thing we call war will be buried so deeply +underneath the white blanket of peace and brotherhood that the world +will know war no more. It's like a rainbow to me. It is a promise." + +I had never heard Tom grow so eloquent before, and what he said sounded +Christian. It sounded like man's talk to me. It was the dream of the +Christ I knew. It was the dream of the prophets of old. It was +Tennyson's dream. Such a dream will not die from the earth, and men +will just keep on dreaming it until some day it will come true, for-- + + "Man proposes--God disposes; + Yet my hope in Him reposes, + Who in war-time still makes roses." + + +The white and crimson roses of that little cottage in Brittany, the +quiet and peace and promise and vision of a Jeanne d'Arc in the village +of Domremy; the blooming of a billion red poppies in the fields of +France; the blanketing of the earth with a covering of white snow +sufficient to hide the ugliness of war, even for a day, all give +promise of the God who, in the end, when he has given man every chance +to redeem himself, and who, even amid cruel wars "still makes roses," +will finally bring to pass "peace on earth; good-will to men." + +"_Somewhere in France_." + + + + +IX + +SILHOUETTES OF SUFFERING + +All night long a group of Red Cross and Y. M. C. A. men and women had +been feeding the refugees from Amiens. There were two thousand of them +in one basement room of the Gare du Nord. They had not eaten for +forty-eight hours. Most of them were little children, old men, and +women of all ages. + +Two hundred or more of them had been in the hands of the Germans for +two years, and when a few days before it came time for the Germans to +open their second big Somme drive, they had driven these women and +little girls out ahead of them, saying: "Go back to the French now, we +do not want you any longer." + +For two days and nights these refugees had tramped the roads of France +without food, many of them carrying little babies in their arms, all of +them weary and sick near unto death. + +The little children gripped your heart. As you handed them food and +saw their little claw-like hands clutch at it, and as you saw them +devour it like starved animals, the while clutching at a dirty but +much-loved doll, somehow you could not see for the mists in your eyes +as you walked up and down the narrow aisles of that crowded basement +pouring out chocolate and handing out food. The things you saw every +minute in that room hung a veil over your eyes, and you were afraid all +the while that in your blinding of tears you would step on some +sleeping, starving child, who was lying on the cold floor in utter +exhaustion, regardless of food. + +One woman especially attracted me. I noticed her time and time again +as I walked past her with food. She was lying on her back on the +floor, with nothing under her, her arms thrown back over her head, a +child in her arms, or rather, lying against her breast asleep. She +looked like an educated, cultured woman. Her features were beautiful, +but she looked as if she had passed through death and hell in +suffering. I asked her several times as I passed by if she wouldn't +have some food, and each time she gave some to her baby but took none +herself. She could hardly lift her body from the stone basement to +feed the child, and feeling that the thing that she needed most herself +was food, I urged her to eat, but she would not. + +Finally I stopped before her and asked her if she was ill. She looked +up into my face and said: "Très fatiguée, monsieur! Très fatiguée, +monsieur!" (Very weary, sir! Very weary, sir!) + +By morning she was rested and accepted food. Then she told me her +story. Two days before in her village they had been ordered by the +army to leave their homes in a half-hour; everybody must be gone by +that time; the Germans were coming, and there was no time to lose. She +had hastily gathered some clothes together. The baby was lying in its +crib. Her other child, a little six-year-old girl, had gone out into +the front of the home watching for the truck that was to gather up the +village people. A bomb fell from a German Gotha and killed this child +outright, horribly mangling her body. This suffering mother just had +time to pick the little mangled body up and lay it on a bed, kiss its +cheeks good-by and leave it there, for there was no other way. She did +not even have the satisfaction of burying her child. + +"Very weary! Very weary!" I can hear her words yet: "Très fatiguée! +Très fatiguée!" No wonder you were fatigued, mother heart. You had a +right to be, weary unto death. No wonder you did not care to eat all +that long horrible night in the Gare du Nord. + +Loneliness is naturally one of the things with which our own boys +suffer most. When one remembers that these Americans of ours are +thousands of miles away from their homes, most of them boys who have +never been away from home in their lives before; most of them boys who +have never crossed the ocean before, they will judge fairly and +understand better the loneliness of the American soldier. It is not a +loneliness that will make him any the less a soldier. Ay, it is +because of that very home love, and that very eagerness to get back to +his home, that he will and does fight like a veteran to get it over. + +"Gosh! I wish I would find just one guy from Redding!" a +seventeen-year-old boy said to me one night as I stood in a Y. M. C. A. +hut. He was about the loneliest boy I saw in France. I saw that he +needed to smile. He was nothing but a kid, after all. + +"Gosh! I wish I'd see just one guy from San Jose!" I said with a +smile. Then we both laughed and sat down to some chocolate, and had a +good talk, the very thing that the lad was hungry for. + +He had been in France for nearly a year and he hadn't seen a single +person he knew. He had been sick a good deal of the time and had just +come from an appendix operation. He was depressed in spirits, and his +homesickness had poured itself out in that one phrase: "Gosh! I wish +I'd see just one guy from Redding!" + +Those who do not think that homesickness comes under the heading of +"Suffering" had better look into the face of a truly homesick American +boy in France before he judges. + +The English Tommy is only a few hours from home, and knows it. The +French soldier is fighting on his own native soil, but the American is +fighting three thousand miles away from home, and some of them seven +thousand. + +"I haven't had a letter in five months from home," a boy in a hospital +said to me. He was lonely and discouraged. And right here may I say +to the American people that there is no one thing that needs more +constant urging than the plea that you write, write, write to your +soldier in France. He would rather have letters than candy, or +cigarettes, or presents of any kind, as much as he loves some of these +material things. I have put it to a vote dozens of times, and the +result is always the same; ten to one they would rather have a letter +from home than a package of cigarettes or a box of candy. I have seen +boys literally suffering pangs that were a thousand times worse than +wounds because they did not receive letters from those at home. + +"Hell! Nobody back there cares a damn about me! I haven't received a +letter in five months!" a boy burst out in my presence in Nancy one +night. + +"Have you no mother or sister?" + +"Yes, but they're careless; they always were about letter-writing." + +I tried to fix up excuses for them, but it tested both my imagination +and my enthusiasm to do it. I could put no real heart into making +excuses for them, and so my words fell like lame birds to the ground, +and the tragedy of it was that both of us knew there was no good +excuse. It was the most pitiable case I saw in France. God pity the +careless mother or sister or father or friend who isn't willing to take +the time and make the sacrifice that is needed to at least supply a +letter three times a week to the lad who is willing to sacrifice his +all, if need be, that those at home may live in peace, free from the +horror of the Hun. + + "Less Sweaters + And More Letters" + +might very well be the motto of the folks here at home, for the boys +would profit more in the long run, both in their bodies and in their +souls. A censor friend of mine said to me one day: "If you ever get a +chance when you go home to urge the people of America to write, and +write, and write to their boys, do it with all your heart. You could +do no better service to the boys than that." + +"What makes you feel so keenly about it?" I asked him, for he talked so +earnestly that it surprised me. Ordinarily you think of the censor as +utterly devoid of humanitarian impulses, just a sort of a machine to +slice out the really interesting things in your letters, a great human +blue pencil, or a great human pair of scissors. But here was a censor +that felt deeply what he was saying. + +"I'll tell you," he replied, "it is because some of the letters that I +read which are going back home from lonely boys, begging somebody to +write to them; literally begging somebody, anybody, to write! It gets +my goat! I can't stand it. I often feel like adding a sentence to +some letters myself going home, telling them they ought to be ashamed +the way they treat their boys about letter-writing; but the rules are +so stringent that I must neither add to nor take from a letter save in +the line of my duties. I'd like to tell a few of the people back home +what I think of them, and I'd like for them to read some of the +heartaches that I read in the letters of the boys. Then they'd +understand how I feel about it." + +I shall never forget my friend the wrestler when I asked how it was +that he kept so clean, and he replied: "The letters help a lot." + +I have seen boys suffering from wounds of every description. I have +seen them lying in hospitals with broken backs. I have seen them with +blinded eyes. I have seen them with legs gone, and arms. I have seen +them when the doctors were dressing their wounds. I remember one +captain who had fifty wounds in his back, and he had them dressed +without a single cry. I have seen them gassed, and I have seen them +shot to pieces with shell shock, and yet the worst suffering I have +seen in France has been on the part of boys whose folks back home have +neglected them; boys who, day after day, had seen the other fellows get +their letters regularly, boys who had gone with hope in their hearts +time after time for letters, and then had lost hope. This is real +suffering, suffering that does more to knock the morale out of a lad +than anything that I know in France. + +Silhouettes of Suffering stand out in my memory with great vividness. +One general cause of suffering in addition to the above is loneliness +in the heart of the young husband and father, who has a wife and kiddie +back home. + +I remember one young officer that I saw in a Paris hotel. He had been +out in the Vosges Mountains with a company of wood-choppers for six +months. He had come in for his first leave. His leave lasted eight +days. Instead of going to the theatres he sat around in our officers' +hotel lobby and watched the women walking about, the Y. M. C. A. girls +who were the hostesses there. They noticed him as he sat there all +evening, hardly moving. After several nights one of the men +secretaries went up to him and said: "Why don't you go over and talk +with them? They would be glad to talk with you." + +"Oh," he said, "I never was much for women at home, except my wife and +kid. I never did know how to talk to women. Especially now, for I've +been up in the woods for six months. Just let me sit here and look at +'em. That's enough for me. Just let me sit here and look at 'em!" + +And that was the way he spent his leave, just loafing around in that +hotel lobby watching the women at their work. + +"This has been the loneliest day of my life," a major said to me on +Mother Day in a great port of entry. + +"Why, major?" + +Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the picture of a +seven-year-old boy and that boy's mother. + +Suffering? Yes, of course I have seen boys wounded, as I have said, +but for real downright suffering, loneliness is worst, and it lies +entirely within the province of the folks at home to alleviate this +suffering. I have seen a boy morose and surly, discouraged and grouchy +in the morning. He didn't know what was the matter with himself. In +the afternoon I have seen him laughing and yelling like a wild animal +at play, happy as a lark. + +What was the difference? He had gotten a letter. + +[Illustration: What was the difference? He had gotten a letter.] + +Then there is the Silhouette of Physical Suffering. Hundreds of these +sombre silhouettes stand out against a lurid background of fire and +blood. One only I quote because it has a fringe of hope. + +The boy's back was broken. It had been broken by a shell concussion. +There were no visible signs of a wound on his body anywhere, the +doctors told me in the hospital. He did not know it as yet. He +thought it was his leg that was hurt. They asked me to tell him, as +gently as I could. It was a hard task to give a man. + +He was lying on a raised bed so that, when I went up to it, it came up +to my neck almost, and when I talked with the lad I could look straight +into his eyes. Those eyes I shall never forget, they were so fearless, +so brave, and yet so full of weariness and suffering. + +I took his hand and said: "Boy, I am a preacher." For once I didn't +say anything about being a secretary. I just told him I was a preacher. + +He said: "I am so glad you have come. I just wanted to see a real, +honest-to-goodness preacher." He forced a smile to accompany this +sentence. + +"Well, I'm all of that, and proud of it," I replied, smiling back into +his brave eyes. + +"I'm so tired. I try to be brave, but I've been lying here for three +months now, and my leg doesn't seem to get any better. It pains all +the time until I think I'll die with the agony of it. I never sleep +only when they give me something. But I try hard to be brave." + +"You are brave!" I said to him. "They all tell me that, the doctors +and nurses." + +"They are so good to me." he said in low tones so that I had to bend to +hear them. "But my leg; they don't seem to be able to help me." + +Then I told him as gently as I could that it was not his leg, that it +was his back, and that he would likely not get well. Then I tried to +tell him of the room in his Father's house that was ready for him when +he was ready to accept it, and of what a glorious welcome there was +there. + +He reached out for my hand in the semi-darkness of that evening. I can +feel his hand-clasp yet. I didn't know what to say, but a phrase that +had lingered in my mind from an old story came to the rescue. + +"Don't you want the Christ to help you bear your pain?" I asked him. + +"That is just what I do want," he said simply. "That was why I was so +glad you came--an honest-to-goodness preacher," and he smiled again, so +bravely, in spite of his suffering, and in spite of the news that I had +just broken to him. + +Then we prayed. I stood beside his bed holding his hand and praying. +The room was full of other wounded boys, but in the twilight I doubt if +a lad there knew what we were doing. I spoke low, just so he could +hear, and the Master knew what was in my heart without hearing. + +When I was through I felt a pressure of his hand, and he said: "Now I +feel stronger. He is helping me bear my burden. Thank you for coming, +and"--then he paused for words "and--thank you for bringing Him." + +Yes, there is suffering in France, suffering among our soldiers, too, +but suffering that is glorified by courage. + + + + +X + +SOLDIER SILHOUETTES + +One night down near the front lines as we drove the great truck slowly +over the icy roads, on the top of a little knoll stood a lone sentinel +against a background of snow, and that is a silhouette that I shall +never forget. + +Another night there was a beautiful afterglow, and being a lover of the +beautiful as well as a driver of a truck, I was lost in the wonder of +the crimson flush against the western hills. + +"Makes me homesick," said the big man beside me, whose home is in the +West. "Looks for all the world like one of our Arizona afterglows." + +"It is beautiful," I replied, and then we were both lost in silent +appreciation of the scene before us, when suddenly we were startled +witless. + +"Halt!" rang out through the semi-darkness. "Who goes there?" + +"Y. M. C. A." we shot back as quick as lightning, for we had learned +that it doesn't pay to waste time in answering a sentinel's challenge +down within sound of the German guns. + +"Pass on, friends," was the grinning reply. That rascal of a sentry +had caught us unawares, lost in the afterglow, and he was tickled over +having startled us into astonishment. + +But even though he did give us a scare, I am sure that the picture of +him standing there in the middle of that French road, with his gun +raised against the afterglow, will be one of the outstanding +silhouettes of the memories of France. + +Then there was the old Scotch dominie down at Château-Thierry, with the +marines. The boys called him "Doc," and loved him, for he had been +with them for eight months. + +One night, in the midst of the hottest fighting in June, the old +secretary thought he would go out in the night and see how the boys +were getting along. He walked cautiously along the edge of the woods +when suddenly the word "Halt!" shot out in low but distinct tones. + +"Who goes there?" + +"A friend," the secretary replied. + +"Oh, it's you, is it, Doc? Gee, I'm glad to see you! This is a darned +weird place to-night. Every time the wind blows I think it's a Boche." + +There was a slight noise out in No Man's Land. "What's that, Doc, a +Boche?" + +"I think not." + +"You can't tell, Doc; they're everywhere. If I've seen one, I've seen +ten thousand to-night on this watch." + +That old gray-haired secretary will never forget that night when he +walked among the men in the trenches with his little gifts and his word +of cheer, that memorable night before the Americans made themselves +heroes forever in the Bois du Belleau. He will never forget the sound +of that boy sentry's voice when he said, "Gee, Doc, I'm glad it's you"; +nor will he forget the looks of the boy as he stood there in the +darkness, the guardian of America's hopes and homes, nor will he forget +the firm, warm clasp of the lad's hands as he walked away to greet +others of his comrades. + +These are Soldier Silhouettes that remain vivid until time dies, until +the "springs of the seas run dust," as Markham says: + + "Forget it not 'til the crowns are crumbled; + 'Til the swords of the Kings are rent with rust; + Forget it not 'til the hills lie humbled; + And the springs of the seas run dust." + + +No, we do not forget scenes and moments like these in our lives. + +Then there is the silhouette of the profile of the captain of a certain +American machine-gun company who, in March, marched with his men into +the Somme line. He was an old football-player back in the States, and +we were having a last dinner together in Paris, a group of college men. +After dinner, when we had finished discussing the dangers of the coming +weeks, and he had told us that his major had said to him, "If fifteen +per cent of us come out alive, I shall be glad," and after we had +drifted back to the old college days, and home and babies, and after he +had shown us a picture of his wife and his kiddies, it became strangely +quiet in the room, and suddenly he turned his face from us, with just +the profile showing against the light of the window, and exclaimed: "My +God, fellows, for a half-hour you have made me forget that there is a +war, and I have been back on the old campus again playing football, and +back with my babies." + +Then his jaw set, and I shall never forget the profile of his face as +that set look came back and once again he became the captain of a +machine-gun company. + +Then there was the lone church service that my friend Clarke held one +evening at a crossroads of France. He had held seven services that +Sunday, one in a machine-gun company's dugout, with six men; another +with a group of a dozen men in a front-line trench; another with +several officers in an officers' dugout; another with a battery outfit +who were "On Call," expecting orders to send over a few shells; another +with several men out in No Man's Land, on the sunny side of an old +upturned mass of tree roots; one in a listening-post, and finally this +service with a lone sentry at a crossroads. + +"But how did you do it?" I asked. + +"I just saw him there," Clarke replied, "and he looked lonely, and I +walked up and said: 'How'd you like to have me read a little out of the +Book?' + +"'Fine!' he said. + +"Then I prayed with him, standing there at the crossroads, and I asked +him if he didn't want to pray. He was a church boy back home, and he +prayed as fine a prayer as ever I heard. Then we sang a hymn together. +It was 'Jesus, Lover of My Soul,' and neither of us can sing much, but +as I look back on it, it was the sweetest music that I ever had a part +in making. The only thing I didn't do was take up a collection. +Outside of that, it was just as if we had gone through a regular church +service at home. I even preached a little to him. No, not just +preached, but talked to him about the Master." + +"Did you even go so far with your lone one-man congregation as to have +a benediction?" I asked him. + +"No, I just said what was in my heart when we were through, 'God bless +and keep you, boy,' and went on." + +"I never heard a finer benediction than that, old man," I replied with +feeling. + +And the silhouette of that one Y. M. C. A. secretary holding a +religious service with a lone sentry of a Sunday evening, bringing back +to the lad's memory sacred things of home and church and the Christ, +giving him a new hold on the bigger, better things, bringing the Christ +out to him there on that road, that silhouette is mine to keep forever +close to my heart. I shall see that and shall smile in my soul over it +when eternity calls, and shall thank God for its sweetening influence +in my life. + +And so this comfort may come to the mothers and fathers of America, +that through the various agencies of the American army, through General +Pershing's intense interest in righteous things, through that +Lincoln-like Christian leader of the chaplains, Bishop Brent, through +the Y. M. C. A., and the Salvation Army, and the Knights of Columbus, +your boy has his chance, whatever creed, or race, or church, to worship +his God as he wishes; and not one misses this opportunity, even the +lonely sentinel on the road. And the glorious thing about it is that +boys who never before thought of going to church at home, crowd the +huts on Sundays and for the good-night prayers on week-days. + +Just before the battle of Château-Thierry, "Doc," of whom I have spoken +in this chapter before, said: "Boys, do you want a communion service?" + +"Yes," they shouted. + +Knowing that there were Catholics and Jews and Protestants and +non-believers there, he said: "Now, anybody who doesn't want to take +communion may leave." + +Not a single man left. Out of one hundred or more men only two did not +kneel to take of the sacred bread and wine. Two Jews knelt with the +others, several Roman Catholics, and men of all Protestant +denominations. Half of them were dead before another sunrise came +around, but they had had their service. + +Every man has his opportunity to worship God in his own way and as +nearly as possible at his own altars in France. There was the story of +"The Rosary." + +It was Hospital Hut Number ----, and half a thousand boys from the +front, wounded in every conceivable way, were sitting there in the hut +in a Sunday-evening service. Many of them had crutches beside them; +others canes. Some of them, had their heads bandaged; others of them +carried their arms in slings. Some of them had lost legs, and some of +them had no arms left. Their eager faces were lighted with a strange +light, such as is not seen on land or sea, and on most of those faces, +unashamed, ran over pale cheeks the tears of homesickness as the young +corporal whom I had taken with me from another town sang "The Rosary." +I have never heard it sung with more tenderness, nor have I heard it +sung in more beautiful voice. That young lad was singing his heart out +to those other boys. He had not been up front himself as yet, for he +was in a base port attending to his duties, which were just as +important as those up front, but it was hard for him to see it that +way. So he loved and respected these other lads who had, to his way of +thinking, been more fortunate than he, because they had seen actual +fighting. He respected them because of their wounds, and he wanted to +help them. So he lifted that rich, sweet, sympathetic tenor voice +until the great hut rang with the old, old song, and hearts were melted +everywhere. I saw, back in the audience, a group of nurses with bowed +heads. They knew what the rosary meant to those who suffer and die in +the Catholic faith. They, too, had memories of that beautiful song. A +group of officers, including a major, all wounded, listened with heads +bowed. + +As I sat on the crude stage and saw the effects of his magical voice on +this crowd I got to thinking of what this war is meaning to that fine +understanding of those who count the beads of the rosary and those who +do not. I had seen so many examples of fine fraternal fellowship +between Catholic and Protestant that I felt that I ought to put it down +in some permanent form. + +There is a true story of one of our Y. M. C. A. secretaries who was +called to the bedside of a dying Catholic boy. There was no priest +available, and the boy wanted a rosary so badly. In his half-delirium +he begged for a rosary. This young Protestant Y. M. C. A. secretary +started out for a French village, five miles away, on foot, to try to +find a rosary for this sick Catholic boy, and after several hours' +search he found a peasant woman whom he made understand the emergency +of the situation, and he got the loan of the rosary and took it back +through five miles of mud to the bedside of that Catholic lad, and +comforted him with the feel of it in his fevered hands and the hope of +it in his fevered soul. When I heard this story it stirred me to the +very fountain depths, but I have seen so much of this fine spirit of +service in the Y. M. C. A. since then that I have come to know that as +far as the Y. M. C. A. is concerned all barriers of church narrowness +are entirely swept away. + +I have had most delightful comradeship since I have been in France in +one great area as religious director with two Knights of Columbus +secretaries and one father--Chaplain Davis--all of whom say freely and +eagerly: "We have never had anything but the finest spirit of +co-operation and friendship from the Y. M. C. A." + +"Why," added Chaplain Davis, a Catholic priest, "why, the first Sunday +I was here, when I had no place to take my boys for mass, a secretary +came to me and offered me the hut. It has always been that way." + +The story of the French priest who confessed a dying Catholic boy +through a Y. M. C. A. Protestant secretary interpreter, in a Y. M. C. +A. hut, has been told far and wide, but it is only illustrative of the +broadening lines of Catholicism and the wider fraternal relations of +all professed Christians. + +The marvellous story that my friend, the French chaplain, tells of +being marooned in a shell-hole at Verdun for several days with a +Catholic priest, and of their discussion of religion and life there +under shell-fire, and the tenderness with which the Catholic priest +kissed the hand of the Protestant French chaplain when the two had +agreed that, after all, there was one common God for a common, +suffering nation of people, and that this war would break all church +barriers down, and that out of it would come a new spirit in the +Catholic church, a new brotherhood for all. That was an impressive +indication of the thing that is sweeping France to-day in church +circles, and that will sweep America after the war. + +Then there is that other story of the Catholic priest who had been in +the same regiment with a French Protestant chaplain, each of whom +deeply respected the other because of the unflinching bravery that each +had displayed under intense shell-fire, and of the great love that each +had seen the other show in two years of constant warfare in the same +regiment. Then came that terrible morning at Verdun, when the French +Protestant chaplain, the friend of the Catholic priest, had been killed +while trying to bring in a wounded Catholic boy from No Man's Land. On +the day of this Protestant chaplain's funeral the Catholic priest stood +in God's Acre with bared head, and spoke as tender and as sincere a +eulogy as ever a man spoke over the grave of a dear friend, spoke with +the tears in his eyes most of the time. Church lines were forgotten +here. It was a prophetic scene, this, where a Catholic priest spoke at +the funeral of a Protestant chaplain. It was prophetic of that new +church brotherhood that is to come after the war is over. + + + + +XI + +SKY SILHOUETTES + +They are the lights, the lights of war. Sometimes they are just the +stars shining out that makes the wounded soldier out in No Man's Land +look up, in spite of shell-fire and thunder, in spite of wounds and +death, in spite of loneliness and heartache, in spite of mud and rain, +to exclaim, as Donald Hankey tells us in a most wonderful chapter of "A +Student in Arms": "God! God everywhere, and underneath are the +everlasting arms!" + +Sometimes the Sky Silhouettes number among their own just a moonlight +night with a crescent moon sailing quietly and serenely over the +horizon in the east, while great guns belch fire in the west, a fire +that seems to shame the timid moon itself. + +Sometimes they are search-lights cleaving the sky over a great city +like Paris, or along the front lines, or gleaming from an air-ship. + +Sometimes they are signal-lights flashing out of the darkness from a +patrolling plane overhead, or a blazing trail of fire as a patrol falls +to its death in a battle by night. + +Sometimes they are signal-lights flashing from an observation balloon +anchored in the darkness over the trenches to guard the troops from +dangers in the air. + +Sometimes they are the flashes, the fleet, swallow-like flashes, of an +enemy plane caught in the burning, blazing path of a search-light, and +then hounded by it to its death. + +Sometimes they are signals flashed from the top of a cruiser on the +high seas across the storm-tossed waters to a little destroyer, which +flashes back its answer, and then in turn flashes a message of light to +one of the convoying planes overhead in the dim dusk of early evening. + +Sometimes these Sky Silhouettes are the range-finders that poise in the +air for a few seconds, guiding the air patrols home, and sometimes they +are just the varied, interesting, gleaming, flashing "Lights of War." + + + + +XII + +THE LIGHTS OF WAR + +One's introduction into the war zone and into war-zone cities and +villages, and one's visits "down the line" to the front by night, will +always be filled with the thrill of the unusual because of the Lights +of War. Where lights used to be, there are no lights now, and where +they were not seen before the war, they are radiant and rampant now. + +The first place that an American traveller notices this absence of +lights is on the boat crossing over the Atlantic. From the first night +out of New York the boats travel without a single light showing. Every +light inside of the boat is covered with a heavy black crape, and the +port-holes and windows are so scrupulously and carefully chained down +that the average open-air fiend from California or elsewhere feels that +he will suffocate before morning comes, and even in the bitterest of +winter weather I have known some fresh-air fiends to prefer the deck of +the ship, with all of its bitter winds and cold, to the inside of a +cabin with no windows open. I stood on the deck of an ocean liner +"Somewhere on the Atlantic" a few months ago as the great ship was +ploughing its zigzag course through the black waters, dodging +submarines. There was not a star in the sky. There was not a light on +the boat. Absolutely the only lights that one saw was when he leaned +over the railing and saw the splash of innumerable phosphorescent +organisms breaking against the boat. I have seen the like of it only +once before, and this was on the Pacific down at Asilomar one evening, +when the waves were running fire with phosphorescence. It was a +beautiful sight there and on the Atlantic too. + + +IT WAS MIDNIGHT + +On this particular night, as far as one could see, this brilliant +organic light illuminated the sea like the hands of my luminous +wrist-watch were made brilliant by phosphorescence. I noticed this and +looked down at my watch to see what time it was. It was midnight. + +As I looked, my friend, who was standing beside me on the deck, said: +"The last order is that no wrist-watches that are luminous may be +exposed on the decks at night. That order came along with the order +forbidding smoking on the decks at night. The Germans can sight the +light of a cigar a long distance through their periscopes." + +I smiled to myself, for it was my first introduction to the romantic +part that lights and the lack o' lights is playing in this great World +War. Then my friend continued his observations as we stood there on +the aft deck watching the white waves break, glorious with +phosphorescence. He said: "What a topsyturvy world it is. Three years +ago if a great ship like this had dared to cross the Atlantic without a +single light showing, it would have horrified the entire world, and +that ship captain would have been called to trial by every country that +sails the seas. He would have been adjudged insane. But now every +ship sails the seas with no navigation-lights showing." + + +IN WAR COUNTRY + +But when one gets his real introduction into the lights o' war is when +he gets into the war country. It is eight o'clock in a great French +city. This French city has been known the world over for its brilliant +lights. It has been known for its gayly lighted boulevards, and indeed +this might apply to one of three or four French cities. Light was the +one scintillating characteristic of this great city. The first night +that one finds himself here he feels as though he were wandering about +in a country village at home. No arc-lights shine. The window-lights +are all extinguished. The few lights on the great boulevards are so +dimmed that their luminosity is about that of a healthy firefly in June +back home. One gropes his way about, feeling ahead of him and +navigating cautiously, even the main boulevards. + +The first time I walked down the streets of this great city at night I +had the same feeling that I had on the Atlantic. I was sailing without +lights, on an unknown course, and I felt every minute that I would bump +into some unseen human craft, as indeed I did, both a feminine craft +and a male craft. I also had the feeling that in this particular city, +in the darkness I might be submarined by a city human U-boat, which +would slip up behind me. After having my second trip here I still have +that feeling as I walk the streets; the unlighted streets of this city, +and especially the side-streets, by night. + + +FRENCH CITY DURING RAID + +But the one time when you catch the very heart and soul of the lights +o' war is when you happen to drop into a French city while the Boches +are making a raid overhead. I have had this experience in towns and +villages and cities. At the signal of the siren the lights of the +entire city suddenly snuff out, and the city or town or village is in +total darkness. Candles may be lighted and are lighted, but on the +whole one either walks the dark streets flashing his electric "Ever +Ready," or huddled up in a subway or in a cellar, or in a hallway +listening to the barrage of defense guns and to the bombs dropping, +watches and listens and waits in total darkness, and while he waits he +isn't certain half the time whether the noise he hears is the dropping +of German bombs or the beating of his own heart. Both make entirely +too much noise for peace and comfort. + +As one approaches the front-line cities and towns he learns something +more about the lights o' war. It is dark. He is in a little town and +must go to another town nearer the front lines. He is standing at the +depot (gare). No lights are visible save here and there an absolutely +necessary red or green light, which is veiled dimly. His train pulls +silently in. There is not a single light on it from one end to the +other. It creeps in like a great snake. There is nobody to tell you +whether this is your train or not, but you take a chance and climb into +a compartment which is pitch-dark. + + +HEARS AMERICAN VOICE + +You have a ticket that calls for first-class military compartment, but +you climbed into the first open door you saw, and didn't know and +didn't care whether it was first, second, third, or tenth class just so +you got on your way. Your eyes soon became accustomed to the darkness +and you discerned two or three forms in the seat opposite you. You +wondered if they were French, Italians, Belgians, English, Australians, +Canadians, Moroccans, Algerians, or Americans. It was too dark to see, +but suddenly you heard a familiar voice saying, "Gosh, I wish I was +back in little ole New York," and you made a grab in the darkness for +that lad's hand. + +All during your trip no trainman appears. You are left to your own +sweet will at nights in the war zone when you are on a train. No +stations are announced. You are supposed to have sense enough to know +where you are going, and to have gumption enough to get off without +either being assisted or told to do so. The assumption, I suppose, is +that anybody who travels in the war zone knows where he is going. +Personally, I felt like the American phrase, "I don't know where I'm +going but I'm on the way," and I tried to jump off at two or three +towns before I got to my own destination, but the American soldiers had +been that way before on their way to the trenches, and wouldn't let me +off at the wrong place. I thought surely that somebody would come +along to take my ticket, but nobody appeared. I soon found that night +trains "on the line" pay little attention to such minor matters as +tickets, and I have a pocketful that have never been taken up. Time +after time I have piled into a train at night, after buying a ticket to +my destination; have journeyed to my destination, have gone through the +depot and to my hotel without ever seeing a trainman to take the +ticket. I was let severely alone. And even if a conductor had come +along through the train it would have been too dark for him to have +seen me, and I am sure I could have dodged him had I so desired. Maybe +that's the reason they don't take the tickets up. Anyhow, I have given +you a picture of a great train in the war zone, winding its way toward +the front, in complete darkness. + + +FLASH-LIGHTS + +Flash-lights have come into their own in this war. One would as soon +think of living without a flash-light as he would think of travelling +without clothes in Greenland. It simply cannot be done. In any city, +from Paris to the smallest towns on the front, one must have his +flash-light. The streets of the cities and towns of France are a +hundred times more crooked than those of Boston. If Boston's streets +followed the cow-paths, the streets of the cities of France followed +cows with the St. Vitus dance. Around these streets one had to find +his way by night with a flash-light, especially during an air-raid. +One must have a flash, too, for the houses and hotels when an air-raid +is on, and one must have it when one is driving a big truck or an +automobile down along the front lines, for no lights are permitted on +any machines, official or otherwise, after a certain point is reached. +One of the favorite outdoor sports of this preacher for a month was to +lie on his stomach on the front mud-guard of a big Pierce-Arrow through +the war-zone roads, bumping over shell-holes, with a little pocket +flash-light playing on the ground, searching out the shell-holes, and +trying to help the driver keep in the road. It is a delightful +occupation about two o'clock in the morning, with a blizzard blowing, +and knowing that the big truck is rumbling along within sight and sound +of the German big guns. Trucks make more noise on such occasions than +a Twentieth Century Limited. "No lights beyond divisional +headquarters" was the order, and night after night we travelled along +these roads with only an occasional flash of the Ever Ready to guide. +And so it is that the flash-light has come to its own, and every +private soldier, officer, and citizen in France is equipped with one. +He would be like a swordfish without its sword if he didn't have it. + + +LADDER OF LIGHT + +Then suddenly you see a strange finger of light reaching into the sky. +Or you may liken it to a ladder of light climbing the sky. Or you may +liken it to a lance of light piercing the darkness. Or you may just +call it a good, old-fashioned search-light, which it is. It is +watching for Hun planes, and it plays all night long from north to +south, from east to west, restlessly, eagerly, quickly, like a "hound +of the heavens" guarding the earth. First it sweeps the horizon, and +then it suddenly shoots straight up into the zenith like another sun, +and it seems to flood the very skies. No German plane can cut through +that path of light without being seen, and one night I had the rare +privilege of seeing a plane caught by the search-light on its +ever-vigilant patrol. It was a thrilling sight. One minute later the +anti-aircraft guns were thundering away and the shrapnel was breaking +in tiny patches around this plane while the search-lights played on +both the plane and the shrapnel patches of smoke against the sky, +making a wonderful picture. Military writers say that the enemy planes +are more afraid of these search-lights than of the guns. + +[Illustration: One night I had the privilege of seeing a plane caught +by the search-light.] + +But perhaps the most thrilling sight of all is that dark night when one +sees for the first time the star-shells along the horizon. At first +you may see them ten miles away making luminous the earth. Then as you +drive nearer and nearer, that far-off heat-lightning effect disappears +and you can actually see the curve of the star-shells as they mount +toward the skies over No Man's Land and fall again as gracefully as a +fountain of water. Sometimes you will see them for miles along the +front, making night day and lighting up the fields and surrounding +hills as though for a great celebration. + + +BURSTING BOMBS + +The light of bursting shells as they fall, or of bursting bombs from an +aeroplane, is a short, sharp, quick light like an electric flash when a +wire falls or a flash of sharp lightning, but the light of the great +guns along the line as they thunder their missiles of death can be seen +for miles when a bombardment is on. One forgets the thunder of these +belching monsters, and one forgets the death they carry, in the glory +of the flame of noonday light that they make in the night. + +Then there are the range-finders. These suddenly shoot up in the +night, steady and clear, and remain for several minutes burning +brightly before they go out. I used to see these frequently driving +home from the front. They were sent up from the hangars to guide the +French and American planes to a safe landing by night. + +Then there is the moonlight. Moonlight nights in towns along the war +front are dreaded, for it invariably means a Boche raid. Clear +moonlight nights with a full moon are fine for lovers in a country that +is at peace, but it may mean death for lovers in a country that is at +war. But moonlight nights are beautiful even in war countries, with +dim old cathedrals looming in the background, and the white villages of +France, a huge château here and there against the hillside or crowning +its summit; and the white roads and white fields of France swinging by. +One forgets there is war then, until he hears the unmistakable beat of +the Hun plane overhead and sees the flash of one, two, three, four, +five, six, ten, twelve, fifteen bombs break in a single field a few +hundred yards away, and the driver remarks: "I knew we'd have a raid +tonight. It's a great night for the Boche!" + + +STARLIGHT AT FRONT + +Then there is the starlight on No Man's Land, for the starlight is a +part of the lights o' war just as are the moonlight and the star-shells +and the little flash-lights and the range-finders and the bursting +shells and bombs. But there are other more significant lights o' war. + +There is the "Light that Lies in the Soldiers' Eyes," of which my +friend Lynn Harold Hough has written so beautifully and +understandingly. Only over here it is a different light. It is the +light of a great loneliness for home, hidden back of a light that we +see in the eyes of the three soldiers in the painting "The Spirit of +Seventy-Six." It is there. It is here. One sees it in the eyes of +the lads who have come in out of the trenches after they have had their +baptism of fire. I have seen them come in after successfully repulsing +a German raid and I have seen their eyes fairly luminous with victory, +and that light says, as said the spirit of France, not only "They shall +not pass," but it says something else. It says: "We'll go get 'em! +We'll go get 'em!" That's the light o' war that lies in the soldiers' +eyes back of the light of home. I verily believe that the two are +close akin. The American lad knows that the sooner we lick the Hun the +sooner he'll get back home, where he wants to be more than he wants +anything else on earth. + + +Y. M. C. A.'s LIGHT + +Then there's the light in the Y. M. C. A. hut, and from General +Pershing down to the lowest private the army knows that this is the +warmest, friendliest, most home-like, most welcome light that shines +out through the darkness of war. It not only shines literally by +night, but it shines by day. I have seen some huts back of the front +lines lighted by the most brilliant electricity. Some of it is +obtained from local power-plants, and some of it is made by the Y. M. +C. A. Then I have seen some huts up near the lines that were lighted +by old-fashioned oil-lamps. Then I have been in Y. M. C. A. dugouts +and cellars and holes in the ground, up so close to the German lines +that they were shelled every day, and these have been lighted by tallow +candles stuck in a bottle or in their own melted grease. I have seen +huts back of the lines away from danger of air-raids that could have +their windows wide open, and I have seen the light pouring in a flood +out of these windows, a constant invitation to thousands of American +boys. And again I have seen our huts in places so near the lines that +the secretaries had not only to use candles but to screen their windows +with a double layer of black cloth, so that not a single ray of that +tiny candle might throw its beams to the watching German on the hill +beyond. I never knew before what Shakespeare meant when he said: "How +far a tiny candle throws its beams." But whether it has been in the +more protected huts back of the lines or in the dangerous huts close to +the lines, the lights in the huts are usually the only lights available +for the boys, and to these lights they flock every night. It is a +Rembrandt picture that they make in the dim light of the candles +sitting around the tables writing letters by candle-light. It is their +one warm, bright spot, for a great stove nearly always blazes away in +the Y. M. C. A. hut, and it is the only warmth the lad knows. Few of +the billets or tents in France boast of a stove. + +Two things I shall never forget. One was the sight of a Y. M. C. A. +hut that I saw in a town far back of the trenches. It was in the town +where General Pershing's headquarters are located. On the very tip of +the hill above me was the hut. Its every window was a blaze of light. +It was the one dominating, scintillating building of the town, a big +double hut. When I climbed the hill to this hut I found it crowded to +its limits with men from everywhere. The rest of the town was dark and +there was little life, but here was the pulse of social life and +comradeship, and here was the one blaze and glory of light. + +The other sight that I shall not forget was up within a few hundred +yards of the German lines. It was night. We were returning from our +furtherest hut "down the line." We met a crowd of American soldiers +tramping through the snow and mud and cold. They were shivering even +as they walked. We stopped the machine and gave them a lift. I asked +one of the lads where he was going. He said: "Down to the 'Y' hut in +----." I said: "Where is your camp?" He replied: "Up at ----." I +said: "Why, boy, that's four miles away from the hut." "We don't care. +We walk it every night. It's the only warm place in reach and the only +place where we can be where there are lights at night and where we can +get to see the fellows and write a letter. We stay there for an hour +or two and tramp back through this ---- (censored) mud to our billets." + +And of all the lights o' war one must know that the lights of the Y. M. +C. A. huts cast their beams not only into the hearts of these lads but +across the world, and sometimes I think across the eternities, for in +these huts innumerable lads are seeing the light that never was on land +or sea, and are finding the light that lights the way to Home. And +these are the lights o' war. + + + + +XIII + +SILHOUETTES OF SUNSHINE + +There is laughter and song and sunshine among our boys in France. Let +every mother and father be sure of that. Your boys are always lonely +for home and for you, but they are not depressed, and they are there to +stay until the job is done. There are times of unutterable loneliness, +but usually they are a buoyant, happy, human crowd of American boys. + +Those of us who have lived with them, slept with them, eaten with them, +come back with no sense of gloom or depression. I say to you that the +most buoyant, happy, hopeful, confident crowd of men in the wide world +is the American army in France. If you could see them back of the +lines, even within sound of the guns, playing a game of ball; if you +could see them putting on a minstrel show in a Y. M. C. A. hotel in +Paris; if you could see a team of white boys playing a team of negro +boys; if you could see a whole regiment go in swimming; if you could +see them in a track meet, you would know that, in spite of war, they +are living normal lives, with just about the same proportion of +sunshine and sorrow as they find at home, with the sunshine dominant. + +Some Silhouettes of Sunshine gleam against the background of war like +scintillating diamonds and + + "Send a thrill of laughter through the framework + of your heart; + And warm your inner being 'til the tear drops + want to start." + + +There was that watch-trading incident on the Toul line. + +The Americans had only been there a week, but it hadn't taken them long +to get acquainted with the French soldiers. About all the two +watch-trading Americans knew of French was "Oui! Oui!" and they used +this every minute. + +The American soldiers had a four-dollar Ingersoll watch, and this +illuminated time-piece had caught the eye of the French soldier. He, +in turn, had an expensive, jewelled, Swiss-movement pocket-watch. The +American knew its value and wanted it. + +They stood and argued. Several times during the interesting +transaction the American shrugged his shoulders and walked away as if +to say: "Oh, I don't want your old watch. It isn't worth anything." + +Then they would get together again, and the gesticulating would begin +all over; the machine-gun staccato of "Oui Oui's" would rattle again, +and the argument would continue, without either one of the contracting +parties knowing a word of the other's language. + +At last I saw the American soldier unstrap his Ingersoll and hand it +over to the Frenchman, who, in turn, pulled out the good Swiss-movement +watch, and both parties to the transaction went off happy, for each had +gotten what he wanted. + +One of the funniest things that happened in France while I was there +was told me by a wounded boy one Sunday afternoon back of the Notre +Dame cathedral. He was invalided from the Château-Thierry scrap in +which the American marines had played such a heroic part. He was a +member of the marines, and was slightly wounded. He saw that I was a +secretary, and thought to play a good joke on me. He pulled out of his +breast-pocket a small black thing that looked and was bound just like a +Bible. Its corner was dented, and it was plain to be seen that a +bullet had hit it, and that that book had stopped its death-dealing +course. + +I should have been warned by a gleam that I saw in his eyes, but was +not. I said: "So you see that it's a good thing to be carrying a Bible +around in your pocket?" + +"Yes, that saved my life last week," he said impressively. Then he +showed me the hole in his blouse where it had hit. The hole was still +torn and ragged. In the meantime I was opening what I thought was his +Bible. + +It was a deck of cards. + +I can hear that fine American lad's laughter yet. It rang like the +bells of the old cathedral itself, in the shadow of which we stood. +His laughter startled the group of old men playing checkers on a park +bench into forgetting their game and joining in the fun. Everybody +stopped to see what the fun was about. That lad had a good one on the +secretary, and he was enjoying it as much as the secretary himself. + +Then he said: "Now I'll tell you a good story to make up for fooling +you." + +"You had better," I said with a sheepish grin. + +Then he began: + +"There was a fellow named Rosenbaum brought in with me last week to the +Paris hospital, wounded in three places. They put me beside him and he +told me his story. + +"It was at Belleau Wood and the Americans were plunging through to the +other side driving the Boche before them. This Jewish boy is from New +York City, and one of the favorites of the whole marine outfit. He had +gotten separated from his friends. Suddenly he was confronted by a +German captain with a belching automatic revolver. The Hun got him in +the shoulder with the first shot. Then the American made a lunge with +his bayonet, and ran the captain through the neck, but not before the +captain shot him twice through the left leg. The two fell together. +When the boy from New York came to consciousness he reached out and +there was the dead German officer lying beside him. + +"The boy took off the captain's helmet first, and pulled it over to +himself. Then he took his revolver and his cartridge-belt and piled +them all in a little pile. Then he took off his shoes and his trousers +and every stitch of clothes that the officer had on, and painfully +strapped them around himself under his own blouse. After he had done +this he strapped the officer's belt on himself. When the +stretcher-bearers got to him and had taken him to a first-aid and the +nurses took his clothes off, they found the officer's outfit. + +"'Say, boy, are you a walking pawnshop?' the good-natured doctor said, +and proceeded to take the souvenirs away. + +"This was the military procedure, but the New York boy cried and said: +'I'll die on your hands if you take them away.' + +"He was a serious case, and so they humored him and let him keep his +souvenirs, and when I saw them take him out to a base hospital this +morning, he still had them strapped to him, with a grin on his face +like a darky eating watermelon." + +"What did you say his name was?" I asked. + +"Rosenbaum," the boy replied. "Rosenbaum from New York." + +"Say, if they'd only recruit a regiment like that from America, we'd +send the whole German army back to Berlin naked," added another soldier +who was standing near. + +Then we all had another good laugh, which in its turn disturbed the old +men playing checkers on the bench under the trees back of Notre Dame. +But the soldier who told me the story added thoughtfully a truth that +every one in France knows. + +"At that, I'm tellin' you, boy, there aren't any braver soldiers in the +American army than them Jewish boys from New York. I got 'o hand it to +them." + +"Yes, we all do," I replied. + +This good-natured raillery goes on all over the army, for it is a +cosmopolitan crowd, such as never before wore the uniform of the United +States, and each group, the negro group, the Italian group, the Jewish +group, the Slav group, the Western group, the Southern group, the +Eastern group, all have their little fun at the expense of the others, +and out of it all comes much sunshine and laughter, and no bitterness. + +The Jewish boy loves to repeat a good joke on his own kind as well as +the others. I myself saw the letter that a Jewish boy was writing to +his uncle in New York, eulogizing the Y. M. C. A. He was not an +educated lad, but he was a wonderfully sincere boy, and he pleaded his +cause well. He had been treated so well by the "Y" that he wanted his +uncle to give all his spare cash to that great organization. This is +the letter: + + +"DEAR UNCLE: + +"This here Y. M. C. A. is the goods. They give you chocolate when +you're goin' into the trenches and they gives you chocolate when you're +comin' out and they don't charge you nothin' for it neither. If you +are givin' any money don't you give it to none of them Red Crosses nor +to none of them Salvation Armies, nor to none of them Knights of +Columbuses; but you give it to them Y. M. C. A.'s. They treat you +right. They have entertainments for you and wrestlin' matches, and +they give you a place to write. And what's more, Uncle _they don't +have no respect fer no religion_. + + "Yours, + + "BILL." + + +Yes, France is full of Silhouettes of Sunshine. There was the eloquent +Y. M. C. A. secretary. And while he didn't exactly know it, he too was +adding his unconscious ray of light to a dull and desolate world. + +The Gothas had come over Paris the night before, and so had a group of +some one hundred and fifty new secretaries. The Gothas had played +havoc with two blocks of buildings on a certain Paris street because of +the fact that the bombs they dropped had severed the gas-mains. The +result did have a look of desolation I'll have to admit. So far the +new secretaries had done no damage. + +Now there is one thing common to all the newly arrived in France, be +they Y. M. C. A. secretaries, Knights of Columbus workers, Red Cross +men, or just the common garden variety of "investigators," and that is +that for about two weeks they are alert to hear the bloodiest, most +drippy, and desolate-with-danger stories that they can hear, for the +high and holy purpose of writing back home to their favorite paper, or +to their wives or sweethearts, of how near they were to getting killed; +of how the bombs fell just a few minutes before or just a few minutes +after they were "on that very spot"; of how the raid came the very +night after they were in London or Paris; of how just after they had +walked along a certain street the Big Bertha had dropped a shell there; +of how the night after they had slept in a certain hotel down in Nancy +the Germans blew it up. We're all alike the first week, and staid war +correspondents are no exception to the rule. It gets them all. + +I came on my friend telling this crowd of eager new secretaries of the +damage that the Gothas had done the night before. There they stood in +a corner of the hotel with open ears, eyes, and mouths. Most of them +were on their toes ready to make a break for their rooms and get all +the horrible details down in their letters home and their diaries +before it escaped them. They were torn between a fear that they would +forget some of the horrid details and for fear some other fellow would +get the big story back home to the local paper before they could get it +there. When I came in, this nonchalant narrator was having the time of +his young life. He was revelling in description. Color and fire and +blood and ruin and desecration flowed from his eloquent lips like water +over Niagara. + +When I got close enough to hear, he was at his most climactic and last +period of eloquence. He made a gesture with one hand, waving it +gracefully into the air full length, with these words: "Why, gentlemen, +I didn't see anything worse at the San Francisco earthquake." + +In three seconds that crowd had disappeared, each to his own letter, +and each to his own diary. Not a detail must escape. How wonderful it +would be to describe that awful destruction, and say at the end of the +letter: "And this happened just the night before we reached Paris." + +Only the vivid artist of description and myself remained in the hotel +lobby, and having heard him mention San Francisco, my own home, I was +naturally curious and wanted to talk a bit over old times, so I went up +to the gentleman and said: "I heard you say to that gang that you +hadn't seen anything worse at the San Francisco earthquake, so I +thought I'd have a chat about San Francisco with you." + +"Why, I was never in San Francisco in my life," he said with a grin. + +"But you said to those boys, 'I didn't see anything worse at the San +Francisco earthquake,'" I replied. + +"Well, I didn't, for I wasn't there. I just gave them guys what they +was lookin' for in all its horrible details, didn't I? Ain't they +satisfied? Well, so am I, bo." + +This story has a meaning all its own in addition to the fact that it +produced one of the bright spots in my experiences in France. That +eloquent secretary represents a type who will tell the public about +anything he thinks it wants to know about the "horrible details" of war +in France, and facts do not baffle his inventive genius. + +One characteristic of the American soldier in France is his absolute +fearlessness about dangers. He doesn't know how to be afraid. He +wants to see all that is going on. The French tap their heads and say +he is crazy, a gesture they have learned from America. And they have +reason to think so. When the "alert" blows for an air-raid the French +and English have learned to respect it. Not so the American soldier. + +"Think I'm comin' clear across that darned ocean to see something, and +then duck down into some blamed old cellar or cave and not see anything +that's goin' on! Not on your life. None o' that for muh! I'm going +to get right out on the street where I can see the whole darned show!" + +And that's just what he does. I've been in some twenty-five or thirty +air-raids in four or five cities of France, and I have never yet seen +many Americans who took to the "abris." They all want to see what's +going on, and so they hunt the widest street, and the corner at that, +to watch the air-raids. + +One night during a heavy raid in Paris, when the French were safely +hidden in the "abris," because they had sense enough to protect +themselves, I saw about twenty sober but hilarious American soldiers +marching down the middle of the boulevard, arm in arm, singing "Sweet +Adelaide" at the top of their voices, while the bombs were dropping all +over Paris, and a continuous barrage from the anti-aircraft guns was +cannonading until it sounded like a great front-line battle. + +That night I happened to be watching the raid myself from a convenient +street-corner. Unconsciously I stood up against a street-lamp with a +shade over me, made of tin about the size of a soldier's steel helmet. +Along came a French street-walker, looked at me standing there under +that tiny canopy, and with a laugh said as she swiftly passed me, +"C'est un abri, monsieur?" looking up. The air-raid had not dampened +her sense of humor even if it had destroyed her trade for that night. + +[Illustration: The air-raid had not dampened her sense of humor.] + +Another story illustrative of the never-die spirit of the Frenchwomen, +in spite of their sorrows and losses: One night, when the rain was +pouring in torrents, a desolate, chilly night, I saw a girl of the +streets plying her trade, standing where the rain had soaked her +through and through. Were her spirits dampened? Was she discouraged? +Was she blue? No; she stood there in the rain humming the air of an +opera, oblivious to the fact that she was soaked through and through, +and cold to the bone. + +This is the undying spirit of France. I do not know whether this girl +was driven to her trade because she had lost her husband in the war, +but I do know that many have been. I do not know anything about her +life. I do know that there she stood, soaked through and through, a +frail child of the street, plying her trade, and singing in the rain. +The silhouette of this frail girl and her spirit is typical of France: +"Her head though bloody is unbowed." Somehow that sight gave me +strength. + +The reaction of the German submarining in American waters on the boys +"Over There" will be interesting to home-folks. When the news got to +France that submarines were plying in American waters near New York, +did it produce consternation? No! Did it produce regret? No! Did it +make them mad? No! + +It made them laugh. All over France the boys laughed, and laughed; +laughed uproariously; doubled up and laughed. I found this everywhere. +I do not attempt to explain it. It just struck their funny bones. I +heard one fellow say: "Now the next best thing would be for a sub some +night, when there was nobody in the offices, to throw a few shells into +one of those New York skyscrapers." + +"I'll say so! I'll say so!" was the laughing reply. + +"Wow! There'd be somethin' doin' at home then, wouldn't there?" my +friend the artillery captain said with a grin. + +But about the funniest thing I heard along the sunshine-producing line +was not in France but coming home from France, on the transport. It +came from a prisoner on the transport who was sentenced to fifteen +years for striking a top-sergeant. + +One night outside of my stateroom I heard some words, and then a blow +struck, and a man fall. There was a general commotion. + +The next morning the fellow who struck the blow was summoned before the +captain of the transport. + +"See here, my man, you are already sentenced for fifteen years, and +it's a serious offense to strike a man on the high seas." + +"I didn't strike him on the high seas, sir, I struck him on the jaw." + +The captain was baffled, but went on: + +"What did you hit the man for?" + +"He argued with me. I can't stand it to be argued with." + +"But you shouldn't strike a man and split his mouth open just because +he disagrees with you," said the captain severely. + +"I just don't seem to be able to stand it to have a guy argue with me," +he replied, not abashed in the slightest. + +"Well, you go to your bunk. I'll think it over and tell you in the +morning what I'll do about it," said the captain, and turned away. + +But the man waited. The captain, seeing this, turned and said: "Well, +what do you want?" + +"All I got to say, captain, is that you mustn't let any of them guys +argue with me again, for if they do I'll do the same thing over if you +give me fifty years for it. I just can't stand it to have a man argue +with me." + +Silhouettes of Sunshine? France is full of them. There were the +fields full of a million blood-red poppies back in Brittany, and the +banks of old-gold broom blooming along a thousand stone walls; there +were the negro stevedores marching to work, winter and summer, rain or +shine, night or day, always whistling or singing as they marched, to +the wonderment of French and English alike. Their spirits never seemed +to be dampened. They always marched to music of their own making. +There was that baseball game, when an entire company of negroes, +watching their team play a white team, at the climax of the game when +one negro boy had knocked a home run, ran around the bases with him, +more than two hundred laughing, shouting, grinning, singing, yelling +negroes, helping to bring in the score that won the game. Then there +was that Sunday morning when several white captains decided that their +negro boys should have a bath. They took their boys down to an ocean +beach. It was a bit chilly. The negroes stripped at order, but they +didn't like the idea of going into that cold ocean water. One captain +solved the difficulty. He took his own clothes off. He got in front +of his men. He lined them up in formation. Then he said: "Now, boys, +we're going to play that ocean is full of Germans. You stevedores are +always complaining about not getting up front, and you tell me what +you'd do to the Germans if you once got up front. Now I'm going to see +how much nerve you've got. When I say 'Forward! March!' it is a +military order. I'm going to lead you into that water. We are going +in military formation. + +"'Forward! March!'" + +And that company of black soldiers marched into that cold ocean water, +dreading it with all their souls but soldiers to the core, without a +quaver, eyes to the front, heads up, chests out, unflinchingly, up to +their knees, up to their waists, up to their chins, when the captain +shouted "As you were!" and such a hilarious, shouting, laughing, +splashing, jumping, yelling, fun-filled hour as followed the world +never saw. The gleaming of white teeth, the flashing of ebony limbs +through green water and under sparkling sunlight that Sunday morning +was full of a fine type of fun and laughter that made the world a +better place to live in, and certainly a cleaner place. + +War is grim. War is serious. War is full of hurt and hate and pain +and heartache and loneliness and wounds, and mud and death and dearth; +but the American soldier spends more time laughing than he does crying; +more time singing than he does moaning; more time playing than he does +moping; more times shouting than he does whimpering; more time hoping +than he does despairing; and because of this effervescent spirit of +sunshine and laughter his morale is the best morale that any army in +the history of the world has ever shown. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLDIER SILHOUETTES ON OUR FRONT*** + + +******* This file should be named 18078-8.txt or 18078-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/7/18078 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://www.gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: +https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/18078-8.zip b/18078-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..52dc550 --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-8.zip diff --git a/18078-h.zip b/18078-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b454c07 --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-h.zip diff --git a/18078-h/18078-h.htm b/18078-h/18078-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cbbf24d --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-h/18078-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5744 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Soldier Silhouettes on our Front, by William L. Stidger</title> +<style type="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: medium; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {font-size: small } + + hr.full { width: 100%; + height: 5px; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none; } + link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none; } + a:hover {color:#ff0000; + text-decoration: underline; } + pre {font-size: 75%; } + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 align="center">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Soldier Silhouettes on our Front, by William +L. Stidger, Illustrated by Jessie Gillespie</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Soldier Silhouettes on our Front</p> +<p>Author: William L. Stidger</p> +<p>Release Date: March 30, 2006 [eBook #18078]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLDIER SILHOUETTES ON OUR FRONT***</p> +<br><br><center><h3>E-text prepared by Al Haines</h3></center><br><br> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT=""Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?"" BORDER="2" WIDTH="374" HEIGHT="570"> +<H4> +[Frontispiece: "Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?"] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +SOLDIER SILHOUETTES +<BR> +ON OUR FRONT +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +WILLIAM L. STIDGER +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +Y. M. C. A. WORKER WITH THE A. E. F. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ILLUSTRATED BY +<BR> +JESSIE GILLESPIE +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +NEW YORK +<BR> +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS +<BR> +1918 +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS +<BR><BR> +PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1918 +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +TO +<BR><BR> +DOCTOR ROBERT FREEMAN +<BR><BR> +PIONEER RELIGIOUS WORK DIRECTOR<BR> +OF THE Y. M. C. A.<BR> +<BR><BR> +AND THE HUNDREDS OF PREACHER-SECRETARIES<BR> +WHO ARE SERVING SO BRAVELY AND EFFICIENTLY<BR> +ON THE CRUSADE OF SERVICE IN FRANCE<BR> +AND TO THE CHURCHES THAT SENT THEM +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FOREWORD +</H3> + +<P> +Some human experiences that one has in France stand out like the +silhouettes of mountain peaks against a crimson sunset. I have tried +in this book to set down some of those experiences. I have had but one +object in so doing, and that object has been to give the father and +mother, the brother and sister, the wife and child and friend of the +boys "Over There" an accurate heart-picture. I have not attempted the +too great task of showing the soul of the soldier, although I have +tried to picture him at some of his great moments when he forgets +himself and rises to glorious heights, just as he might do at home if +the opportunity called. +</P> + +<P> +I have tried to show his experiences on the transports, when he lands +in France, his welcome there, the reactions of the trench life; +something of his self-sacrifice, his willingness to serve even unto the +end; his courage, his sunshine. I have also given some other pictures +of France that aim to show his heart-relations to his allies and to the +folks at home. +</P> + +<P> +If I have done this, sufficient shall be my reward. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<CENTER> + +<TABLE WIDTH="80%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">SILHOUETTES OF SONG</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">SHIP SILHOUETTES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">SILHOUETTES OF SACRIFICE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">SILHOUETTES SPIRITUAL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">SILHOUETTES OF SACRILEGE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">SILHOUETTES OF SILENCE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">SILHOUETTES OF SERVICE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">SILHOUETTES OF SORROW</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">SILHOUETTES OF SUFFERING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">SOLDIER SILHOUETTES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">SKY SILHOUETTES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">THE LIGHTS OF WAR</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">SILHOUETTES OF SUNSHINE</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ILLUSTRATIONS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-front"> +"<I>Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as<BR> +mine?</I>" . . . . . . <I>Frontispiece</I> +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-022"> +"<I>What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman +shouted to me</I> +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-078"> +<I>The upturned roots of an old tree were just in front</I> +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-088"> +"<I>The last seen of Dale he was gathering together a<BR> +crowd of little children</I>" +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-104"> +"<I>The boys call her 'The Woman with Sandwiches<BR> +and Sympathy'</I>" +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-142"> +<I>What was the difference? He had gotten a letter</I> +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-178"> +<I>One night I had the privilege of seeing a plane caught<BR> +by the search-light</I> +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-202"> +<I>The air-raid had not dampened her sense of humor</I> +</A> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +I +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SILHOUETTES OF SONG +</H3> + + +<P> +The great transport was cutting its sturdy way through three dangers: +the submarine zone, a terrific storm beating from the west against its +prow, and a night as dark as Erebus because of the storm, with no +lights showing. +</P> + +<P> +I had the midnight-to-four-o'clock-in-the-morning "watch" and on this +night I was on the "aft fire-control." Below me on the aft gun-deck, +as the rain pounded, the wind howled, and the ship lurched to and fro, +I could see the bulky forms of the boy gunners. There were two to each +gun, two standing by, with telephone pieces to their ears, and six +sleeping on the deck, ready for any emergency. The greatcoats made +them look like gaunt men of the sea as they huddled against their guns, +watching, waiting. I wondered what they could see in that impenetrable +darkness, if a U-boat could even survive in that storm; but Uncle Sam +never sleeps in these days, and this transport was especially worth +watching, for it carried a precious cargo of wounded officers and men +back to the homeland, west bound. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour I had heard no sound from the boys on the gun-deck below +me. When I was on watch in the daylight I knew them to be just a great +crowd of fine, buoyant, happy American lads, full of pranks and play +and laughter, but they were strangely silent to-night as the ship +ploughed through the storm. The storm seemed to have made men of them. +They were just boys, but American boys in these days become men +overnight, and acquit themselves like men. +</P> + +<P> +I watched their silent forms below me with a great feeling of +wonderment and pride. The ship lurched as it swung in its zigzag +course. Then suddenly I heard a sweet sound coming from one of the +boys below me. I think that it was big, raw-boned "Montana" who +started it. It was low at first and, with the storm and the vibrations +of the ship, I could not catch the words. The music was strangely +familiar to me. Then the boy on the port gun beside "Montana" took the +old hymn up, and then the two reserve gunners who were standing by, and +then the gunners on the starboard side, and I caught the old words of: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Jesus, Saviour, pilot me<BR> +Over life's tempestuous sea;<BR> + Unknown waves before me roll<BR> + Hiding rock and treacherous shoal;<BR> +Chart and compass came from Thee;<BR> +Jesus, Saviour, pilot me."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Above the creaking and the vibrations of the great ship, above the +beating of the storm, the gunners on the deck below, all unconsciously, +in that storm-tossed night were singing the old hymn of their memories, +and I think that I never heard that wonderful hymn when it sounded +sweeter to me than it did then, as the second verse came sweetly from +the lips and hearts of those gunners: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"As a mother stills her child<BR> +Thou canst hush the ocean wild;<BR> + Boistrous waves obey Thy will<BR> + When Thou sayst to them, 'Be still.'<BR> +Wondrous Sovereign of the sea,<BR> +Jesus, Saviour, pilot me."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +We hear a good deal of how our boys sing "Hail! Hail! The Gang's All +Here" and "Where Do We Go From Here, Boys?" as a ship is sinking. I +know American soldiers pretty well. I do not know what they sang when +the <I>Tuscania</I> went down, but I am glad to add my picture to the other +and to say that I for one heard a crowd of American gunners singing +"Jesus, Saviour, Pilot Me Over Life's Tempestuous Sea." The mothers +and fathers of America must know that the average American boy will +have the lighter songs at the end of his lips, but buried down deep in +his heart there is a feeling of reverence for the old hymns, and +whether he sings them aloud or not they are there singing in his heart; +and sometimes, under circumstances such as I have described, he sings +them aloud in the darkness and the storm. +</P> + +<P> +If you do not believe this because you have been told so often by +magazine correspondents, who see only the surface things, that all the +boys sing is ragtime, let Bishop McConnell, of the Methodist Episcopal +Church, tell you of that Sunday evening when, at the invitation of +General Byng, he addressed, under the auspices of the Y. M. C. A., a +great regiment of the Scottish Guards. That night, in a +shell-destroyed stone theatre, he spoke to them on "How Men Die." In a +week from that night more than two-thirds of them had been killed. +When Bishop McConnell asked them what they would like to sing, this +great crowd of sturdy, bare-kneed soldiers of democracy, who had borne +the brunt of battle for three years, asked for "O God, Our Help in Ages +Past." +</P> + +<P> +Yes, I know that the boys sing the rag-time, but this must not be the +only side of the picture. They sing the old hymns, too, and memories +of nights "down the line," when I have heard them in small groups and +in great crowds singing the old, old hymns of the church, have burned +their silhouettes into my memory never to die. +</P> + +<P> +One night I remember being stopped by a sentry at "Dead Man's Curve," +because the Boche was shelling the curve that night, and we had to stop +until he "laid off," as the sentry told us. Between shells there was a +great stillness on the white road that lay like a silver thread under +the moonlight. The shattered stone buildings, with a great cathedral +tower standing like a gaunt ghost above the ruins, were tragically +beautiful under that mellow light. One almost forgot there was war +under the charm of that scene until "plunk! plunk! plunk!" the big +shells fell from time to time. But the thing that impressed me most +that waiting hour was not the beauty of the village under the +moonlight, but the fact that the lone sentry who had stopped us, and +who amid the shelling stood silently, was unconsciously singing an old +hymn of the church, "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me." I got down from my +truck and walked over to where he was standing. +</P> + +<P> +"Great old hymn, isn't it, lad?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll say so," was his laconic reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Belong to some church back home?" I asked him. +</P> + +<P> +"Folks do; Presbyterians," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Like the old hymns?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it seems like home to sing 'em." +</P> + +<P> +I didn't get to talk with him for a few minutes, for he had to stop +another truck. Then he came back. +</P> + +<P> +"Folks at home, Sis and Bill and the kid, mother and father, used to +gather around the piano every Sunday evening and sing 'em. Didn't +think much of them then, but liked to sing. But they mean a lot to me +over here, especially when I'm on guard at nights on this 'Dead Man's +Curve.' Seems like they make me stronger." As I walked away I still +heard him humming "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me." +</P> + +<P> +One of the most vivid song silhouettes that I remember is that of a +great crowd of negroes singing in a Y. M. C. A. hut. There must have +been a thousand of them. I was to speak to them on "Lincoln Day." I +remember how their white teeth shone through the semidarkness of that +candle-lighted hut, and how their eyes gleamed, and how their bodies +swayed as they sang the old plantation melodies. +</P> + +<P> +The first song startled me with the universality of its simple +expression. It was an adaptation of that old melody which the negroes +have sung for years, "It's the Old-Time Religion." +</P> + +<P> +A boy down front led the singing. A curt "Sam, set up a tune," from +the Tuskegee colored secretary started it. +</P> + +<P> +This boy sat with his back to the audience. He didn't even turn around +to face them. Low and sweetly he started singing. You could hardly +hear him at first. Then a few boys near him took up the music. Then a +few more. Then it gradually swept back over that crowd of men until +every single negro was swaying to that simple music, and then it was +that I caught the almost startlingly appropriate words: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"It is good for a world in trouble;<BR> +It is good for a world in trouble;<BR> +It is good for a world in trouble;<BR> + And it's good enough for me.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +It's the old-time religion;<BR> +It's the old-time religion;<BR> +It's the old-time religion;<BR> + And it's good enough for me.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +It was good for my old mother;<BR> +It was good for my old mother;<BR> +It was good for my old mother;<BR> + And it's good enough for me."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Then much to my astonishment they did something that I have since +learned is the very way that these songs grew from the beginning. They +extemporized a verse for the day, and they did it on the spot. I made +absolutely certain of that by careful investigation. They sang this +extra verse: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"It was good for ole Abe Lincoln;<BR> +It was good for ole Abe Lincoln;<BR> +It was good for ole Abe Lincoln;<BR> + And it's good enough for me."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"That first verse, 'It is good for a world in trouble,' is certainly a +most appropriate one for these times in France," I said aside to the +secretary. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he replied; "if ever this pore ole worl' needed the sustainin' +power of the religion of the Christ, it does now; an' if ever this pore +ole worl' was in trouble, that time suttinly is right now," he added +with fervor. +</P> + +<P> +And now I can never think of the world, nor of the folks back here at +home, nor of the millions of our boys over there that I do not hear the +sweet voices of that crowd of negroes singing reverently and fervently: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"It is good for a world in trouble;<BR> +It is good for a world in trouble;<BR> +It is good for a world in trouble;<BR> + And it's good enough for me."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Another Silhouette of Song that stands out against the background of +memory is that of a hymn that I heard in Doctor Charles Jefferson's +church just before I sailed for France. I was lonely. I walked into +that great city church a stranger, as thousands of boys who have sailed +from New York have done. I never remember to have been so unutterably +lonely and homesick. It was cold in the city, and I was alone. I +turned to a church. Thousands of boys have done the same, may the +mothers and fathers of America know, and they have found comfort. If +the parents of this great nation could know how well their boys are +guarded and cared for in New York City before they sail, they would +have a feeling of comfort. +</P> + +<P> +I sat down in this great church. I was thinking more of other Sabbath +mornings at home, with my wife and baby, than anything else. A hymn +was announced. I stood up mechanically, but there was no song in my +throat. There was a great lump of loneliness only. But suddenly I +listened to the words they were singing. Had they selected that hymn +just for me? It seemed so. It so answered the loneliness in my heart +with comfort and quiet. That great congregation was singing: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Peace, perfect peace;<BR> +With loved ones far away;<BR> +In Jesus' keeping, we are safe; and they."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +A great sense of peace settled over my heart, and I have quoted that +old hymn all over France to the boys, and they have been comforted. +Many a boy has asked me to write him a copy of that verse to stick in +his note-book. It seemed to give a sense of comfort to the lads, for +their loved ones, too, were "far away," and since I have come home I +find that this, too, comes as a great comfort hymn to those who are +here lonely for their boys "over there." +</P> + +<P> +And who shall forget the silhouette of approaching the shores of France +by night as they have sailed down along the coast, cautiously and +carefully, to find the opening of the submarine nets? Who shall forget +the sense of exhilaration that the news that land was near brought? +Who shall forget the crowding to the railings by all on board to scan +anxiously through the night for the first sight of land? Then who +shall forget seeing that first light from shore flash out through the +darkness of night? Who shall forget the red and green and white lights +that began to twinkle, and gleam, and flash, and signal, and call? How +beautiful those lights looked after the long, dangerous, eventful, and +dark voyage, without a single light showing on the ship! And who shall +forget the man along the railing who said, "I never knew before the +meaning of that old song, 'The Lights Along the Shore'"? And then, who +can forget the fact that suddenly somebody started to sing that old +hymn, "The Lights Along the Shore," and of how it swept along the lower +decks, and then to the upper decks, until a whole ship-load of people +was singing it? And then who shall forget how somebody else started +"Let the Lower Lights Be Burning"? Can such scenes ever be obliterated +from one's memory? No, not forever. That silhouette remains eternally! +</P> + +<P> +Five great transports were in. They were lined up along the docks in +the locks. A Y. M. C. A. secretary was standing on the docks yelling +up a word of welcome to the crowded railings of the great transports. +The boats were not "cleared" as yet. It would take an hour, and the +secretary knew that something must be done, so he started to lead first +one ship and then another in singing. +</P> + +<P> +"What shall we sing, boys?" he would shout up to them from the docks +below. Some fellow from the railing yelled, "Keep the Home Fires +Burning," and that fine song rang out from five thousand throats. I +have heard it sung in the camps at home, I have heard it sung in great +huts in France, but I never heard it when it sounded so significant and +so sweet in its mighty volume as it sounded coming from that great +khaki-lined transport, which had just landed an hour before in France. +I stood beside the song-leader there on the docks looking up at that +great mass of American humanity, a hundred feet above us, so far away +that we could not recognize individual faces, on the high decks of one +of the largest ships that sails the seas, and as that sweet song of war +swept out over the docks and across the white town, and back across the +Atlantic, I said to myself: "That volume sounds as if it could make +itself heard back home." +</P> + +<P> +The man beside me said: "The folks back home hear it all right, for +they are eagerly listening for every sound that comes from that crowd +of boys. Yes, the folks back home hear it, and they'll 'keep the home +fires burning' all right. God bless them!" +</P> + +<P> +The last Silhouette of Song stands out against a background of green +trees and spring, and the odor of a hospital, and Red Cross nurses +going and coming, and boys lying in white robes everywhere. My friend +the song-leader had gone with me to hold the vesper service in the +hospital. Then we visited in the wards in order to see those who were +so severely wounded that they could not get to the service. +</P> + +<P> +There was a little group of men in one room. The first thing I knew my +friend had them singing. At first they took to it awkwardly. Then +more courageously. Then sweetly there rang through the hospital the +strains of "My Daddy Over There." +</P> + +<P> +It melted my heart, for I have a baby girl at home who says to the +neighbors, "My daddy is the prettiest man in the world," and believes +it. I said to Cray: "Why did you sing that particular song?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," he replied, "my baby's name is 'Betty,' and I found a guy whose +baby's name is 'Betty' too, and we had a sort of club formed; and +another guy had a baby boy, and then I just thought they'd like to sing +'My Daddy Over There.' But we ended up with 'Jesus, Lover of My Soul,' +so that ought to suit you." +</P> + +<P> +"Suit me, man? Why I got a 'Betty' baby of my own, and that 'Daddy +Over There' song you sang is the sweetest thing I've heard in France, +and it will help those daddies more than a hymn would. I'm glad you +got them to singing." +</P> + +<P> +And now I'm back home, and I thought the Silhouettes of Song were all +over, but I stepped into a church the other Sunday. Up high above the +sacred altars of that church fluttered a beautiful silk service flag. +It was starred in the shape of a letter "S." In the circle of each "S" +was a red cross. The church had two members in the Red Cross. Above +the "S" and below it were two red triangles. The church had men in the +service of the Y. M. C. A. Then grouped about the "S" were the stars +of boys in the service. +</P> + +<P> +As I looked up at this cross a flood of memories swept over me. I +could not keep back the tears. All the love, all the loneliness, all +the heartache, all the pride, all the hope of the folks at home, their +reverence, their loyalty, was summed up in that flag. I stood to sing, +my eyes brimming with tears. The great congregation started that +beautifully sweet hymn that is being sung all over America in the +churches in loving memory of the boys over there: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"God save our splendid men,<BR> +Send them safe home again,<BR> + God save our men.<BR> +Make them victorious,<BR> +Patient and chivalrous,<BR> +They are so dear to us,<BR> + God save our men.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +God keep our own dear men,<BR> +From every stain of sin,<BR> + God keep our men.<BR> +When Satan would allure,<BR> +When tempted, keep them pure,<BR> +Be their protection sure—<BR> + God keep our men.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +God hold our precious men,<BR> +And love them to the end.<BR> + God hold our men.<BR> +Held in Thine arms so strong<BR> +To Thee they all belong.<BR> +This ever be our song:<BR> + God hold our men."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +I stood the pressure until that great congregation came to that line +"They are so dear to us," and the voice of the mother beside me broke, +and she had to stop. Then I had to stop, too, and we looked at each +other through our tears and smiled and understood, so that when she +sweetly said, "I have a boy over there," her words were superfluous. +And so I have added another memory of song to the hours that will never +die. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +II +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SHIP SILHOUETTES +</H3> + + +<P> +It was nearing the dawn, and flaming heralds gave promise of a +brilliant day coming up out of France to the east. Three of us stood +in the "crow's-nest" on an American transport, where we had been +standing our "watch" since four o'clock that morning. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly as we peered through our glasses off to the west we saw the +masts of a great cruiser creeping above the horizon of the sea. We +reported it to the "bridge," where it was confirmed. Then in a few +minutes we saw another mast, and then another, and another; four, five, +six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twenty—five, six—twenty-six ships +coming up over the western horizon, bound for France, bearing the most +precious burden that ever a caravan of the sea carried across the +waters of the deep; American boys! Your boys! +</P> + +<P> +It was a marvellous sight. We had been so intently watching this that +we had forgotten about the dawn. Then we turned for a minute, and off +to the east a brilliant red dawn was splashing its way out of the sea. +</P> + +<P> +"What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman shouted to me. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-022"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-022.jpg" ALT=""What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman shouted to me." BORDER="2" WIDTH="371" HEIGHT="574"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman <BR> +shouted to me.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"Why, I believe it's the convoy of destroyers coming out to meet those +transports," I replied. +</P> + +<P> +Then before our eyes, up out of the eastern horizon, just as we had +watched the transports and the cruiser come up over the western +horizon, those slender guardians of the deep came toward us in +formation. There were ten of them, and they met the great American +convoy just abreast our transport. We saw the American flag fly to the +winds on each ship, and the flashing of signal-lights even in the +dawning. +</P> + +<P> +"Those destroyers coming out of the east against that sunrise remind me +of the experiences one has in France in these vivid war days," I said +to my fellow watcher in the "crow's-nest." +</P> + +<P> +"How is that?" +</P> + +<P> +"They stand out like the Silhouettes of Mountain Peaks against a +crimson sunrise," I replied. +</P> + +<P> +And so have many Silhouettes of the Sea stood out. +</P> + +<P> +There was the afternoon that we stood on the deck of a ship bound for +France. The voyage had been full of dangers. Submarines had harassed +us for days. One night such a lurch came to the ship as threw +everybody about in their staterooms. We thought it was a storm until +the morning came, and we were informed that it was a sudden lurch to +avoid a submarine. The voyage had been full of uneasiness, and now we +were coming to the most dangerous part of it, the submarine zone. +</P> + +<P> +Everybody was on deck. It was Sunday afternoon. Suddenly off to the +east several spots appeared on the horizon. What were they, friendly +craft or enemy ships? +</P> + +<P> +Nobody knew, not even the captain. There was a wave of uneasiness over +the boat. +</P> + +<P> +Speculation was rife. +</P> + +<P> +Then we saw the signal boy go aft, and in a moment the tricolor of +France was fluttering in the winds, and we knew that the approaching +craft were friendly. Then through powerful glasses we could make them +out to be long, low-lying, lithe, swift destroyers coming out to meet +us. They were a welcome sight. Like "hounds of the sea" they came, +long and lean. Headed straight for us, they came like the winds. Then +suddenly a slight mist began to fall, but not enough to obscure either +the destroyers or the sun. Through this mist the sun burned its way, +and almost as if a miracle had been performed by some master artist, a +beautiful rainbow arched the sky to the east, and under the arch of +this rainbow fleetly sailed those approaching destroyers. +</P> + +<P> +It was a beautiful sight, a Silhouette of the Sea never to be forgotten +while memory lasts. The French flag fluttered, the band started to +play the "Marseillaise," and a ship-load of happy people sang it. +</P> + +<P> +A sense of peace settled down over us all. The rainbow, covenant of +old, promise of the eternal God to his people, seemed to have new +significance that memorable day. +</P> + +<P> +Another Silhouette of the Sea! Troops are expected in at a certain +port of entry. The camp has been emptied of ten thousand men. That +means but one thing, that new troops are expected. The great +dirigibles sailed out a few hours ago. The sea-planes followed. +Thousands of American men and women lined the docks waiting, peering +with anxious eyes out toward the "point." Here at this point a great +cape jutted out into the ocean, and around this cape we were accustomed +to catch sight of the convoys first. +</P> + +<P> +A sense of great expectancy was upon us. We had heard rumors of +submarines off the shore for several days. Then suddenly we heard a +terrific cannonading, and we knew that the transports and the convoys +were in a battle with the U-boats that had lain in wait for them. An +anxious hour passed. The sun was setting and the west was a great rose +blanket. +</P> + +<P> +Then a shout went up far down the line of waiting Americans as the +first great transport swung around the cape. Then another, and a third +and a fourth, and finally a fifth; great gray bulks, two of them +camouflaged until you could not tell whether they were little +destroyers or a group of destroyers on one big ship. Then they got +near enough to see the American boys, thousands of them, lining the +railings. Through the glasses we could make out the names of the +transports. They were some of the largest that sail the Atlantic. +When as they came slowly in on the full tide, with that rose sunset +back of them, the bands on their decks playing across the waters, and +five thousand boys on the first boat singing "Keep the Home Fires +Burning," then the "Marseillaise," and finally "The Star-Spangled +Banner," in which the crowd on the shore joined, there was a Silhouette +of the Sea that burned its way into our souls. +</P> + +<P> +There were the great ships, and beyond them the cape, and beyond that +the hovering dirigibles, and beyond them the great bird seaplanes, and +beyond them the background of a rose-colored sky, and beyond that the +memories of home. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +III +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SILHOUETTES OF SACRIFICE +</H3> + + +<P> +Every day for two months, February and March, sometimes when the roads +were hub-deep with mud, and sometimes when the roads were a glare of +ice and snow and driving the big truck was dangerous work, we passed +the crucifix. +</P> + +<P> +It was the guide-post where four roads forked. One road went up to the +old monastery, where we had, in one corner, a canteen. Another road +led down toward divisional headquarters. Another road led into Toul, +and a fourth led directly toward the German lines, over which, if we +had driven far enough, as we started to do one night in the dark, we +could have gone straight to Berlin. +</P> + +<P> +The first night that I went "down the line" alone with a truck-load I +was trembling inside about directions. The divisional man said: "Go +straight out the east gate of the city, down the road until you come to +the cross at the forks of the road. Take the turn to the left." +</P> + +<P> +But even with these directions I was not certain. I was frankly +afraid, for I knew that a wrong turn would take me into German lines. +I did not like that prospect at all. +</P> + +<P> +I drove the big car cautiously through the night. There were no +lights, and at best it was not easy driving. This night was +impenetrably dark. When I came to the cross-roads I stopped the +machine and climbed down. I wanted to make sure of the directions, and +they were printed in French on the sign-board that was near the +crucifix about which he had told me. +</P> + +<P> +I got my directions all right, and then, moved by curiosity, flashed my +pocket-light on the figure of the bronze Christ on the crucifix there +at the crossroads guide-post. There was an inscription. Laboriously +finding each small letter with my flash in the darkness, my engine +panting off to the side of the road, I spelled it all out: +</P> + +<P> +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" +</P> + +<P> +Off in the near distance the star-shells were lighting up No Man's +Land. "Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" they +seemed to say to me. +</P> + +<P> +I climbed into the machine and started on. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly I heard the purring of Boche planes overhead. One gets so +that he can distinguish the difference between French planes and Boche +planes. These were Boche planes, and they were bent on mischief. Then +the search-lights began to play in the sky over me. But they were too +late, for hardly had I started on my way when "Boom! boom! boom! boom!" +one after another, ten bombs were dropped, and as each dropped it +lighted up the surrounding country like a great city in flames. +</P> + +<P> +As I saw this awful desecration of the land the phrase of the cross +seemed to sing in unison with the beating of the engine of my truck: +</P> + +<P> +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly out of the night crept an ambulance train, which passed my +slower and larger machine. They had no time to wait for me. They were +American boys on their errands of mercy, and the front was calling +them. I knew that something must be going on off toward the front +lines, for the rumbling of the big guns had been going on for an hour. +As these ambulances passed me—more than twenty-five of them passed as +silent ships pass in the night—that phrase kept singing: "Traveller, +hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" +</P> + +<P> +Then I drove a bit farther on my way, and off across a field I saw the +walls of a great hospital. It was an evacuation hospital, and I had +visited in its wards many times after a raid, when hundreds of our boys +had been brought in every night and day, with four shifts of doctors +kept busy day and night in the operating-room caring for them. As I +thought of all that I had seen in that hospital, again that singing +phrase of the crucifix at the crossroads was on my lips: "Traveller, +hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" +</P> + +<P> +A mile farther, and just a few feet from the road, I passed a little +"God's acre" that I knew so well. As its full meaning swept over me +there in the darkness of that night, the heartache and loneliness of +the folks at home whose American boys were lying there, some two +hundred of them, the old crucifix phrase expressed it all: +</P> + +<P> +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" +</P> + +<P> +And, somehow, as I drove back by the crucifix in the darkness of the +next morning, about two o'clock, I had to stop again and with my +flash-light spell out the lettering on the cross. +</P> + +<P> +Then suddenly it dawned on me that this was France speaking to America: +</P> + +<P> +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" +</P> + +<P> +And when I paused in the darkness of that night and thought of the one +million and a quarter of the best manhood of France who had given their +lives for the precious things that we hold most dear: our homes, our +children, our liberty, our democracy; and when I thought that France +had saved that for us; and when I remembered the funeral processions +that I had seen every day since I had been in France, and when I +remembered the women doing the work of men, handling the baggage of +France, ploughing the fields of France; doing the work of men because +the men were all either killed or at the front; when I remembered the +little fatherless children that I had seen all over France, whose sad +eyes looked up into mine everywhere I went; and when I remembered the +young widows (every woman of France seems to be in black); and when I +remembered the thousands of blind men and boys that I had seen being +led helplessly about the streets of the cities and villages of France; +and when I remembered that lonely wife that one Sunday afternoon in +Toul I had watched go and kneel beside a little mound and place flowers +there—the dates on the stone of which I later saw were "March, 1916," +then I cried aloud in the darkness as I realized the tremendous +sacrifice that France has made for the world, as well as England and +Belgium. "No, France! No, England! No, little Belgium! this +traveller has never seen so great a grief as thine!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, mothers and fathers, little children, wives, brothers, sisters of +France, and England, and Belgium, this traveller, America, has never +seen so great a grief as thine!" +</P> + +<P> +And later I learned, after living in the Toul sector for two months, +that the challenging sentence on the crucifix had been read by nearly +every boy who had passed it; and all had. Either he had read it +himself or it had been quoted to him, and this one crucifix question +had much to do with challenging the boys who passed it to a new +understanding of all that France had passed through in the war. +</P> + +<P> +The American boys have learned to respect the French soldier because of +the sacrifice that he has made. The American soldier remembers that +crowd of men called "Kitchener's Mob," which Kitchener sent into the +trenches of France to stem the tide of inhumanity, and to whom he gave +a message: "Go! Sacrifice yourselves while I raise an army in +England!" The American soldier knows all of this. He knows that +little Belgium might have said to all the world, "The forces were too +great for us," and she could have stepped aside and the world would +have forgiven her. +</P> + +<P> +But instead she chose deliberately to sacrifice herself for the cause +of freedom, and sacrifice herself she did. And that sentence on the +crossroads crucifix in the Toul sector, day after day, sends its +reminder into the heart of the American soldiers, who stop their trucks +and their ammunition wagons, pause their weary marches to read it; +sends its reminder of the sacrifices that our allies have already made, +and the sacrifices that we may be called upon to make. "Traveller, +hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" +</P> + +<P> +And the American officer and soldier must admit that he has not; and he +prays God silently in the night as he rides by on his horse, or as he +drives by on his motor-truck, or as he flashes by on his motor-cycle, +though they may be willing to suffer as France has suffered, if need +be, prays God that that may never be necessary, for the American +soldier, since he has been in France, has seen what suffering means. +</P> + +<P> +And so that crossroads crucifix stands out against the lurid night of +France, with its reminder constantly before the American soldier, and +it tends to make him more gentle with French children and women, and +more kindly with French men. There is a new understanding of each +other, a new cement of friendship binding our allies together in +France; there is a new world-wide brotherhood breaking across the +horizon of time, coming through sacrifice. +</P> + +<P> +The world is once again being atoned for. Its sin is being washed +away. Innocent men are suffering that humanity may be saved. +</P> + +<P> +The last time I saw this cross was by night. I had seen it first at +night, and fitting it was that I should see it last at night. There +was a terrible bombardment down the lines. Hundreds of American boys +had been killed. One was wounded who was a son of one of the foremost +Americans. News of the fight had been coming in to us all day long. +Night came and "runners" were still bringing in the gruesome details. +The ambulances were running in a continuous procession. We had seen +things that day and night that made our hearts sick. We had seen +American boys white and unconscious. We had seen every available room +in the great evacuation hospital crowded. We had been told that a +hundred surgical cases were in the hospital, mostly shrapnel wounds, +and that every available doctor and nurse was working night and day. +</P> + +<P> +We had seen, under one snow-covered canvas, six boys who had been +killed by one shell early that morning—boys that the night before we +had talked with down in a front-line hut—boys who had been killed in +their billet in one room. We had seen a captain come staggering into +our hut wet to the skin, soaked with blood, his hair dishevelled, his +face haggard. He had been fighting since three o'clock that morning. +He had been shell-shocked, and had been sent into the hospital. +</P> + +<P> +"My God!" he cried, "I saw every officer in my company killed. First +it was my first lieutenant. They got him in the head. Then about ten +o'clock I saw my second lieutenant fall. Then early in the afternoon +my top-sergeant got a bayonet, and a hand-grenade got a group of my +non-commissioned officers. Half of my boys are gone." +</P> + +<P> +Then he sat down and we got him some hot chocolate. This seemed to +revive his spirits, and he said: "But, thank God, we licked them! We +licked them at their own game! We got them six to one, and drove them +back! No Man's Land is thick with their beastly bodies. They are +hanging on the wires out there like trapped rabbits!" +</P> + +<P> +Then the thoughts of his own officers came back. +</P> + +<P> +"My God! Now we know what war means. We've been playing at war up to +this time. Now we've got to suffer! Then we'll know what it all +means." He was half-delirious, we could see, and sent for an ambulance. +</P> + +<P> +As I drove home that night I passed the crossroads crucifix. This time +I needed no lights to guide me. The whole horizon was alight with +bursting shells and Very lights. Long before I got to it I could see +the gaunt form of the cross reaching its black but comforting arms up +against the background of lurid light along the front where I knew that +American men were dying for me. The picture of that wayside cross, +looming against the lurid light of battle, shall never die in my memory. +</P> + +<P> +It was the silhouette of France and America suffering together, a +silhouette standing out against a livid horizon of fire. +</P> + +<P> +I needed no tiny pocket search-light to read the words on the cross. +They had already burned their way into my heart and into the hearts of +that whole division of American soldiers, that division which has since +so distinguished itself at Belleau Woods! But now America has a new +understanding of the meaning of that sentence, for America, too, is +suffering, and she is sacrificing. +</P> + +<P> +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, France; we understand now." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SILHOUETTES SPIRITUAL +</H3> + + +<P> +It was the gas ward. I had held a vesper service that evening and had +had a strange experience. Just before the service I had been +introduced to a lad who said to the chaplain who introduced me that he +was a member of my denomination. +</P> + +<P> +The boy could not speak above a whisper. He was gassed horribly, and +in addition to his lungs being burned out and his throat, his face and +neck were scarred. +</P> + +<P> +"I have as many scars on my lungs as I have on my face," he said quite +simply. I had to bend close to hear him. He could not talk loud +enough to have awakened a sleeping child. +</P> + +<P> +He said to me: "I used to be leader of the choir at home. At college I +was in the glee-club, and whenever we had any singin' at the fraternity +house they always expected me to lead it. Since I came into the army +the boys in my outfit have depended upon me for all the music. In camp +back home I led the singing. Even the Y. M. C. A. always counted on me +to lead the singing in the religious meetings. Many's the time I have +cheered the boys comin' over on the transport and in camp by singin' +when they were blue. But I can't sing any more. Sometimes I get +pretty blue over that. But I'll be at your meeting this evening, +anyway, and I'll be right down on the front seat as near the piano as I +can get. Watch for me." +</P> + +<P> +And sure enough that night, when the vesper service started, he was +right there. I smiled at him and he smiled back. +</P> + +<P> +I announced the first hymn. The crowd started to sing. Suddenly I +looked toward him. We were singing "Softly Now the Light of Day Fades +Upon My Sight Away." His book was up, his lips were moving, but no +sound was coming. That sight nearly broke my heart. To see that boy, +whose whole passion in the past had been to sing, whose voice the cruel +gas had burned out, started emotions throbbing in me that blurred my +eyes. I couldn't sing another note myself. My voice was choked at the +sight. A lump came every time I looked at him there with that book up +in front of him, a lump that I could not get out of my throat. I dared +not look in his direction. +</P> + +<P> +After the service was over I went up to him. I knew that he needed a +bit of laughter now. I knew that I did, too. So I said to him: "Lad, +I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't helped us out on the +singing this evening." +</P> + +<P> +He looked at me with infinite pathos and sorrow in his eyes. Then a +look of triumph came into them, and he looked up and whispered through +his rasped voice: "I may not be able to make much noise any more, and I +may never be able to lead the choir again, but I'll always have singing +in my soul, sir! I'll always have singing in my soul!" +</P> + +<P> +And so it is with the whole American army in France—it always has +singing in its soul, and courage, and manliness, and daring, and hope. +That kind of an army can never be defeated. And no army in the world, +and no power, can stand long before that kind of an army. +</P> + +<P> +That kind of an army doesn't have to be sent into battle with a barrage +of shells in front of it and a barrage of shells back of it to force it +in, as the Germans have been doing during the last big offensive, +according to stories that boys at Château-Thierry have been telling me. +The kind of an army that, in spite of wounds and gas, "still has +singing in its soul" will conquer all hell on earth before it gets +through. +</P> + +<P> +Then there is the memory of the boys in the shell-shock ward at this +same hospital. I had a long visit with them. They were not permitted +to come to the vesper service for fear something would happen to upset +their nerves. But they made a special request that I come to visit +them in their ward. After the service I went. I reached their ward +about nine, and they arose to greet me. The nurse told me that they +were more at ease on their feet than lying down, and so for two hours +we stood and talked on our feet. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you get yours?" I asked a little black-eyed New Yorker. +</P> + +<P> +"I was in a front-line trench with my 'outfit,' down near Amiens," he +said. "We were having a pretty warm scrap. I was firing a machine-gun +so fast that it was red-hot. I was afraid it would melt down, and I +would be up against it. They were coming over in droves, and we were +mowing them down so fast that out in front of our company they looked +like stacks of hay, the dead Germans piled up everywhere. I was so +busy firing my gun, and watching it so carefully because it was so hot, +that I didn't hear the shell that suddenly burst behind me. If I had +heard it coming it would never have shocked me." +</P> + +<P> +"If you hear them coming you're all right?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. It's the ones that surprise you that give you shell-shock. If +you hear the whine you're ready for them; but if your mind is on +something else, as mine was that day, and the thing bursts close, it +either kills you or gives you shell-shock, so it gets you both going +and coming." He laughed at this. +</P> + +<P> +"I was all right for a while after the thing fell, for I was +unconscious for a half-hour. When I came to I began to shake, and I've +been shaking ever since." +</P> + +<P> +"How did you get yours?" I asked another lad, from Kansas, for I saw at +once that it eased them to talk about it. +</P> + +<P> +"I was in a trench when a big Jack Johnson burst right behind me. It +killed six of the boys, all my friends, and buried me under the dirt +that fell from the parapet back of me. I had sense and strength enough +to dig myself out. When I got out I was kind of dazed. The captain +told me to go back to the rear. I started back through the +communication-trench and got lost. The next thing I knew I was +wandering around in the darkness shakin' like a leaf." +</P> + +<P> +Then there was the California boy. I had known him before. It was he +who almost gave me a case of shell-shock. The last time I saw him he +was standing on a platform addressing a crowd of young church people in +California. And there he was, his six foot three shaking from head to +foot like an old man with palsy, and stuttering every word he spoke. +He had been sent to the hospital at Amiens with a case of acute +appendicitis. The first night he was in the hospital the Germans +bombed it and destroyed it. They took him out and put him on a train +for Paris. This train had only gotten a few miles out of Amiens when +the Germans shelled it and destroyed two cars. +</P> + +<P> +"After that I began to shake," he said simply. +</P> + +<P> +"No wonder, man; who wouldn't shake after that?" I said. Then I asked +him if he had had his operation yet. +</P> + +<P> +"It can't be done until I quit shaking." +</P> + +<P> +"When will you quit?" I asked, with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we're all getting better, much better; we'll be out of here in a +few months; they all get better; 90 per cent of us get back in the +trenches." +</P> + +<P> +And that is the silver lining to this Silhouette Spiritual. The +doctors say that a very large percentage of them get back. +</P> + +<P> +"We call ourselves the 'First American Shock Troops,'" my friend from +the West said with a grin. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you are 'shock troops,' all right. I know one thing, and that +is that you would give your folks back home a good shock if they saw +you." +</P> + +<P> +Then we all laughed. Laughter was in the air. I have never met +anywhere in France such a happy, hopeful, cheerful crowd as that bunch +of shell-shocked boys. It was contagious. I went there to cheer them +up, and I got cheered up. I went there to give them strength, and came +away stronger than when I went in. It would cheer the hearts of all +Americans to take a peep into that room; if they could see the souls +back of the trembling bodies; if they could get beyond the first shock +of those trembling bodies and stuttering tongues. And, after all, that +is what America must learn to do, to get beyond, and to see beyond, the +wounds, into the soul of the boy; to see beyond the blinded eyes, the +scarred faces, the legless and armless lads, into the glory of their +new-born souls, for no boy goes through the hell of fire and suffering +and wounds that he does not come out new-born. The old man is gone +from him, and a new man is born in him. That is the great eternal +compensation of war and suffering. +</P> + +<P> +I have seen boys come out of battles made new men. I have seen them go +into the line sixteen-year-old lads, and come out of the trenches men. +I saw a lad who had gone through the fighting in Belleau Woods. I +talked with him in the hospital at Paris. His face was terribly +wounded. He was ugly to look at, but when I talked with him I found a +soul as white as a lily and as courageous as granite. +</P> + +<P> +"I may look awful," he said, "but I'm a new man inside. What I saw out +there in the woods made me different, somehow. I saw a friend stand by +his machine-gun, with a whole platoon of Germans sweeping down on him, +and he never flinched. He fired that old gun until every bullet was +gone and his gun was red-hot. I was lying in the grass where I could +see it all. I saw them bayonet him. He fought to the last against +fifty men, but, thank God, he died a man; he died an American. I lay +there and cried to see them kill him, but every time I think of that +fellow it makes me want to be more of a man. When I get back home I'm +going to give up my life to some kind of Christian service. I'm going +to do it because I saw that man die so bravely. If he can die like +that, in spite of my face I can live like a man." +</P> + +<P> +The boys in the trenches live a year in a month, a month in a week, a +week in a day, a day in an hour, and sometimes an eternity in a second. +No wonder it makes men of them overnight. No wonder they come out of +it all with that "high look" that John Oxenham writes about. They have +been reborn. +</P> + +<P> +Another wounded boy who had gone through the fighting back of +Montdidier said to me in the hospital: +</P> + +<P> +"I never thought of anybody else at home but myself. I was selfish. +Sis and mother did everything for me. Everything at home centred in +me, and everything was arranged for my comfort. With this leg gone I +might have some right now, according to the way they think, to that +attention, but I don't want it any longer. I can't bear the thoughts +of having people do for me. I want to spend the rest of my life doing +things for other folks. +</P> + +<P> +"Back of Noyon I saw a friend sail into a crowd of six Germans with +nothing but his bayonet and rifle. They had surrounded his captain, +and were rushing him back as a prisoner. They evidently had orders to +take the officers alive as prisoners. That big top-sergeant sailed +into them, and after killing two of them, knocking two more down, and +giving his captain a chance to escape, the last German shot him through +the head. He gave his life for the captain. That has changed me. I +shall never be the same again after seeing that happen. There's +something come into my heart. I'm going back home a Christian man." +</P> + +<P> +Yes, America must learn to see beyond the darkness, beyond the +disfigured face, to the soul of the boy. And America will do it. +America is like that. And so back of these shaking bodies and these +stuttering tongues of the shell-shocked boys I saw their wonderful +souls. And after spending that two hours with them I can never be the +same man again. +</P> + +<P> +I could, as Donald Hankey says, "get down on my knees and shine their +boots for them any day," and thank God for the privilege. I think that +this is the spirit of any non-combatant in France who has any immediate +contact with our men on the battle-front or in the hospitals. They are +so brave and so true. +</P> + +<P> +"How do the Americans stand dressing their wounds and the suffering in +the hospitals?" a friend of mine asked a prominent surgeon. +</P> + +<P> +"They bear their suffering like Frenchmen. That is the highest +compliment I can pay them," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +And so back of their wounds are their immortal, undying, unflinching +souls. And back of the tremblings of these boys that night, thank God, +I had the glory of seeing their immortal souls, and to me the soul of +an American boy under fire and pain is the biggest, finest, most +tremendous thing on earth. I bow before it in humility. It dazzled +mine eyes. All I could think of as I saw it was: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +That night I said, just before I left: "Boys, it's Sunday evening, and +they wouldn't let you come to my meeting! Would you like for me to +have a little prayer with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes! Sure! That's just what we want!" were the stammered words that +followed. +</P> + +<P> +"All right; we'll just stand, if it's easier for you." +</P> + +<P> +Then I prayed the prayer that had been burning in my heart every minute +as we stood there in that dimly lit ward, talking of home and battle +and the folks we all loved across the seas. All that time there had +been hovering in the background of my mind a picture of a cool body of +water named Galilee, and of a Christ who had been sleeping in a boat on +that water with some of his friends, when a storm came up. I had been +thinking of how frightened those friends had been of the storm; of the +tossing, tumbling, turbulent waves. I had thought of how they had +trembled with fear, and then of how they had appealed to the Master. I +told the boys simply that story, and then I prayed: +</P> + +<P> +"O Thou Christ who stilled the waves of Galilee, come Thou into the +hearts of these boys just now, and still their trembling limbs and +tongues. Bring a great sense of peace and quiet into their souls." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, ye of little faith!" When I looked up from that prayer, much to +my own astonishment, and to the astonishment of the friend who was with +me, the tremblings of those fine American boys had perceptibly ceased. +There was a great sense of quiet and peace in the ward. +</P> + +<P> +The nurse told me the next day that after I had gone the boys went +quietly to bed; that there was little tossing that night and no walking +the floors, as there had been before. A doctor friend said to me: +"After all, maybe your medicine is best, for while we are more or less +groping in the dark as to our treatment of shell-shock, we do know that +the only cure will be that something comes into their souls to give +them quiet of mind and peace within." +</P> + +<P> +"I know what that medicine is," I told him. "I have seen it work." +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Then I told him of my experience. +</P> + +<P> +"You may be right." +</P> + +<P> +And so it is all over France; where I have worked in some twenty +hospitals—from the first-aid dressing-stations back through the +evacuation hospitals to the base hospitals—and have found that the +reaction of our boys to wounds and suffering is always a spiritual +reaction. I know as I know no other thing, that the boys of America +are to come back, wounded or otherwise, a better crowd of men than they +went away. They are men reborn, and when they come back, when it's +"over, over there," there is to be a nation reborn because of the +leaven that is within their souls. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +V +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SILHOUETTES OF SACRILEGE +</H3> + + +<P> +During the last year there has come into French art a new era of the +silhouette. In every art store in Paris one sees wonderful silhouettes +which tell the story of the horror of the Hun better than any words can +paint it, and when one attempts to paint it he must attempt it in word +silhouettes. +</P> + +<P> +The silhouette catches the picture better than color. Gaunt, naked, +ruined cathedrals, homes, towers, and forests are better pictured in +black silhouettes than any other way. There is nothing much left in +some places in France but silhouettes. +</P> + +<P> +Those who have seen Rheims know that the best reproduction of its ruins +has been conveyed by the simple silhouette of the artist. There it +stands outlined against the sky. Rheims that was once the wonder of +the world is now naked ruins, tottering walls, with its towers still +standing, looming against the sky like tottering trees. And when, +during the past year, the walls fell, they: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Left a lonesome place against the sky"<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +of all the world. +</P> + +<P> +The church at Albert was like that. Only a silhouette can describe or +picture it. There it stood against the sky by day and night, with the +figure on its top leaning. The old legend of the soldiers that when +the figure of the Virgin fell to the earth the war would end has been +dissipated, for during the last drive that figure fell, and the tower +with it. But forever (although it has fallen to dust and debris, +because of descriptions we have seen of it) it shall stand out in our +memories like a lonely, toppling tree against a crimson sunset! +</P> + +<P> +Every day on the Toul line we used to drive through a village that had +been shelled until it was in ruins. Only the tower and the walls of a +beautiful little church remained. Every other house in the village was +razed to the ground. Nothing else remained. +</P> + +<P> +There it stands to this day, for when I saw it last in June it was +still standing as it was in January. Every evening about sunset we +used to drive down that way, taking supplies to the front-line huts. +Many things stand out in one's memory of a certain road over which he +drives night after night and day after day. There is the cross at the +forks of the roads. There is the old monastery, battered and in ruins, +that stood out like a gaunt ghost of the vandal Hun. There was the +little God's acre along the road which we passed every day. There were +always the observation-balloons against the evening sky. There were +always the fleet-winged birds of the air outlined against the evening. +There were always the marching men and the ambulance trains. But +standing out above them all, etched with the acid of regret and anger +and horror, stood that lonely tower. Night after night we approached +it with a beautiful sunset off to the west where the Germans lay buried +in their trenches. Coming back from the German lines we would see this +church-tower outlined against the crimson sky like a finger pointing +God-ward, and declaring to all the world that the God above would +avenge this silent, accusing Silhouette of Sacrilege. +</P> + +<P> +There has been a good deal of discussion over a certain book entitled +"I Accuse." I never saw that finger pointing into the sky as we drove +through this village that it did not cry out to the heavens and across +the short miles to the German Huns, looking down, as it did, at its +feet where the ruined homes lay, the village that it had mothered and +fathered, the village that had worshipped within its simple walls, the +village that had brought its joys and sorrows there, the village that +had buried the dead within its shadows, the village that had brought +its young there to be married and its aged to be buried; there it +stood, night after night, against the crimson sky sometimes, against +the golden sky at other times; against the rose, against the blue, +against the purple sunsets; and ever it thundered: "I accuse! I +accuse! I accuse!" +</P> + +<P> +Then there is that Silhouette of Sacrilege up on the Baupaume Road. +This is called "the saddest road in Christendom," because more men have +been killed along its scarred pathway than along any other road in all +the world. Not even the road to Calvary was as sad as this road. +</P> + +<P> +Along this road when the French held it, during the first year of the +war, they gathered their dead together and buried them in a little +cemetery. Above the sacred remains of their comrades these French +soldiers erected a simple bronze cross as a symbol not only of the +faith of the nation, but a symbol also of the cause in which they had +died. +</P> + +<P> +A few months later when the Germans had recaptured this spot, and it +had been fought over, and the bronze cross still stood, the Hun, too, +gathered his dead together and buried them side by side with the +French. Then he did a characteristic thing. He got a large stone as a +base and mounted a cannon-ball on top of this stone, and left it there, +side by side with the French cross. +</P> + +<P> +Whether he meant it or not, his sacrilege stands as a fitting +expression of his philosophy, the philosophy of the brute, the religion +of the granite rock and the iron cannon-ball. +</P> + +<P> +He told his own story here. Side by side in those two monuments the +contrast is made, the causes are placed. One is the cause of the +cross, the cause of men willing to die for brotherhood; the other is +the cause of those who are willing to kill to conquer. +</P> + +<P> +And these two monuments, side by side on the Baupaume Road, stand out +as one of the Silhouettes of Sacrilege. +</P> + +<P> +Then there is St. Gervais. On Good Friday afternoon a Hun shell +pierced the side of this beautiful cathedral as the spear-thrust +pierced the side of the Master so long ago. On the very hour that +Jesus was crucified back on that other and first Good Friday the Hun +threw his bolt of death into the nave of this church, and crucified +seventy-five people kneeling in memory of their Saviour's death. +</P> + +<P> +I was in that church an hour after this terrible sacrilege happened. +Never can one forget the scene. I dare not describe it here in its +awful details. +</P> + +<P> +The entire arches of stone that held up the roof had fallen in from the +concussion of the gases of the shell. Three feet of solid stones +covered the floor. Men and women were being carried out. Silk hats, +canes, shoes, hats, baby clothes, an expensive fur, lay buried in the +stone and dirt. +</P> + +<P> +As I stood horrified, looking on this scene of death and destruction, +the phrase came into my heart: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"And the veil of the temple was rent in twain."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +And this scene, too, shall remain as one of the Silhouettes of +Sacrilege. +</P> + +<P> +But perhaps the worst Silhouette of Sacrilege that the film of one's +memory has brought away from France is that of a certain afternoon in +Paris. +</P> + +<P> +I happened to be walking along the Boulevard to my hotel. The big gun +had been throwing its shells into the city all day. Suddenly one fell +so close to where I was walking that it broke the windows around me, +and I was nearly thrown to my feet. In my soul I cursed the Hun, as +all who have lived in Paris finally come to be doing as each shell +bursts. But I had more reason to curse than I knew at that moment. +</P> + +<P> +The people were running into a side street, the next one toward which I +was approaching. I followed the crowd. My uniform got me past the +gendarmes in through a little court, up a pair of stairs where the +shell had penetrated the walls of a maternity hospital. +</P> + +<P> +What I saw there in that room shall make me hate the Hun forever. +</P> + +<P> +New-born babes had been killed, a nurse and two mothers. When I +thought of the expectant homes into which those babes had come, when I +thought of the fathers at the front who would never see again either +their wives or those new babies, when I saw the blood that smeared the +plaster and floors of that room, when I saw the little twisted baby +beds, a flush of hatred swept over me, as it did over all who saw it, a +new birth of hatred that could never die until those little babies and +those mothers and the nurse are avenged. That is a Silhouette of +Sacrilege that makes the gamut complete. +</P> + +<P> +There was the desecration of the holy sanctuaries; there was the +desecration of the graves of brave soldiers of France; there was the +derision of his bronze cross; there was the desecration of the most +sacred day in Christendom, Good Friday, and then the desecration of +little children, mothers of new-born babes, and nurses. Could the case +be more complete? Could Silhouettes of Sacrilege cover a wider gamut +of hatred and disgust than these silhouettes picture? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SILHOUETTES OF SILENCE +</H3> + + +<P> +Two o'clock in the morning on the sea is sometimes cold and +disagreeable, and sometimes it is glorious with wonder and beauty. But +whether it is beautiful or whether it is cold and disagreeable, at that +exact hour in the war zone on every American transport, now, every boy +is summoned on deck until daylight. This is only one of the many +precautions that the navy is taking to save life in case of a U-boat +attack. One thing that ought to comfort every mother and father in +America is the care that is manifested and the precautions that are +taken by the navy in getting the soldiers to France. One of the most +thrilling chapters of the history of this war, when it is written, will +be that chapter. And one of the most wonderful, the most colossal +feats will be the safe transportation overseas of those millions of +soldiers with so little loss of life while doing it. +</P> + +<P> +And one of the best precautions is this of getting every boy up out of +the hold and out of the staterooms, officers and all, on deck, standing +by the assigned life-boats and rafts. Not a single boy remains below +in the war zone. +</P> + +<P> +Day is just breaking across the sea. It is a beautiful dawning. Five +thousand American boys line the railings of a certain great transport. +They are not allowed to smoke. They do not sing. They do not talk +much. Some of them are sleepy, for the average American boy is not +used to being awakened at two in the morning. They just stand and wait +and watch through five hours of silence as the great ship plunges its +way defiantly through the danger zone, saying in so many words: "We're +ready for you!" +</P> + +<P> +And the silhouette of that great ship, lined with khaki-clad American +boys, waiting, watching, as seen from another transport, where the +watcher who writes this story stands, is a sight never to be equalled +in art or story. To see the huge bulk of a great transport just a +stone's throw away, moving forward, without a sound from its +rail-lined, soldier-packed deck, is one of the striking Silhouettes of +Silence. +</P> + +<P> +Thomas Carlyle once said of man: "Stands he not thereby in the centre +of Immensities, in the conflux of Eternities?" One day I saw the +American army standing "in the centre of immensities, in the conflux of +eternities," at the focus of histories. One day I saw the American +army in France march in answer to General Pershing's offer to the +Allies at the beginning of the big drive, march to its place in history +beside its Allies, the English and the French. +</P> + +<P> +The news came. The first division of American troops was to leave +overnight and march overland into the Marne line. Our Allies needed +us. They had called. We were answering. +</P> + +<P> +As a tribute to the efficiency of the American army, may I say that the +one well-trained, seasoned division of troops that we had in a certain +quiet sector picked up bag and baggage overnight and, like the Arabs, +"silently stole away," and did it so well and so efficiently that not +even the Y. M. C. A. secretaries, who had been living with this +division intimately for months, knew that they were gone, and that a +new division had taken its place, until the next morning. Talk about +German efficiency—that phrase, "German efficiency," has become a +bugaboo to frighten the world. American efficiency is just as great, +if not greater. +</P> + +<P> +I saw that division marching overland. It was a thrilling sight. +Coming on it suddenly, and looking down upon its marching columns from +the brow of a hill, and then riding past it in a Ford camionet all day +long with Irving Cobb, riding past its ammunition-wagons, past its +machine-gun battalion, past its great artillery company, past its +hundreds of infantrymen, past its trucks, past its clean-cut officers +astride their horses, past its supply-trains, past its flags and +banners, past its kitchen-wagons, seeing it stop to eat, seeing it +shoulder its rifles, seeing its ambulances and its Red Cross groups, +seeing its khaki-clad American boys wind through the valleys and up the +hills and over the bridges (the white stone bridge), through its +villages, many in which American soldiers had never been seen before; +welcomed by the people as the saviors of France, seeing its way strewn +with the flowers of spring by little children, and with the welcome and +the tears of French mothers and daughters clad in black, seeing it +march along the French streams from early morning until late at night, +this was a sight to stir the pride of any American to the point of +reverence. +</P> + +<P> +But all day as we rode along that winding trail I thought of the song +that the soldiers are singing, "There's a Long, Long Trail Awinding to +the Land of Our Dreams," and when I looked into the faces of those +American boys I saw there the determination that the trail that they +were taking was a trail that, although it was leading physically +directly away from home, and toward Berlin, yet it was, to their way of +thinking, the shortest way home. The trail that the American army took +that day as it marched into the Marne line was the "home trail," and +every boy marched that road with the determination that the sooner they +got that hard job ahead over with, the sooner they would get home. I +talked with many of them as they stopped to rest and found this +sentiment on every lip. +</P> + +<P> +But it was a silent army. I heard no singing all day long—not a song. +Men may sing as they are marching into training-camps; they may sing +when they board the boats for France now; they may sing as they march +into rest-billets, but they were not singing that day as they marched +into the great battle-line of Europe. +</P> + +<P> +I heard no laughter. I heard no loud talking, I heard no singing; I +heard only the tramp, tramp, tramp of marching feet, and the crunching +of the great motor-trucks, and the patter of horses as the officers +galloped along their lines. That army of American men knew that the +job on which they were entering was not child's play. They knew that +democracy depended upon what they did in that line. They knew that +many of them would never come back. They knew that at last the real +thing was facing them. They were not like dumb, driven beasts. They +were men. They were American men. They were thinking men. They were +silent men. They were brave men. +</P> + +<P> +They were marching to their place in history unafraid, and unflinching, +but thoughtful and silent. +</P> + +<P> +Another Silhouette of Silence. It was after midnight on the Toul line. +We were driving back from the front. The earth was covered with a +blanket of snow. Everything was white. We were moving cautiously +because with the snow over everything it was hard to tell where the icy +road left off and the ditches began; and those ditches were four feet +deep, and a big truck is hard to get out of a hole. Then there were no +lights, for we were too near the Boche batteries. +</P> + +<P> +"Halt!" rang out suddenly in the night, and a sentry stepped into the +middle of the road. +</P> + +<P> +I got down to see what he wanted. +</P> + +<P> +"There are fifty truck-loads of soldiers going into the trenches +to-night, and they are coming this way. Drive carefully, for it is +slippery." +</P> + +<P> +In a few moments we came to the first truck filled with soldiers, and +passed it. A hundred yards farther we came to the second one, loaded +down with American boys. Their rifles were stacked in the front of the +truck, and their helmets made a solid steel covering over the trucks. +One by one, fifty trucks loaded with American soldiers passed us. One +can hardly imagine that many American boys anywhere without some noise, +but the impressive thing about that scene was that not a single word, +not a sound of a human voice, came from a single one of those fifty +trucks. The only sound to be heard breaking the silence of the night +was the crunching of the chained wheels of the heavy trucks in the +snow. We watched that strangely silent procession go up over a +snow-covered hill and disappear. Not a single sound of a human voice +had broken the silence. +</P> + +<P> +Another Silhouette of Silence: It is an operating-room in an evacuation +hospital. The boy was brought in last night. An operation was +immediately imperative. I had known the boy, and was there by courtesy +of the major in charge of the hospital. The boy had asked that I come. +</P> + +<P> +For just one hour they worked, two skilled American surgeons, whose +names, if I were to mention them, would be recognized as two of +America's greatest specialists. France has many of them who have given +up their ten-thousand-dollar fees to endure danger to save our boys. +During that hour's stress and strain, with sweat pouring from their +brows, they worked. Now and then there was a nod to a nurse, who +seemed to understand without words, and a motion of a hand, but not +three words were spoken. It made a Silhouette of Silence that saved a +boy's life. +</P> + +<P> +The next scene is a listening-post. Two men are stretched on their +stomachs in the brown grass. A little hole, just enough to conceal +their bodies, has been dug there. The upturned roots of an old tree +that a bursting shell had desecrated was just in front. "Tap! Tap! +Tap!" came the sounds of Boches at work somewhere near and underground. +It is needless to say that this was a Silhouette of Silence, and that a +certain Y. M. C. A. secretary was glad when it was all over and he got +back where he belonged. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-078"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-078.jpg" ALT="The upturned roots of an old tree were just in front." BORDER="2" WIDTH="371" HEIGHT="570"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The upturned roots of an old tree were just in front.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR> + +<P> +The beautiful columns of the Madeleine bask under the moonlight. Paris +was never so quiet. The silence of eternity seemed to have settled +down over her. As one looked at the Madeleine under that magical white +moonlight he imagined that he had been transported back to Athens, and +that he was no longer living in modern times and in a world at war. It +was all so quiet and peaceful, with a great moon floating in the +skies—— +</P> + +<P> +But what is that awful wail that suddenly smites the stillness as with +a blow? It seems like the wailing of all the lost souls of the war. +It sounds like the crying of the more than five million sorrowing women +there are left comfortless in Europe. It is the siren. An air-raid is +on. The "alert" is sounding. The bombs begin to fall. The Boches +have gotten over even before the barrage is up. Hell breaks loose for +an hour. No battle on the front ever heard more terrific cannonading +than the next hour. The barrage was the heaviest ever sent up over +Paris. The six Gothas that got over the city dropped twenty-four bombs. +</P> + +<P> +The terrific bombardment, however, now as one looks back, only serves +to make the preceding silence stand out more emphatically, and the +Madeleine, basking in the moonlight the hour before, more beautiful in +its silhouette of grace and bulk against the golden light. +</P> + +<P> +A month on the front lines with thunder beating always, a month of +machine-gun racket, a month of bombing by Gothas every night, a month +of crunching wheels, a month of pounding motors and rumbling trucks, a +month of marching men, a month of the pounding of horses' hoofs on the +hard roads of France, a month of sirens and clanging church-bells in +the <I>tocsin</I>, and then a day in the valley of vision, down at Domremy +where Jeanne d'Arc was born, was a contrast that gave a Silhouette of +Silence to me. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +One day on the Toul line, a train by night, and the next morning so far +away that all you could hear was the singing of birds. Peasants +quietly tended their flocks. Children played in the roads. The valley +was beautiful under the sunlight of as warm and as beautiful a spring +day as ever fell over the fields of France. I stood on the very spot +where the peasant girl of Orleans caught her vision. I looked down +over the valley with "the green stream streaking through it," with +silence brooding over it, a bewildering contrast with the day and the +month that had just preceded; and it all stands out as one of the +Silhouettes of Silence. +</P> + +<P> +Another day, another hour, another part of France. They call it +"Calvaire." It covers several acres. The peasants go there to worship +in pilgrimage every year. There is a Garden of Gethsemane, with +marvellous statues built life-size. Then through the woods there is a +worn pathway to the Sanhedrin. This is of marble. Jesus is here +before his accusers in marble statuary. +</P> + +<P> +As his accusers question him and he answers them not, they wonder. But +those who have seen "Calvaire" in France do not wonder, for from that +room there is a clean swath of trees cut, and a quarter of a mile away +looms, on a hill, a real Calvary, with the tree crosses silhouetted +against the sky, and Jesus is seeing down the pathway the hill of the +cross. +</P> + +<P> +Then there is "The Way of the Cross," built by peasant hands. It is a +road covered with flintstones as sharp as knives. This flint road must +be a mile long, and it winds here and there leading to Calvary, and +along its way are the various stations of the cross in life-size +figures. Jesus is seen at every step of this agony bearing his cross +until relieved by Simon. Over this flintstone every year the people +come by thousands, and crawl on their naked knees or walk on their +naked feet. Every stone is stained with blood; stumbling, cruelly +hurt, bleeding, they go "The Way of the Cross," and I have no doubt but +that they go back to their homes better men and women for having done +so. +</P> + +<P> +The day that we went to "Calvaire" it was a fitful June afternoon. As +we walked along "The Way of the Cross," across the field, past the +living, almost breathing, statues of the Master bearing his cruel +cross, past the sneering figures of those who hated him, and past the +weeping figures of those who loved and would aid him, and as we came to +the hill itself, suddenly black clouds gathered behind it and rain +began to pour. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad the clouds are there back of Calvary. I am glad it is +raining as we climb the hill of Calvary. I am willing to be soaked. +It seems more fitting so, with the black clouds there and all. It +reminds me of 'The Return from Calvary' in the painting," one of the +party said impressively. +</P> + +<P> +Up the winding hill we climbed, and there gaunt and cruel against a +sombre sky stood the three crosses, just as we have always imagined +them. The hill was so high that it overlooked as beautiful a valley as +I had seen in all France. It was in Brittany, as yet untouched by the +war as far as its fields are concerned (not so its men and its women +and its homes); but on that spring day as we looked down from the hill +of Calvary we could see off in the distance the tomb, with the stone +rolled away, and life-size angels standing there with uplifted wings. +Then farther along the road, perhaps another quarter mile away, on +another hill, were the figures of the disciples, and the women watching +the ascension with rapt faces, and a glory shone round about them all. +</P> + +<P> +And as we stood there on that Calvary, built in memory of the +crucifixion and resurrection and ascension of their Master by the +peasants, and looked down over the earth, bright with crimson poppies +everywhere in field and hill, brilliant with the old-gold blossom of +the broom flower, as we stood there, our hearts subdued to awe and +wonder, looking down, suddenly the rain ceased and the sun shone in its +full glory and lighted anew the white marble of the figures of the +ascension far below us in the field. +</P> + +<P> +As we stood there the thought came to me: +</P> + +<P> +"So is the Christian world standing today on the hill of 'Calvaire.' +The storms have been black about the Christian world. The clouds have +seemed impenetrable. The earth has been desolate. We have walked on +our hands and knees and in our bare feet up the flinty road of +Baupaume, 'the saddest road in Christendom,' and along this road we +have borne the cross. We, the Christian world, the mothers, the +fathers, the little children, have bled. We have stumbled and fallen +along the way. And when we climbed the hill of Calvary, as we have +been doing for these years of war, the clouds darkened and we saw only +the ominous silhouettes of the three crosses. +</P> + +<P> +"But the sun is now breaking the clouds, and it shall burn its way to a +glorious day. Across the fields we see the open tomb and the +resurrection is about to dawn; the day of brotherhood, democracy, +justice, love, and peace forever. +</P> + +<P> +"Hope is in the world, hope brooding, hope dominant, hope triumphant, +hope in its supreme ascension." +</P> + +<P> +One could not see this Silhouette of Silence, this "Calvaire" of the +French nation, and not come away knowing the full meaning of the war. +It is "The New Calvary" of the world. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SILHOUETTES OF SERVICE +</H3> + + +<P> +A newspaper paragraph in a Paris paper said: "Dale was last seen in a +village just before the Germans entered it, gathering together a crowd +of little French children, trying to get them to a place of safety." +</P> + +<P> +Dale has never been seen since, and that was two months ago. Whether +he is dead or alive we do not know, but those who knew this manly +American lad best, say unanimously: "That was just like Dale; he loved +kids, and he was always talking about his own and showing us their +pictures." +</P> + +<P> +No monument will ever be erected to Dale, for he was just a common +soldier; but I for one would rather have had the monument of that +simple paragraph in the press despatches; I for one would rather have +it said of me, "The last seen of Dale he was gathering together a crowd +of little children"; I would rather have died in such a service than to +have lived to be a part of the marching army that is one day to enter +the streets of Berlin. That was a man's way to die; dying while trying +to save a crowd of little children from the cowardly Hun. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-088"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-088.jpg" ALT=""The last seen of Dale he was gathering together a crowd of little children."" BORDER="2" WIDTH="381" HEIGHT="570"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "The last seen of Dale he was gathering together <BR> +a crowd of little children."] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +If I had died in that kind of service, in my dying moments I could have +heard the words of John Masefield from "The Everlasting Mercy" singing +in my heart: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Whoever gives a child a treat<BR> +Makes joybells ring in Heaven's street;<BR> +Whoever gives a child a home,<BR> +Builds palaces in Kingdom Come;<BR> +Whoever brings a child to birth,<BR> +Brings Saviour Christ again to earth."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Or, better, I would have seen the Master blessing little children, +taking them up in His arms and saying to the Hebrew mothers that stood +about with wondering eyes: "Suffer the little children to come unto me, +and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." +</P> + +<P> +And perhaps I should have heard the echo of Joaquin Miller's sweet +interpretation of that scene, for when men die, strange, sweet +memories, old hymns and verses, old faces, all come back: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Then lifting His hands He said lowly,<BR> +Of such is my Kingdom, and then<BR> +Took the little brown babes in the holy<BR> +White hands of the Savior of men;<BR> +Held them close to His breast and caressed them;<BR> +Put His face down to theirs as in prayer;<BR> +Put His cheek to their cheeks; and so blessed them<BR> +With baby hands hid in His hair."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +And I am certain that last of all I should have heard the voice of the +Master himself saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Insomuch as ye have done it unto the least of one of these little +ones, my children, ye have done it unto me." +</P> + +<P> +Thank God for a death like that. One could envy such a passing, a +passing in the service to little children. +</P> + +<P> +I have seen some of the most magnificent episodes of service on the +part of men in France, scenes that have thrilled me to the bone. +</P> + +<P> +I know a Protestant clergyman in France who walked five miles on a +rainy February day to find a rosary for a dying Catholic boy. +</P> + +<P> +I know a Y. M. C. A. secretary who in America is the general secretary +of one of the largest organizations in one of the largest Eastern +cities. He has always had two hobbies: one is seeing men made whole, +and the other has been fighting cigarettes. Never bigger fists or more +determined fists pounded down the walls that were building themselves +up around American youth in the cigarette industry. He was militant +from morning till night in his crusade against cigarettes. Some of his +friends thought he was a fanatic. He even lost friends because of his +uncompromising antagonism to the cigarette. +</P> + +<P> +But the last time I heard of him he was in a front-line dugout. This +was near Château-Thierry. The boys were coming and going from that +awful fight. Men would come in one day and be dead the next. He had +been with them for months, and they had come to love him in spite of +his fighting their favorite pastime. They knew him for his +uncompromising antagonism to cigarettes. They loved him none the less +for that because he did not flinch. Neither was he narrow about +selling them. He sold them because it was his duty, but he hated them. +</P> + +<P> +Then for three days in the midst of the Château-Thierry fighting the +matches played out. Not a match was to be had for three days. The +boys were frantic for their smokes, for the nervous strain was greater +than anything they had suffered in their lives. The shelling was +awful. The noise never ceased. Machine-gun fire and bombing by planes +at night kept up every hour. They saw lifelong friends fall by their +sides every hour of the day and night. They needed the solace of their +smokes. +</P> + +<P> +Their secretary found two matches in his bag. He lit a cigarette for a +boy, and the match was gone. Then he used the other one. Then he did +a magnificent piece of service for which his name shall go down forever +in the memory of those lads. Forever shall he hold their affections in +the hollow of his hands. He proved to those boys that his sense of +service was greater than his prejudices. He kept three cigarettes +going for two days and two nights on the canteen beside him, smoking +them himself in order that that crowd of boys, coming and going into +the battle, in and out of the underground dugout, might have a light +for the cigarettes during the few moments of respite that they had from +the fight. +</P> + +<P> +What a thrill went down the line when that news got to the boys out +there in the woods fighting. One boy told me that a fellow he told +wept when he heard it. Another said: "Good old ——! I knew he had +the guts!" Another said: "I'll say he's a man!" Another came in one +evening and said: "I'm going to quit cigarettes from now. If you're +that much of a man, you're worth listening to!" Another said: "If I +get out of this it's me for the church forever if it has that kind of +men in it!" +</P> + +<P> +Is it any wonder that they brought their last letters to him before +they went into the trenches? Is it any wonder that they asked him for +a little prayer service one night before they went into the trenches? +Is it any wonder that they love him and swear by him? +</P> + +<P> +Is it any wonder that when one of them was asked how they liked their +secretary, the boy said: "Great! He's a man!" +</P> + +<P> +Is it any wonder that when another boy was asked if their secretary was +very religious, responded in his own language: "Yes, he's as religious +as hell, but he's a good guy anyhow!" +</P> + +<P> +That kind of service will win anybody, and that is exactly the kind of +service that the boys of the American army, your boys, are getting all +over France from big, heroic, unprejudiced, fatherly, brotherly men, +who are willing to die for their boys as well as to live for them and +with them down where the shells are thickest and the dangers are +constant. +</P> + +<P> +More than a hundred Y. M. C. A. men gassed and wounded to date, and +more than six killed. One friend of mine stepped down into his cellar +one morning, got a full breath of gas, and was dead in two minutes. +There had been a gas-raid the day before, and the gas had remained in +the cellar. Another I know stayed in his hut and served his men even +though six shell fragments came through the hut while he was doing it. +Another I know lived in a dugout for three months, under shell fire +every day. One day a shell took off the end of the old château in +which he was serving the men. His dugout was in the cellar. But he +did not leave. Another day another shell took off the other end of the +château, but he did not leave. He had no other place to go, and the +boys couldn't leave, so why should he go just because he could leave if +he wished? That was the way he looked at it. One man whom I +interviewed in Paris, a Baptist clergyman, crawled four hundred yards +at the Château-Thierry battle with a young lieutenant, dragging a +litter with them across a stubble wheat-field under a rain of +machine-gun bullets and shells, in plain view of the Germans, and +rescued a wounded colonel. When they brought him back they had to +crawl the four hundred yards again, pushing the litter before them inch +by inch. It took them two hours to get across that field. A piece of +shrapnel went through the secretary's shoulder. He is nearly sixty +years of age, but he did not stop when a service called him that meant +the almost certain loss of his own life. +</P> + +<P> +I know another secretary, Doctor Dan Poling, a clergyman, and Pest, a +physical director, who carried a wounded German, who had two legs +broken, through a barrage of German shells across a field to safety. +</P> + +<P> +But all the Silhouettes of Service are not in the front lines. +</P> + +<P> +There are two divisions to the army. They used to be "The Zone of +Advance" and "The Zone of the Rear." Now they call the second division +"The Services of Supplies." All the men who are not in the actual +fighting belong to "The Services of Supplies." +</P> + +<P> +"How many men does it take to keep one pilot in the machine flying out +over those waters to guard the transports in?" I asked the young ensign +in charge of a seaplane station. +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty-eight," he replied. "There are twenty-eight men back of every +machine and every pilot." +</P> + +<P> +The service that these men render, although it is hard for them to see +it, is just as real and just as heroic as the service of those in the +front lines. The boys in "The Services of Supplies" are eager to get +up front. I have had the joy of making them see in their huts and +camps that their service is supremely important. +</P> + +<P> +One cannot tell what service is more important. +</P> + +<P> +When I landed at Newport News, the first sound that I heard was the +machine-gun hammering of thousands of riveters building ships. I know +how vital that service is to the boys "over there." They could not +live without the ships. +</P> + +<P> +Then I came from Newport News to Washington, on my way home, and we +entered that great city by night. The Capitol dome was flooded with +light. As I looked at it I said to myself: "To-day from this city +emanates the light of the world. The eyes of the whole of humanity are +turned toward this city. That lighted dome is symbol of all this." +</P> + +<P> +As I looked out of the train window as we entered Washington from +Richmond, Virginia, I thought: "Surely not the shipbuilding but the +ideals that go out from the Capitol are the most important 'Services of +Supplies.'" +</P> + +<P> +The next morning I was in Pittsburgh. As my train pulled into that +great city, all along the Ohio River I saw great armies of laboring men +going and coming from work. As one tide of humanity flowed out of the +mills across the bridges, another flowed in, and I said: "Surely not +the shipbuilders, nor the ideal-makers at Washington, but this great +army of laboring men in America forms the most important part of 'The +Services of Supplies'!" +</P> + +<P> +Then I came to New York. In turn I spoke before two significant groups +of men and women. One was a group of women meeting each day to make +Red Cross bandages, and knowing the scarcity of such in France, and +knowing how at times nurses have had to tear up their skirts to bandage +wounds of dying boys, I said: "Surely this is it!" +</P> + +<P> +Then I spoke before the artists of New York, with Mr. Charles Dana +Gibson heading them, and as I had seen their stirring posters +everywhere arousing the nation to action, and knew what an important +part the artists and writers in France had played in "The Services of +Supplies," I said: "Surely these are the most important!" +</P> + +<P> +But I have found at last that none of these are the most important of +all. There is another section to "The Services of Supplies," and that +is more important than the mechanic behind the pilot, more important +than the man who assembles the motor trucks and the ambulances in +France, more important than the ship-builders, more important than the +lawmakers themselves, more important even than the President, more +important than that great army of laborers which I saw in Pittsburgh, +more important than the artists and the Red Cross workers, and that +supreme and important part of the great "Services of Supplies" is the +father and mother, the wife, the child, the home, the church, the great +mass of the common thinking, feeling, suffering, praying, hoping people +of America. If these fail, all fails. If these lose faith and courage +and hope, all lose faith and courage and hope. If these grow +faint-hearted, all before them lose heart. These are they who furnish +the real sinews of war. These are they who must furnish the morale, +the love, the letters, the prayers, the support to both government and +soldier. Yes, the common folks over here at home, I have seen clearly, +are the most important part of the great division of the army that we +call "The Services of Supplies." May we never fail the boy in France. +</P> + +<P> +These are the Silhouettes of Service. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SILHOUETTES OF SORROW +</H3> + + +<P> +I wondered at his hold on the hearts of the boys in a certain hospital +in France. It was a strange thing. I went through the hospital with +him and it seemed to me, judging by the conversation with the boys in +the hundreds of cots, that he had just done something for a boy, or he +was just in the process of doing something, or he was just about to do +something. +</P> + +<P> +They called him "daddy." +</P> + +<P> +All day long I wondered at his secret, for he was so unlike any man I +had seen in France in the way he had won the hearts of the boys. I was +curious to know. Something in his eyes made me think of Lincoln. They +had a look like Lincoln in their depths. +</P> + +<P> +That night when I was about to leave I blunderingly stumbled on his +secret. About the only ornament in his bare pine room in the hut was a +picture on the desk. I seized on it immediately, for next to a +sweet-faced baby about the finest thing on earth to look at is a boy +between five and twelve. And here were two, dressed in plaid suits, +with white collars, tousled hair, clean, fine American boys. +</P> + +<P> +I exclaimed as I picked the picture up: +</P> + +<P> +"What a fine pair of lads!" +</P> + +<P> +Then I knew that I had, unwittingly, stumbled into his secret, for a +look of infinite pain swept over his face. +</P> + +<P> +"They are both dead. Last August wife called me on the phone and said +that something awful had happened to the boys. They were all we had, +and I hurried home. +</P> + +<P> +"They had gone out on a Boy Scout picnic. The older had gone in +swimming in the river and had gotten beyond his depth. The younger +went in after him and both were drowned." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry I brought it back," I said humbly. +</P> + +<P> +He didn't notice what I said, but went on. +</P> + +<P> +"Wife and I were broken-hearted. There didn't seem much to live for. +We had lost all. Then came this Y. M. C. A. work, and we thought that +we would like to come over here and do for all the boys in the army +what we could not do for our own. And now wife and I are here, and +every time I do something for a wounded boy in this hospital, I feel as +if I were serving my own dear lads." +</P> + +<P> +"And you are," I said. "And if the mothers and fathers of America know +that men and women of your type are here looking after their lads it +will give them a new sense of comfort and you will be serving them +also." +</P> + +<P> +"And my wife," he added. "You know the boys up at —— call her 'The +Woman with the Sandwiches and Sympathy.' She got her name because one +night a drunken soldier staggered into the hut and asked for her. He +didn't remember her name, but she had darned his socks, she had written +letters for him, she had mothered him, she had tried to help him. They +wanted to put the poor lad out, but he insisted upon seeing my wife. +Finally, in desperation, seeing that he couldn't think of her name, he +said, 'Wan' see that woman wif sandwiches and sympathy,' and after that +the name stuck." +</P> + +<A NAME="img-104"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-104.jpg" ALT=""The boys call her 'The Woman with Sandwiches and Sympathy.'"" BORDER="2" WIDTH="381" HEIGHT="580"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "The boys call her 'The Woman with Sandwiches <BR> +and Sympathy.'"] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +And as we knelt in prayer together there in the hut and I arose to +clasp his hand in sympathy, I knew that through service there in +France, through service to your sons, mothers and fathers of America, +this brave man, as well as his wife, were solacing their grief. They +were conquering sorrow in service, thank God. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, there are Silhouettes of Sorrow, but these silhouettes always have +back of them the gold of a new dawn of hope. They are black +silhouettes, but they have a glorious background of sunrise and hope. +I tell of no sorrows here that are not triumphant sorrows, such as will +hearten the whole world to bear its sorrow well when it comes, pray God. +</P> + +<P> +Up at —— on the beautiful Loire is my friend the secretary. It is a +humble position, and there are not many soldiers there, but he is +serving and brothering, tenderly and faithfully, the few that are +there. No one would ever think of him as a hero, but I do. He, too, +is a hero who is conquering sorrow in service. +</P> + +<P> +His only daughter had been accepted for Y. M. C. A. service in France. +She was all he had. He was a minister at home, and had given up his +church for the duration of the war. Both were looking forward with +keen anticipation to her coming to France. Then came the cable of her +death. +</P> + +<P> +I was there, the morning it arrived, to preach for him. He said no +word to me about the blow. We went on with the service as usual. I +noticed that no hymns had been selected, and that things were not in +very good order for the service. I was a little annoyed at this, but I +am thankful with all my heart this day that I said nothing. I had +decided in my heart that he was not a very efficient religious director +until I heard the next day. +</P> + +<P> +When I asked him why he had not told me, he said a characteristic +thing: "I didn't want to spoil the service. I thought I would keep my +grief in my own heart and fight it out alone." +</P> + +<P> +And fight it out he did. Letters kept coming for several weeks after +the cable, letters full of girlish hope about France, and full of joy +at the thoughts of seeing "daddy" soon. This was the hardest of all. +He could not tear up those precious letters. Her last words and +thoughts were treasures; all that he had left; but they were +spear-thrusts of pain also. But bravely he fought out his battle of +grief, and tenderly he ministered, mothers and fathers of America, to +your boys. Is it any wonder that they loved him, that they went to him +with their loneliness and their heartaches; is it any wonder that he +understood all the troubles that they brought and that they bring to +him? +</P> + +<P> +And then there was the young secretary who had just landed in France. +It had been hard to leave home, especially hard to leave that little +tot of a six-year-old girl, the apple of his eye. +</P> + +<P> +Some of us who have such experiences will understand this story; some +of us who remember what the parting from loved ones meant when we went +to France. One such I remember vividly. +</P> + +<P> +There was the night before in the hotel in San Francisco, when "Betty," +six-year-old, said, "Don't cry, mother. Be brave like Betty," and who +even admonished her daddy in the same way, "Don't cry, daddy! Be brave +like Betty!" for it was just as hard for the daddy to keep the tears +back, as he thought of the separation, as it was for the mother. +</P> + +<P> +Then the daddy would say to the mother: "I feel ashamed of myself to +cry when I think of the thousands of daddies and husbands who are +leaving their homes, not for six months' or a year's service, but 'for +the period of the war,' and leaving with so much more of a cloud +hanging over them than I. I have every hope that I will be back with +you in six or eight months, but they——" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but your own grief will make you understand all the better what +it means to the daddies in the army who leave their babies and their +wives, and oh, dear, be good to them!" +</P> + +<P> +Then there was the next morning at the Oakland pier as the great +transcontinental train pulled out, when the little six-year-old lady +for the first time suddenly saw what losing her daddy meant. She +hadn't visualized it before. Consequently, she had been brave, and had +even boasted of her bravery. But now she had nothing to be brave +about, for as the train started to move she suddenly burst into sobs +and started down the platform after the train as fast as her sturdy +little legs could carry her, crying between sobs, "Come back, daddy! +Come back to Betty! Don't go away!" with her mother after her. +</P> + +<P> +The daddy had no easy time as he watched this tragedy of childhood from +the observation-car. It was a half-hour before he dared turn around +and face the rest of the sympathetic passengers. +</P> + +<P> +Going back on the ferry to San Francisco the weeping did not cease. In +fact it became contagious, for a kindly old gentleman, thinking that +the little lady was afraid of the boat, said: "What's the matter, dear? +Are you afraid?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, I'm not afraid; but my daddy's gone to France, and I want him +back! I want my daddy! I want my daddy!" and the storm burst again. +Then here and there all over the boat the women wept. Here and there a +man pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pretended to blow his +nose. +</P> + +<P> +And so we understand what it meant to this young secretary when, upon +landing in France, he got the cable telling of the death of his baby +girl. +</P> + +<P> +At first he was stunned by the blow. +</P> + +<P> +Then came a brave second cable from his wife telling him that there was +nothing that he could do at home; to stay at his contemplated task of +being a friend to the boys. +</P> + +<P> +The brave note in the second cable gave him new spirit and new courage, +and in spite of a heavy heart he went into a canteen, and will any +wonder who read this story that he has won the undying devotion of his +entire regiment by his tireless self-sacrificing service to the +American boys? +</P> + +<P> +What triumphs these are, what triumphs over sorrow and pain. +</P> + +<P> +All of France is filled with these Silhouettes of Sorrow, but each has +a background of triumphant, dawning light. +</P> + +<P> +There was the woman and child that I saw in the Madeleine in Paris, +both in black. They walked slowly up the steps and in through the +great doors to pray for their daddy aviator, who had been killed a year +before. +</P> + +<P> +A man at the door told me that every day they come, that every day they +keep fresh the memory of their loved one. +</P> + +<P> +"But why does she come so long after he is dead?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"She comes to pray for the other aviators," he added simply. +</P> + +<P> +It was a tremendous thing to me. I went into the great, beautiful +cathedral and reverently knelt beside them in love and thankfulness +that no harm had come to my own wife and baby. But the memory of that +woman's brave pilgrimage of prayer each day for a year, "for the other +aviators," the picture of the woman and child kneeling, etched its way +into my soul to remain forever. +</P> + +<P> +"As I shot down through the night, falling to what I was certain was +immediate death, I had just one thought," a young aviator said, as we +sat talking in a hotel in Paris. +</P> + +<P> +I said: "What was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I said to myself: 'What will the poor kiddie do without his dad?"' +</P> + +<P> +Then there is that Silhouette of Sorrow that my friend brought back +from Germany, he who was on the Peace Ship Commission, and who saw a +train-load of German boys leaving a certain German town to fill in the +gaps caused by the losses at Verdun; and because this sorrow is +characteristic of the mother sorrow of the whole world, and especially +of the American mother, and because it has a note of wonderful triumph, +I tell it. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought they were the hardest women in the world," he said, "for as +I watched them saying farewell to their boys there wasn't a tear. +There was laughter everywhere, shouting and smiles, as if those poor +boys were going off to school, or to a picnic, when we all knew that +they were going to certain death. +</P> + +<P> +"I felt like cursing their indifference to the common impulses of +motherhood. I watched a thousand mothers and women as that train +started, and I didn't see a tear. They stood waving their hands and +smiling until the train was out of sight. I turned in disgust to walk +away when a woman near me fainted, and I caught her as she fell. Then +a low moan went up all over that station platform. It was as if those +mothers moaned as one. There was no hysteria, just a low moan that +swept over them. I saw dozens of them sink to the floor unconscious. +They had kept their grief to themselves until their lads had gone. +They had sent their boys away with a smile, and had kept their +heartache buried until those lads had departed." +</P> + +<P> +I think that this is characteristic of the triumphant motherhood of the +whole world. It is a Silhouette of Sorrow, but it has a background of +the golden glory of bravery which is the admiration of all the world. +A recent despatch says that a woman, an American, sent her boy away +smiling a few weeks ago, and then dropped dead on the station, dead of +grief. +</P> + +<P> +One who has lived and worked in France has silhouette memories of +funeral processions standing out in sombre blackness against a lurid +nation. He has memories of funeral trains in little villages and in +great cities; he has memories of brave men standing as doorkeepers in +hotels, with arms gone, with crosses for bravery on their breasts, but +somehow the cloud of sorrow is always fringed with gold and silver. He +has memories of funeral services in Notre Dame and the Madeleine, and +in little towns all over France, but in and around them all there is +somewhere the glory of sunlight, of hope, of courage. Indeed, one +cannot have silhouettes, even of sorrow, if there is no background of +light and hope. +</P> + +<P> +For we know that even in war-time God "still makes roses," as John +Oxenham, the English poet, tells us: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Man proposes—God disposes;<BR> +Yet our hope in Him reposes<BR> +Who in war-time still makes roses."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +John Oxenham, one of the outstanding poets of the war, wrote this +verse, and for me it has been a sort of a motto of faith during my +service in France. I have quoted it everywhere I have spoken, and it +has sung its way into my heart, like a benediction with its comfort and +its assurance. +</P> + +<P> +It has been surprising, too, the way the boys have grasped at it. I +have quoted it to them privately, in groups, and in great crowds down +on the line, and back in the rest-camps, and in the ports, and +everywhere I have quoted it I have had many requests to give copies of +it to the boys. I quoted it once in a negro hut, hesitating before I +did so lest they should not appreciate it enough to make quoting it +excusable. But I took a chance. +</P> + +<P> +When the service was over a long line of intelligent-looking negro boys +waited for me. I thought that they just wanted to shake hands, but +much to my astonishment most of them wanted to know if I would give +them a copy of that verse, and so I was kept busy for half an hour +writing off copies of that brief word of faith. +</P> + +<P> +One never quite knows all that this verse means until he has been in +France and has seen the suffering, the heartache, the loneliness, the +mud, and dirt and hurt; the wounds and pain and death which are +everywhere. +</P> + +<P> +Then he turns from all the suffering to find a blood-red poppy blooming +in the field behind him; or a million of them covering a green field +like a great blanket. These poppies are exactly like our golden +California poppies. Like them they grow in the fields and along the +hedges; even covering the unsightly railroad-tracks, as if they would +hide the ugly things of life. +</P> + +<P> +I thought to myself: "They look as if they had once been our golden +California poppies, but that in these years of war every last one of +them had been dipped in the blood of those brave lads who have died for +us, and forever after shall they be crimson in memory of these who have +given so much for humanity." +</P> + +<P> +One day in early June I was driving through Brittany along the coast of +the Atlantic. On the road we passed many old-fashioned men, and women +in their little white bonnets and their black dresses. +</P> + +<P> +We stopped at a beautiful little farmhouse for lunch. It attracted us +because of its serene appearance and its cleanliness. A gray-haired +little old woman was in the yard when we stopped our machine. +</P> + +<P> +The yard was literally sprinkled with blood-red poppies. As we walked +in and were making known our desire for lunch a beautiful girl of about +twenty-five, dressed in mourning, stepped to the doorway, her black +eyes flashing a welcome, and cried out: "Welcome, comrade Americaine." +Behind her was a little girl, her very image. +</P> + +<P> +I guessed at once that in this quiet Brittany home the war had reached +out its devastating hand. I had remarked earlier in the day as we +drove along: "It is all so quiet and beautiful here, with the old-gold +broom flowering everywhere on hedge and hill, and with the crimson +poppies blowing in the wind, that it doesn't seem as if war had touched +Brittany." +</P> + +<P> +A friend who knew better said: "But have you not noticed that women are +pulling the carts, women are tilling the fields? Look at that woman +over there pulling a plough. Have you not noticed that there are no +men but old men everywhere?" +</P> + +<P> +He was right. I could not remember to have seen any young men, and +everywhere women were working in the field, and in one place a woman +was yoked up with an ox, ploughing, while a young girl drove the odd +pair. +</P> + +<P> +"And if that isn't enough, wait until we come to the next cathedral and +I'll show you what corresponds to our 'Honor Rolls' in the churches +back home. Then you'll know whether war has touched Brittany or not." +</P> + +<P> +We entered with reverent hearts the next ancient cathedral of Brittany, +in a little town with a population of only about two thousand, we were +told, and yet out of this town close to five hundred boys had been +killed in the Great War. Their names were posted, written with many a +flourish by some village penman. In the list I saw the names of four +brothers who had been killed, and their father. The entire family had +been wiped out, all but the women. +</P> + +<P> +So I was mistaken. As quiet and peaceful as Brittany was during May +and June, as beautiful with broom and poppies as were its fields, it +had not gone untouched by the cruel hand of war. It, too, had +suffered, as has every hamlet, village, and corner of fair France; +suffered grievously. +</P> + +<P> +Thus I was not surprised to hear that this beautiful young woman was +wearing black because her husband had been killed, and that the little +girl behind her in the doorway had no longer any hope that her soldier +daddy would some day come home and romp with her as of old. At the +lunch we were told all about it. True, there were tears shed in the +telling, and these not alone by these brave Frenchwomen and the little +girl, but it was a sweet, simple story of courage. Several times +during its telling the little girl ran over to kiss the tears out of +her mother's eyes, and to say, with such faith that it thrilled us: +"Never mind, mother, the Américains are here now; they will kill the +cruel Boches." +</P> + +<P> +After dinner we walked amid the red poppies in the great lawn that was +the crowning feature of that white-stone home. On the walls of the +ancient house grew the most wonderful roses that I have ever seen +anywhere, not excepting California. Great white roses, so large and +fragrant that they seemed unreal, delicately moulded red roses, which +unfolded like a baby's lips, climbed those ancient stone walls. The +younger woman cared for them herself, and was engaged in that task of +love even before we went away. +</P> + +<P> +I said to her, in what French I could command: "They are the most +beautiful roses I have ever seen." +</P> + +<P> +"Even in your own beautiful America?" she asked with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, more beautiful even than in my own America." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, "they are most beautiful, but they are more than that; +they are full of hope for me. They are my promise that I shall see him +some time again. They come back each spring. He loved them and cared +for them when he was alive. Even on his leave in 1915 he gloried in +them. And when they come back each spring they seem to come to give me +promise that I shall see him again." +</P> + +<P> +Then I translated Oxenham's verses about the roses for her. The +translation was poor, but she caught the idea, and her face beamed with +a new light, and she said: "Ah, yes, it is as I believe, that the good +God who still makes the beautiful roses, he will not take him away from +me forever." +</P> + +<P> +I never read Oxenham's verse now that I do not see that little cottage +in Brittany that has sheltered the same family for centuries; twined +about with great red and white roses; and the old mother and the young +mother and the little lonely girl. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Yet our hope in Him reposes<BR> +Who in war-time still makes roses."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Another time, down on the Toul front lines, I had this thought forced +home by a strange scene. It was in mid-March and for three days a +heavy blizzard had been blowing. I, who had lived in California for +several years, wondered at this blizzard and revelled in it, although I +had had to drive amid its fury, sometimes creeping along at a snail's +pace, without lights, down near the front lines. It was cruelly cold +and hard for those of us who were in the "truck gang." +</P> + +<P> +One night during this blizzard, which blew with such fury as I have +never seen before, we were lost. At one time we were headed directly +for the German lines, which were close, but an American sentry stopped +us before we had gone very far, demanding in stern tones: "Where are +youse guys goin' that direction?" +</P> + +<P> +I replied: "To Toul." +</P> + +<P> +"To Toul! You're going straight toward the Boche lines. Turn around. +You're the third truck that's got lost in this blizzard. Back that +opposite way is your direction." +</P> + +<P> +The morning after it had cleared it was worth all the discomfort to see +the hills and fields of France. One group of hills which I had heard +were the most heavily fortified in all France, loomed like two huge +sentinels before the city. The Germans knew this also, and military +experts say that that is the reason why they did not try to reach Paris +by this route in the beginning of the war. +</P> + +<P> +We were never permitted on these hills, but we had seen them belch fire +many a time as the German airplanes came over the city. +</P> + +<P> +But on this morning, after three days of snow, those great black hills +were transformed, covered with a pure white blanket. The trees were +robed in white. Not a spot of black appeared. Even the great guns on +the top of the hill looked like white fingers pointing toward Berlin. +The roads and fields and hills of France had suddenly been transformed +as by a magic wand into things beautiful and white. +</P> + +<P> +War is black. War is muddy. War is bloody. War is gray. War is full +of hate and hurt and wounds and blood and death and heartache and +heartbreak and homesickness and loneliness. +</P> + +<P> +Thomas Tiplady, in "The Cross at the Front," was right when he +described war as symbolized by the great black cloud of smoke that +unrolled in the sky when a great Jack Johnson had exploded. Everything +that war touches it makes ugly, except the soul, and it cannot blacken +that. +</P> + +<P> +It ruins the fields and makes them torn and cut; it tears the trees +into ragged stumps. It kills the grass and tramples it underfoot. It +takes the most beautiful architecture in the world and makes a pile of +dust and dirt of it. It takes a beautiful face and makes it horrible +with the scars of bayonet and burning gases. +</P> + +<P> +But on this morning God seemed to be covering up all of that ugliness +and dirt and mud and blackness. Fields that the day before had been +nothing but ugly blotches were white and beautiful. Ammunition dumps, +horrible in their suggestion of death, seemed now to have been covered +over and hidden by some kindly hand of love. The great brown-bronzed +hills, the fortifications filled with death and horror were gleaming +white in the morning sunlight. +</P> + +<P> +I said to the other driver: "Well, it's too beautiful to be true, isn't +it? It's a shame to think that when we get back from the front it will +all be gone, melted, and the old mud and dirt will be back again." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but it means something to me," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"What does it mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"It means the future." +</P> + +<P> +"What are you talking about, man?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it means that some day this land will be beautiful again. It +means that, impossible as that idea seems, the war will cease, that +people will till these fields again, that grass will grow, that flowers +will bloom in these fields again, that people will come back to their +homes in peace. It is symbolical of that great white peace that will +come forever, when the ugly thing we call war will be buried so deeply +underneath the white blanket of peace and brotherhood that the world +will know war no more. It's like a rainbow to me. It is a promise." +</P> + +<P> +I had never heard Tom grow so eloquent before, and what he said sounded +Christian. It sounded like man's talk to me. It was the dream of the +Christ I knew. It was the dream of the prophets of old. It was +Tennyson's dream. Such a dream will not die from the earth, and men +will just keep on dreaming it until some day it will come true, for— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Man proposes—God disposes;<BR> +Yet my hope in Him reposes,<BR> +Who in war-time still makes roses."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The white and crimson roses of that little cottage in Brittany, the +quiet and peace and promise and vision of a Jeanne d'Arc in the village +of Domremy; the blooming of a billion red poppies in the fields of +France; the blanketing of the earth with a covering of white snow +sufficient to hide the ugliness of war, even for a day, all give +promise of the God who, in the end, when he has given man every chance +to redeem himself, and who, even amid cruel wars "still makes roses," +will finally bring to pass "peace on earth; good-will to men." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Somewhere in France</I>." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SILHOUETTES OF SUFFERING +</H3> + + +<P> +All night long a group of Red Cross and Y. M. C. A. men and women had +been feeding the refugees from Amiens. There were two thousand of them +in one basement room of the Gare du Nord. They had not eaten for +forty-eight hours. Most of them were little children, old men, and +women of all ages. +</P> + +<P> +Two hundred or more of them had been in the hands of the Germans for +two years, and when a few days before it came time for the Germans to +open their second big Somme drive, they had driven these women and +little girls out ahead of them, saying: "Go back to the French now, we +do not want you any longer." +</P> + +<P> +For two days and nights these refugees had tramped the roads of France +without food, many of them carrying little babies in their arms, all of +them weary and sick near unto death. +</P> + +<P> +The little children gripped your heart. As you handed them food and +saw their little claw-like hands clutch at it, and as you saw them +devour it like starved animals, the while clutching at a dirty but +much-loved doll, somehow you could not see for the mists in your eyes +as you walked up and down the narrow aisles of that crowded basement +pouring out chocolate and handing out food. The things you saw every +minute in that room hung a veil over your eyes, and you were afraid all +the while that in your blinding of tears you would step on some +sleeping, starving child, who was lying on the cold floor in utter +exhaustion, regardless of food. +</P> + +<P> +One woman especially attracted me. I noticed her time and time again +as I walked past her with food. She was lying on her back on the +floor, with nothing under her, her arms thrown back over her head, a +child in her arms, or rather, lying against her breast asleep. She +looked like an educated, cultured woman. Her features were beautiful, +but she looked as if she had passed through death and hell in +suffering. I asked her several times as I passed by if she wouldn't +have some food, and each time she gave some to her baby but took none +herself. She could hardly lift her body from the stone basement to +feed the child, and feeling that the thing that she needed most herself +was food, I urged her to eat, but she would not. +</P> + +<P> +Finally I stopped before her and asked her if she was ill. She looked +up into my face and said: "Très fatiguée, monsieur! Très fatiguée, +monsieur!" (Very weary, sir! Very weary, sir!) +</P> + +<P> +By morning she was rested and accepted food. Then she told me her +story. Two days before in her village they had been ordered by the +army to leave their homes in a half-hour; everybody must be gone by +that time; the Germans were coming, and there was no time to lose. She +had hastily gathered some clothes together. The baby was lying in its +crib. Her other child, a little six-year-old girl, had gone out into +the front of the home watching for the truck that was to gather up the +village people. A bomb fell from a German Gotha and killed this child +outright, horribly mangling her body. This suffering mother just had +time to pick the little mangled body up and lay it on a bed, kiss its +cheeks good-by and leave it there, for there was no other way. She did +not even have the satisfaction of burying her child. +</P> + +<P> +"Very weary! Very weary!" I can hear her words yet: "Très fatiguée! +Très fatiguée!" No wonder you were fatigued, mother heart. You had a +right to be, weary unto death. No wonder you did not care to eat all +that long horrible night in the Gare du Nord. +</P> + +<P> +Loneliness is naturally one of the things with which our own boys +suffer most. When one remembers that these Americans of ours are +thousands of miles away from their homes, most of them boys who have +never been away from home in their lives before; most of them boys who +have never crossed the ocean before, they will judge fairly and +understand better the loneliness of the American soldier. It is not a +loneliness that will make him any the less a soldier. Ay, it is +because of that very home love, and that very eagerness to get back to +his home, that he will and does fight like a veteran to get it over. +</P> + +<P> +"Gosh! I wish I would find just one guy from Redding!" a +seventeen-year-old boy said to me one night as I stood in a Y. M. C. A. +hut. He was about the loneliest boy I saw in France. I saw that he +needed to smile. He was nothing but a kid, after all. +</P> + +<P> +"Gosh! I wish I'd see just one guy from San Jose!" I said with a +smile. Then we both laughed and sat down to some chocolate, and had a +good talk, the very thing that the lad was hungry for. +</P> + +<P> +He had been in France for nearly a year and he hadn't seen a single +person he knew. He had been sick a good deal of the time and had just +come from an appendix operation. He was depressed in spirits, and his +homesickness had poured itself out in that one phrase: "Gosh! I wish +I'd see just one guy from Redding!" +</P> + +<P> +Those who do not think that homesickness comes under the heading of +"Suffering" had better look into the face of a truly homesick American +boy in France before he judges. +</P> + +<P> +The English Tommy is only a few hours from home, and knows it. The +French soldier is fighting on his own native soil, but the American is +fighting three thousand miles away from home, and some of them seven +thousand. +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't had a letter in five months from home," a boy in a hospital +said to me. He was lonely and discouraged. And right here may I say +to the American people that there is no one thing that needs more +constant urging than the plea that you write, write, write to your +soldier in France. He would rather have letters than candy, or +cigarettes, or presents of any kind, as much as he loves some of these +material things. I have put it to a vote dozens of times, and the +result is always the same; ten to one they would rather have a letter +from home than a package of cigarettes or a box of candy. I have seen +boys literally suffering pangs that were a thousand times worse than +wounds because they did not receive letters from those at home. +</P> + +<P> +"Hell! Nobody back there cares a damn about me! I haven't received a +letter in five months!" a boy burst out in my presence in Nancy one +night. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you no mother or sister?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but they're careless; they always were about letter-writing." +</P> + +<P> +I tried to fix up excuses for them, but it tested both my imagination +and my enthusiasm to do it. I could put no real heart into making +excuses for them, and so my words fell like lame birds to the ground, +and the tragedy of it was that both of us knew there was no good +excuse. It was the most pitiable case I saw in France. God pity the +careless mother or sister or father or friend who isn't willing to take +the time and make the sacrifice that is needed to at least supply a +letter three times a week to the lad who is willing to sacrifice his +all, if need be, that those at home may live in peace, free from the +horror of the Hun. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Less Sweaters<BR> +And More Letters"<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +might very well be the motto of the folks here at home, for the boys +would profit more in the long run, both in their bodies and in their +souls. A censor friend of mine said to me one day: "If you ever get a +chance when you go home to urge the people of America to write, and +write, and write to their boys, do it with all your heart. You could +do no better service to the boys than that." +</P> + +<P> +"What makes you feel so keenly about it?" I asked him, for he talked so +earnestly that it surprised me. Ordinarily you think of the censor as +utterly devoid of humanitarian impulses, just a sort of a machine to +slice out the really interesting things in your letters, a great human +blue pencil, or a great human pair of scissors. But here was a censor +that felt deeply what he was saying. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you," he replied, "it is because some of the letters that I +read which are going back home from lonely boys, begging somebody to +write to them; literally begging somebody, anybody, to write! It gets +my goat! I can't stand it. I often feel like adding a sentence to +some letters myself going home, telling them they ought to be ashamed +the way they treat their boys about letter-writing; but the rules are +so stringent that I must neither add to nor take from a letter save in +the line of my duties. I'd like to tell a few of the people back home +what I think of them, and I'd like for them to read some of the +heartaches that I read in the letters of the boys. Then they'd +understand how I feel about it." +</P> + +<P> +I shall never forget my friend the wrestler when I asked how it was +that he kept so clean, and he replied: "The letters help a lot." +</P> + +<P> +I have seen boys suffering from wounds of every description. I have +seen them lying in hospitals with broken backs. I have seen them with +blinded eyes. I have seen them with legs gone, and arms. I have seen +them when the doctors were dressing their wounds. I remember one +captain who had fifty wounds in his back, and he had them dressed +without a single cry. I have seen them gassed, and I have seen them +shot to pieces with shell shock, and yet the worst suffering I have +seen in France has been on the part of boys whose folks back home have +neglected them; boys who, day after day, had seen the other fellows get +their letters regularly, boys who had gone with hope in their hearts +time after time for letters, and then had lost hope. This is real +suffering, suffering that does more to knock the morale out of a lad +than anything that I know in France. +</P> + +<P> +Silhouettes of Suffering stand out in my memory with great vividness. +One general cause of suffering in addition to the above is loneliness +in the heart of the young husband and father, who has a wife and kiddie +back home. +</P> + +<P> +I remember one young officer that I saw in a Paris hotel. He had been +out in the Vosges Mountains with a company of wood-choppers for six +months. He had come in for his first leave. His leave lasted eight +days. Instead of going to the theatres he sat around in our officers' +hotel lobby and watched the women walking about, the Y. M. C. A. girls +who were the hostesses there. They noticed him as he sat there all +evening, hardly moving. After several nights one of the men +secretaries went up to him and said: "Why don't you go over and talk +with them? They would be glad to talk with you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," he said, "I never was much for women at home, except my wife and +kid. I never did know how to talk to women. Especially now, for I've +been up in the woods for six months. Just let me sit here and look at +'em. That's enough for me. Just let me sit here and look at 'em!" +</P> + +<P> +And that was the way he spent his leave, just loafing around in that +hotel lobby watching the women at their work. +</P> + +<P> +"This has been the loneliest day of my life," a major said to me on +Mother Day in a great port of entry. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, major?" +</P> + +<P> +Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the picture of a +seven-year-old boy and that boy's mother. +</P> + +<P> +Suffering? Yes, of course I have seen boys wounded, as I have said, +but for real downright suffering, loneliness is worst, and it lies +entirely within the province of the folks at home to alleviate this +suffering. I have seen a boy morose and surly, discouraged and grouchy +in the morning. He didn't know what was the matter with himself. In +the afternoon I have seen him laughing and yelling like a wild animal +at play, happy as a lark. +</P> + +<P> +What was the difference? He had gotten a letter. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-142"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-142.jpg" ALT="What was the difference? He had gotten a letter." BORDER="2" WIDTH="371" HEIGHT="577"> +<H4> +[Illustration: What was the difference? He had gotten a letter.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Then there is the Silhouette of Physical Suffering. Hundreds of these +sombre silhouettes stand out against a lurid background of fire and +blood. One only I quote because it has a fringe of hope. +</P> + +<P> +The boy's back was broken. It had been broken by a shell concussion. +There were no visible signs of a wound on his body anywhere, the +doctors told me in the hospital. He did not know it as yet. He +thought it was his leg that was hurt. They asked me to tell him, as +gently as I could. It was a hard task to give a man. +</P> + +<P> +He was lying on a raised bed so that, when I went up to it, it came up +to my neck almost, and when I talked with the lad I could look straight +into his eyes. Those eyes I shall never forget, they were so fearless, +so brave, and yet so full of weariness and suffering. +</P> + +<P> +I took his hand and said: "Boy, I am a preacher." For once I didn't +say anything about being a secretary. I just told him I was a preacher. +</P> + +<P> +He said: "I am so glad you have come. I just wanted to see a real, +honest-to-goodness preacher." He forced a smile to accompany this +sentence. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'm all of that, and proud of it," I replied, smiling back into +his brave eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm so tired. I try to be brave, but I've been lying here for three +months now, and my leg doesn't seem to get any better. It pains all +the time until I think I'll die with the agony of it. I never sleep +only when they give me something. But I try hard to be brave." +</P> + +<P> +"You are brave!" I said to him. "They all tell me that, the doctors +and nurses." +</P> + +<P> +"They are so good to me." he said in low tones so that I had to bend to +hear them. "But my leg; they don't seem to be able to help me." +</P> + +<P> +Then I told him as gently as I could that it was not his leg, that it +was his back, and that he would likely not get well. Then I tried to +tell him of the room in his Father's house that was ready for him when +he was ready to accept it, and of what a glorious welcome there was +there. +</P> + +<P> +He reached out for my hand in the semi-darkness of that evening. I can +feel his hand-clasp yet. I didn't know what to say, but a phrase that +had lingered in my mind from an old story came to the rescue. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you want the Christ to help you bear your pain?" I asked him. +</P> + +<P> +"That is just what I do want," he said simply. "That was why I was so +glad you came—an honest-to-goodness preacher," and he smiled again, so +bravely, in spite of his suffering, and in spite of the news that I had +just broken to him. +</P> + +<P> +Then we prayed. I stood beside his bed holding his hand and praying. +The room was full of other wounded boys, but in the twilight I doubt if +a lad there knew what we were doing. I spoke low, just so he could +hear, and the Master knew what was in my heart without hearing. +</P> + +<P> +When I was through I felt a pressure of his hand, and he said: "Now I +feel stronger. He is helping me bear my burden. Thank you for coming, +and"—then he paused for words "and—thank you for bringing Him." +</P> + +<P> +Yes, there is suffering in France, suffering among our soldiers, too, +but suffering that is glorified by courage. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +X +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SOLDIER SILHOUETTES +</H3> + + +<P> +One night down near the front lines as we drove the great truck slowly +over the icy roads, on the top of a little knoll stood a lone sentinel +against a background of snow, and that is a silhouette that I shall +never forget. +</P> + +<P> +Another night there was a beautiful afterglow, and being a lover of the +beautiful as well as a driver of a truck, I was lost in the wonder of +the crimson flush against the western hills. +</P> + +<P> +"Makes me homesick," said the big man beside me, whose home is in the +West. "Looks for all the world like one of our Arizona afterglows." +</P> + +<P> +"It is beautiful," I replied, and then we were both lost in silent +appreciation of the scene before us, when suddenly we were startled +witless. +</P> + +<P> +"Halt!" rang out through the semi-darkness. "Who goes there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Y. M. C. A." we shot back as quick as lightning, for we had learned +that it doesn't pay to waste time in answering a sentinel's challenge +down within sound of the German guns. +</P> + +<P> +"Pass on, friends," was the grinning reply. That rascal of a sentry +had caught us unawares, lost in the afterglow, and he was tickled over +having startled us into astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +But even though he did give us a scare, I am sure that the picture of +him standing there in the middle of that French road, with his gun +raised against the afterglow, will be one of the outstanding +silhouettes of the memories of France. +</P> + +<P> +Then there was the old Scotch dominie down at Château-Thierry, with the +marines. The boys called him "Doc," and loved him, for he had been +with them for eight months. +</P> + +<P> +One night, in the midst of the hottest fighting in June, the old +secretary thought he would go out in the night and see how the boys +were getting along. He walked cautiously along the edge of the woods +when suddenly the word "Halt!" shot out in low but distinct tones. +</P> + +<P> +"Who goes there?" +</P> + +<P> +"A friend," the secretary replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's you, is it, Doc? Gee, I'm glad to see you! This is a darned +weird place to-night. Every time the wind blows I think it's a Boche." +</P> + +<P> +There was a slight noise out in No Man's Land. "What's that, Doc, a +Boche?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think not." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't tell, Doc; they're everywhere. If I've seen one, I've seen +ten thousand to-night on this watch." +</P> + +<P> +That old gray-haired secretary will never forget that night when he +walked among the men in the trenches with his little gifts and his word +of cheer, that memorable night before the Americans made themselves +heroes forever in the Bois du Belleau. He will never forget the sound +of that boy sentry's voice when he said, "Gee, Doc, I'm glad it's you"; +nor will he forget the looks of the boy as he stood there in the +darkness, the guardian of America's hopes and homes, nor will he forget +the firm, warm clasp of the lad's hands as he walked away to greet +others of his comrades. +</P> + +<P> +These are Soldier Silhouettes that remain vivid until time dies, until +the "springs of the seas run dust," as Markham says: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Forget it not 'til the crowns are crumbled;<BR> + 'Til the swords of the Kings are rent with rust;<BR> +Forget it not 'til the hills lie humbled;<BR> + And the springs of the seas run dust."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +No, we do not forget scenes and moments like these in our lives. +</P> + +<P> +Then there is the silhouette of the profile of the captain of a certain +American machine-gun company who, in March, marched with his men into +the Somme line. He was an old football-player back in the States, and +we were having a last dinner together in Paris, a group of college men. +After dinner, when we had finished discussing the dangers of the coming +weeks, and he had told us that his major had said to him, "If fifteen +per cent of us come out alive, I shall be glad," and after we had +drifted back to the old college days, and home and babies, and after he +had shown us a picture of his wife and his kiddies, it became strangely +quiet in the room, and suddenly he turned his face from us, with just +the profile showing against the light of the window, and exclaimed: "My +God, fellows, for a half-hour you have made me forget that there is a +war, and I have been back on the old campus again playing football, and +back with my babies." +</P> + +<P> +Then his jaw set, and I shall never forget the profile of his face as +that set look came back and once again he became the captain of a +machine-gun company. +</P> + +<P> +Then there was the lone church service that my friend Clarke held one +evening at a crossroads of France. He had held seven services that +Sunday, one in a machine-gun company's dugout, with six men; another +with a group of a dozen men in a front-line trench; another with +several officers in an officers' dugout; another with a battery outfit +who were "On Call," expecting orders to send over a few shells; another +with several men out in No Man's Land, on the sunny side of an old +upturned mass of tree roots; one in a listening-post, and finally this +service with a lone sentry at a crossroads. +</P> + +<P> +"But how did you do it?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I just saw him there," Clarke replied, "and he looked lonely, and I +walked up and said: 'How'd you like to have me read a little out of the +Book?' +</P> + +<P> +"'Fine!' he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I prayed with him, standing there at the crossroads, and I asked +him if he didn't want to pray. He was a church boy back home, and he +prayed as fine a prayer as ever I heard. Then we sang a hymn together. +It was 'Jesus, Lover of My Soul,' and neither of us can sing much, but +as I look back on it, it was the sweetest music that I ever had a part +in making. The only thing I didn't do was take up a collection. +Outside of that, it was just as if we had gone through a regular church +service at home. I even preached a little to him. No, not just +preached, but talked to him about the Master." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you even go so far with your lone one-man congregation as to have +a benediction?" I asked him. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I just said what was in my heart when we were through, 'God bless +and keep you, boy,' and went on." +</P> + +<P> +"I never heard a finer benediction than that, old man," I replied with +feeling. +</P> + +<P> +And the silhouette of that one Y. M. C. A. secretary holding a +religious service with a lone sentry of a Sunday evening, bringing back +to the lad's memory sacred things of home and church and the Christ, +giving him a new hold on the bigger, better things, bringing the Christ +out to him there on that road, that silhouette is mine to keep forever +close to my heart. I shall see that and shall smile in my soul over it +when eternity calls, and shall thank God for its sweetening influence +in my life. +</P> + +<P> +And so this comfort may come to the mothers and fathers of America, +that through the various agencies of the American army, through General +Pershing's intense interest in righteous things, through that +Lincoln-like Christian leader of the chaplains, Bishop Brent, through +the Y. M. C. A., and the Salvation Army, and the Knights of Columbus, +your boy has his chance, whatever creed, or race, or church, to worship +his God as he wishes; and not one misses this opportunity, even the +lonely sentinel on the road. And the glorious thing about it is that +boys who never before thought of going to church at home, crowd the +huts on Sundays and for the good-night prayers on week-days. +</P> + +<P> +Just before the battle of Château-Thierry, "Doc," of whom I have spoken +in this chapter before, said: "Boys, do you want a communion service?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," they shouted. +</P> + +<P> +Knowing that there were Catholics and Jews and Protestants and +non-believers there, he said: "Now, anybody who doesn't want to take +communion may leave." +</P> + +<P> +Not a single man left. Out of one hundred or more men only two did not +kneel to take of the sacred bread and wine. Two Jews knelt with the +others, several Roman Catholics, and men of all Protestant +denominations. Half of them were dead before another sunrise came +around, but they had had their service. +</P> + +<P> +Every man has his opportunity to worship God in his own way and as +nearly as possible at his own altars in France. There was the story of +"The Rosary." +</P> + +<P> +It was Hospital Hut Number ——, and half a thousand boys from the +front, wounded in every conceivable way, were sitting there in the hut +in a Sunday-evening service. Many of them had crutches beside them; +others canes. Some of them, had their heads bandaged; others of them +carried their arms in slings. Some of them had lost legs, and some of +them had no arms left. Their eager faces were lighted with a strange +light, such as is not seen on land or sea, and on most of those faces, +unashamed, ran over pale cheeks the tears of homesickness as the young +corporal whom I had taken with me from another town sang "The Rosary." +I have never heard it sung with more tenderness, nor have I heard it +sung in more beautiful voice. That young lad was singing his heart out +to those other boys. He had not been up front himself as yet, for he +was in a base port attending to his duties, which were just as +important as those up front, but it was hard for him to see it that +way. So he loved and respected these other lads who had, to his way of +thinking, been more fortunate than he, because they had seen actual +fighting. He respected them because of their wounds, and he wanted to +help them. So he lifted that rich, sweet, sympathetic tenor voice +until the great hut rang with the old, old song, and hearts were melted +everywhere. I saw, back in the audience, a group of nurses with bowed +heads. They knew what the rosary meant to those who suffer and die in +the Catholic faith. They, too, had memories of that beautiful song. A +group of officers, including a major, all wounded, listened with heads +bowed. +</P> + +<P> +As I sat on the crude stage and saw the effects of his magical voice on +this crowd I got to thinking of what this war is meaning to that fine +understanding of those who count the beads of the rosary and those who +do not. I had seen so many examples of fine fraternal fellowship +between Catholic and Protestant that I felt that I ought to put it down +in some permanent form. +</P> + +<P> +There is a true story of one of our Y. M. C. A. secretaries who was +called to the bedside of a dying Catholic boy. There was no priest +available, and the boy wanted a rosary so badly. In his half-delirium +he begged for a rosary. This young Protestant Y. M. C. A. secretary +started out for a French village, five miles away, on foot, to try to +find a rosary for this sick Catholic boy, and after several hours' +search he found a peasant woman whom he made understand the emergency +of the situation, and he got the loan of the rosary and took it back +through five miles of mud to the bedside of that Catholic lad, and +comforted him with the feel of it in his fevered hands and the hope of +it in his fevered soul. When I heard this story it stirred me to the +very fountain depths, but I have seen so much of this fine spirit of +service in the Y. M. C. A. since then that I have come to know that as +far as the Y. M. C. A. is concerned all barriers of church narrowness +are entirely swept away. +</P> + +<P> +I have had most delightful comradeship since I have been in France in +one great area as religious director with two Knights of Columbus +secretaries and one father—Chaplain Davis—all of whom say freely and +eagerly: "We have never had anything but the finest spirit of +co-operation and friendship from the Y. M. C. A." +</P> + +<P> +"Why," added Chaplain Davis, a Catholic priest, "why, the first Sunday +I was here, when I had no place to take my boys for mass, a secretary +came to me and offered me the hut. It has always been that way." +</P> + +<P> +The story of the French priest who confessed a dying Catholic boy +through a Y. M. C. A. Protestant secretary interpreter, in a Y. M. C. +A. hut, has been told far and wide, but it is only illustrative of the +broadening lines of Catholicism and the wider fraternal relations of +all professed Christians. +</P> + +<P> +The marvellous story that my friend, the French chaplain, tells of +being marooned in a shell-hole at Verdun for several days with a +Catholic priest, and of their discussion of religion and life there +under shell-fire, and the tenderness with which the Catholic priest +kissed the hand of the Protestant French chaplain when the two had +agreed that, after all, there was one common God for a common, +suffering nation of people, and that this war would break all church +barriers down, and that out of it would come a new spirit in the +Catholic church, a new brotherhood for all. That was an impressive +indication of the thing that is sweeping France to-day in church +circles, and that will sweep America after the war. +</P> + +<P> +Then there is that other story of the Catholic priest who had been in +the same regiment with a French Protestant chaplain, each of whom +deeply respected the other because of the unflinching bravery that each +had displayed under intense shell-fire, and of the great love that each +had seen the other show in two years of constant warfare in the same +regiment. Then came that terrible morning at Verdun, when the French +Protestant chaplain, the friend of the Catholic priest, had been killed +while trying to bring in a wounded Catholic boy from No Man's Land. On +the day of this Protestant chaplain's funeral the Catholic priest stood +in God's Acre with bared head, and spoke as tender and as sincere a +eulogy as ever a man spoke over the grave of a dear friend, spoke with +the tears in his eyes most of the time. Church lines were forgotten +here. It was a prophetic scene, this, where a Catholic priest spoke at +the funeral of a Protestant chaplain. It was prophetic of that new +church brotherhood that is to come after the war is over. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SKY SILHOUETTES +</H3> + + +<P> +They are the lights, the lights of war. Sometimes they are just the +stars shining out that makes the wounded soldier out in No Man's Land +look up, in spite of shell-fire and thunder, in spite of wounds and +death, in spite of loneliness and heartache, in spite of mud and rain, +to exclaim, as Donald Hankey tells us in a most wonderful chapter of "A +Student in Arms": "God! God everywhere, and underneath are the +everlasting arms!" +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes the Sky Silhouettes number among their own just a moonlight +night with a crescent moon sailing quietly and serenely over the +horizon in the east, while great guns belch fire in the west, a fire +that seems to shame the timid moon itself. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes they are search-lights cleaving the sky over a great city +like Paris, or along the front lines, or gleaming from an air-ship. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes they are signal-lights flashing out of the darkness from a +patrolling plane overhead, or a blazing trail of fire as a patrol falls +to its death in a battle by night. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes they are signal-lights flashing from an observation balloon +anchored in the darkness over the trenches to guard the troops from +dangers in the air. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes they are the flashes, the fleet, swallow-like flashes, of an +enemy plane caught in the burning, blazing path of a search-light, and +then hounded by it to its death. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes they are signals flashed from the top of a cruiser on the +high seas across the storm-tossed waters to a little destroyer, which +flashes back its answer, and then in turn flashes a message of light to +one of the convoying planes overhead in the dim dusk of early evening. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes these Sky Silhouettes are the range-finders that poise in the +air for a few seconds, guiding the air patrols home, and sometimes they +are just the varied, interesting, gleaming, flashing "Lights of War." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE LIGHTS OF WAR +</H3> + + +<P> +One's introduction into the war zone +and into war-zone cities and villages, +and one's visits "down the line" to the +front by night, will always be filled with +the thrill of the unusual because of the +Lights of War. Where lights used to be, +there are no lights now, and where they +were not seen before the war, they are +radiant and rampant now. +</P> + +<P> +The first place that an American +traveller notices this absence of lights is on the +boat crossing over the Atlantic. From the +first night out of New York the boats +travel without a single light showing. +Every light inside of the boat is covered +with a heavy black crape, and the +port-holes and windows are so scrupulously and +carefully chained down that the average +open-air fiend from California or elsewhere +feels that he will suffocate before morning +comes, and even in the bitterest of winter +weather I have known some fresh-air fiends +to prefer the deck of the ship, with all of +its bitter winds and cold, to the inside of a +cabin with no windows open. I stood on +the deck of an ocean liner "Somewhere on +the Atlantic" a few months ago as the +great ship was ploughing its zigzag course +through the black waters, dodging +submarines. There was not a star in the sky. +There was not a light on the boat. +Absolutely the only lights that one saw was +when he leaned over the railing and saw +the splash of innumerable phosphorescent +organisms breaking against the boat. I +have seen the like of it only once before, +and this was on the Pacific down at +Asilomar one evening, when the waves were +running fire with phosphorescence. It was +a beautiful sight there and on the Atlantic too. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P ALIGN="center"> +IT WAS MIDNIGHT +</P> + +<P> +On this particular night, as far as one +could see, this brilliant organic light +illuminated the sea like the hands of my +luminous wrist-watch were made brilliant by +phosphorescence. I noticed this and looked +down at my watch to see what time it was. +It was midnight. +</P> + +<P> +As I looked, my friend, who was standing +beside me on the deck, said: "The last +order is that no wrist-watches that are +luminous may be exposed on the decks at +night. That order came along with the +order forbidding smoking on the decks at +night. The Germans can sight the light of +a cigar a long distance through their periscopes." +</P> + +<P> +I smiled to myself, for it was my first +introduction to the romantic part that +lights and the lack o' lights is playing in +this great World War. Then my friend +continued his observations as we stood there +on the aft deck watching the white waves +break, glorious with phosphorescence. He +said: "What a topsyturvy world it is. +Three years ago if a great ship like this +had dared to cross the Atlantic without a +single light showing, it would have +horrified the entire world, and that ship captain +would have been called to trial by every +country that sails the seas. He would have +been adjudged insane. But now every ship +sails the seas with no navigation-lights showing." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P ALIGN="center"> +IN WAR COUNTRY +</P> + +<P> +But when one gets his real introduction +into the lights o' war is when he gets into +the war country. It is eight o'clock in a +great French city. This French city has +been known the world over for its brilliant +lights. It has been known for its gayly +lighted boulevards, and indeed this might +apply to one of three or four French cities. +Light was the one scintillating +characteristic of this great city. The first night that +one finds himself here he feels as though +he were wandering about in a country +village at home. No arc-lights shine. The +window-lights are all extinguished. The few +lights on the great boulevards are so dimmed +that their luminosity is about that of a +healthy firefly in June back home. One +gropes his way about, feeling ahead of him +and navigating cautiously, even the main boulevards. +</P> + +<P> +The first time I walked down the streets +of this great city at night I had the same +feeling that I had on the Atlantic. I was +sailing without lights, on an unknown +course, and I felt every minute that I would +bump into some unseen human craft, as +indeed I did, both a feminine craft and a +male craft. I also had the feeling that in +this particular city, in the darkness I +might be submarined by a city human +U-boat, which would slip up behind me. +After having my second trip here I still +have that feeling as I walk the streets; the +unlighted streets of this city, and especially +the side-streets, by night. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P ALIGN="center"> +FRENCH CITY DURING RAID +</P> + +<P> +But the one time when you catch the +very heart and soul of the lights o' war is +when you happen to drop into a French +city while the Boches are making a raid +overhead. I have had this experience in +towns and villages and cities. At the signal +of the siren the lights of the entire city +suddenly snuff out, and the city or town +or village is in total darkness. Candles may +be lighted and are lighted, but on the whole +one either walks the dark streets flashing +his electric "Ever Ready," or huddled up +in a subway or in a cellar, or in a hallway +listening to the barrage of defense guns and +to the bombs dropping, watches and listens +and waits in total darkness, and while he +waits he isn't certain half the time whether +the noise he hears is the dropping of +German bombs or the beating of his own heart. +Both make entirely too much noise for +peace and comfort. +</P> + +<P> +As one approaches the front-line cities +and towns he learns something more about +the lights o' war. It is dark. He is in a little +town and must go to another town nearer +the front lines. He is standing at the depot +(gare). No lights are visible save here and +there an absolutely necessary red or green +light, which is veiled dimly. His train pulls +silently in. There is not a single light on it +from one end to the other. It creeps in like +a great snake. There is nobody to tell you +whether this is your train or not, but you +take a chance and climb into a compartment +which is pitch-dark. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P ALIGN="center"> +HEARS AMERICAN VOICE +</P> + +<P> +You have a ticket that calls for +first-class military compartment, but you +climbed into the first open door you saw, +and didn't know and didn't care whether +it was first, second, third, or tenth class +just so you got on your way. Your eyes +soon became accustomed to the darkness +and you discerned two or three forms in +the seat opposite you. You wondered if +they were French, Italians, Belgians, +English, Australians, Canadians, Moroccans, +Algerians, or Americans. It was too dark +to see, but suddenly you heard a familiar +voice saying, "Gosh, I wish I was back in +little ole New York," and you made a grab +in the darkness for that lad's hand. +</P> + +<P> +All during your trip no trainman appears. +You are left to your own sweet will at +nights in the war zone when you are on a +train. No stations are announced. You are +supposed to have sense enough to know +where you are going, and to have gumption +enough to get off without either being +assisted or told to do so. The assumption, I +suppose, is that anybody who travels in +the war zone knows where he is going. +Personally, I felt like the American phrase, +"I don't know where I'm going but I'm +on the way," and I tried to jump off at +two or three towns before I got to my own +destination, but the American soldiers had +been that way before on their way to the +trenches, and wouldn't let me off at the +wrong place. I thought surely that +somebody would come along to take my ticket, +but nobody appeared. I soon found that +night trains "on the line" pay little +attention to such minor matters as tickets, and +I have a pocketful that have never been +taken up. Time after time I have piled into +a train at night, after buying a ticket to +my destination; have journeyed to my +destination, have gone through the depot +and to my hotel without ever seeing a +trainman to take the ticket. I was let severely +alone. And even if a conductor had come +along through the train it would have been +too dark for him to have seen me, and I +am sure I could have dodged him had I +so desired. Maybe that's the reason they +don't take the tickets up. Anyhow, I have +given you a picture of a great train in the +war zone, winding its way toward the front, +in complete darkness. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P ALIGN="center"> +FLASH-LIGHTS +</P> + +<P> +Flash-lights have come into their own in +this war. One would as soon think of living +without a flash-light as he would think of +travelling without clothes in Greenland. +It simply cannot be done. In any city, from +Paris to the smallest towns on the front, +one must have his flash-light. The streets of +the cities and towns of France are a +hundred times more crooked than those of +Boston. If Boston's streets followed the +cow-paths, the streets of the cities of France +followed cows with the St. Vitus dance. +Around these streets one had to find his +way by night with a flash-light, especially +during an air-raid. One must have a flash, +too, for the houses and hotels when an +air-raid is on, and one must have it when one +is driving a big truck or an automobile down +along the front lines, for no lights are +permitted on any machines, official or +otherwise, after a certain point is reached. One +of the favorite outdoor sports of this +preacher for a month was to lie on his +stomach on the front mud-guard of a big +Pierce-Arrow through the war-zone roads, +bumping over shell-holes, with a little +pocket flash-light playing on the ground, +searching out the shell-holes, and trying to +help the driver keep in the road. It is a +delightful occupation about two o'clock in +the morning, with a blizzard blowing, and +knowing that the big truck is rumbling +along within sight and sound of the German +big guns. Trucks make more noise on such +occasions than a Twentieth Century +Limited. "No lights beyond divisional +headquarters" was the order, and night after +night we travelled along these roads with +only an occasional flash of the Ever Ready +to guide. And so it is that the flash-light has +come to its own, and every private soldier, +officer, and citizen in France is equipped +with one. He would be like a swordfish +without its sword if he didn't have it. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P ALIGN="center"> +LADDER OF LIGHT +</P> + +<P> +Then suddenly you see a strange finger +of light reaching into the sky. Or you may +liken it to a ladder of light climbing the sky. +Or you may liken it to a lance of light +piercing the darkness. Or you may just call +it a good, old-fashioned search-light, which it +is. It is watching for Hun planes, and it plays +all night long from north to south, from +east to west, restlessly, eagerly, quickly, +like a "hound of the heavens" guarding the +earth. First it sweeps the horizon, and then +it suddenly shoots straight up into the +zenith like another sun, and it seems to +flood the very skies. No German plane can +cut through that path of light without +being seen, and one night I had the rare +privilege of seeing a plane caught by the +search-light on its ever-vigilant patrol. It +was a thrilling sight. One minute later the +anti-aircraft guns were thundering away +and the shrapnel was breaking in tiny +patches around this plane while the +search-lights played on both the plane and the +shrapnel patches of smoke against the sky, +making a wonderful picture. Military +writers say that the enemy planes are more +afraid of these search-lights than of the guns. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-178"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-178.jpg" ALT="One night I had the privilege of seeing a plane caught by the search-light." BORDER="2" WIDTH="377" HEIGHT="574"> +<H4> +[Illustration: One night I had the privilege<BR> +of seeing a plane caught by the search-light.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +But perhaps the most thrilling sight of +all is that dark night when one sees for the +first time the star-shells along the horizon. +At first you may see them ten miles away +making luminous the earth. Then as you +drive nearer and nearer, that far-off +heat-lightning effect disappears and you can +actually see the curve of the star-shells +as they mount toward the skies over No +Man's Land and fall again as gracefully +as a fountain of water. Sometimes you will +see them for miles along the front, making +night day and lighting up the fields and +surrounding hills as though for a great celebration. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P ALIGN="center"> +BURSTING BOMBS +</P> + +<P> +The light of bursting shells as they fall, +or of bursting bombs from an aeroplane, is +a short, sharp, quick light like an electric +flash when a wire falls or a flash of sharp +lightning, but the light of the great guns +along the line as they thunder their +missiles of death can be seen for miles when a +bombardment is on. One forgets the +thunder of these belching monsters, and one +forgets the death they carry, in the glory +of the flame of noonday light that they +make in the night. +</P> + +<P> +Then there are the range-finders. These +suddenly shoot up in the night, steady and +clear, and remain for several minutes +burning brightly before they go out. I used to +see these frequently driving home from the +front. They were sent up from the hangars +to guide the French and American planes +to a safe landing by night. +</P> + +<P> +Then there is the moonlight. Moonlight +nights in towns along the war front are +dreaded, for it invariably means a Boche +raid. Clear moonlight nights with a full +moon are fine for lovers in a country that +is at peace, but it may mean death for +lovers in a country that is at war. But +moonlight nights are beautiful even in war +countries, with dim old cathedrals looming +in the background, and the white villages +of France, a huge château here and there +against the hillside or crowning its summit; +and the white roads and white fields of +France swinging by. One forgets there is +war then, until he hears the unmistakable +beat of the Hun plane overhead and sees the +flash of one, two, three, four, five, six, ten, +twelve, fifteen bombs break in a single field +a few hundred yards away, and the driver +remarks: "I knew we'd have a raid +tonight. It's a great night for the Boche!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P ALIGN="center"> +STARLIGHT AT FRONT +</P> + +<P> +Then there is the starlight on No Man's +Land, for the starlight is a part of the +lights o' war just as are the moonlight and +the star-shells and the little flash-lights +and the range-finders and the bursting +shells and bombs. But there are other more +significant lights o' war. +</P> + +<P> +There is the "Light that Lies in the +Soldiers' Eyes," of which my friend Lynn +Harold Hough has written so beautifully +and understandingly. Only over here it is +a different light. It is the light of a great +loneliness for home, hidden back of a light +that we see in the eyes of the three soldiers +in the painting "The Spirit of Seventy-Six." It +is there. It is here. One sees it in +the eyes of the lads who have come in out +of the trenches after they have had their +baptism of fire. I have seen them come in +after successfully repulsing a German raid +and I have seen their eyes fairly luminous +with victory, and that light says, as said +the spirit of France, not only "They shall +not pass," but it says something else. It +says: "We'll go get 'em! We'll go get 'em!" That's +the light o' war that lies in the +soldiers' eyes back of the light of home. I +verily believe that the two are close akin. +The American lad knows that the sooner +we lick the Hun the sooner he'll get back +home, where he wants to be more than he +wants anything else on earth. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P ALIGN="center"> +Y. M. C. A.'s LIGHT +</P> + +<P> +Then there's the light in the Y. M. C. A. hut, +and from General Pershing down to +the lowest private the army knows that +this is the warmest, friendliest, most +home-like, most welcome light that shines out +through the darkness of war. It not only +shines literally by night, but it shines by +day. I have seen some huts back of the front +lines lighted by the most brilliant electricity. +Some of it is obtained from local power-plants, +and some of it is made by the +Y. M. C. A. Then I have seen some huts +up near the lines that were lighted by +old-fashioned oil-lamps. Then I have been in +Y. M. C. A. dugouts and cellars and holes +in the ground, up so close to the German +lines that they were shelled every day, and +these have been lighted by tallow candles +stuck in a bottle or in their own melted +grease. I have seen huts back of the lines +away from danger of air-raids that could +have their windows wide open, and I have +seen the light pouring in a flood out of +these windows, a constant invitation to +thousands of American boys. And again I +have seen our huts in places so near the +lines that the secretaries had not only to +use candles but to screen their windows +with a double layer of black cloth, so that +not a single ray of that tiny candle might +throw its beams to the watching German +on the hill beyond. I never knew before +what Shakespeare meant when he said: +"How far a tiny candle throws its beams." But +whether it has been in the more +protected huts back of the lines or in the +dangerous huts close to the lines, the lights in +the huts are usually the only lights +available for the boys, and to these lights they +flock every night. It is a Rembrandt +picture that they make in the dim light of +the candles sitting around the tables +writing letters by candle-light. It is their one +warm, bright spot, for a great stove nearly +always blazes away in the Y. M. C. A. hut, +and it is the only warmth the lad knows. +Few of the billets or tents in France boast of a stove. +</P> + +<P> +Two things I shall never forget. One was +the sight of a Y. M. C. A. hut that I saw +in a town far back of the trenches. It was +in the town where General Pershing's +headquarters are located. On the very tip of +the hill above me was the hut. Its every +window was a blaze of light. It was the +one dominating, scintillating building of +the town, a big double hut. When I climbed +the hill to this hut I found it crowded to +its limits with men from everywhere. The +rest of the town was dark and there was +little life, but here was the pulse of social +life and comradeship, and here was the one +blaze and glory of light. +</P> + +<P> +The other sight that I shall not forget +was up within a few hundred yards of the +German lines. It was night. We were +returning from our furtherest hut "down the +line." We met a crowd of American +soldiers tramping through the snow and mud +and cold. They were shivering even as they +walked. We stopped the machine and gave +them a lift. I asked one of the lads where +he was going. He said: "Down to the 'Y' +hut in ——." I said: "Where is your camp?" He +replied: "Up at ——." I said: "Why, +boy, that's four miles away from the hut." "We +don't care. We walk it every night. +It's the only warm place in reach and the +only place where we can be where there are +lights at night and where we can get to +see the fellows and write a letter. We stay +there for an hour or two and tramp back +through this —— (censored) mud to our billets." +</P> + +<P> +And of all the lights o' war one must +know that the lights of the Y. M. C. A. huts +cast their beams not only into the +hearts of these lads but across the world, +and sometimes I think across the eternities, +for in these huts innumerable lads are +seeing the light that never was on land or sea, +and are finding the light that lights the +way to Home. And these are the lights o' war. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SILHOUETTES OF SUNSHINE +</H3> + + +<P> +There is laughter and song and sunshine among our boys in France. Let +every mother and father be sure of that. Your boys are always lonely +for home and for you, but they are not depressed, and they are there to +stay until the job is done. There are times of unutterable loneliness, +but usually they are a buoyant, happy, human crowd of American boys. +</P> + +<P> +Those of us who have lived with them, slept with them, eaten with them, +come back with no sense of gloom or depression. I say to you that the +most buoyant, happy, hopeful, confident crowd of men in the wide world +is the American army in France. If you could see them back of the +lines, even within sound of the guns, playing a game of ball; if you +could see them putting on a minstrel show in a Y. M. C. A. hotel in +Paris; if you could see a team of white boys playing a team of negro +boys; if you could see a whole regiment go in swimming; if you could +see them in a track meet, you would know that, in spite of war, they +are living normal lives, with just about the same proportion of +sunshine and sorrow as they find at home, with the sunshine dominant. +</P> + +<P> +Some Silhouettes of Sunshine gleam against the background of war like +scintillating diamonds and +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Send a thrill of laughter through the framework of your heart;<BR> +And warm your inner being 'til the tear drops want to start."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +There was that watch-trading incident on the Toul line. +</P> + +<P> +The Americans had only been there a week, but it hadn't taken them long +to get acquainted with the French soldiers. About all the two +watch-trading Americans knew of French was "Oui! Oui!" and they used +this every minute. +</P> + +<P> +The American soldiers had a four-dollar Ingersoll watch, and this +illuminated time-piece had caught the eye of the French soldier. He, +in turn, had an expensive, jewelled, Swiss-movement pocket-watch. The +American knew its value and wanted it. +</P> + +<P> +They stood and argued. Several times during the interesting +transaction the American shrugged his shoulders and walked away as if +to say: "Oh, I don't want your old watch. It isn't worth anything." +</P> + +<P> +Then they would get together again, and the gesticulating would begin +all over; the machine-gun staccato of "Oui Oui's" would rattle again, +and the argument would continue, without either one of the contracting +parties knowing a word of the other's language. +</P> + +<P> +At last I saw the American soldier unstrap his Ingersoll and hand it +over to the Frenchman, who, in turn, pulled out the good Swiss-movement +watch, and both parties to the transaction went off happy, for each had +gotten what he wanted. +</P> + +<P> +One of the funniest things that happened in France while I was there +was told me by a wounded boy one Sunday afternoon back of the Notre +Dame cathedral. He was invalided from the Château-Thierry scrap in +which the American marines had played such a heroic part. He was a +member of the marines, and was slightly wounded. He saw that I was a +secretary, and thought to play a good joke on me. He pulled out of his +breast-pocket a small black thing that looked and was bound just like a +Bible. Its corner was dented, and it was plain to be seen that a +bullet had hit it, and that that book had stopped its death-dealing +course. +</P> + +<P> +I should have been warned by a gleam that I saw in his eyes, but was +not. I said: "So you see that it's a good thing to be carrying a Bible +around in your pocket?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that saved my life last week," he said impressively. Then he +showed me the hole in his blouse where it had hit. The hole was still +torn and ragged. In the meantime I was opening what I thought was his +Bible. +</P> + +<P> +It was a deck of cards. +</P> + +<P> +I can hear that fine American lad's laughter yet. It rang like the +bells of the old cathedral itself, in the shadow of which we stood. +His laughter startled the group of old men playing checkers on a park +bench into forgetting their game and joining in the fun. Everybody +stopped to see what the fun was about. That lad had a good one on the +secretary, and he was enjoying it as much as the secretary himself. +</P> + +<P> +Then he said: "Now I'll tell you a good story to make up for fooling +you." +</P> + +<P> +"You had better," I said with a sheepish grin. +</P> + +<P> +Then he began: +</P> + +<P> +"There was a fellow named Rosenbaum brought in with me last week to the +Paris hospital, wounded in three places. They put me beside him and he +told me his story. +</P> + +<P> +"It was at Belleau Wood and the Americans were plunging through to the +other side driving the Boche before them. This Jewish boy is from New +York City, and one of the favorites of the whole marine outfit. He had +gotten separated from his friends. Suddenly he was confronted by a +German captain with a belching automatic revolver. The Hun got him in +the shoulder with the first shot. Then the American made a lunge with +his bayonet, and ran the captain through the neck, but not before the +captain shot him twice through the left leg. The two fell together. +When the boy from New York came to consciousness he reached out and +there was the dead German officer lying beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"The boy took off the captain's helmet first, and pulled it over to +himself. Then he took his revolver and his cartridge-belt and piled +them all in a little pile. Then he took off his shoes and his trousers +and every stitch of clothes that the officer had on, and painfully +strapped them around himself under his own blouse. After he had done +this he strapped the officer's belt on himself. When the +stretcher-bearers got to him and had taken him to a first-aid and the +nurses took his clothes off, they found the officer's outfit. +</P> + +<P> +"'Say, boy, are you a walking pawnshop?' the good-natured doctor said, +and proceeded to take the souvenirs away. +</P> + +<P> +"This was the military procedure, but the New York boy cried and said: +'I'll die on your hands if you take them away.' +</P> + +<P> +"He was a serious case, and so they humored him and let him keep his +souvenirs, and when I saw them take him out to a base hospital this +morning, he still had them strapped to him, with a grin on his face +like a darky eating watermelon." +</P> + +<P> +"What did you say his name was?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Rosenbaum," the boy replied. "Rosenbaum from New York." +</P> + +<P> +"Say, if they'd only recruit a regiment like that from America, we'd +send the whole German army back to Berlin naked," added another soldier +who was standing near. +</P> + +<P> +Then we all had another good laugh, which in its turn disturbed the old +men playing checkers on the bench under the trees back of Notre Dame. +But the soldier who told me the story added thoughtfully a truth that +every one in France knows. +</P> + +<P> +"At that, I'm tellin' you, boy, there aren't any braver soldiers in the +American army than them Jewish boys from New York. I got 'o hand it to +them." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, we all do," I replied. +</P> + +<P> +This good-natured raillery goes on all over the army, for it is a +cosmopolitan crowd, such as never before wore the uniform of the United +States, and each group, the negro group, the Italian group, the Jewish +group, the Slav group, the Western group, the Southern group, the +Eastern group, all have their little fun at the expense of the others, +and out of it all comes much sunshine and laughter, and no bitterness. +</P> + +<P> +The Jewish boy loves to repeat a good joke on his own kind as well as +the others. I myself saw the letter that a Jewish boy was writing to +his uncle in New York, eulogizing the Y. M. C. A. He was not an +educated lad, but he was a wonderfully sincere boy, and he pleaded his +cause well. He had been treated so well by the "Y" that he wanted his +uncle to give all his spare cash to that great organization. This is +the letter: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"DEAR UNCLE: +</P> + +<P> +"This here Y. M. C. A. is the goods. They give you chocolate when +you're goin' into the trenches and they gives you chocolate when you're +comin' out and they don't charge you nothin' for it neither. If you +are givin' any money don't you give it to none of them Red Crosses nor +to none of them Salvation Armies, nor to none of them Knights of +Columbuses; but you give it to them Y. M. C. A.'s. They treat you +right. They have entertainments for you and wrestlin' matches, and +they give you a place to write. And what's more, Uncle <I>they don't +have no respect fer no religion</I>. +<BR><BR> + "Yours, +<BR> + + "BILL."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Yes, France is full of Silhouettes of Sunshine. There was the eloquent +Y. M. C. A. secretary. And while he didn't exactly know it, he too was +adding his unconscious ray of light to a dull and desolate world. +</P> + +<P> +The Gothas had come over Paris the night before, and so had a group of +some one hundred and fifty new secretaries. The Gothas had played +havoc with two blocks of buildings on a certain Paris street because of +the fact that the bombs they dropped had severed the gas-mains. The +result did have a look of desolation I'll have to admit. So far the +new secretaries had done no damage. +</P> + +<P> +Now there is one thing common to all the newly arrived in France, be +they Y. M. C. A. secretaries, Knights of Columbus workers, Red Cross +men, or just the common garden variety of "investigators," and that is +that for about two weeks they are alert to hear the bloodiest, most +drippy, and desolate-with-danger stories that they can hear, for the +high and holy purpose of writing back home to their favorite paper, or +to their wives or sweethearts, of how near they were to getting killed; +of how the bombs fell just a few minutes before or just a few minutes +after they were "on that very spot"; of how the raid came the very +night after they were in London or Paris; of how just after they had +walked along a certain street the Big Bertha had dropped a shell there; +of how the night after they had slept in a certain hotel down in Nancy +the Germans blew it up. We're all alike the first week, and staid war +correspondents are no exception to the rule. It gets them all. +</P> + +<P> +I came on my friend telling this crowd of eager new secretaries of the +damage that the Gothas had done the night before. There they stood in +a corner of the hotel with open ears, eyes, and mouths. Most of them +were on their toes ready to make a break for their rooms and get all +the horrible details down in their letters home and their diaries +before it escaped them. They were torn between a fear that they would +forget some of the horrid details and for fear some other fellow would +get the big story back home to the local paper before they could get it +there. When I came in, this nonchalant narrator was having the time of +his young life. He was revelling in description. Color and fire and +blood and ruin and desecration flowed from his eloquent lips like water +over Niagara. +</P> + +<P> +When I got close enough to hear, he was at his most climactic and last +period of eloquence. He made a gesture with one hand, waving it +gracefully into the air full length, with these words: "Why, gentlemen, +I didn't see anything worse at the San Francisco earthquake." +</P> + +<P> +In three seconds that crowd had disappeared, each to his own letter, +and each to his own diary. Not a detail must escape. How wonderful it +would be to describe that awful destruction, and say at the end of the +letter: "And this happened just the night before we reached Paris." +</P> + +<P> +Only the vivid artist of description and myself remained in the hotel +lobby, and having heard him mention San Francisco, my own home, I was +naturally curious and wanted to talk a bit over old times, so I went up +to the gentleman and said: "I heard you say to that gang that you +hadn't seen anything worse at the San Francisco earthquake, so I +thought I'd have a chat about San Francisco with you." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I was never in San Francisco in my life," he said with a grin. +</P> + +<P> +"But you said to those boys, 'I didn't see anything worse at the San +Francisco earthquake,'" I replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I didn't, for I wasn't there. I just gave them guys what they +was lookin' for in all its horrible details, didn't I? Ain't they +satisfied? Well, so am I, bo." +</P> + +<P> +This story has a meaning all its own in addition to the fact that it +produced one of the bright spots in my experiences in France. That +eloquent secretary represents a type who will tell the public about +anything he thinks it wants to know about the "horrible details" of war +in France, and facts do not baffle his inventive genius. +</P> + +<P> +One characteristic of the American soldier in France is his absolute +fearlessness about dangers. He doesn't know how to be afraid. He +wants to see all that is going on. The French tap their heads and say +he is crazy, a gesture they have learned from America. And they have +reason to think so. When the "alert" blows for an air-raid the French +and English have learned to respect it. Not so the American soldier. +</P> + +<P> +"Think I'm comin' clear across that darned ocean to see something, and +then duck down into some blamed old cellar or cave and not see anything +that's goin' on! Not on your life. None o' that for muh! I'm going +to get right out on the street where I can see the whole darned show!" +</P> + +<P> +And that's just what he does. I've been in some twenty-five or thirty +air-raids in four or five cities of France, and I have never yet seen +many Americans who took to the "abris." They all want to see what's +going on, and so they hunt the widest street, and the corner at that, +to watch the air-raids. +</P> + +<P> +One night during a heavy raid in Paris, when the French were safely +hidden in the "abris," because they had sense enough to protect +themselves, I saw about twenty sober but hilarious American soldiers +marching down the middle of the boulevard, arm in arm, singing "Sweet +Adelaide" at the top of their voices, while the bombs were dropping all +over Paris, and a continuous barrage from the anti-aircraft guns was +cannonading until it sounded like a great front-line battle. +</P> + +<P> +That night I happened to be watching the raid myself from a convenient +street-corner. Unconsciously I stood up against a street-lamp with a +shade over me, made of tin about the size of a soldier's steel helmet. +Along came a French street-walker, looked at me standing there under +that tiny canopy, and with a laugh said as she swiftly passed me, +"C'est un abri, monsieur?" looking up. The air-raid had not dampened +her sense of humor even if it had destroyed her trade for that night. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-202"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-202.jpg" ALT="The air-raid had not dampened her sense of humor." BORDER="2" WIDTH="377" HEIGHT="570"> +<H4> +[Illustration: The air-raid had not dampened her sense of humor.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Another story illustrative of the never-die spirit of the Frenchwomen, +in spite of their sorrows and losses: One night, when the rain was +pouring in torrents, a desolate, chilly night, I saw a girl of the +streets plying her trade, standing where the rain had soaked her +through and through. Were her spirits dampened? Was she discouraged? +Was she blue? No; she stood there in the rain humming the air of an +opera, oblivious to the fact that she was soaked through and through, +and cold to the bone. +</P> + +<P> +This is the undying spirit of France. I do not know whether this girl +was driven to her trade because she had lost her husband in the war, +but I do know that many have been. I do not know anything about her +life. I do know that there she stood, soaked through and through, a +frail child of the street, plying her trade, and singing in the rain. +The silhouette of this frail girl and her spirit is typical of France: +"Her head though bloody is unbowed." Somehow that sight gave me +strength. +</P> + +<P> +The reaction of the German submarining in American waters on the boys +"Over There" will be interesting to home-folks. When the news got to +France that submarines were plying in American waters near New York, +did it produce consternation? No! Did it produce regret? No! Did it +make them mad? No! +</P> + +<P> +It made them laugh. All over France the boys laughed, and laughed; +laughed uproariously; doubled up and laughed. I found this everywhere. +I do not attempt to explain it. It just struck their funny bones. I +heard one fellow say: "Now the next best thing would be for a sub some +night, when there was nobody in the offices, to throw a few shells into +one of those New York skyscrapers." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll say so! I'll say so!" was the laughing reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Wow! There'd be somethin' doin' at home then, wouldn't there?" my +friend the artillery captain said with a grin. +</P> + +<P> +But about the funniest thing I heard along the sunshine-producing line +was not in France but coming home from France, on the transport. It +came from a prisoner on the transport who was sentenced to fifteen +years for striking a top-sergeant. +</P> + +<P> +One night outside of my stateroom I heard some words, and then a blow +struck, and a man fall. There was a general commotion. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning the fellow who struck the blow was summoned before the +captain of the transport. +</P> + +<P> +"See here, my man, you are already sentenced for fifteen years, and +it's a serious offense to strike a man on the high seas." +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't strike him on the high seas, sir, I struck him on the jaw." +</P> + +<P> +The captain was baffled, but went on: +</P> + +<P> +"What did you hit the man for?" +</P> + +<P> +"He argued with me. I can't stand it to be argued with." +</P> + +<P> +"But you shouldn't strike a man and split his mouth open just because +he disagrees with you," said the captain severely. +</P> + +<P> +"I just don't seem to be able to stand it to have a guy argue with me," +he replied, not abashed in the slightest. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you go to your bunk. I'll think it over and tell you in the +morning what I'll do about it," said the captain, and turned away. +</P> + +<P> +But the man waited. The captain, seeing this, turned and said: "Well, +what do you want?" +</P> + +<P> +"All I got to say, captain, is that you mustn't let any of them guys +argue with me again, for if they do I'll do the same thing over if you +give me fifty years for it. I just can't stand it to have a man argue +with me." +</P> + +<P> +Silhouettes of Sunshine? France is full of them. There were the +fields full of a million blood-red poppies back in Brittany, and the +banks of old-gold broom blooming along a thousand stone walls; there +were the negro stevedores marching to work, winter and summer, rain or +shine, night or day, always whistling or singing as they marched, to +the wonderment of French and English alike. Their spirits never seemed +to be dampened. They always marched to music of their own making. +There was that baseball game, when an entire company of negroes, +watching their team play a white team, at the climax of the game when +one negro boy had knocked a home run, ran around the bases with him, +more than two hundred laughing, shouting, grinning, singing, yelling +negroes, helping to bring in the score that won the game. Then there +was that Sunday morning when several white captains decided that their +negro boys should have a bath. They took their boys down to an ocean +beach. It was a bit chilly. The negroes stripped at order, but they +didn't like the idea of going into that cold ocean water. One captain +solved the difficulty. He took his own clothes off. He got in front +of his men. He lined them up in formation. Then he said: "Now, boys, +we're going to play that ocean is full of Germans. You stevedores are +always complaining about not getting up front, and you tell me what +you'd do to the Germans if you once got up front. Now I'm going to see +how much nerve you've got. When I say 'Forward! March!' it is a +military order. I'm going to lead you into that water. We are going +in military formation. +</P> + +<P> +"'Forward! March!'" +</P> + +<P> +And that company of black soldiers marched into that cold ocean water, +dreading it with all their souls but soldiers to the core, without a +quaver, eyes to the front, heads up, chests out, unflinchingly, up to +their knees, up to their waists, up to their chins, when the captain +shouted "As you were!" and such a hilarious, shouting, laughing, +splashing, jumping, yelling, fun-filled hour as followed the world +never saw. The gleaming of white teeth, the flashing of ebony limbs +through green water and under sparkling sunlight that Sunday morning +was full of a fine type of fun and laughter that made the world a +better place to live in, and certainly a cleaner place. +</P> + +<P> +War is grim. War is serious. War is full of hurt and hate and pain +and heartache and loneliness and wounds, and mud and death and dearth; +but the American soldier spends more time laughing than he does crying; +more time singing than he does moaning; more time playing than he does +moping; more times shouting than he does whimpering; more time hoping +than he does despairing; and because of this effervescent spirit of +sunshine and laughter his morale is the best morale that any army in +the history of the world has ever shown. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLDIER SILHOUETTES ON OUR FRONT***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 18078-h.txt or 18078-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/7/18078">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/0/7/18078</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution.</p> + + + +<pre> +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license)</a>. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS,' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org">http://www.gutenberg.org</a> + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/</a> + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/18078-h/images/img-022.jpg b/18078-h/images/img-022.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9d0e9e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-h/images/img-022.jpg diff --git a/18078-h/images/img-078.jpg b/18078-h/images/img-078.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b48347 --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-h/images/img-078.jpg diff --git a/18078-h/images/img-088.jpg b/18078-h/images/img-088.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dbf08dd --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-h/images/img-088.jpg diff --git a/18078-h/images/img-104.jpg b/18078-h/images/img-104.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e82ebf --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-h/images/img-104.jpg diff --git a/18078-h/images/img-142.jpg b/18078-h/images/img-142.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..07fccb9 --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-h/images/img-142.jpg diff --git a/18078-h/images/img-178.jpg b/18078-h/images/img-178.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6054e3 --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-h/images/img-178.jpg diff --git a/18078-h/images/img-202.jpg b/18078-h/images/img-202.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ecc61e --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-h/images/img-202.jpg diff --git a/18078-h/images/img-front.jpg b/18078-h/images/img-front.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..efb6b76 --- /dev/null +++ b/18078-h/images/img-front.jpg diff --git a/18078.txt b/18078.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b5eaf8 --- /dev/null +++ b/18078.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4112 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Soldier Silhouettes on our Front, by William +L. Stidger, Illustrated by Jessie Gillespie + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Soldier Silhouettes on our Front + + +Author: William L. Stidger + + + +Release Date: March 30, 2006 [eBook #18078] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLDIER SILHOUETTES ON OUR FRONT*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 18078-h.htm or 18078-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/7/18078/18078-h/18078-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/7/18078/18078-h.zip) + + + + + +SOLDIER SILHOUETTES ON OUR FRONT + +by + +WILLIAM L. STIDGER + +Y. M. C. A. Worker with the A. E. F. + +Illustrated by Jessie Gillespie + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as +mine?"] + + + + +New York +Charles Scribner's Sons +1918 +Copyright, 1918, by Charles Scribner's Sons +Published October, 1918 + + + + +TO + +DOCTOR ROBERT FREEMAN + + + PIONEER RELIGIOUS WORK DIRECTOR + OF THE Y. M. C. A. + + + AND THE HUNDREDS OF PREACHER-SECRETARIES + WHO ARE SERVING SO BRAVELY AND EFFICIENTLY + ON THE CRUSADE OF SERVICE IN FRANCE + AND TO THE CHURCHES THAT SENT THEM + + + + +FOREWORD + +Some human experiences that one has in France stand out like the +silhouettes of mountain peaks against a crimson sunset. I have tried +in this book to set down some of those experiences. I have had but one +object in so doing, and that object has been to give the father and +mother, the brother and sister, the wife and child and friend of the +boys "Over There" an accurate heart-picture. I have not attempted the +too great task of showing the soul of the soldier, although I have +tried to picture him at some of his great moments when he forgets +himself and rises to glorious heights, just as he might do at home if +the opportunity called. + +I have tried to show his experiences on the transports, when he lands +in France, his welcome there, the reactions of the trench life; +something of his self-sacrifice, his willingness to serve even unto the +end; his courage, his sunshine. I have also given some other pictures +of France that aim to show his heart-relations to his allies and to the +folks at home. + +If I have done this, sufficient shall be my reward. + + + + +CONTENTS + + I. SILHOUETTES OF SONG + II. SHIP SILHOUETTES + III. SILHOUETTES OF SACRIFICE + IV. SILHOUETTES SPIRITUAL + V. SILHOUETTES OF SACRILEGE + VI. SILHOUETTES OF SILENCE + VII. SILHOUETTES OF SERVICE + VIII. SILHOUETTES OF SORROW + IX. SILHOUETTES OF SUFFERING + X. SOLDIER SILHOUETTES + XI. SKY SILHOUETTES + XII. THE LIGHTS OF WAR + XIII. SILHOUETTES OF SUNSHINE + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"_Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as + mine?_" . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ + +"_What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman + shouted to me_ + +_The upturned roots of an old tree were just in front_ + +"_The last seen of Dale he was gathering together a + crowd of little children_" + +"_The boys call her 'The Woman with Sandwiches + and Sympathy'_" + +_What was the difference? He had gotten a letter_ + +_One night I had the privilege of seeing a plane caught + by the search-light_ + +_The air-raid had not dampened her sense of humor_ + + + + +I + +SILHOUETTES OF SONG + +The great transport was cutting its sturdy way through three dangers: +the submarine zone, a terrific storm beating from the west against its +prow, and a night as dark as Erebus because of the storm, with no +lights showing. + +I had the midnight-to-four-o'clock-in-the-morning "watch" and on this +night I was on the "aft fire-control." Below me on the aft gun-deck, +as the rain pounded, the wind howled, and the ship lurched to and fro, +I could see the bulky forms of the boy gunners. There were two to each +gun, two standing by, with telephone pieces to their ears, and six +sleeping on the deck, ready for any emergency. The greatcoats made +them look like gaunt men of the sea as they huddled against their guns, +watching, waiting. I wondered what they could see in that impenetrable +darkness, if a U-boat could even survive in that storm; but Uncle Sam +never sleeps in these days, and this transport was especially worth +watching, for it carried a precious cargo of wounded officers and men +back to the homeland, west bound. + +For an hour I had heard no sound from the boys on the gun-deck below +me. When I was on watch in the daylight I knew them to be just a great +crowd of fine, buoyant, happy American lads, full of pranks and play +and laughter, but they were strangely silent to-night as the ship +ploughed through the storm. The storm seemed to have made men of them. +They were just boys, but American boys in these days become men +overnight, and acquit themselves like men. + +I watched their silent forms below me with a great feeling of +wonderment and pride. The ship lurched as it swung in its zigzag +course. Then suddenly I heard a sweet sound coming from one of the +boys below me. I think that it was big, raw-boned "Montana" who +started it. It was low at first and, with the storm and the vibrations +of the ship, I could not catch the words. The music was strangely +familiar to me. Then the boy on the port gun beside "Montana" took the +old hymn up, and then the two reserve gunners who were standing by, and +then the gunners on the starboard side, and I caught the old words of: + + "Jesus, Saviour, pilot me + Over life's tempestuous sea; + Unknown waves before me roll + Hiding rock and treacherous shoal; + Chart and compass came from Thee; + Jesus, Saviour, pilot me." + + +Above the creaking and the vibrations of the great ship, above the +beating of the storm, the gunners on the deck below, all unconsciously, +in that storm-tossed night were singing the old hymn of their memories, +and I think that I never heard that wonderful hymn when it sounded +sweeter to me than it did then, as the second verse came sweetly from +the lips and hearts of those gunners: + + "As a mother stills her child + Thou canst hush the ocean wild; + Boistrous waves obey Thy will + When Thou sayst to them, 'Be still.' + Wondrous Sovereign of the sea, + Jesus, Saviour, pilot me." + + +We hear a good deal of how our boys sing "Hail! Hail! The Gang's All +Here" and "Where Do We Go From Here, Boys?" as a ship is sinking. I +know American soldiers pretty well. I do not know what they sang when +the _Tuscania_ went down, but I am glad to add my picture to the other +and to say that I for one heard a crowd of American gunners singing +"Jesus, Saviour, Pilot Me Over Life's Tempestuous Sea." The mothers +and fathers of America must know that the average American boy will +have the lighter songs at the end of his lips, but buried down deep in +his heart there is a feeling of reverence for the old hymns, and +whether he sings them aloud or not they are there singing in his heart; +and sometimes, under circumstances such as I have described, he sings +them aloud in the darkness and the storm. + +If you do not believe this because you have been told so often by +magazine correspondents, who see only the surface things, that all the +boys sing is ragtime, let Bishop McConnell, of the Methodist Episcopal +Church, tell you of that Sunday evening when, at the invitation of +General Byng, he addressed, under the auspices of the Y. M. C. A., a +great regiment of the Scottish Guards. That night, in a +shell-destroyed stone theatre, he spoke to them on "How Men Die." In a +week from that night more than two-thirds of them had been killed. +When Bishop McConnell asked them what they would like to sing, this +great crowd of sturdy, bare-kneed soldiers of democracy, who had borne +the brunt of battle for three years, asked for "O God, Our Help in Ages +Past." + +Yes, I know that the boys sing the rag-time, but this must not be the +only side of the picture. They sing the old hymns, too, and memories +of nights "down the line," when I have heard them in small groups and +in great crowds singing the old, old hymns of the church, have burned +their silhouettes into my memory never to die. + +One night I remember being stopped by a sentry at "Dead Man's Curve," +because the Boche was shelling the curve that night, and we had to stop +until he "laid off," as the sentry told us. Between shells there was a +great stillness on the white road that lay like a silver thread under +the moonlight. The shattered stone buildings, with a great cathedral +tower standing like a gaunt ghost above the ruins, were tragically +beautiful under that mellow light. One almost forgot there was war +under the charm of that scene until "plunk! plunk! plunk!" the big +shells fell from time to time. But the thing that impressed me most +that waiting hour was not the beauty of the village under the +moonlight, but the fact that the lone sentry who had stopped us, and +who amid the shelling stood silently, was unconsciously singing an old +hymn of the church, "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me." I got down from my +truck and walked over to where he was standing. + +"Great old hymn, isn't it, lad?" + +"I'll say so," was his laconic reply. + +"Belong to some church back home?" I asked him. + +"Folks do; Presbyterians," he replied. + +"Like the old hymns?" I asked. + +"Yes, it seems like home to sing 'em." + +I didn't get to talk with him for a few minutes, for he had to stop +another truck. Then he came back. + +"Folks at home, Sis and Bill and the kid, mother and father, used to +gather around the piano every Sunday evening and sing 'em. Didn't +think much of them then, but liked to sing. But they mean a lot to me +over here, especially when I'm on guard at nights on this 'Dead Man's +Curve.' Seems like they make me stronger." As I walked away I still +heard him humming "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me." + +One of the most vivid song silhouettes that I remember is that of a +great crowd of negroes singing in a Y. M. C. A. hut. There must have +been a thousand of them. I was to speak to them on "Lincoln Day." I +remember how their white teeth shone through the semidarkness of that +candle-lighted hut, and how their eyes gleamed, and how their bodies +swayed as they sang the old plantation melodies. + +The first song startled me with the universality of its simple +expression. It was an adaptation of that old melody which the negroes +have sung for years, "It's the Old-Time Religion." + +A boy down front led the singing. A curt "Sam, set up a tune," from +the Tuskegee colored secretary started it. + +This boy sat with his back to the audience. He didn't even turn around +to face them. Low and sweetly he started singing. You could hardly +hear him at first. Then a few boys near him took up the music. Then a +few more. Then it gradually swept back over that crowd of men until +every single negro was swaying to that simple music, and then it was +that I caught the almost startlingly appropriate words: + + "It is good for a world in trouble; + It is good for a world in trouble; + It is good for a world in trouble; + And it's good enough for me. + + It's the old-time religion; + It's the old-time religion; + It's the old-time religion; + And it's good enough for me. + + It was good for my old mother; + It was good for my old mother; + It was good for my old mother; + And it's good enough for me." + + +Then much to my astonishment they did something that I have since +learned is the very way that these songs grew from the beginning. They +extemporized a verse for the day, and they did it on the spot. I made +absolutely certain of that by careful investigation. They sang this +extra verse: + + "It was good for ole Abe Lincoln; + It was good for ole Abe Lincoln; + It was good for ole Abe Lincoln; + And it's good enough for me." + + +"That first verse, 'It is good for a world in trouble,' is certainly a +most appropriate one for these times in France," I said aside to the +secretary. + +"Yes," he replied; "if ever this pore ole worl' needed the sustainin' +power of the religion of the Christ, it does now; an' if ever this pore +ole worl' was in trouble, that time suttinly is right now," he added +with fervor. + +And now I can never think of the world, nor of the folks back here at +home, nor of the millions of our boys over there that I do not hear the +sweet voices of that crowd of negroes singing reverently and fervently: + + "It is good for a world in trouble; + It is good for a world in trouble; + It is good for a world in trouble; + And it's good enough for me." + + +Another Silhouette of Song that stands out against the background of +memory is that of a hymn that I heard in Doctor Charles Jefferson's +church just before I sailed for France. I was lonely. I walked into +that great city church a stranger, as thousands of boys who have sailed +from New York have done. I never remember to have been so unutterably +lonely and homesick. It was cold in the city, and I was alone. I +turned to a church. Thousands of boys have done the same, may the +mothers and fathers of America know, and they have found comfort. If +the parents of this great nation could know how well their boys are +guarded and cared for in New York City before they sail, they would +have a feeling of comfort. + +I sat down in this great church. I was thinking more of other Sabbath +mornings at home, with my wife and baby, than anything else. A hymn +was announced. I stood up mechanically, but there was no song in my +throat. There was a great lump of loneliness only. But suddenly I +listened to the words they were singing. Had they selected that hymn +just for me? It seemed so. It so answered the loneliness in my heart +with comfort and quiet. That great congregation was singing: + + "Peace, perfect peace; + With loved ones far away; + In Jesus' keeping, we are safe; and they." + + +A great sense of peace settled over my heart, and I have quoted that +old hymn all over France to the boys, and they have been comforted. +Many a boy has asked me to write him a copy of that verse to stick in +his note-book. It seemed to give a sense of comfort to the lads, for +their loved ones, too, were "far away," and since I have come home I +find that this, too, comes as a great comfort hymn to those who are +here lonely for their boys "over there." + +And who shall forget the silhouette of approaching the shores of France +by night as they have sailed down along the coast, cautiously and +carefully, to find the opening of the submarine nets? Who shall forget +the sense of exhilaration that the news that land was near brought? +Who shall forget the crowding to the railings by all on board to scan +anxiously through the night for the first sight of land? Then who +shall forget seeing that first light from shore flash out through the +darkness of night? Who shall forget the red and green and white lights +that began to twinkle, and gleam, and flash, and signal, and call? How +beautiful those lights looked after the long, dangerous, eventful, and +dark voyage, without a single light showing on the ship! And who shall +forget the man along the railing who said, "I never knew before the +meaning of that old song, 'The Lights Along the Shore'"? And then, who +can forget the fact that suddenly somebody started to sing that old +hymn, "The Lights Along the Shore," and of how it swept along the lower +decks, and then to the upper decks, until a whole ship-load of people +was singing it? And then who shall forget how somebody else started +"Let the Lower Lights Be Burning"? Can such scenes ever be obliterated +from one's memory? No, not forever. That silhouette remains eternally! + +Five great transports were in. They were lined up along the docks in +the locks. A Y. M. C. A. secretary was standing on the docks yelling +up a word of welcome to the crowded railings of the great transports. +The boats were not "cleared" as yet. It would take an hour, and the +secretary knew that something must be done, so he started to lead first +one ship and then another in singing. + +"What shall we sing, boys?" he would shout up to them from the docks +below. Some fellow from the railing yelled, "Keep the Home Fires +Burning," and that fine song rang out from five thousand throats. I +have heard it sung in the camps at home, I have heard it sung in great +huts in France, but I never heard it when it sounded so significant and +so sweet in its mighty volume as it sounded coming from that great +khaki-lined transport, which had just landed an hour before in France. +I stood beside the song-leader there on the docks looking up at that +great mass of American humanity, a hundred feet above us, so far away +that we could not recognize individual faces, on the high decks of one +of the largest ships that sails the seas, and as that sweet song of war +swept out over the docks and across the white town, and back across the +Atlantic, I said to myself: "That volume sounds as if it could make +itself heard back home." + +The man beside me said: "The folks back home hear it all right, for +they are eagerly listening for every sound that comes from that crowd +of boys. Yes, the folks back home hear it, and they'll 'keep the home +fires burning' all right. God bless them!" + +The last Silhouette of Song stands out against a background of green +trees and spring, and the odor of a hospital, and Red Cross nurses +going and coming, and boys lying in white robes everywhere. My friend +the song-leader had gone with me to hold the vesper service in the +hospital. Then we visited in the wards in order to see those who were +so severely wounded that they could not get to the service. + +There was a little group of men in one room. The first thing I knew my +friend had them singing. At first they took to it awkwardly. Then +more courageously. Then sweetly there rang through the hospital the +strains of "My Daddy Over There." + +It melted my heart, for I have a baby girl at home who says to the +neighbors, "My daddy is the prettiest man in the world," and believes +it. I said to Cray: "Why did you sing that particular song?" + +"Oh," he replied, "my baby's name is 'Betty,' and I found a guy whose +baby's name is 'Betty' too, and we had a sort of club formed; and +another guy had a baby boy, and then I just thought they'd like to sing +'My Daddy Over There.' But we ended up with 'Jesus, Lover of My Soul,' +so that ought to suit you." + +"Suit me, man? Why I got a 'Betty' baby of my own, and that 'Daddy +Over There' song you sang is the sweetest thing I've heard in France, +and it will help those daddies more than a hymn would. I'm glad you +got them to singing." + +And now I'm back home, and I thought the Silhouettes of Song were all +over, but I stepped into a church the other Sunday. Up high above the +sacred altars of that church fluttered a beautiful silk service flag. +It was starred in the shape of a letter "S." In the circle of each "S" +was a red cross. The church had two members in the Red Cross. Above +the "S" and below it were two red triangles. The church had men in the +service of the Y. M. C. A. Then grouped about the "S" were the stars +of boys in the service. + +As I looked up at this cross a flood of memories swept over me. I +could not keep back the tears. All the love, all the loneliness, all +the heartache, all the pride, all the hope of the folks at home, their +reverence, their loyalty, was summed up in that flag. I stood to sing, +my eyes brimming with tears. The great congregation started that +beautifully sweet hymn that is being sung all over America in the +churches in loving memory of the boys over there: + + "God save our splendid men, + Send them safe home again, + God save our men. + Make them victorious, + Patient and chivalrous, + They are so dear to us, + God save our men. + + God keep our own dear men, + From every stain of sin, + God keep our men. + When Satan would allure, + When tempted, keep them pure, + Be their protection sure-- + God keep our men. + + God hold our precious men, + And love them to the end. + God hold our men. + Held in Thine arms so strong + To Thee they all belong. + This ever be our song: + God hold our men." + +I stood the pressure until that great congregation came to that line +"They are so dear to us," and the voice of the mother beside me broke, +and she had to stop. Then I had to stop, too, and we looked at each +other through our tears and smiled and understood, so that when she +sweetly said, "I have a boy over there," her words were superfluous. +And so I have added another memory of song to the hours that will never +die. + + + + +II + +SHIP SILHOUETTES + +It was nearing the dawn, and flaming heralds gave promise of a +brilliant day coming up out of France to the east. Three of us stood +in the "crow's-nest" on an American transport, where we had been +standing our "watch" since four o'clock that morning. + +Suddenly as we peered through our glasses off to the west we saw the +masts of a great cruiser creeping above the horizon of the sea. We +reported it to the "bridge," where it was confirmed. Then in a few +minutes we saw another mast, and then another, and another; four, five, +six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twenty--five, six--twenty-six ships +coming up over the western horizon, bound for France, bearing the most +precious burden that ever a caravan of the sea carried across the +waters of the deep; American boys! Your boys! + +It was a marvellous sight. We had been so intently watching this that +we had forgotten about the dawn. Then we turned for a minute, and off +to the east a brilliant red dawn was splashing its way out of the sea. + +"What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman shouted to me. + +[Illustration: "What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman shouted +to me.] + +"Why, I believe it's the convoy of destroyers coming out to meet those +transports," I replied. + +Then before our eyes, up out of the eastern horizon, just as we had +watched the transports and the cruiser come up over the western +horizon, those slender guardians of the deep came toward us in +formation. There were ten of them, and they met the great American +convoy just abreast our transport. We saw the American flag fly to the +winds on each ship, and the flashing of signal-lights even in the +dawning. + +"Those destroyers coming out of the east against that sunrise remind me +of the experiences one has in France in these vivid war days," I said +to my fellow watcher in the "crow's-nest." + +"How is that?" + +"They stand out like the Silhouettes of Mountain Peaks against a +crimson sunrise," I replied. + +And so have many Silhouettes of the Sea stood out. + +There was the afternoon that we stood on the deck of a ship bound for +France. The voyage had been full of dangers. Submarines had harassed +us for days. One night such a lurch came to the ship as threw +everybody about in their staterooms. We thought it was a storm until +the morning came, and we were informed that it was a sudden lurch to +avoid a submarine. The voyage had been full of uneasiness, and now we +were coming to the most dangerous part of it, the submarine zone. + +Everybody was on deck. It was Sunday afternoon. Suddenly off to the +east several spots appeared on the horizon. What were they, friendly +craft or enemy ships? + +Nobody knew, not even the captain. There was a wave of uneasiness over +the boat. + +Speculation was rife. + +Then we saw the signal boy go aft, and in a moment the tricolor of +France was fluttering in the winds, and we knew that the approaching +craft were friendly. Then through powerful glasses we could make them +out to be long, low-lying, lithe, swift destroyers coming out to meet +us. They were a welcome sight. Like "hounds of the sea" they came, +long and lean. Headed straight for us, they came like the winds. Then +suddenly a slight mist began to fall, but not enough to obscure either +the destroyers or the sun. Through this mist the sun burned its way, +and almost as if a miracle had been performed by some master artist, a +beautiful rainbow arched the sky to the east, and under the arch of +this rainbow fleetly sailed those approaching destroyers. + +It was a beautiful sight, a Silhouette of the Sea never to be forgotten +while memory lasts. The French flag fluttered, the band started to +play the "Marseillaise," and a ship-load of happy people sang it. + +A sense of peace settled down over us all. The rainbow, covenant of +old, promise of the eternal God to his people, seemed to have new +significance that memorable day. + +Another Silhouette of the Sea! Troops are expected in at a certain +port of entry. The camp has been emptied of ten thousand men. That +means but one thing, that new troops are expected. The great +dirigibles sailed out a few hours ago. The sea-planes followed. +Thousands of American men and women lined the docks waiting, peering +with anxious eyes out toward the "point." Here at this point a great +cape jutted out into the ocean, and around this cape we were accustomed +to catch sight of the convoys first. + +A sense of great expectancy was upon us. We had heard rumors of +submarines off the shore for several days. Then suddenly we heard a +terrific cannonading, and we knew that the transports and the convoys +were in a battle with the U-boats that had lain in wait for them. An +anxious hour passed. The sun was setting and the west was a great rose +blanket. + +Then a shout went up far down the line of waiting Americans as the +first great transport swung around the cape. Then another, and a third +and a fourth, and finally a fifth; great gray bulks, two of them +camouflaged until you could not tell whether they were little +destroyers or a group of destroyers on one big ship. Then they got +near enough to see the American boys, thousands of them, lining the +railings. Through the glasses we could make out the names of the +transports. They were some of the largest that sail the Atlantic. +When as they came slowly in on the full tide, with that rose sunset +back of them, the bands on their decks playing across the waters, and +five thousand boys on the first boat singing "Keep the Home Fires +Burning," then the "Marseillaise," and finally "The Star-Spangled +Banner," in which the crowd on the shore joined, there was a Silhouette +of the Sea that burned its way into our souls. + +There were the great ships, and beyond them the cape, and beyond that +the hovering dirigibles, and beyond them the great bird seaplanes, and +beyond them the background of a rose-colored sky, and beyond that the +memories of home. + + + + +III + +SILHOUETTES OF SACRIFICE + +Every day for two months, February and March, sometimes when the roads +were hub-deep with mud, and sometimes when the roads were a glare of +ice and snow and driving the big truck was dangerous work, we passed +the crucifix. + +It was the guide-post where four roads forked. One road went up to the +old monastery, where we had, in one corner, a canteen. Another road +led down toward divisional headquarters. Another road led into Toul, +and a fourth led directly toward the German lines, over which, if we +had driven far enough, as we started to do one night in the dark, we +could have gone straight to Berlin. + +The first night that I went "down the line" alone with a truck-load I +was trembling inside about directions. The divisional man said: "Go +straight out the east gate of the city, down the road until you come to +the cross at the forks of the road. Take the turn to the left." + +But even with these directions I was not certain. I was frankly +afraid, for I knew that a wrong turn would take me into German lines. +I did not like that prospect at all. + +I drove the big car cautiously through the night. There were no +lights, and at best it was not easy driving. This night was +impenetrably dark. When I came to the cross-roads I stopped the +machine and climbed down. I wanted to make sure of the directions, and +they were printed in French on the sign-board that was near the +crucifix about which he had told me. + +I got my directions all right, and then, moved by curiosity, flashed my +pocket-light on the figure of the bronze Christ on the crucifix there +at the crossroads guide-post. There was an inscription. Laboriously +finding each small letter with my flash in the darkness, my engine +panting off to the side of the road, I spelled it all out: + +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +Off in the near distance the star-shells were lighting up No Man's +Land. "Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" they +seemed to say to me. + +I climbed into the machine and started on. + +Suddenly I heard the purring of Boche planes overhead. One gets so +that he can distinguish the difference between French planes and Boche +planes. These were Boche planes, and they were bent on mischief. Then +the search-lights began to play in the sky over me. But they were too +late, for hardly had I started on my way when "Boom! boom! boom! boom!" +one after another, ten bombs were dropped, and as each dropped it +lighted up the surrounding country like a great city in flames. + +As I saw this awful desecration of the land the phrase of the cross +seemed to sing in unison with the beating of the engine of my truck: + +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +Suddenly out of the night crept an ambulance train, which passed my +slower and larger machine. They had no time to wait for me. They were +American boys on their errands of mercy, and the front was calling +them. I knew that something must be going on off toward the front +lines, for the rumbling of the big guns had been going on for an hour. +As these ambulances passed me--more than twenty-five of them passed as +silent ships pass in the night--that phrase kept singing: "Traveller, +hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +Then I drove a bit farther on my way, and off across a field I saw the +walls of a great hospital. It was an evacuation hospital, and I had +visited in its wards many times after a raid, when hundreds of our boys +had been brought in every night and day, with four shifts of doctors +kept busy day and night in the operating-room caring for them. As I +thought of all that I had seen in that hospital, again that singing +phrase of the crucifix at the crossroads was on my lips: "Traveller, +hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +A mile farther, and just a few feet from the road, I passed a little +"God's acre" that I knew so well. As its full meaning swept over me +there in the darkness of that night, the heartache and loneliness of +the folks at home whose American boys were lying there, some two +hundred of them, the old crucifix phrase expressed it all: + +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +And, somehow, as I drove back by the crucifix in the darkness of the +next morning, about two o'clock, I had to stop again and with my +flash-light spell out the lettering on the cross. + +Then suddenly it dawned on me that this was France speaking to America: + +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +And when I paused in the darkness of that night and thought of the one +million and a quarter of the best manhood of France who had given their +lives for the precious things that we hold most dear: our homes, our +children, our liberty, our democracy; and when I thought that France +had saved that for us; and when I remembered the funeral processions +that I had seen every day since I had been in France, and when I +remembered the women doing the work of men, handling the baggage of +France, ploughing the fields of France; doing the work of men because +the men were all either killed or at the front; when I remembered the +little fatherless children that I had seen all over France, whose sad +eyes looked up into mine everywhere I went; and when I remembered the +young widows (every woman of France seems to be in black); and when I +remembered the thousands of blind men and boys that I had seen being +led helplessly about the streets of the cities and villages of France; +and when I remembered that lonely wife that one Sunday afternoon in +Toul I had watched go and kneel beside a little mound and place flowers +there--the dates on the stone of which I later saw were "March, 1916," +then I cried aloud in the darkness as I realized the tremendous +sacrifice that France has made for the world, as well as England and +Belgium. "No, France! No, England! No, little Belgium! this +traveller has never seen so great a grief as thine!" + +"No, mothers and fathers, little children, wives, brothers, sisters of +France, and England, and Belgium, this traveller, America, has never +seen so great a grief as thine!" + +And later I learned, after living in the Toul sector for two months, +that the challenging sentence on the crucifix had been read by nearly +every boy who had passed it; and all had. Either he had read it +himself or it had been quoted to him, and this one crucifix question +had much to do with challenging the boys who passed it to a new +understanding of all that France had passed through in the war. + +The American boys have learned to respect the French soldier because of +the sacrifice that he has made. The American soldier remembers that +crowd of men called "Kitchener's Mob," which Kitchener sent into the +trenches of France to stem the tide of inhumanity, and to whom he gave +a message: "Go! Sacrifice yourselves while I raise an army in +England!" The American soldier knows all of this. He knows that +little Belgium might have said to all the world, "The forces were too +great for us," and she could have stepped aside and the world would +have forgiven her. + +But instead she chose deliberately to sacrifice herself for the cause +of freedom, and sacrifice herself she did. And that sentence on the +crossroads crucifix in the Toul sector, day after day, sends its +reminder into the heart of the American soldiers, who stop their trucks +and their ammunition wagons, pause their weary marches to read it; +sends its reminder of the sacrifices that our allies have already made, +and the sacrifices that we may be called upon to make. "Traveller, +hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +And the American officer and soldier must admit that he has not; and he +prays God silently in the night as he rides by on his horse, or as he +drives by on his motor-truck, or as he flashes by on his motor-cycle, +though they may be willing to suffer as France has suffered, if need +be, prays God that that may never be necessary, for the American +soldier, since he has been in France, has seen what suffering means. + +And so that crossroads crucifix stands out against the lurid night of +France, with its reminder constantly before the American soldier, and +it tends to make him more gentle with French children and women, and +more kindly with French men. There is a new understanding of each +other, a new cement of friendship binding our allies together in +France; there is a new world-wide brotherhood breaking across the +horizon of time, coming through sacrifice. + +The world is once again being atoned for. Its sin is being washed +away. Innocent men are suffering that humanity may be saved. + +The last time I saw this cross was by night. I had seen it first at +night, and fitting it was that I should see it last at night. There +was a terrible bombardment down the lines. Hundreds of American boys +had been killed. One was wounded who was a son of one of the foremost +Americans. News of the fight had been coming in to us all day long. +Night came and "runners" were still bringing in the gruesome details. +The ambulances were running in a continuous procession. We had seen +things that day and night that made our hearts sick. We had seen +American boys white and unconscious. We had seen every available room +in the great evacuation hospital crowded. We had been told that a +hundred surgical cases were in the hospital, mostly shrapnel wounds, +and that every available doctor and nurse was working night and day. + +We had seen, under one snow-covered canvas, six boys who had been +killed by one shell early that morning--boys that the night before we +had talked with down in a front-line hut--boys who had been killed in +their billet in one room. We had seen a captain come staggering into +our hut wet to the skin, soaked with blood, his hair dishevelled, his +face haggard. He had been fighting since three o'clock that morning. +He had been shell-shocked, and had been sent into the hospital. + +"My God!" he cried, "I saw every officer in my company killed. First +it was my first lieutenant. They got him in the head. Then about ten +o'clock I saw my second lieutenant fall. Then early in the afternoon +my top-sergeant got a bayonet, and a hand-grenade got a group of my +non-commissioned officers. Half of my boys are gone." + +Then he sat down and we got him some hot chocolate. This seemed to +revive his spirits, and he said: "But, thank God, we licked them! We +licked them at their own game! We got them six to one, and drove them +back! No Man's Land is thick with their beastly bodies. They are +hanging on the wires out there like trapped rabbits!" + +Then the thoughts of his own officers came back. + +"My God! Now we know what war means. We've been playing at war up to +this time. Now we've got to suffer! Then we'll know what it all +means." He was half-delirious, we could see, and sent for an ambulance. + +As I drove home that night I passed the crossroads crucifix. This time +I needed no lights to guide me. The whole horizon was alight with +bursting shells and Very lights. Long before I got to it I could see +the gaunt form of the cross reaching its black but comforting arms up +against the background of lurid light along the front where I knew that +American men were dying for me. The picture of that wayside cross, +looming against the lurid light of battle, shall never die in my memory. + +It was the silhouette of France and America suffering together, a +silhouette standing out against a livid horizon of fire. + +I needed no tiny pocket search-light to read the words on the cross. +They had already burned their way into my heart and into the hearts of +that whole division of American soldiers, that division which has since +so distinguished itself at Belleau Woods! But now America has a new +understanding of the meaning of that sentence, for America, too, is +suffering, and she is sacrificing. + +"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?" + +"Yes, France; we understand now." + + + + +IV + +SILHOUETTES SPIRITUAL + +It was the gas ward. I had held a vesper service that evening and had +had a strange experience. Just before the service I had been +introduced to a lad who said to the chaplain who introduced me that he +was a member of my denomination. + +The boy could not speak above a whisper. He was gassed horribly, and +in addition to his lungs being burned out and his throat, his face and +neck were scarred. + +"I have as many scars on my lungs as I have on my face," he said quite +simply. I had to bend close to hear him. He could not talk loud +enough to have awakened a sleeping child. + +He said to me: "I used to be leader of the choir at home. At college I +was in the glee-club, and whenever we had any singin' at the fraternity +house they always expected me to lead it. Since I came into the army +the boys in my outfit have depended upon me for all the music. In camp +back home I led the singing. Even the Y. M. C. A. always counted on me +to lead the singing in the religious meetings. Many's the time I have +cheered the boys comin' over on the transport and in camp by singin' +when they were blue. But I can't sing any more. Sometimes I get +pretty blue over that. But I'll be at your meeting this evening, +anyway, and I'll be right down on the front seat as near the piano as I +can get. Watch for me." + +And sure enough that night, when the vesper service started, he was +right there. I smiled at him and he smiled back. + +I announced the first hymn. The crowd started to sing. Suddenly I +looked toward him. We were singing "Softly Now the Light of Day Fades +Upon My Sight Away." His book was up, his lips were moving, but no +sound was coming. That sight nearly broke my heart. To see that boy, +whose whole passion in the past had been to sing, whose voice the cruel +gas had burned out, started emotions throbbing in me that blurred my +eyes. I couldn't sing another note myself. My voice was choked at the +sight. A lump came every time I looked at him there with that book up +in front of him, a lump that I could not get out of my throat. I dared +not look in his direction. + +After the service was over I went up to him. I knew that he needed a +bit of laughter now. I knew that I did, too. So I said to him: "Lad, +I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't helped us out on the +singing this evening." + +He looked at me with infinite pathos and sorrow in his eyes. Then a +look of triumph came into them, and he looked up and whispered through +his rasped voice: "I may not be able to make much noise any more, and I +may never be able to lead the choir again, but I'll always have singing +in my soul, sir! I'll always have singing in my soul!" + +And so it is with the whole American army in France--it always has +singing in its soul, and courage, and manliness, and daring, and hope. +That kind of an army can never be defeated. And no army in the world, +and no power, can stand long before that kind of an army. + +That kind of an army doesn't have to be sent into battle with a barrage +of shells in front of it and a barrage of shells back of it to force it +in, as the Germans have been doing during the last big offensive, +according to stories that boys at Chateau-Thierry have been telling me. +The kind of an army that, in spite of wounds and gas, "still has +singing in its soul" will conquer all hell on earth before it gets +through. + +Then there is the memory of the boys in the shell-shock ward at this +same hospital. I had a long visit with them. They were not permitted +to come to the vesper service for fear something would happen to upset +their nerves. But they made a special request that I come to visit +them in their ward. After the service I went. I reached their ward +about nine, and they arose to greet me. The nurse told me that they +were more at ease on their feet than lying down, and so for two hours +we stood and talked on our feet. + +"How did you get yours?" I asked a little black-eyed New Yorker. + +"I was in a front-line trench with my 'outfit,' down near Amiens," he +said. "We were having a pretty warm scrap. I was firing a machine-gun +so fast that it was red-hot. I was afraid it would melt down, and I +would be up against it. They were coming over in droves, and we were +mowing them down so fast that out in front of our company they looked +like stacks of hay, the dead Germans piled up everywhere. I was so +busy firing my gun, and watching it so carefully because it was so hot, +that I didn't hear the shell that suddenly burst behind me. If I had +heard it coming it would never have shocked me." + +"If you hear them coming you're all right?" I asked. + +"Yes. It's the ones that surprise you that give you shell-shock. If +you hear the whine you're ready for them; but if your mind is on +something else, as mine was that day, and the thing bursts close, it +either kills you or gives you shell-shock, so it gets you both going +and coming." He laughed at this. + +"I was all right for a while after the thing fell, for I was +unconscious for a half-hour. When I came to I began to shake, and I've +been shaking ever since." + +"How did you get yours?" I asked another lad, from Kansas, for I saw at +once that it eased them to talk about it. + +"I was in a trench when a big Jack Johnson burst right behind me. It +killed six of the boys, all my friends, and buried me under the dirt +that fell from the parapet back of me. I had sense and strength enough +to dig myself out. When I got out I was kind of dazed. The captain +told me to go back to the rear. I started back through the +communication-trench and got lost. The next thing I knew I was +wandering around in the darkness shakin' like a leaf." + +Then there was the California boy. I had known him before. It was he +who almost gave me a case of shell-shock. The last time I saw him he +was standing on a platform addressing a crowd of young church people in +California. And there he was, his six foot three shaking from head to +foot like an old man with palsy, and stuttering every word he spoke. +He had been sent to the hospital at Amiens with a case of acute +appendicitis. The first night he was in the hospital the Germans +bombed it and destroyed it. They took him out and put him on a train +for Paris. This train had only gotten a few miles out of Amiens when +the Germans shelled it and destroyed two cars. + +"After that I began to shake," he said simply. + +"No wonder, man; who wouldn't shake after that?" I said. Then I asked +him if he had had his operation yet. + +"It can't be done until I quit shaking." + +"When will you quit?" I asked, with a smile. + +"Oh, we're all getting better, much better; we'll be out of here in a +few months; they all get better; 90 per cent of us get back in the +trenches." + +And that is the silver lining to this Silhouette Spiritual. The +doctors say that a very large percentage of them get back. + +"We call ourselves the 'First American Shock Troops,'" my friend from +the West said with a grin. + +"I guess you are 'shock troops,' all right. I know one thing, and that +is that you would give your folks back home a good shock if they saw +you." + +Then we all laughed. Laughter was in the air. I have never met +anywhere in France such a happy, hopeful, cheerful crowd as that bunch +of shell-shocked boys. It was contagious. I went there to cheer them +up, and I got cheered up. I went there to give them strength, and came +away stronger than when I went in. It would cheer the hearts of all +Americans to take a peep into that room; if they could see the souls +back of the trembling bodies; if they could get beyond the first shock +of those trembling bodies and stuttering tongues. And, after all, that +is what America must learn to do, to get beyond, and to see beyond, the +wounds, into the soul of the boy; to see beyond the blinded eyes, the +scarred faces, the legless and armless lads, into the glory of their +new-born souls, for no boy goes through the hell of fire and suffering +and wounds that he does not come out new-born. The old man is gone +from him, and a new man is born in him. That is the great eternal +compensation of war and suffering. + +I have seen boys come out of battles made new men. I have seen them go +into the line sixteen-year-old lads, and come out of the trenches men. +I saw a lad who had gone through the fighting in Belleau Woods. I +talked with him in the hospital at Paris. His face was terribly +wounded. He was ugly to look at, but when I talked with him I found a +soul as white as a lily and as courageous as granite. + +"I may look awful," he said, "but I'm a new man inside. What I saw out +there in the woods made me different, somehow. I saw a friend stand by +his machine-gun, with a whole platoon of Germans sweeping down on him, +and he never flinched. He fired that old gun until every bullet was +gone and his gun was red-hot. I was lying in the grass where I could +see it all. I saw them bayonet him. He fought to the last against +fifty men, but, thank God, he died a man; he died an American. I lay +there and cried to see them kill him, but every time I think of that +fellow it makes me want to be more of a man. When I get back home I'm +going to give up my life to some kind of Christian service. I'm going +to do it because I saw that man die so bravely. If he can die like +that, in spite of my face I can live like a man." + +The boys in the trenches live a year in a month, a month in a week, a +week in a day, a day in an hour, and sometimes an eternity in a second. +No wonder it makes men of them overnight. No wonder they come out of +it all with that "high look" that John Oxenham writes about. They have +been reborn. + +Another wounded boy who had gone through the fighting back of +Montdidier said to me in the hospital: + +"I never thought of anybody else at home but myself. I was selfish. +Sis and mother did everything for me. Everything at home centred in +me, and everything was arranged for my comfort. With this leg gone I +might have some right now, according to the way they think, to that +attention, but I don't want it any longer. I can't bear the thoughts +of having people do for me. I want to spend the rest of my life doing +things for other folks. + +"Back of Noyon I saw a friend sail into a crowd of six Germans with +nothing but his bayonet and rifle. They had surrounded his captain, +and were rushing him back as a prisoner. They evidently had orders to +take the officers alive as prisoners. That big top-sergeant sailed +into them, and after killing two of them, knocking two more down, and +giving his captain a chance to escape, the last German shot him through +the head. He gave his life for the captain. That has changed me. I +shall never be the same again after seeing that happen. There's +something come into my heart. I'm going back home a Christian man." + +Yes, America must learn to see beyond the darkness, beyond the +disfigured face, to the soul of the boy. And America will do it. +America is like that. And so back of these shaking bodies and these +stuttering tongues of the shell-shocked boys I saw their wonderful +souls. And after spending that two hours with them I can never be the +same man again. + +I could, as Donald Hankey says, "get down on my knees and shine their +boots for them any day," and thank God for the privilege. I think that +this is the spirit of any non-combatant in France who has any immediate +contact with our men on the battle-front or in the hospitals. They are +so brave and so true. + +"How do the Americans stand dressing their wounds and the suffering in +the hospitals?" a friend of mine asked a prominent surgeon. + +"They bear their suffering like Frenchmen. That is the highest +compliment I can pay them," he replied. + +And so back of their wounds are their immortal, undying, unflinching +souls. And back of the tremblings of these boys that night, thank God, +I had the glory of seeing their immortal souls, and to me the soul of +an American boy under fire and pain is the biggest, finest, most +tremendous thing on earth. I bow before it in humility. It dazzled +mine eyes. All I could think of as I saw it was: + + "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord." + + +That night I said, just before I left: "Boys, it's Sunday evening, and +they wouldn't let you come to my meeting! Would you like for me to +have a little prayer with you?" + +"Yes! Sure! That's just what we want!" were the stammered words that +followed. + +"All right; we'll just stand, if it's easier for you." + +Then I prayed the prayer that had been burning in my heart every minute +as we stood there in that dimly lit ward, talking of home and battle +and the folks we all loved across the seas. All that time there had +been hovering in the background of my mind a picture of a cool body of +water named Galilee, and of a Christ who had been sleeping in a boat on +that water with some of his friends, when a storm came up. I had been +thinking of how frightened those friends had been of the storm; of the +tossing, tumbling, turbulent waves. I had thought of how they had +trembled with fear, and then of how they had appealed to the Master. I +told the boys simply that story, and then I prayed: + +"O Thou Christ who stilled the waves of Galilee, come Thou into the +hearts of these boys just now, and still their trembling limbs and +tongues. Bring a great sense of peace and quiet into their souls." + +"Oh, ye of little faith!" When I looked up from that prayer, much to +my own astonishment, and to the astonishment of the friend who was with +me, the tremblings of those fine American boys had perceptibly ceased. +There was a great sense of quiet and peace in the ward. + +The nurse told me the next day that after I had gone the boys went +quietly to bed; that there was little tossing that night and no walking +the floors, as there had been before. A doctor friend said to me: +"After all, maybe your medicine is best, for while we are more or less +groping in the dark as to our treatment of shell-shock, we do know that +the only cure will be that something comes into their souls to give +them quiet of mind and peace within." + +"I know what that medicine is," I told him. "I have seen it work." + +"What is it?" he asked. + +Then I told him of my experience. + +"You may be right." + +And so it is all over France; where I have worked in some twenty +hospitals--from the first-aid dressing-stations back through the +evacuation hospitals to the base hospitals--and have found that the +reaction of our boys to wounds and suffering is always a spiritual +reaction. I know as I know no other thing, that the boys of America +are to come back, wounded or otherwise, a better crowd of men than they +went away. They are men reborn, and when they come back, when it's +"over, over there," there is to be a nation reborn because of the +leaven that is within their souls. + + + + +V + +SILHOUETTES OF SACRILEGE + +During the last year there has come into French art a new era of the +silhouette. In every art store in Paris one sees wonderful silhouettes +which tell the story of the horror of the Hun better than any words can +paint it, and when one attempts to paint it he must attempt it in word +silhouettes. + +The silhouette catches the picture better than color. Gaunt, naked, +ruined cathedrals, homes, towers, and forests are better pictured in +black silhouettes than any other way. There is nothing much left in +some places in France but silhouettes. + +Those who have seen Rheims know that the best reproduction of its ruins +has been conveyed by the simple silhouette of the artist. There it +stands outlined against the sky. Rheims that was once the wonder of +the world is now naked ruins, tottering walls, with its towers still +standing, looming against the sky like tottering trees. And when, +during the past year, the walls fell, they: + + "Left a lonesome place against the sky" + +of all the world. + +The church at Albert was like that. Only a silhouette can describe or +picture it. There it stood against the sky by day and night, with the +figure on its top leaning. The old legend of the soldiers that when +the figure of the Virgin fell to the earth the war would end has been +dissipated, for during the last drive that figure fell, and the tower +with it. But forever (although it has fallen to dust and debris, +because of descriptions we have seen of it) it shall stand out in our +memories like a lonely, toppling tree against a crimson sunset! + +Every day on the Toul line we used to drive through a village that had +been shelled until it was in ruins. Only the tower and the walls of a +beautiful little church remained. Every other house in the village was +razed to the ground. Nothing else remained. + +There it stands to this day, for when I saw it last in June it was +still standing as it was in January. Every evening about sunset we +used to drive down that way, taking supplies to the front-line huts. +Many things stand out in one's memory of a certain road over which he +drives night after night and day after day. There is the cross at the +forks of the roads. There is the old monastery, battered and in ruins, +that stood out like a gaunt ghost of the vandal Hun. There was the +little God's acre along the road which we passed every day. There were +always the observation-balloons against the evening sky. There were +always the fleet-winged birds of the air outlined against the evening. +There were always the marching men and the ambulance trains. But +standing out above them all, etched with the acid of regret and anger +and horror, stood that lonely tower. Night after night we approached +it with a beautiful sunset off to the west where the Germans lay buried +in their trenches. Coming back from the German lines we would see this +church-tower outlined against the crimson sky like a finger pointing +God-ward, and declaring to all the world that the God above would +avenge this silent, accusing Silhouette of Sacrilege. + +There has been a good deal of discussion over a certain book entitled +"I Accuse." I never saw that finger pointing into the sky as we drove +through this village that it did not cry out to the heavens and across +the short miles to the German Huns, looking down, as it did, at its +feet where the ruined homes lay, the village that it had mothered and +fathered, the village that had worshipped within its simple walls, the +village that had brought its joys and sorrows there, the village that +had buried the dead within its shadows, the village that had brought +its young there to be married and its aged to be buried; there it +stood, night after night, against the crimson sky sometimes, against +the golden sky at other times; against the rose, against the blue, +against the purple sunsets; and ever it thundered: "I accuse! I +accuse! I accuse!" + +Then there is that Silhouette of Sacrilege up on the Baupaume Road. +This is called "the saddest road in Christendom," because more men have +been killed along its scarred pathway than along any other road in all +the world. Not even the road to Calvary was as sad as this road. + +Along this road when the French held it, during the first year of the +war, they gathered their dead together and buried them in a little +cemetery. Above the sacred remains of their comrades these French +soldiers erected a simple bronze cross as a symbol not only of the +faith of the nation, but a symbol also of the cause in which they had +died. + +A few months later when the Germans had recaptured this spot, and it +had been fought over, and the bronze cross still stood, the Hun, too, +gathered his dead together and buried them side by side with the +French. Then he did a characteristic thing. He got a large stone as a +base and mounted a cannon-ball on top of this stone, and left it there, +side by side with the French cross. + +Whether he meant it or not, his sacrilege stands as a fitting +expression of his philosophy, the philosophy of the brute, the religion +of the granite rock and the iron cannon-ball. + +He told his own story here. Side by side in those two monuments the +contrast is made, the causes are placed. One is the cause of the +cross, the cause of men willing to die for brotherhood; the other is +the cause of those who are willing to kill to conquer. + +And these two monuments, side by side on the Baupaume Road, stand out +as one of the Silhouettes of Sacrilege. + +Then there is St. Gervais. On Good Friday afternoon a Hun shell +pierced the side of this beautiful cathedral as the spear-thrust +pierced the side of the Master so long ago. On the very hour that +Jesus was crucified back on that other and first Good Friday the Hun +threw his bolt of death into the nave of this church, and crucified +seventy-five people kneeling in memory of their Saviour's death. + +I was in that church an hour after this terrible sacrilege happened. +Never can one forget the scene. I dare not describe it here in its +awful details. + +The entire arches of stone that held up the roof had fallen in from the +concussion of the gases of the shell. Three feet of solid stones +covered the floor. Men and women were being carried out. Silk hats, +canes, shoes, hats, baby clothes, an expensive fur, lay buried in the +stone and dirt. + +As I stood horrified, looking on this scene of death and destruction, +the phrase came into my heart: + + "And the veil of the temple was rent in twain." + + +And this scene, too, shall remain as one of the Silhouettes of +Sacrilege. + +But perhaps the worst Silhouette of Sacrilege that the film of one's +memory has brought away from France is that of a certain afternoon in +Paris. + +I happened to be walking along the Boulevard to my hotel. The big gun +had been throwing its shells into the city all day. Suddenly one fell +so close to where I was walking that it broke the windows around me, +and I was nearly thrown to my feet. In my soul I cursed the Hun, as +all who have lived in Paris finally come to be doing as each shell +bursts. But I had more reason to curse than I knew at that moment. + +The people were running into a side street, the next one toward which I +was approaching. I followed the crowd. My uniform got me past the +gendarmes in through a little court, up a pair of stairs where the +shell had penetrated the walls of a maternity hospital. + +What I saw there in that room shall make me hate the Hun forever. + +New-born babes had been killed, a nurse and two mothers. When I +thought of the expectant homes into which those babes had come, when I +thought of the fathers at the front who would never see again either +their wives or those new babies, when I saw the blood that smeared the +plaster and floors of that room, when I saw the little twisted baby +beds, a flush of hatred swept over me, as it did over all who saw it, a +new birth of hatred that could never die until those little babies and +those mothers and the nurse are avenged. That is a Silhouette of +Sacrilege that makes the gamut complete. + +There was the desecration of the holy sanctuaries; there was the +desecration of the graves of brave soldiers of France; there was the +derision of his bronze cross; there was the desecration of the most +sacred day in Christendom, Good Friday, and then the desecration of +little children, mothers of new-born babes, and nurses. Could the case +be more complete? Could Silhouettes of Sacrilege cover a wider gamut +of hatred and disgust than these silhouettes picture? + + + + +VI + +SILHOUETTES OF SILENCE + +Two o'clock in the morning on the sea is sometimes cold and +disagreeable, and sometimes it is glorious with wonder and beauty. But +whether it is beautiful or whether it is cold and disagreeable, at that +exact hour in the war zone on every American transport, now, every boy +is summoned on deck until daylight. This is only one of the many +precautions that the navy is taking to save life in case of a U-boat +attack. One thing that ought to comfort every mother and father in +America is the care that is manifested and the precautions that are +taken by the navy in getting the soldiers to France. One of the most +thrilling chapters of the history of this war, when it is written, will +be that chapter. And one of the most wonderful, the most colossal +feats will be the safe transportation overseas of those millions of +soldiers with so little loss of life while doing it. + +And one of the best precautions is this of getting every boy up out of +the hold and out of the staterooms, officers and all, on deck, standing +by the assigned life-boats and rafts. Not a single boy remains below +in the war zone. + +Day is just breaking across the sea. It is a beautiful dawning. Five +thousand American boys line the railings of a certain great transport. +They are not allowed to smoke. They do not sing. They do not talk +much. Some of them are sleepy, for the average American boy is not +used to being awakened at two in the morning. They just stand and wait +and watch through five hours of silence as the great ship plunges its +way defiantly through the danger zone, saying in so many words: "We're +ready for you!" + +And the silhouette of that great ship, lined with khaki-clad American +boys, waiting, watching, as seen from another transport, where the +watcher who writes this story stands, is a sight never to be equalled +in art or story. To see the huge bulk of a great transport just a +stone's throw away, moving forward, without a sound from its +rail-lined, soldier-packed deck, is one of the striking Silhouettes of +Silence. + +Thomas Carlyle once said of man: "Stands he not thereby in the centre +of Immensities, in the conflux of Eternities?" One day I saw the +American army standing "in the centre of immensities, in the conflux of +eternities," at the focus of histories. One day I saw the American +army in France march in answer to General Pershing's offer to the +Allies at the beginning of the big drive, march to its place in history +beside its Allies, the English and the French. + +The news came. The first division of American troops was to leave +overnight and march overland into the Marne line. Our Allies needed +us. They had called. We were answering. + +As a tribute to the efficiency of the American army, may I say that the +one well-trained, seasoned division of troops that we had in a certain +quiet sector picked up bag and baggage overnight and, like the Arabs, +"silently stole away," and did it so well and so efficiently that not +even the Y. M. C. A. secretaries, who had been living with this +division intimately for months, knew that they were gone, and that a +new division had taken its place, until the next morning. Talk about +German efficiency--that phrase, "German efficiency," has become a +bugaboo to frighten the world. American efficiency is just as great, +if not greater. + +I saw that division marching overland. It was a thrilling sight. +Coming on it suddenly, and looking down upon its marching columns from +the brow of a hill, and then riding past it in a Ford camionet all day +long with Irving Cobb, riding past its ammunition-wagons, past its +machine-gun battalion, past its great artillery company, past its +hundreds of infantrymen, past its trucks, past its clean-cut officers +astride their horses, past its supply-trains, past its flags and +banners, past its kitchen-wagons, seeing it stop to eat, seeing it +shoulder its rifles, seeing its ambulances and its Red Cross groups, +seeing its khaki-clad American boys wind through the valleys and up the +hills and over the bridges (the white stone bridge), through its +villages, many in which American soldiers had never been seen before; +welcomed by the people as the saviors of France, seeing its way strewn +with the flowers of spring by little children, and with the welcome and +the tears of French mothers and daughters clad in black, seeing it +march along the French streams from early morning until late at night, +this was a sight to stir the pride of any American to the point of +reverence. + +But all day as we rode along that winding trail I thought of the song +that the soldiers are singing, "There's a Long, Long Trail Awinding to +the Land of Our Dreams," and when I looked into the faces of those +American boys I saw there the determination that the trail that they +were taking was a trail that, although it was leading physically +directly away from home, and toward Berlin, yet it was, to their way of +thinking, the shortest way home. The trail that the American army took +that day as it marched into the Marne line was the "home trail," and +every boy marched that road with the determination that the sooner they +got that hard job ahead over with, the sooner they would get home. I +talked with many of them as they stopped to rest and found this +sentiment on every lip. + +But it was a silent army. I heard no singing all day long--not a song. +Men may sing as they are marching into training-camps; they may sing +when they board the boats for France now; they may sing as they march +into rest-billets, but they were not singing that day as they marched +into the great battle-line of Europe. + +I heard no laughter. I heard no loud talking, I heard no singing; I +heard only the tramp, tramp, tramp of marching feet, and the crunching +of the great motor-trucks, and the patter of horses as the officers +galloped along their lines. That army of American men knew that the +job on which they were entering was not child's play. They knew that +democracy depended upon what they did in that line. They knew that +many of them would never come back. They knew that at last the real +thing was facing them. They were not like dumb, driven beasts. They +were men. They were American men. They were thinking men. They were +silent men. They were brave men. + +They were marching to their place in history unafraid, and unflinching, +but thoughtful and silent. + +Another Silhouette of Silence. It was after midnight on the Toul line. +We were driving back from the front. The earth was covered with a +blanket of snow. Everything was white. We were moving cautiously +because with the snow over everything it was hard to tell where the icy +road left off and the ditches began; and those ditches were four feet +deep, and a big truck is hard to get out of a hole. Then there were no +lights, for we were too near the Boche batteries. + +"Halt!" rang out suddenly in the night, and a sentry stepped into the +middle of the road. + +I got down to see what he wanted. + +"There are fifty truck-loads of soldiers going into the trenches +to-night, and they are coming this way. Drive carefully, for it is +slippery." + +In a few moments we came to the first truck filled with soldiers, and +passed it. A hundred yards farther we came to the second one, loaded +down with American boys. Their rifles were stacked in the front of the +truck, and their helmets made a solid steel covering over the trucks. +One by one, fifty trucks loaded with American soldiers passed us. One +can hardly imagine that many American boys anywhere without some noise, +but the impressive thing about that scene was that not a single word, +not a sound of a human voice, came from a single one of those fifty +trucks. The only sound to be heard breaking the silence of the night +was the crunching of the chained wheels of the heavy trucks in the +snow. We watched that strangely silent procession go up over a +snow-covered hill and disappear. Not a single sound of a human voice +had broken the silence. + +Another Silhouette of Silence: It is an operating-room in an evacuation +hospital. The boy was brought in last night. An operation was +immediately imperative. I had known the boy, and was there by courtesy +of the major in charge of the hospital. The boy had asked that I come. + +For just one hour they worked, two skilled American surgeons, whose +names, if I were to mention them, would be recognized as two of +America's greatest specialists. France has many of them who have given +up their ten-thousand-dollar fees to endure danger to save our boys. +During that hour's stress and strain, with sweat pouring from their +brows, they worked. Now and then there was a nod to a nurse, who +seemed to understand without words, and a motion of a hand, but not +three words were spoken. It made a Silhouette of Silence that saved a +boy's life. + +The next scene is a listening-post. Two men are stretched on their +stomachs in the brown grass. A little hole, just enough to conceal +their bodies, has been dug there. The upturned roots of an old tree +that a bursting shell had desecrated was just in front. "Tap! Tap! +Tap!" came the sounds of Boches at work somewhere near and underground. +It is needless to say that this was a Silhouette of Silence, and that a +certain Y. M. C. A. secretary was glad when it was all over and he got +back where he belonged. + +[Illustration: The upturned roots of an old tree were just in front.] + + +The beautiful columns of the Madeleine bask under the moonlight. Paris +was never so quiet. The silence of eternity seemed to have settled +down over her. As one looked at the Madeleine under that magical white +moonlight he imagined that he had been transported back to Athens, and +that he was no longer living in modern times and in a world at war. It +was all so quiet and peaceful, with a great moon floating in the +skies---- + +But what is that awful wail that suddenly smites the stillness as with +a blow? It seems like the wailing of all the lost souls of the war. +It sounds like the crying of the more than five million sorrowing women +there are left comfortless in Europe. It is the siren. An air-raid is +on. The "alert" is sounding. The bombs begin to fall. The Boches +have gotten over even before the barrage is up. Hell breaks loose for +an hour. No battle on the front ever heard more terrific cannonading +than the next hour. The barrage was the heaviest ever sent up over +Paris. The six Gothas that got over the city dropped twenty-four bombs. + +The terrific bombardment, however, now as one looks back, only serves +to make the preceding silence stand out more emphatically, and the +Madeleine, basking in the moonlight the hour before, more beautiful in +its silhouette of grace and bulk against the golden light. + +A month on the front lines with thunder beating always, a month of +machine-gun racket, a month of bombing by Gothas every night, a month +of crunching wheels, a month of pounding motors and rumbling trucks, a +month of marching men, a month of the pounding of horses' hoofs on the +hard roads of France, a month of sirens and clanging church-bells in +the _tocsin_, and then a day in the valley of vision, down at Domremy +where Jeanne d'Arc was born, was a contrast that gave a Silhouette of +Silence to me. + + +One day on the Toul line, a train by night, and the next morning so far +away that all you could hear was the singing of birds. Peasants +quietly tended their flocks. Children played in the roads. The valley +was beautiful under the sunlight of as warm and as beautiful a spring +day as ever fell over the fields of France. I stood on the very spot +where the peasant girl of Orleans caught her vision. I looked down +over the valley with "the green stream streaking through it," with +silence brooding over it, a bewildering contrast with the day and the +month that had just preceded; and it all stands out as one of the +Silhouettes of Silence. + +Another day, another hour, another part of France. They call it +"Calvaire." It covers several acres. The peasants go there to worship +in pilgrimage every year. There is a Garden of Gethsemane, with +marvellous statues built life-size. Then through the woods there is a +worn pathway to the Sanhedrin. This is of marble. Jesus is here +before his accusers in marble statuary. + +As his accusers question him and he answers them not, they wonder. But +those who have seen "Calvaire" in France do not wonder, for from that +room there is a clean swath of trees cut, and a quarter of a mile away +looms, on a hill, a real Calvary, with the tree crosses silhouetted +against the sky, and Jesus is seeing down the pathway the hill of the +cross. + +Then there is "The Way of the Cross," built by peasant hands. It is a +road covered with flintstones as sharp as knives. This flint road must +be a mile long, and it winds here and there leading to Calvary, and +along its way are the various stations of the cross in life-size +figures. Jesus is seen at every step of this agony bearing his cross +until relieved by Simon. Over this flintstone every year the people +come by thousands, and crawl on their naked knees or walk on their +naked feet. Every stone is stained with blood; stumbling, cruelly +hurt, bleeding, they go "The Way of the Cross," and I have no doubt but +that they go back to their homes better men and women for having done +so. + +The day that we went to "Calvaire" it was a fitful June afternoon. As +we walked along "The Way of the Cross," across the field, past the +living, almost breathing, statues of the Master bearing his cruel +cross, past the sneering figures of those who hated him, and past the +weeping figures of those who loved and would aid him, and as we came to +the hill itself, suddenly black clouds gathered behind it and rain +began to pour. + +"I am glad the clouds are there back of Calvary. I am glad it is +raining as we climb the hill of Calvary. I am willing to be soaked. +It seems more fitting so, with the black clouds there and all. It +reminds me of 'The Return from Calvary' in the painting," one of the +party said impressively. + +Up the winding hill we climbed, and there gaunt and cruel against a +sombre sky stood the three crosses, just as we have always imagined +them. The hill was so high that it overlooked as beautiful a valley as +I had seen in all France. It was in Brittany, as yet untouched by the +war as far as its fields are concerned (not so its men and its women +and its homes); but on that spring day as we looked down from the hill +of Calvary we could see off in the distance the tomb, with the stone +rolled away, and life-size angels standing there with uplifted wings. +Then farther along the road, perhaps another quarter mile away, on +another hill, were the figures of the disciples, and the women watching +the ascension with rapt faces, and a glory shone round about them all. + +And as we stood there on that Calvary, built in memory of the +crucifixion and resurrection and ascension of their Master by the +peasants, and looked down over the earth, bright with crimson poppies +everywhere in field and hill, brilliant with the old-gold blossom of +the broom flower, as we stood there, our hearts subdued to awe and +wonder, looking down, suddenly the rain ceased and the sun shone in its +full glory and lighted anew the white marble of the figures of the +ascension far below us in the field. + +As we stood there the thought came to me: + +"So is the Christian world standing today on the hill of 'Calvaire.' +The storms have been black about the Christian world. The clouds have +seemed impenetrable. The earth has been desolate. We have walked on +our hands and knees and in our bare feet up the flinty road of +Baupaume, 'the saddest road in Christendom,' and along this road we +have borne the cross. We, the Christian world, the mothers, the +fathers, the little children, have bled. We have stumbled and fallen +along the way. And when we climbed the hill of Calvary, as we have +been doing for these years of war, the clouds darkened and we saw only +the ominous silhouettes of the three crosses. + +"But the sun is now breaking the clouds, and it shall burn its way to a +glorious day. Across the fields we see the open tomb and the +resurrection is about to dawn; the day of brotherhood, democracy, +justice, love, and peace forever. + +"Hope is in the world, hope brooding, hope dominant, hope triumphant, +hope in its supreme ascension." + +One could not see this Silhouette of Silence, this "Calvaire" of the +French nation, and not come away knowing the full meaning of the war. +It is "The New Calvary" of the world. + + + + +VII + +SILHOUETTES OF SERVICE + +A newspaper paragraph in a Paris paper said: "Dale was last seen in a +village just before the Germans entered it, gathering together a crowd +of little French children, trying to get them to a place of safety." + +Dale has never been seen since, and that was two months ago. Whether +he is dead or alive we do not know, but those who knew this manly +American lad best, say unanimously: "That was just like Dale; he loved +kids, and he was always talking about his own and showing us their +pictures." + +No monument will ever be erected to Dale, for he was just a common +soldier; but I for one would rather have had the monument of that +simple paragraph in the press despatches; I for one would rather have +it said of me, "The last seen of Dale he was gathering together a crowd +of little children"; I would rather have died in such a service than to +have lived to be a part of the marching army that is one day to enter +the streets of Berlin. That was a man's way to die; dying while trying +to save a crowd of little children from the cowardly Hun. + +[Illustration: "The last seen of Dale he was gathering together a crowd +of little children."] + +If I had died in that kind of service, in my dying moments I could have +heard the words of John Masefield from "The Everlasting Mercy" singing +in my heart: + + "Whoever gives a child a treat + Makes joybells ring in Heaven's street; + Whoever gives a child a home, + Builds palaces in Kingdom Come; + Whoever brings a child to birth, + Brings Saviour Christ again to earth." + + +Or, better, I would have seen the Master blessing little children, +taking them up in His arms and saying to the Hebrew mothers that stood +about with wondering eyes: "Suffer the little children to come unto me, +and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." + +And perhaps I should have heard the echo of Joaquin Miller's sweet +interpretation of that scene, for when men die, strange, sweet +memories, old hymns and verses, old faces, all come back: + + "Then lifting His hands He said lowly, + Of such is my Kingdom, and then + Took the little brown babes in the holy + White hands of the Savior of men; + Held them close to His breast and caressed them; + Put His face down to theirs as in prayer; + Put His cheek to their cheeks; and so blessed them + With baby hands hid in His hair." + + +And I am certain that last of all I should have heard the voice of the +Master himself saying: + +"Insomuch as ye have done it unto the least of one of these little +ones, my children, ye have done it unto me." + +Thank God for a death like that. One could envy such a passing, a +passing in the service to little children. + +I have seen some of the most magnificent episodes of service on the +part of men in France, scenes that have thrilled me to the bone. + +I know a Protestant clergyman in France who walked five miles on a +rainy February day to find a rosary for a dying Catholic boy. + +I know a Y. M. C. A. secretary who in America is the general secretary +of one of the largest organizations in one of the largest Eastern +cities. He has always had two hobbies: one is seeing men made whole, +and the other has been fighting cigarettes. Never bigger fists or more +determined fists pounded down the walls that were building themselves +up around American youth in the cigarette industry. He was militant +from morning till night in his crusade against cigarettes. Some of his +friends thought he was a fanatic. He even lost friends because of his +uncompromising antagonism to the cigarette. + +But the last time I heard of him he was in a front-line dugout. This +was near Chateau-Thierry. The boys were coming and going from that +awful fight. Men would come in one day and be dead the next. He had +been with them for months, and they had come to love him in spite of +his fighting their favorite pastime. They knew him for his +uncompromising antagonism to cigarettes. They loved him none the less +for that because he did not flinch. Neither was he narrow about +selling them. He sold them because it was his duty, but he hated them. + +Then for three days in the midst of the Chateau-Thierry fighting the +matches played out. Not a match was to be had for three days. The +boys were frantic for their smokes, for the nervous strain was greater +than anything they had suffered in their lives. The shelling was +awful. The noise never ceased. Machine-gun fire and bombing by planes +at night kept up every hour. They saw lifelong friends fall by their +sides every hour of the day and night. They needed the solace of their +smokes. + +Their secretary found two matches in his bag. He lit a cigarette for a +boy, and the match was gone. Then he used the other one. Then he did +a magnificent piece of service for which his name shall go down forever +in the memory of those lads. Forever shall he hold their affections in +the hollow of his hands. He proved to those boys that his sense of +service was greater than his prejudices. He kept three cigarettes +going for two days and two nights on the canteen beside him, smoking +them himself in order that that crowd of boys, coming and going into +the battle, in and out of the underground dugout, might have a light +for the cigarettes during the few moments of respite that they had from +the fight. + +What a thrill went down the line when that news got to the boys out +there in the woods fighting. One boy told me that a fellow he told +wept when he heard it. Another said: "Good old ----! I knew he had +the guts!" Another said: "I'll say he's a man!" Another came in one +evening and said: "I'm going to quit cigarettes from now. If you're +that much of a man, you're worth listening to!" Another said: "If I +get out of this it's me for the church forever if it has that kind of +men in it!" + +Is it any wonder that they brought their last letters to him before +they went into the trenches? Is it any wonder that they asked him for +a little prayer service one night before they went into the trenches? +Is it any wonder that they love him and swear by him? + +Is it any wonder that when one of them was asked how they liked their +secretary, the boy said: "Great! He's a man!" + +Is it any wonder that when another boy was asked if their secretary was +very religious, responded in his own language: "Yes, he's as religious +as hell, but he's a good guy anyhow!" + +That kind of service will win anybody, and that is exactly the kind of +service that the boys of the American army, your boys, are getting all +over France from big, heroic, unprejudiced, fatherly, brotherly men, +who are willing to die for their boys as well as to live for them and +with them down where the shells are thickest and the dangers are +constant. + +More than a hundred Y. M. C. A. men gassed and wounded to date, and +more than six killed. One friend of mine stepped down into his cellar +one morning, got a full breath of gas, and was dead in two minutes. +There had been a gas-raid the day before, and the gas had remained in +the cellar. Another I know stayed in his hut and served his men even +though six shell fragments came through the hut while he was doing it. +Another I know lived in a dugout for three months, under shell fire +every day. One day a shell took off the end of the old chateau in +which he was serving the men. His dugout was in the cellar. But he +did not leave. Another day another shell took off the other end of the +chateau, but he did not leave. He had no other place to go, and the +boys couldn't leave, so why should he go just because he could leave if +he wished? That was the way he looked at it. One man whom I +interviewed in Paris, a Baptist clergyman, crawled four hundred yards +at the Chateau-Thierry battle with a young lieutenant, dragging a +litter with them across a stubble wheat-field under a rain of +machine-gun bullets and shells, in plain view of the Germans, and +rescued a wounded colonel. When they brought him back they had to +crawl the four hundred yards again, pushing the litter before them inch +by inch. It took them two hours to get across that field. A piece of +shrapnel went through the secretary's shoulder. He is nearly sixty +years of age, but he did not stop when a service called him that meant +the almost certain loss of his own life. + +I know another secretary, Doctor Dan Poling, a clergyman, and Pest, a +physical director, who carried a wounded German, who had two legs +broken, through a barrage of German shells across a field to safety. + +But all the Silhouettes of Service are not in the front lines. + +There are two divisions to the army. They used to be "The Zone of +Advance" and "The Zone of the Rear." Now they call the second division +"The Services of Supplies." All the men who are not in the actual +fighting belong to "The Services of Supplies." + +"How many men does it take to keep one pilot in the machine flying out +over those waters to guard the transports in?" I asked the young ensign +in charge of a seaplane station. + +"Twenty-eight," he replied. "There are twenty-eight men back of every +machine and every pilot." + +The service that these men render, although it is hard for them to see +it, is just as real and just as heroic as the service of those in the +front lines. The boys in "The Services of Supplies" are eager to get +up front. I have had the joy of making them see in their huts and +camps that their service is supremely important. + +One cannot tell what service is more important. + +When I landed at Newport News, the first sound that I heard was the +machine-gun hammering of thousands of riveters building ships. I know +how vital that service is to the boys "over there." They could not +live without the ships. + +Then I came from Newport News to Washington, on my way home, and we +entered that great city by night. The Capitol dome was flooded with +light. As I looked at it I said to myself: "To-day from this city +emanates the light of the world. The eyes of the whole of humanity are +turned toward this city. That lighted dome is symbol of all this." + +As I looked out of the train window as we entered Washington from +Richmond, Virginia, I thought: "Surely not the shipbuilding but the +ideals that go out from the Capitol are the most important 'Services of +Supplies.'" + +The next morning I was in Pittsburgh. As my train pulled into that +great city, all along the Ohio River I saw great armies of laboring men +going and coming from work. As one tide of humanity flowed out of the +mills across the bridges, another flowed in, and I said: "Surely not +the shipbuilders, nor the ideal-makers at Washington, but this great +army of laboring men in America forms the most important part of 'The +Services of Supplies'!" + +Then I came to New York. In turn I spoke before two significant groups +of men and women. One was a group of women meeting each day to make +Red Cross bandages, and knowing the scarcity of such in France, and +knowing how at times nurses have had to tear up their skirts to bandage +wounds of dying boys, I said: "Surely this is it!" + +Then I spoke before the artists of New York, with Mr. Charles Dana +Gibson heading them, and as I had seen their stirring posters +everywhere arousing the nation to action, and knew what an important +part the artists and writers in France had played in "The Services of +Supplies," I said: "Surely these are the most important!" + +But I have found at last that none of these are the most important of +all. There is another section to "The Services of Supplies," and that +is more important than the mechanic behind the pilot, more important +than the man who assembles the motor trucks and the ambulances in +France, more important than the ship-builders, more important than the +lawmakers themselves, more important even than the President, more +important than that great army of laborers which I saw in Pittsburgh, +more important than the artists and the Red Cross workers, and that +supreme and important part of the great "Services of Supplies" is the +father and mother, the wife, the child, the home, the church, the great +mass of the common thinking, feeling, suffering, praying, hoping people +of America. If these fail, all fails. If these lose faith and courage +and hope, all lose faith and courage and hope. If these grow +faint-hearted, all before them lose heart. These are they who furnish +the real sinews of war. These are they who must furnish the morale, +the love, the letters, the prayers, the support to both government and +soldier. Yes, the common folks over here at home, I have seen clearly, +are the most important part of the great division of the army that we +call "The Services of Supplies." May we never fail the boy in France. + +These are the Silhouettes of Service. + + + + +VIII + +SILHOUETTES OF SORROW + +I wondered at his hold on the hearts of the boys in a certain hospital +in France. It was a strange thing. I went through the hospital with +him and it seemed to me, judging by the conversation with the boys in +the hundreds of cots, that he had just done something for a boy, or he +was just in the process of doing something, or he was just about to do +something. + +They called him "daddy." + +All day long I wondered at his secret, for he was so unlike any man I +had seen in France in the way he had won the hearts of the boys. I was +curious to know. Something in his eyes made me think of Lincoln. They +had a look like Lincoln in their depths. + +That night when I was about to leave I blunderingly stumbled on his +secret. About the only ornament in his bare pine room in the hut was a +picture on the desk. I seized on it immediately, for next to a +sweet-faced baby about the finest thing on earth to look at is a boy +between five and twelve. And here were two, dressed in plaid suits, +with white collars, tousled hair, clean, fine American boys. + +I exclaimed as I picked the picture up: + +"What a fine pair of lads!" + +Then I knew that I had, unwittingly, stumbled into his secret, for a +look of infinite pain swept over his face. + +"They are both dead. Last August wife called me on the phone and said +that something awful had happened to the boys. They were all we had, +and I hurried home. + +"They had gone out on a Boy Scout picnic. The older had gone in +swimming in the river and had gotten beyond his depth. The younger +went in after him and both were drowned." + +"I'm sorry I brought it back," I said humbly. + +He didn't notice what I said, but went on. + +"Wife and I were broken-hearted. There didn't seem much to live for. +We had lost all. Then came this Y. M. C. A. work, and we thought that +we would like to come over here and do for all the boys in the army +what we could not do for our own. And now wife and I are here, and +every time I do something for a wounded boy in this hospital, I feel as +if I were serving my own dear lads." + +"And you are," I said. "And if the mothers and fathers of America know +that men and women of your type are here looking after their lads it +will give them a new sense of comfort and you will be serving them +also." + +"And my wife," he added. "You know the boys up at ---- call her 'The +Woman with the Sandwiches and Sympathy.' She got her name because one +night a drunken soldier staggered into the hut and asked for her. He +didn't remember her name, but she had darned his socks, she had written +letters for him, she had mothered him, she had tried to help him. They +wanted to put the poor lad out, but he insisted upon seeing my wife. +Finally, in desperation, seeing that he couldn't think of her name, he +said, 'Wan' see that woman wif sandwiches and sympathy,' and after that +the name stuck." + +[Illustration: "The boys call her 'The Woman with Sandwiches and +Sympathy.'"] + +And as we knelt in prayer together there in the hut and I arose to +clasp his hand in sympathy, I knew that through service there in +France, through service to your sons, mothers and fathers of America, +this brave man, as well as his wife, were solacing their grief. They +were conquering sorrow in service, thank God. + +Yes, there are Silhouettes of Sorrow, but these silhouettes always have +back of them the gold of a new dawn of hope. They are black +silhouettes, but they have a glorious background of sunrise and hope. +I tell of no sorrows here that are not triumphant sorrows, such as will +hearten the whole world to bear its sorrow well when it comes, pray God. + +Up at ---- on the beautiful Loire is my friend the secretary. It is a +humble position, and there are not many soldiers there, but he is +serving and brothering, tenderly and faithfully, the few that are +there. No one would ever think of him as a hero, but I do. He, too, +is a hero who is conquering sorrow in service. + +His only daughter had been accepted for Y. M. C. A. service in France. +She was all he had. He was a minister at home, and had given up his +church for the duration of the war. Both were looking forward with +keen anticipation to her coming to France. Then came the cable of her +death. + +I was there, the morning it arrived, to preach for him. He said no +word to me about the blow. We went on with the service as usual. I +noticed that no hymns had been selected, and that things were not in +very good order for the service. I was a little annoyed at this, but I +am thankful with all my heart this day that I said nothing. I had +decided in my heart that he was not a very efficient religious director +until I heard the next day. + +When I asked him why he had not told me, he said a characteristic +thing: "I didn't want to spoil the service. I thought I would keep my +grief in my own heart and fight it out alone." + +And fight it out he did. Letters kept coming for several weeks after +the cable, letters full of girlish hope about France, and full of joy +at the thoughts of seeing "daddy" soon. This was the hardest of all. +He could not tear up those precious letters. Her last words and +thoughts were treasures; all that he had left; but they were +spear-thrusts of pain also. But bravely he fought out his battle of +grief, and tenderly he ministered, mothers and fathers of America, to +your boys. Is it any wonder that they loved him, that they went to him +with their loneliness and their heartaches; is it any wonder that he +understood all the troubles that they brought and that they bring to +him? + +And then there was the young secretary who had just landed in France. +It had been hard to leave home, especially hard to leave that little +tot of a six-year-old girl, the apple of his eye. + +Some of us who have such experiences will understand this story; some +of us who remember what the parting from loved ones meant when we went +to France. One such I remember vividly. + +There was the night before in the hotel in San Francisco, when "Betty," +six-year-old, said, "Don't cry, mother. Be brave like Betty," and who +even admonished her daddy in the same way, "Don't cry, daddy! Be brave +like Betty!" for it was just as hard for the daddy to keep the tears +back, as he thought of the separation, as it was for the mother. + +Then the daddy would say to the mother: "I feel ashamed of myself to +cry when I think of the thousands of daddies and husbands who are +leaving their homes, not for six months' or a year's service, but 'for +the period of the war,' and leaving with so much more of a cloud +hanging over them than I. I have every hope that I will be back with +you in six or eight months, but they----" + +"Yes, but your own grief will make you understand all the better what +it means to the daddies in the army who leave their babies and their +wives, and oh, dear, be good to them!" + +Then there was the next morning at the Oakland pier as the great +transcontinental train pulled out, when the little six-year-old lady +for the first time suddenly saw what losing her daddy meant. She +hadn't visualized it before. Consequently, she had been brave, and had +even boasted of her bravery. But now she had nothing to be brave +about, for as the train started to move she suddenly burst into sobs +and started down the platform after the train as fast as her sturdy +little legs could carry her, crying between sobs, "Come back, daddy! +Come back to Betty! Don't go away!" with her mother after her. + +The daddy had no easy time as he watched this tragedy of childhood from +the observation-car. It was a half-hour before he dared turn around +and face the rest of the sympathetic passengers. + +Going back on the ferry to San Francisco the weeping did not cease. In +fact it became contagious, for a kindly old gentleman, thinking that +the little lady was afraid of the boat, said: "What's the matter, dear? +Are you afraid?" + +"No, sir, I'm not afraid; but my daddy's gone to France, and I want him +back! I want my daddy! I want my daddy!" and the storm burst again. +Then here and there all over the boat the women wept. Here and there a +man pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pretended to blow his +nose. + +And so we understand what it meant to this young secretary when, upon +landing in France, he got the cable telling of the death of his baby +girl. + +At first he was stunned by the blow. + +Then came a brave second cable from his wife telling him that there was +nothing that he could do at home; to stay at his contemplated task of +being a friend to the boys. + +The brave note in the second cable gave him new spirit and new courage, +and in spite of a heavy heart he went into a canteen, and will any +wonder who read this story that he has won the undying devotion of his +entire regiment by his tireless self-sacrificing service to the +American boys? + +What triumphs these are, what triumphs over sorrow and pain. + +All of France is filled with these Silhouettes of Sorrow, but each has +a background of triumphant, dawning light. + +There was the woman and child that I saw in the Madeleine in Paris, +both in black. They walked slowly up the steps and in through the +great doors to pray for their daddy aviator, who had been killed a year +before. + +A man at the door told me that every day they come, that every day they +keep fresh the memory of their loved one. + +"But why does she come so long after he is dead?" I asked. + +"She comes to pray for the other aviators," he added simply. + +It was a tremendous thing to me. I went into the great, beautiful +cathedral and reverently knelt beside them in love and thankfulness +that no harm had come to my own wife and baby. But the memory of that +woman's brave pilgrimage of prayer each day for a year, "for the other +aviators," the picture of the woman and child kneeling, etched its way +into my soul to remain forever. + +"As I shot down through the night, falling to what I was certain was +immediate death, I had just one thought," a young aviator said, as we +sat talking in a hotel in Paris. + +I said: "What was it?" + +"I said to myself: 'What will the poor kiddie do without his dad?"' + +Then there is that Silhouette of Sorrow that my friend brought back +from Germany, he who was on the Peace Ship Commission, and who saw a +train-load of German boys leaving a certain German town to fill in the +gaps caused by the losses at Verdun; and because this sorrow is +characteristic of the mother sorrow of the whole world, and especially +of the American mother, and because it has a note of wonderful triumph, +I tell it. + +"I thought they were the hardest women in the world," he said, "for as +I watched them saying farewell to their boys there wasn't a tear. +There was laughter everywhere, shouting and smiles, as if those poor +boys were going off to school, or to a picnic, when we all knew that +they were going to certain death. + +"I felt like cursing their indifference to the common impulses of +motherhood. I watched a thousand mothers and women as that train +started, and I didn't see a tear. They stood waving their hands and +smiling until the train was out of sight. I turned in disgust to walk +away when a woman near me fainted, and I caught her as she fell. Then +a low moan went up all over that station platform. It was as if those +mothers moaned as one. There was no hysteria, just a low moan that +swept over them. I saw dozens of them sink to the floor unconscious. +They had kept their grief to themselves until their lads had gone. +They had sent their boys away with a smile, and had kept their +heartache buried until those lads had departed." + +I think that this is characteristic of the triumphant motherhood of the +whole world. It is a Silhouette of Sorrow, but it has a background of +the golden glory of bravery which is the admiration of all the world. +A recent despatch says that a woman, an American, sent her boy away +smiling a few weeks ago, and then dropped dead on the station, dead of +grief. + +One who has lived and worked in France has silhouette memories of +funeral processions standing out in sombre blackness against a lurid +nation. He has memories of funeral trains in little villages and in +great cities; he has memories of brave men standing as doorkeepers in +hotels, with arms gone, with crosses for bravery on their breasts, but +somehow the cloud of sorrow is always fringed with gold and silver. He +has memories of funeral services in Notre Dame and the Madeleine, and +in little towns all over France, but in and around them all there is +somewhere the glory of sunlight, of hope, of courage. Indeed, one +cannot have silhouettes, even of sorrow, if there is no background of +light and hope. + +For we know that even in war-time God "still makes roses," as John +Oxenham, the English poet, tells us: + + "Man proposes--God disposes; + Yet our hope in Him reposes + Who in war-time still makes roses." + + +John Oxenham, one of the outstanding poets of the war, wrote this +verse, and for me it has been a sort of a motto of faith during my +service in France. I have quoted it everywhere I have spoken, and it +has sung its way into my heart, like a benediction with its comfort and +its assurance. + +It has been surprising, too, the way the boys have grasped at it. I +have quoted it to them privately, in groups, and in great crowds down +on the line, and back in the rest-camps, and in the ports, and +everywhere I have quoted it I have had many requests to give copies of +it to the boys. I quoted it once in a negro hut, hesitating before I +did so lest they should not appreciate it enough to make quoting it +excusable. But I took a chance. + +When the service was over a long line of intelligent-looking negro boys +waited for me. I thought that they just wanted to shake hands, but +much to my astonishment most of them wanted to know if I would give +them a copy of that verse, and so I was kept busy for half an hour +writing off copies of that brief word of faith. + +One never quite knows all that this verse means until he has been in +France and has seen the suffering, the heartache, the loneliness, the +mud, and dirt and hurt; the wounds and pain and death which are +everywhere. + +Then he turns from all the suffering to find a blood-red poppy blooming +in the field behind him; or a million of them covering a green field +like a great blanket. These poppies are exactly like our golden +California poppies. Like them they grow in the fields and along the +hedges; even covering the unsightly railroad-tracks, as if they would +hide the ugly things of life. + +I thought to myself: "They look as if they had once been our golden +California poppies, but that in these years of war every last one of +them had been dipped in the blood of those brave lads who have died for +us, and forever after shall they be crimson in memory of these who have +given so much for humanity." + +One day in early June I was driving through Brittany along the coast of +the Atlantic. On the road we passed many old-fashioned men, and women +in their little white bonnets and their black dresses. + +We stopped at a beautiful little farmhouse for lunch. It attracted us +because of its serene appearance and its cleanliness. A gray-haired +little old woman was in the yard when we stopped our machine. + +The yard was literally sprinkled with blood-red poppies. As we walked +in and were making known our desire for lunch a beautiful girl of about +twenty-five, dressed in mourning, stepped to the doorway, her black +eyes flashing a welcome, and cried out: "Welcome, comrade Americaine." +Behind her was a little girl, her very image. + +I guessed at once that in this quiet Brittany home the war had reached +out its devastating hand. I had remarked earlier in the day as we +drove along: "It is all so quiet and beautiful here, with the old-gold +broom flowering everywhere on hedge and hill, and with the crimson +poppies blowing in the wind, that it doesn't seem as if war had touched +Brittany." + +A friend who knew better said: "But have you not noticed that women are +pulling the carts, women are tilling the fields? Look at that woman +over there pulling a plough. Have you not noticed that there are no +men but old men everywhere?" + +He was right. I could not remember to have seen any young men, and +everywhere women were working in the field, and in one place a woman +was yoked up with an ox, ploughing, while a young girl drove the odd +pair. + +"And if that isn't enough, wait until we come to the next cathedral and +I'll show you what corresponds to our 'Honor Rolls' in the churches +back home. Then you'll know whether war has touched Brittany or not." + +We entered with reverent hearts the next ancient cathedral of Brittany, +in a little town with a population of only about two thousand, we were +told, and yet out of this town close to five hundred boys had been +killed in the Great War. Their names were posted, written with many a +flourish by some village penman. In the list I saw the names of four +brothers who had been killed, and their father. The entire family had +been wiped out, all but the women. + +So I was mistaken. As quiet and peaceful as Brittany was during May +and June, as beautiful with broom and poppies as were its fields, it +had not gone untouched by the cruel hand of war. It, too, had +suffered, as has every hamlet, village, and corner of fair France; +suffered grievously. + +Thus I was not surprised to hear that this beautiful young woman was +wearing black because her husband had been killed, and that the little +girl behind her in the doorway had no longer any hope that her soldier +daddy would some day come home and romp with her as of old. At the +lunch we were told all about it. True, there were tears shed in the +telling, and these not alone by these brave Frenchwomen and the little +girl, but it was a sweet, simple story of courage. Several times +during its telling the little girl ran over to kiss the tears out of +her mother's eyes, and to say, with such faith that it thrilled us: +"Never mind, mother, the Americains are here now; they will kill the +cruel Boches." + +After dinner we walked amid the red poppies in the great lawn that was +the crowning feature of that white-stone home. On the walls of the +ancient house grew the most wonderful roses that I have ever seen +anywhere, not excepting California. Great white roses, so large and +fragrant that they seemed unreal, delicately moulded red roses, which +unfolded like a baby's lips, climbed those ancient stone walls. The +younger woman cared for them herself, and was engaged in that task of +love even before we went away. + +I said to her, in what French I could command: "They are the most +beautiful roses I have ever seen." + +"Even in your own beautiful America?" she asked with a smile. + +"Yes, more beautiful even than in my own America." + +"Yes," she said, "they are most beautiful, but they are more than that; +they are full of hope for me. They are my promise that I shall see him +some time again. They come back each spring. He loved them and cared +for them when he was alive. Even on his leave in 1915 he gloried in +them. And when they come back each spring they seem to come to give me +promise that I shall see him again." + +Then I translated Oxenham's verses about the roses for her. The +translation was poor, but she caught the idea, and her face beamed with +a new light, and she said: "Ah, yes, it is as I believe, that the good +God who still makes the beautiful roses, he will not take him away from +me forever." + +I never read Oxenham's verse now that I do not see that little cottage +in Brittany that has sheltered the same family for centuries; twined +about with great red and white roses; and the old mother and the young +mother and the little lonely girl. + + "Yet our hope in Him reposes + Who in war-time still makes roses." + +Another time, down on the Toul front lines, I had this thought forced +home by a strange scene. It was in mid-March and for three days a +heavy blizzard had been blowing. I, who had lived in California for +several years, wondered at this blizzard and revelled in it, although I +had had to drive amid its fury, sometimes creeping along at a snail's +pace, without lights, down near the front lines. It was cruelly cold +and hard for those of us who were in the "truck gang." + +One night during this blizzard, which blew with such fury as I have +never seen before, we were lost. At one time we were headed directly +for the German lines, which were close, but an American sentry stopped +us before we had gone very far, demanding in stern tones: "Where are +youse guys goin' that direction?" + +I replied: "To Toul." + +"To Toul! You're going straight toward the Boche lines. Turn around. +You're the third truck that's got lost in this blizzard. Back that +opposite way is your direction." + +The morning after it had cleared it was worth all the discomfort to see +the hills and fields of France. One group of hills which I had heard +were the most heavily fortified in all France, loomed like two huge +sentinels before the city. The Germans knew this also, and military +experts say that that is the reason why they did not try to reach Paris +by this route in the beginning of the war. + +We were never permitted on these hills, but we had seen them belch fire +many a time as the German airplanes came over the city. + +But on this morning, after three days of snow, those great black hills +were transformed, covered with a pure white blanket. The trees were +robed in white. Not a spot of black appeared. Even the great guns on +the top of the hill looked like white fingers pointing toward Berlin. +The roads and fields and hills of France had suddenly been transformed +as by a magic wand into things beautiful and white. + +War is black. War is muddy. War is bloody. War is gray. War is full +of hate and hurt and wounds and blood and death and heartache and +heartbreak and homesickness and loneliness. + +Thomas Tiplady, in "The Cross at the Front," was right when he +described war as symbolized by the great black cloud of smoke that +unrolled in the sky when a great Jack Johnson had exploded. Everything +that war touches it makes ugly, except the soul, and it cannot blacken +that. + +It ruins the fields and makes them torn and cut; it tears the trees +into ragged stumps. It kills the grass and tramples it underfoot. It +takes the most beautiful architecture in the world and makes a pile of +dust and dirt of it. It takes a beautiful face and makes it horrible +with the scars of bayonet and burning gases. + +But on this morning God seemed to be covering up all of that ugliness +and dirt and mud and blackness. Fields that the day before had been +nothing but ugly blotches were white and beautiful. Ammunition dumps, +horrible in their suggestion of death, seemed now to have been covered +over and hidden by some kindly hand of love. The great brown-bronzed +hills, the fortifications filled with death and horror were gleaming +white in the morning sunlight. + +I said to the other driver: "Well, it's too beautiful to be true, isn't +it? It's a shame to think that when we get back from the front it will +all be gone, melted, and the old mud and dirt will be back again." + +"Yes, but it means something to me," he said. + +"What does it mean?" + +"It means the future." + +"What are you talking about, man?" + +"Why, it means that some day this land will be beautiful again. It +means that, impossible as that idea seems, the war will cease, that +people will till these fields again, that grass will grow, that flowers +will bloom in these fields again, that people will come back to their +homes in peace. It is symbolical of that great white peace that will +come forever, when the ugly thing we call war will be buried so deeply +underneath the white blanket of peace and brotherhood that the world +will know war no more. It's like a rainbow to me. It is a promise." + +I had never heard Tom grow so eloquent before, and what he said sounded +Christian. It sounded like man's talk to me. It was the dream of the +Christ I knew. It was the dream of the prophets of old. It was +Tennyson's dream. Such a dream will not die from the earth, and men +will just keep on dreaming it until some day it will come true, for-- + + "Man proposes--God disposes; + Yet my hope in Him reposes, + Who in war-time still makes roses." + + +The white and crimson roses of that little cottage in Brittany, the +quiet and peace and promise and vision of a Jeanne d'Arc in the village +of Domremy; the blooming of a billion red poppies in the fields of +France; the blanketing of the earth with a covering of white snow +sufficient to hide the ugliness of war, even for a day, all give +promise of the God who, in the end, when he has given man every chance +to redeem himself, and who, even amid cruel wars "still makes roses," +will finally bring to pass "peace on earth; good-will to men." + +"_Somewhere in France_." + + + + +IX + +SILHOUETTES OF SUFFERING + +All night long a group of Red Cross and Y. M. C. A. men and women had +been feeding the refugees from Amiens. There were two thousand of them +in one basement room of the Gare du Nord. They had not eaten for +forty-eight hours. Most of them were little children, old men, and +women of all ages. + +Two hundred or more of them had been in the hands of the Germans for +two years, and when a few days before it came time for the Germans to +open their second big Somme drive, they had driven these women and +little girls out ahead of them, saying: "Go back to the French now, we +do not want you any longer." + +For two days and nights these refugees had tramped the roads of France +without food, many of them carrying little babies in their arms, all of +them weary and sick near unto death. + +The little children gripped your heart. As you handed them food and +saw their little claw-like hands clutch at it, and as you saw them +devour it like starved animals, the while clutching at a dirty but +much-loved doll, somehow you could not see for the mists in your eyes +as you walked up and down the narrow aisles of that crowded basement +pouring out chocolate and handing out food. The things you saw every +minute in that room hung a veil over your eyes, and you were afraid all +the while that in your blinding of tears you would step on some +sleeping, starving child, who was lying on the cold floor in utter +exhaustion, regardless of food. + +One woman especially attracted me. I noticed her time and time again +as I walked past her with food. She was lying on her back on the +floor, with nothing under her, her arms thrown back over her head, a +child in her arms, or rather, lying against her breast asleep. She +looked like an educated, cultured woman. Her features were beautiful, +but she looked as if she had passed through death and hell in +suffering. I asked her several times as I passed by if she wouldn't +have some food, and each time she gave some to her baby but took none +herself. She could hardly lift her body from the stone basement to +feed the child, and feeling that the thing that she needed most herself +was food, I urged her to eat, but she would not. + +Finally I stopped before her and asked her if she was ill. She looked +up into my face and said: "Tres fatiguee, monsieur! Tres fatiguee, +monsieur!" (Very weary, sir! Very weary, sir!) + +By morning she was rested and accepted food. Then she told me her +story. Two days before in her village they had been ordered by the +army to leave their homes in a half-hour; everybody must be gone by +that time; the Germans were coming, and there was no time to lose. She +had hastily gathered some clothes together. The baby was lying in its +crib. Her other child, a little six-year-old girl, had gone out into +the front of the home watching for the truck that was to gather up the +village people. A bomb fell from a German Gotha and killed this child +outright, horribly mangling her body. This suffering mother just had +time to pick the little mangled body up and lay it on a bed, kiss its +cheeks good-by and leave it there, for there was no other way. She did +not even have the satisfaction of burying her child. + +"Very weary! Very weary!" I can hear her words yet: "Tres fatiguee! +Tres fatiguee!" No wonder you were fatigued, mother heart. You had a +right to be, weary unto death. No wonder you did not care to eat all +that long horrible night in the Gare du Nord. + +Loneliness is naturally one of the things with which our own boys +suffer most. When one remembers that these Americans of ours are +thousands of miles away from their homes, most of them boys who have +never been away from home in their lives before; most of them boys who +have never crossed the ocean before, they will judge fairly and +understand better the loneliness of the American soldier. It is not a +loneliness that will make him any the less a soldier. Ay, it is +because of that very home love, and that very eagerness to get back to +his home, that he will and does fight like a veteran to get it over. + +"Gosh! I wish I would find just one guy from Redding!" a +seventeen-year-old boy said to me one night as I stood in a Y. M. C. A. +hut. He was about the loneliest boy I saw in France. I saw that he +needed to smile. He was nothing but a kid, after all. + +"Gosh! I wish I'd see just one guy from San Jose!" I said with a +smile. Then we both laughed and sat down to some chocolate, and had a +good talk, the very thing that the lad was hungry for. + +He had been in France for nearly a year and he hadn't seen a single +person he knew. He had been sick a good deal of the time and had just +come from an appendix operation. He was depressed in spirits, and his +homesickness had poured itself out in that one phrase: "Gosh! I wish +I'd see just one guy from Redding!" + +Those who do not think that homesickness comes under the heading of +"Suffering" had better look into the face of a truly homesick American +boy in France before he judges. + +The English Tommy is only a few hours from home, and knows it. The +French soldier is fighting on his own native soil, but the American is +fighting three thousand miles away from home, and some of them seven +thousand. + +"I haven't had a letter in five months from home," a boy in a hospital +said to me. He was lonely and discouraged. And right here may I say +to the American people that there is no one thing that needs more +constant urging than the plea that you write, write, write to your +soldier in France. He would rather have letters than candy, or +cigarettes, or presents of any kind, as much as he loves some of these +material things. I have put it to a vote dozens of times, and the +result is always the same; ten to one they would rather have a letter +from home than a package of cigarettes or a box of candy. I have seen +boys literally suffering pangs that were a thousand times worse than +wounds because they did not receive letters from those at home. + +"Hell! Nobody back there cares a damn about me! I haven't received a +letter in five months!" a boy burst out in my presence in Nancy one +night. + +"Have you no mother or sister?" + +"Yes, but they're careless; they always were about letter-writing." + +I tried to fix up excuses for them, but it tested both my imagination +and my enthusiasm to do it. I could put no real heart into making +excuses for them, and so my words fell like lame birds to the ground, +and the tragedy of it was that both of us knew there was no good +excuse. It was the most pitiable case I saw in France. God pity the +careless mother or sister or father or friend who isn't willing to take +the time and make the sacrifice that is needed to at least supply a +letter three times a week to the lad who is willing to sacrifice his +all, if need be, that those at home may live in peace, free from the +horror of the Hun. + + "Less Sweaters + And More Letters" + +might very well be the motto of the folks here at home, for the boys +would profit more in the long run, both in their bodies and in their +souls. A censor friend of mine said to me one day: "If you ever get a +chance when you go home to urge the people of America to write, and +write, and write to their boys, do it with all your heart. You could +do no better service to the boys than that." + +"What makes you feel so keenly about it?" I asked him, for he talked so +earnestly that it surprised me. Ordinarily you think of the censor as +utterly devoid of humanitarian impulses, just a sort of a machine to +slice out the really interesting things in your letters, a great human +blue pencil, or a great human pair of scissors. But here was a censor +that felt deeply what he was saying. + +"I'll tell you," he replied, "it is because some of the letters that I +read which are going back home from lonely boys, begging somebody to +write to them; literally begging somebody, anybody, to write! It gets +my goat! I can't stand it. I often feel like adding a sentence to +some letters myself going home, telling them they ought to be ashamed +the way they treat their boys about letter-writing; but the rules are +so stringent that I must neither add to nor take from a letter save in +the line of my duties. I'd like to tell a few of the people back home +what I think of them, and I'd like for them to read some of the +heartaches that I read in the letters of the boys. Then they'd +understand how I feel about it." + +I shall never forget my friend the wrestler when I asked how it was +that he kept so clean, and he replied: "The letters help a lot." + +I have seen boys suffering from wounds of every description. I have +seen them lying in hospitals with broken backs. I have seen them with +blinded eyes. I have seen them with legs gone, and arms. I have seen +them when the doctors were dressing their wounds. I remember one +captain who had fifty wounds in his back, and he had them dressed +without a single cry. I have seen them gassed, and I have seen them +shot to pieces with shell shock, and yet the worst suffering I have +seen in France has been on the part of boys whose folks back home have +neglected them; boys who, day after day, had seen the other fellows get +their letters regularly, boys who had gone with hope in their hearts +time after time for letters, and then had lost hope. This is real +suffering, suffering that does more to knock the morale out of a lad +than anything that I know in France. + +Silhouettes of Suffering stand out in my memory with great vividness. +One general cause of suffering in addition to the above is loneliness +in the heart of the young husband and father, who has a wife and kiddie +back home. + +I remember one young officer that I saw in a Paris hotel. He had been +out in the Vosges Mountains with a company of wood-choppers for six +months. He had come in for his first leave. His leave lasted eight +days. Instead of going to the theatres he sat around in our officers' +hotel lobby and watched the women walking about, the Y. M. C. A. girls +who were the hostesses there. They noticed him as he sat there all +evening, hardly moving. After several nights one of the men +secretaries went up to him and said: "Why don't you go over and talk +with them? They would be glad to talk with you." + +"Oh," he said, "I never was much for women at home, except my wife and +kid. I never did know how to talk to women. Especially now, for I've +been up in the woods for six months. Just let me sit here and look at +'em. That's enough for me. Just let me sit here and look at 'em!" + +And that was the way he spent his leave, just loafing around in that +hotel lobby watching the women at their work. + +"This has been the loneliest day of my life," a major said to me on +Mother Day in a great port of entry. + +"Why, major?" + +Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the picture of a +seven-year-old boy and that boy's mother. + +Suffering? Yes, of course I have seen boys wounded, as I have said, +but for real downright suffering, loneliness is worst, and it lies +entirely within the province of the folks at home to alleviate this +suffering. I have seen a boy morose and surly, discouraged and grouchy +in the morning. He didn't know what was the matter with himself. In +the afternoon I have seen him laughing and yelling like a wild animal +at play, happy as a lark. + +What was the difference? He had gotten a letter. + +[Illustration: What was the difference? He had gotten a letter.] + +Then there is the Silhouette of Physical Suffering. Hundreds of these +sombre silhouettes stand out against a lurid background of fire and +blood. One only I quote because it has a fringe of hope. + +The boy's back was broken. It had been broken by a shell concussion. +There were no visible signs of a wound on his body anywhere, the +doctors told me in the hospital. He did not know it as yet. He +thought it was his leg that was hurt. They asked me to tell him, as +gently as I could. It was a hard task to give a man. + +He was lying on a raised bed so that, when I went up to it, it came up +to my neck almost, and when I talked with the lad I could look straight +into his eyes. Those eyes I shall never forget, they were so fearless, +so brave, and yet so full of weariness and suffering. + +I took his hand and said: "Boy, I am a preacher." For once I didn't +say anything about being a secretary. I just told him I was a preacher. + +He said: "I am so glad you have come. I just wanted to see a real, +honest-to-goodness preacher." He forced a smile to accompany this +sentence. + +"Well, I'm all of that, and proud of it," I replied, smiling back into +his brave eyes. + +"I'm so tired. I try to be brave, but I've been lying here for three +months now, and my leg doesn't seem to get any better. It pains all +the time until I think I'll die with the agony of it. I never sleep +only when they give me something. But I try hard to be brave." + +"You are brave!" I said to him. "They all tell me that, the doctors +and nurses." + +"They are so good to me." he said in low tones so that I had to bend to +hear them. "But my leg; they don't seem to be able to help me." + +Then I told him as gently as I could that it was not his leg, that it +was his back, and that he would likely not get well. Then I tried to +tell him of the room in his Father's house that was ready for him when +he was ready to accept it, and of what a glorious welcome there was +there. + +He reached out for my hand in the semi-darkness of that evening. I can +feel his hand-clasp yet. I didn't know what to say, but a phrase that +had lingered in my mind from an old story came to the rescue. + +"Don't you want the Christ to help you bear your pain?" I asked him. + +"That is just what I do want," he said simply. "That was why I was so +glad you came--an honest-to-goodness preacher," and he smiled again, so +bravely, in spite of his suffering, and in spite of the news that I had +just broken to him. + +Then we prayed. I stood beside his bed holding his hand and praying. +The room was full of other wounded boys, but in the twilight I doubt if +a lad there knew what we were doing. I spoke low, just so he could +hear, and the Master knew what was in my heart without hearing. + +When I was through I felt a pressure of his hand, and he said: "Now I +feel stronger. He is helping me bear my burden. Thank you for coming, +and"--then he paused for words "and--thank you for bringing Him." + +Yes, there is suffering in France, suffering among our soldiers, too, +but suffering that is glorified by courage. + + + + +X + +SOLDIER SILHOUETTES + +One night down near the front lines as we drove the great truck slowly +over the icy roads, on the top of a little knoll stood a lone sentinel +against a background of snow, and that is a silhouette that I shall +never forget. + +Another night there was a beautiful afterglow, and being a lover of the +beautiful as well as a driver of a truck, I was lost in the wonder of +the crimson flush against the western hills. + +"Makes me homesick," said the big man beside me, whose home is in the +West. "Looks for all the world like one of our Arizona afterglows." + +"It is beautiful," I replied, and then we were both lost in silent +appreciation of the scene before us, when suddenly we were startled +witless. + +"Halt!" rang out through the semi-darkness. "Who goes there?" + +"Y. M. C. A." we shot back as quick as lightning, for we had learned +that it doesn't pay to waste time in answering a sentinel's challenge +down within sound of the German guns. + +"Pass on, friends," was the grinning reply. That rascal of a sentry +had caught us unawares, lost in the afterglow, and he was tickled over +having startled us into astonishment. + +But even though he did give us a scare, I am sure that the picture of +him standing there in the middle of that French road, with his gun +raised against the afterglow, will be one of the outstanding +silhouettes of the memories of France. + +Then there was the old Scotch dominie down at Chateau-Thierry, with the +marines. The boys called him "Doc," and loved him, for he had been +with them for eight months. + +One night, in the midst of the hottest fighting in June, the old +secretary thought he would go out in the night and see how the boys +were getting along. He walked cautiously along the edge of the woods +when suddenly the word "Halt!" shot out in low but distinct tones. + +"Who goes there?" + +"A friend," the secretary replied. + +"Oh, it's you, is it, Doc? Gee, I'm glad to see you! This is a darned +weird place to-night. Every time the wind blows I think it's a Boche." + +There was a slight noise out in No Man's Land. "What's that, Doc, a +Boche?" + +"I think not." + +"You can't tell, Doc; they're everywhere. If I've seen one, I've seen +ten thousand to-night on this watch." + +That old gray-haired secretary will never forget that night when he +walked among the men in the trenches with his little gifts and his word +of cheer, that memorable night before the Americans made themselves +heroes forever in the Bois du Belleau. He will never forget the sound +of that boy sentry's voice when he said, "Gee, Doc, I'm glad it's you"; +nor will he forget the looks of the boy as he stood there in the +darkness, the guardian of America's hopes and homes, nor will he forget +the firm, warm clasp of the lad's hands as he walked away to greet +others of his comrades. + +These are Soldier Silhouettes that remain vivid until time dies, until +the "springs of the seas run dust," as Markham says: + + "Forget it not 'til the crowns are crumbled; + 'Til the swords of the Kings are rent with rust; + Forget it not 'til the hills lie humbled; + And the springs of the seas run dust." + + +No, we do not forget scenes and moments like these in our lives. + +Then there is the silhouette of the profile of the captain of a certain +American machine-gun company who, in March, marched with his men into +the Somme line. He was an old football-player back in the States, and +we were having a last dinner together in Paris, a group of college men. +After dinner, when we had finished discussing the dangers of the coming +weeks, and he had told us that his major had said to him, "If fifteen +per cent of us come out alive, I shall be glad," and after we had +drifted back to the old college days, and home and babies, and after he +had shown us a picture of his wife and his kiddies, it became strangely +quiet in the room, and suddenly he turned his face from us, with just +the profile showing against the light of the window, and exclaimed: "My +God, fellows, for a half-hour you have made me forget that there is a +war, and I have been back on the old campus again playing football, and +back with my babies." + +Then his jaw set, and I shall never forget the profile of his face as +that set look came back and once again he became the captain of a +machine-gun company. + +Then there was the lone church service that my friend Clarke held one +evening at a crossroads of France. He had held seven services that +Sunday, one in a machine-gun company's dugout, with six men; another +with a group of a dozen men in a front-line trench; another with +several officers in an officers' dugout; another with a battery outfit +who were "On Call," expecting orders to send over a few shells; another +with several men out in No Man's Land, on the sunny side of an old +upturned mass of tree roots; one in a listening-post, and finally this +service with a lone sentry at a crossroads. + +"But how did you do it?" I asked. + +"I just saw him there," Clarke replied, "and he looked lonely, and I +walked up and said: 'How'd you like to have me read a little out of the +Book?' + +"'Fine!' he said. + +"Then I prayed with him, standing there at the crossroads, and I asked +him if he didn't want to pray. He was a church boy back home, and he +prayed as fine a prayer as ever I heard. Then we sang a hymn together. +It was 'Jesus, Lover of My Soul,' and neither of us can sing much, but +as I look back on it, it was the sweetest music that I ever had a part +in making. The only thing I didn't do was take up a collection. +Outside of that, it was just as if we had gone through a regular church +service at home. I even preached a little to him. No, not just +preached, but talked to him about the Master." + +"Did you even go so far with your lone one-man congregation as to have +a benediction?" I asked him. + +"No, I just said what was in my heart when we were through, 'God bless +and keep you, boy,' and went on." + +"I never heard a finer benediction than that, old man," I replied with +feeling. + +And the silhouette of that one Y. M. C. A. secretary holding a +religious service with a lone sentry of a Sunday evening, bringing back +to the lad's memory sacred things of home and church and the Christ, +giving him a new hold on the bigger, better things, bringing the Christ +out to him there on that road, that silhouette is mine to keep forever +close to my heart. I shall see that and shall smile in my soul over it +when eternity calls, and shall thank God for its sweetening influence +in my life. + +And so this comfort may come to the mothers and fathers of America, +that through the various agencies of the American army, through General +Pershing's intense interest in righteous things, through that +Lincoln-like Christian leader of the chaplains, Bishop Brent, through +the Y. M. C. A., and the Salvation Army, and the Knights of Columbus, +your boy has his chance, whatever creed, or race, or church, to worship +his God as he wishes; and not one misses this opportunity, even the +lonely sentinel on the road. And the glorious thing about it is that +boys who never before thought of going to church at home, crowd the +huts on Sundays and for the good-night prayers on week-days. + +Just before the battle of Chateau-Thierry, "Doc," of whom I have spoken +in this chapter before, said: "Boys, do you want a communion service?" + +"Yes," they shouted. + +Knowing that there were Catholics and Jews and Protestants and +non-believers there, he said: "Now, anybody who doesn't want to take +communion may leave." + +Not a single man left. Out of one hundred or more men only two did not +kneel to take of the sacred bread and wine. Two Jews knelt with the +others, several Roman Catholics, and men of all Protestant +denominations. Half of them were dead before another sunrise came +around, but they had had their service. + +Every man has his opportunity to worship God in his own way and as +nearly as possible at his own altars in France. There was the story of +"The Rosary." + +It was Hospital Hut Number ----, and half a thousand boys from the +front, wounded in every conceivable way, were sitting there in the hut +in a Sunday-evening service. Many of them had crutches beside them; +others canes. Some of them, had their heads bandaged; others of them +carried their arms in slings. Some of them had lost legs, and some of +them had no arms left. Their eager faces were lighted with a strange +light, such as is not seen on land or sea, and on most of those faces, +unashamed, ran over pale cheeks the tears of homesickness as the young +corporal whom I had taken with me from another town sang "The Rosary." +I have never heard it sung with more tenderness, nor have I heard it +sung in more beautiful voice. That young lad was singing his heart out +to those other boys. He had not been up front himself as yet, for he +was in a base port attending to his duties, which were just as +important as those up front, but it was hard for him to see it that +way. So he loved and respected these other lads who had, to his way of +thinking, been more fortunate than he, because they had seen actual +fighting. He respected them because of their wounds, and he wanted to +help them. So he lifted that rich, sweet, sympathetic tenor voice +until the great hut rang with the old, old song, and hearts were melted +everywhere. I saw, back in the audience, a group of nurses with bowed +heads. They knew what the rosary meant to those who suffer and die in +the Catholic faith. They, too, had memories of that beautiful song. A +group of officers, including a major, all wounded, listened with heads +bowed. + +As I sat on the crude stage and saw the effects of his magical voice on +this crowd I got to thinking of what this war is meaning to that fine +understanding of those who count the beads of the rosary and those who +do not. I had seen so many examples of fine fraternal fellowship +between Catholic and Protestant that I felt that I ought to put it down +in some permanent form. + +There is a true story of one of our Y. M. C. A. secretaries who was +called to the bedside of a dying Catholic boy. There was no priest +available, and the boy wanted a rosary so badly. In his half-delirium +he begged for a rosary. This young Protestant Y. M. C. A. secretary +started out for a French village, five miles away, on foot, to try to +find a rosary for this sick Catholic boy, and after several hours' +search he found a peasant woman whom he made understand the emergency +of the situation, and he got the loan of the rosary and took it back +through five miles of mud to the bedside of that Catholic lad, and +comforted him with the feel of it in his fevered hands and the hope of +it in his fevered soul. When I heard this story it stirred me to the +very fountain depths, but I have seen so much of this fine spirit of +service in the Y. M. C. A. since then that I have come to know that as +far as the Y. M. C. A. is concerned all barriers of church narrowness +are entirely swept away. + +I have had most delightful comradeship since I have been in France in +one great area as religious director with two Knights of Columbus +secretaries and one father--Chaplain Davis--all of whom say freely and +eagerly: "We have never had anything but the finest spirit of +co-operation and friendship from the Y. M. C. A." + +"Why," added Chaplain Davis, a Catholic priest, "why, the first Sunday +I was here, when I had no place to take my boys for mass, a secretary +came to me and offered me the hut. It has always been that way." + +The story of the French priest who confessed a dying Catholic boy +through a Y. M. C. A. Protestant secretary interpreter, in a Y. M. C. +A. hut, has been told far and wide, but it is only illustrative of the +broadening lines of Catholicism and the wider fraternal relations of +all professed Christians. + +The marvellous story that my friend, the French chaplain, tells of +being marooned in a shell-hole at Verdun for several days with a +Catholic priest, and of their discussion of religion and life there +under shell-fire, and the tenderness with which the Catholic priest +kissed the hand of the Protestant French chaplain when the two had +agreed that, after all, there was one common God for a common, +suffering nation of people, and that this war would break all church +barriers down, and that out of it would come a new spirit in the +Catholic church, a new brotherhood for all. That was an impressive +indication of the thing that is sweeping France to-day in church +circles, and that will sweep America after the war. + +Then there is that other story of the Catholic priest who had been in +the same regiment with a French Protestant chaplain, each of whom +deeply respected the other because of the unflinching bravery that each +had displayed under intense shell-fire, and of the great love that each +had seen the other show in two years of constant warfare in the same +regiment. Then came that terrible morning at Verdun, when the French +Protestant chaplain, the friend of the Catholic priest, had been killed +while trying to bring in a wounded Catholic boy from No Man's Land. On +the day of this Protestant chaplain's funeral the Catholic priest stood +in God's Acre with bared head, and spoke as tender and as sincere a +eulogy as ever a man spoke over the grave of a dear friend, spoke with +the tears in his eyes most of the time. Church lines were forgotten +here. It was a prophetic scene, this, where a Catholic priest spoke at +the funeral of a Protestant chaplain. It was prophetic of that new +church brotherhood that is to come after the war is over. + + + + +XI + +SKY SILHOUETTES + +They are the lights, the lights of war. Sometimes they are just the +stars shining out that makes the wounded soldier out in No Man's Land +look up, in spite of shell-fire and thunder, in spite of wounds and +death, in spite of loneliness and heartache, in spite of mud and rain, +to exclaim, as Donald Hankey tells us in a most wonderful chapter of "A +Student in Arms": "God! God everywhere, and underneath are the +everlasting arms!" + +Sometimes the Sky Silhouettes number among their own just a moonlight +night with a crescent moon sailing quietly and serenely over the +horizon in the east, while great guns belch fire in the west, a fire +that seems to shame the timid moon itself. + +Sometimes they are search-lights cleaving the sky over a great city +like Paris, or along the front lines, or gleaming from an air-ship. + +Sometimes they are signal-lights flashing out of the darkness from a +patrolling plane overhead, or a blazing trail of fire as a patrol falls +to its death in a battle by night. + +Sometimes they are signal-lights flashing from an observation balloon +anchored in the darkness over the trenches to guard the troops from +dangers in the air. + +Sometimes they are the flashes, the fleet, swallow-like flashes, of an +enemy plane caught in the burning, blazing path of a search-light, and +then hounded by it to its death. + +Sometimes they are signals flashed from the top of a cruiser on the +high seas across the storm-tossed waters to a little destroyer, which +flashes back its answer, and then in turn flashes a message of light to +one of the convoying planes overhead in the dim dusk of early evening. + +Sometimes these Sky Silhouettes are the range-finders that poise in the +air for a few seconds, guiding the air patrols home, and sometimes they +are just the varied, interesting, gleaming, flashing "Lights of War." + + + + +XII + +THE LIGHTS OF WAR + +One's introduction into the war zone and into war-zone cities and +villages, and one's visits "down the line" to the front by night, will +always be filled with the thrill of the unusual because of the Lights +of War. Where lights used to be, there are no lights now, and where +they were not seen before the war, they are radiant and rampant now. + +The first place that an American traveller notices this absence of +lights is on the boat crossing over the Atlantic. From the first night +out of New York the boats travel without a single light showing. Every +light inside of the boat is covered with a heavy black crape, and the +port-holes and windows are so scrupulously and carefully chained down +that the average open-air fiend from California or elsewhere feels that +he will suffocate before morning comes, and even in the bitterest of +winter weather I have known some fresh-air fiends to prefer the deck of +the ship, with all of its bitter winds and cold, to the inside of a +cabin with no windows open. I stood on the deck of an ocean liner +"Somewhere on the Atlantic" a few months ago as the great ship was +ploughing its zigzag course through the black waters, dodging +submarines. There was not a star in the sky. There was not a light on +the boat. Absolutely the only lights that one saw was when he leaned +over the railing and saw the splash of innumerable phosphorescent +organisms breaking against the boat. I have seen the like of it only +once before, and this was on the Pacific down at Asilomar one evening, +when the waves were running fire with phosphorescence. It was a +beautiful sight there and on the Atlantic too. + + +IT WAS MIDNIGHT + +On this particular night, as far as one could see, this brilliant +organic light illuminated the sea like the hands of my luminous +wrist-watch were made brilliant by phosphorescence. I noticed this and +looked down at my watch to see what time it was. It was midnight. + +As I looked, my friend, who was standing beside me on the deck, said: +"The last order is that no wrist-watches that are luminous may be +exposed on the decks at night. That order came along with the order +forbidding smoking on the decks at night. The Germans can sight the +light of a cigar a long distance through their periscopes." + +I smiled to myself, for it was my first introduction to the romantic +part that lights and the lack o' lights is playing in this great World +War. Then my friend continued his observations as we stood there on +the aft deck watching the white waves break, glorious with +phosphorescence. He said: "What a topsyturvy world it is. Three years +ago if a great ship like this had dared to cross the Atlantic without a +single light showing, it would have horrified the entire world, and +that ship captain would have been called to trial by every country that +sails the seas. He would have been adjudged insane. But now every +ship sails the seas with no navigation-lights showing." + + +IN WAR COUNTRY + +But when one gets his real introduction into the lights o' war is when +he gets into the war country. It is eight o'clock in a great French +city. This French city has been known the world over for its brilliant +lights. It has been known for its gayly lighted boulevards, and indeed +this might apply to one of three or four French cities. Light was the +one scintillating characteristic of this great city. The first night +that one finds himself here he feels as though he were wandering about +in a country village at home. No arc-lights shine. The window-lights +are all extinguished. The few lights on the great boulevards are so +dimmed that their luminosity is about that of a healthy firefly in June +back home. One gropes his way about, feeling ahead of him and +navigating cautiously, even the main boulevards. + +The first time I walked down the streets of this great city at night I +had the same feeling that I had on the Atlantic. I was sailing without +lights, on an unknown course, and I felt every minute that I would bump +into some unseen human craft, as indeed I did, both a feminine craft +and a male craft. I also had the feeling that in this particular city, +in the darkness I might be submarined by a city human U-boat, which +would slip up behind me. After having my second trip here I still have +that feeling as I walk the streets; the unlighted streets of this city, +and especially the side-streets, by night. + + +FRENCH CITY DURING RAID + +But the one time when you catch the very heart and soul of the lights +o' war is when you happen to drop into a French city while the Boches +are making a raid overhead. I have had this experience in towns and +villages and cities. At the signal of the siren the lights of the +entire city suddenly snuff out, and the city or town or village is in +total darkness. Candles may be lighted and are lighted, but on the +whole one either walks the dark streets flashing his electric "Ever +Ready," or huddled up in a subway or in a cellar, or in a hallway +listening to the barrage of defense guns and to the bombs dropping, +watches and listens and waits in total darkness, and while he waits he +isn't certain half the time whether the noise he hears is the dropping +of German bombs or the beating of his own heart. Both make entirely +too much noise for peace and comfort. + +As one approaches the front-line cities and towns he learns something +more about the lights o' war. It is dark. He is in a little town and +must go to another town nearer the front lines. He is standing at the +depot (gare). No lights are visible save here and there an absolutely +necessary red or green light, which is veiled dimly. His train pulls +silently in. There is not a single light on it from one end to the +other. It creeps in like a great snake. There is nobody to tell you +whether this is your train or not, but you take a chance and climb into +a compartment which is pitch-dark. + + +HEARS AMERICAN VOICE + +You have a ticket that calls for first-class military compartment, but +you climbed into the first open door you saw, and didn't know and +didn't care whether it was first, second, third, or tenth class just so +you got on your way. Your eyes soon became accustomed to the darkness +and you discerned two or three forms in the seat opposite you. You +wondered if they were French, Italians, Belgians, English, Australians, +Canadians, Moroccans, Algerians, or Americans. It was too dark to see, +but suddenly you heard a familiar voice saying, "Gosh, I wish I was +back in little ole New York," and you made a grab in the darkness for +that lad's hand. + +All during your trip no trainman appears. You are left to your own +sweet will at nights in the war zone when you are on a train. No +stations are announced. You are supposed to have sense enough to know +where you are going, and to have gumption enough to get off without +either being assisted or told to do so. The assumption, I suppose, is +that anybody who travels in the war zone knows where he is going. +Personally, I felt like the American phrase, "I don't know where I'm +going but I'm on the way," and I tried to jump off at two or three +towns before I got to my own destination, but the American soldiers had +been that way before on their way to the trenches, and wouldn't let me +off at the wrong place. I thought surely that somebody would come +along to take my ticket, but nobody appeared. I soon found that night +trains "on the line" pay little attention to such minor matters as +tickets, and I have a pocketful that have never been taken up. Time +after time I have piled into a train at night, after buying a ticket to +my destination; have journeyed to my destination, have gone through the +depot and to my hotel without ever seeing a trainman to take the +ticket. I was let severely alone. And even if a conductor had come +along through the train it would have been too dark for him to have +seen me, and I am sure I could have dodged him had I so desired. Maybe +that's the reason they don't take the tickets up. Anyhow, I have given +you a picture of a great train in the war zone, winding its way toward +the front, in complete darkness. + + +FLASH-LIGHTS + +Flash-lights have come into their own in this war. One would as soon +think of living without a flash-light as he would think of travelling +without clothes in Greenland. It simply cannot be done. In any city, +from Paris to the smallest towns on the front, one must have his +flash-light. The streets of the cities and towns of France are a +hundred times more crooked than those of Boston. If Boston's streets +followed the cow-paths, the streets of the cities of France followed +cows with the St. Vitus dance. Around these streets one had to find +his way by night with a flash-light, especially during an air-raid. +One must have a flash, too, for the houses and hotels when an air-raid +is on, and one must have it when one is driving a big truck or an +automobile down along the front lines, for no lights are permitted on +any machines, official or otherwise, after a certain point is reached. +One of the favorite outdoor sports of this preacher for a month was to +lie on his stomach on the front mud-guard of a big Pierce-Arrow through +the war-zone roads, bumping over shell-holes, with a little pocket +flash-light playing on the ground, searching out the shell-holes, and +trying to help the driver keep in the road. It is a delightful +occupation about two o'clock in the morning, with a blizzard blowing, +and knowing that the big truck is rumbling along within sight and sound +of the German big guns. Trucks make more noise on such occasions than +a Twentieth Century Limited. "No lights beyond divisional +headquarters" was the order, and night after night we travelled along +these roads with only an occasional flash of the Ever Ready to guide. +And so it is that the flash-light has come to its own, and every +private soldier, officer, and citizen in France is equipped with one. +He would be like a swordfish without its sword if he didn't have it. + + +LADDER OF LIGHT + +Then suddenly you see a strange finger of light reaching into the sky. +Or you may liken it to a ladder of light climbing the sky. Or you may +liken it to a lance of light piercing the darkness. Or you may just +call it a good, old-fashioned search-light, which it is. It is +watching for Hun planes, and it plays all night long from north to +south, from east to west, restlessly, eagerly, quickly, like a "hound +of the heavens" guarding the earth. First it sweeps the horizon, and +then it suddenly shoots straight up into the zenith like another sun, +and it seems to flood the very skies. No German plane can cut through +that path of light without being seen, and one night I had the rare +privilege of seeing a plane caught by the search-light on its +ever-vigilant patrol. It was a thrilling sight. One minute later the +anti-aircraft guns were thundering away and the shrapnel was breaking +in tiny patches around this plane while the search-lights played on +both the plane and the shrapnel patches of smoke against the sky, +making a wonderful picture. Military writers say that the enemy planes +are more afraid of these search-lights than of the guns. + +[Illustration: One night I had the privilege of seeing a plane caught +by the search-light.] + +But perhaps the most thrilling sight of all is that dark night when one +sees for the first time the star-shells along the horizon. At first +you may see them ten miles away making luminous the earth. Then as you +drive nearer and nearer, that far-off heat-lightning effect disappears +and you can actually see the curve of the star-shells as they mount +toward the skies over No Man's Land and fall again as gracefully as a +fountain of water. Sometimes you will see them for miles along the +front, making night day and lighting up the fields and surrounding +hills as though for a great celebration. + + +BURSTING BOMBS + +The light of bursting shells as they fall, or of bursting bombs from an +aeroplane, is a short, sharp, quick light like an electric flash when a +wire falls or a flash of sharp lightning, but the light of the great +guns along the line as they thunder their missiles of death can be seen +for miles when a bombardment is on. One forgets the thunder of these +belching monsters, and one forgets the death they carry, in the glory +of the flame of noonday light that they make in the night. + +Then there are the range-finders. These suddenly shoot up in the +night, steady and clear, and remain for several minutes burning +brightly before they go out. I used to see these frequently driving +home from the front. They were sent up from the hangars to guide the +French and American planes to a safe landing by night. + +Then there is the moonlight. Moonlight nights in towns along the war +front are dreaded, for it invariably means a Boche raid. Clear +moonlight nights with a full moon are fine for lovers in a country that +is at peace, but it may mean death for lovers in a country that is at +war. But moonlight nights are beautiful even in war countries, with +dim old cathedrals looming in the background, and the white villages of +France, a huge chateau here and there against the hillside or crowning +its summit; and the white roads and white fields of France swinging by. +One forgets there is war then, until he hears the unmistakable beat of +the Hun plane overhead and sees the flash of one, two, three, four, +five, six, ten, twelve, fifteen bombs break in a single field a few +hundred yards away, and the driver remarks: "I knew we'd have a raid +tonight. It's a great night for the Boche!" + + +STARLIGHT AT FRONT + +Then there is the starlight on No Man's Land, for the starlight is a +part of the lights o' war just as are the moonlight and the star-shells +and the little flash-lights and the range-finders and the bursting +shells and bombs. But there are other more significant lights o' war. + +There is the "Light that Lies in the Soldiers' Eyes," of which my +friend Lynn Harold Hough has written so beautifully and +understandingly. Only over here it is a different light. It is the +light of a great loneliness for home, hidden back of a light that we +see in the eyes of the three soldiers in the painting "The Spirit of +Seventy-Six." It is there. It is here. One sees it in the eyes of +the lads who have come in out of the trenches after they have had their +baptism of fire. I have seen them come in after successfully repulsing +a German raid and I have seen their eyes fairly luminous with victory, +and that light says, as said the spirit of France, not only "They shall +not pass," but it says something else. It says: "We'll go get 'em! +We'll go get 'em!" That's the light o' war that lies in the soldiers' +eyes back of the light of home. I verily believe that the two are +close akin. The American lad knows that the sooner we lick the Hun the +sooner he'll get back home, where he wants to be more than he wants +anything else on earth. + + +Y. M. C. A.'s LIGHT + +Then there's the light in the Y. M. C. A. hut, and from General +Pershing down to the lowest private the army knows that this is the +warmest, friendliest, most home-like, most welcome light that shines +out through the darkness of war. It not only shines literally by +night, but it shines by day. I have seen some huts back of the front +lines lighted by the most brilliant electricity. Some of it is +obtained from local power-plants, and some of it is made by the Y. M. +C. A. Then I have seen some huts up near the lines that were lighted +by old-fashioned oil-lamps. Then I have been in Y. M. C. A. dugouts +and cellars and holes in the ground, up so close to the German lines +that they were shelled every day, and these have been lighted by tallow +candles stuck in a bottle or in their own melted grease. I have seen +huts back of the lines away from danger of air-raids that could have +their windows wide open, and I have seen the light pouring in a flood +out of these windows, a constant invitation to thousands of American +boys. And again I have seen our huts in places so near the lines that +the secretaries had not only to use candles but to screen their windows +with a double layer of black cloth, so that not a single ray of that +tiny candle might throw its beams to the watching German on the hill +beyond. I never knew before what Shakespeare meant when he said: "How +far a tiny candle throws its beams." But whether it has been in the +more protected huts back of the lines or in the dangerous huts close to +the lines, the lights in the huts are usually the only lights available +for the boys, and to these lights they flock every night. It is a +Rembrandt picture that they make in the dim light of the candles +sitting around the tables writing letters by candle-light. It is their +one warm, bright spot, for a great stove nearly always blazes away in +the Y. M. C. A. hut, and it is the only warmth the lad knows. Few of +the billets or tents in France boast of a stove. + +Two things I shall never forget. One was the sight of a Y. M. C. A. +hut that I saw in a town far back of the trenches. It was in the town +where General Pershing's headquarters are located. On the very tip of +the hill above me was the hut. Its every window was a blaze of light. +It was the one dominating, scintillating building of the town, a big +double hut. When I climbed the hill to this hut I found it crowded to +its limits with men from everywhere. The rest of the town was dark and +there was little life, but here was the pulse of social life and +comradeship, and here was the one blaze and glory of light. + +The other sight that I shall not forget was up within a few hundred +yards of the German lines. It was night. We were returning from our +furtherest hut "down the line." We met a crowd of American soldiers +tramping through the snow and mud and cold. They were shivering even +as they walked. We stopped the machine and gave them a lift. I asked +one of the lads where he was going. He said: "Down to the 'Y' hut in +----." I said: "Where is your camp?" He replied: "Up at ----." I +said: "Why, boy, that's four miles away from the hut." "We don't care. +We walk it every night. It's the only warm place in reach and the only +place where we can be where there are lights at night and where we can +get to see the fellows and write a letter. We stay there for an hour +or two and tramp back through this ---- (censored) mud to our billets." + +And of all the lights o' war one must know that the lights of the Y. M. +C. A. huts cast their beams not only into the hearts of these lads but +across the world, and sometimes I think across the eternities, for in +these huts innumerable lads are seeing the light that never was on land +or sea, and are finding the light that lights the way to Home. And +these are the lights o' war. + + + + +XIII + +SILHOUETTES OF SUNSHINE + +There is laughter and song and sunshine among our boys in France. Let +every mother and father be sure of that. Your boys are always lonely +for home and for you, but they are not depressed, and they are there to +stay until the job is done. There are times of unutterable loneliness, +but usually they are a buoyant, happy, human crowd of American boys. + +Those of us who have lived with them, slept with them, eaten with them, +come back with no sense of gloom or depression. I say to you that the +most buoyant, happy, hopeful, confident crowd of men in the wide world +is the American army in France. If you could see them back of the +lines, even within sound of the guns, playing a game of ball; if you +could see them putting on a minstrel show in a Y. M. C. A. hotel in +Paris; if you could see a team of white boys playing a team of negro +boys; if you could see a whole regiment go in swimming; if you could +see them in a track meet, you would know that, in spite of war, they +are living normal lives, with just about the same proportion of +sunshine and sorrow as they find at home, with the sunshine dominant. + +Some Silhouettes of Sunshine gleam against the background of war like +scintillating diamonds and + + "Send a thrill of laughter through the framework + of your heart; + And warm your inner being 'til the tear drops + want to start." + + +There was that watch-trading incident on the Toul line. + +The Americans had only been there a week, but it hadn't taken them long +to get acquainted with the French soldiers. About all the two +watch-trading Americans knew of French was "Oui! Oui!" and they used +this every minute. + +The American soldiers had a four-dollar Ingersoll watch, and this +illuminated time-piece had caught the eye of the French soldier. He, +in turn, had an expensive, jewelled, Swiss-movement pocket-watch. The +American knew its value and wanted it. + +They stood and argued. Several times during the interesting +transaction the American shrugged his shoulders and walked away as if +to say: "Oh, I don't want your old watch. It isn't worth anything." + +Then they would get together again, and the gesticulating would begin +all over; the machine-gun staccato of "Oui Oui's" would rattle again, +and the argument would continue, without either one of the contracting +parties knowing a word of the other's language. + +At last I saw the American soldier unstrap his Ingersoll and hand it +over to the Frenchman, who, in turn, pulled out the good Swiss-movement +watch, and both parties to the transaction went off happy, for each had +gotten what he wanted. + +One of the funniest things that happened in France while I was there +was told me by a wounded boy one Sunday afternoon back of the Notre +Dame cathedral. He was invalided from the Chateau-Thierry scrap in +which the American marines had played such a heroic part. He was a +member of the marines, and was slightly wounded. He saw that I was a +secretary, and thought to play a good joke on me. He pulled out of his +breast-pocket a small black thing that looked and was bound just like a +Bible. Its corner was dented, and it was plain to be seen that a +bullet had hit it, and that that book had stopped its death-dealing +course. + +I should have been warned by a gleam that I saw in his eyes, but was +not. I said: "So you see that it's a good thing to be carrying a Bible +around in your pocket?" + +"Yes, that saved my life last week," he said impressively. Then he +showed me the hole in his blouse where it had hit. The hole was still +torn and ragged. In the meantime I was opening what I thought was his +Bible. + +It was a deck of cards. + +I can hear that fine American lad's laughter yet. It rang like the +bells of the old cathedral itself, in the shadow of which we stood. +His laughter startled the group of old men playing checkers on a park +bench into forgetting their game and joining in the fun. Everybody +stopped to see what the fun was about. That lad had a good one on the +secretary, and he was enjoying it as much as the secretary himself. + +Then he said: "Now I'll tell you a good story to make up for fooling +you." + +"You had better," I said with a sheepish grin. + +Then he began: + +"There was a fellow named Rosenbaum brought in with me last week to the +Paris hospital, wounded in three places. They put me beside him and he +told me his story. + +"It was at Belleau Wood and the Americans were plunging through to the +other side driving the Boche before them. This Jewish boy is from New +York City, and one of the favorites of the whole marine outfit. He had +gotten separated from his friends. Suddenly he was confronted by a +German captain with a belching automatic revolver. The Hun got him in +the shoulder with the first shot. Then the American made a lunge with +his bayonet, and ran the captain through the neck, but not before the +captain shot him twice through the left leg. The two fell together. +When the boy from New York came to consciousness he reached out and +there was the dead German officer lying beside him. + +"The boy took off the captain's helmet first, and pulled it over to +himself. Then he took his revolver and his cartridge-belt and piled +them all in a little pile. Then he took off his shoes and his trousers +and every stitch of clothes that the officer had on, and painfully +strapped them around himself under his own blouse. After he had done +this he strapped the officer's belt on himself. When the +stretcher-bearers got to him and had taken him to a first-aid and the +nurses took his clothes off, they found the officer's outfit. + +"'Say, boy, are you a walking pawnshop?' the good-natured doctor said, +and proceeded to take the souvenirs away. + +"This was the military procedure, but the New York boy cried and said: +'I'll die on your hands if you take them away.' + +"He was a serious case, and so they humored him and let him keep his +souvenirs, and when I saw them take him out to a base hospital this +morning, he still had them strapped to him, with a grin on his face +like a darky eating watermelon." + +"What did you say his name was?" I asked. + +"Rosenbaum," the boy replied. "Rosenbaum from New York." + +"Say, if they'd only recruit a regiment like that from America, we'd +send the whole German army back to Berlin naked," added another soldier +who was standing near. + +Then we all had another good laugh, which in its turn disturbed the old +men playing checkers on the bench under the trees back of Notre Dame. +But the soldier who told me the story added thoughtfully a truth that +every one in France knows. + +"At that, I'm tellin' you, boy, there aren't any braver soldiers in the +American army than them Jewish boys from New York. I got 'o hand it to +them." + +"Yes, we all do," I replied. + +This good-natured raillery goes on all over the army, for it is a +cosmopolitan crowd, such as never before wore the uniform of the United +States, and each group, the negro group, the Italian group, the Jewish +group, the Slav group, the Western group, the Southern group, the +Eastern group, all have their little fun at the expense of the others, +and out of it all comes much sunshine and laughter, and no bitterness. + +The Jewish boy loves to repeat a good joke on his own kind as well as +the others. I myself saw the letter that a Jewish boy was writing to +his uncle in New York, eulogizing the Y. M. C. A. He was not an +educated lad, but he was a wonderfully sincere boy, and he pleaded his +cause well. He had been treated so well by the "Y" that he wanted his +uncle to give all his spare cash to that great organization. This is +the letter: + + +"DEAR UNCLE: + +"This here Y. M. C. A. is the goods. They give you chocolate when +you're goin' into the trenches and they gives you chocolate when you're +comin' out and they don't charge you nothin' for it neither. If you +are givin' any money don't you give it to none of them Red Crosses nor +to none of them Salvation Armies, nor to none of them Knights of +Columbuses; but you give it to them Y. M. C. A.'s. They treat you +right. They have entertainments for you and wrestlin' matches, and +they give you a place to write. And what's more, Uncle _they don't +have no respect fer no religion_. + + "Yours, + + "BILL." + + +Yes, France is full of Silhouettes of Sunshine. There was the eloquent +Y. M. C. A. secretary. And while he didn't exactly know it, he too was +adding his unconscious ray of light to a dull and desolate world. + +The Gothas had come over Paris the night before, and so had a group of +some one hundred and fifty new secretaries. The Gothas had played +havoc with two blocks of buildings on a certain Paris street because of +the fact that the bombs they dropped had severed the gas-mains. The +result did have a look of desolation I'll have to admit. So far the +new secretaries had done no damage. + +Now there is one thing common to all the newly arrived in France, be +they Y. M. C. A. secretaries, Knights of Columbus workers, Red Cross +men, or just the common garden variety of "investigators," and that is +that for about two weeks they are alert to hear the bloodiest, most +drippy, and desolate-with-danger stories that they can hear, for the +high and holy purpose of writing back home to their favorite paper, or +to their wives or sweethearts, of how near they were to getting killed; +of how the bombs fell just a few minutes before or just a few minutes +after they were "on that very spot"; of how the raid came the very +night after they were in London or Paris; of how just after they had +walked along a certain street the Big Bertha had dropped a shell there; +of how the night after they had slept in a certain hotel down in Nancy +the Germans blew it up. We're all alike the first week, and staid war +correspondents are no exception to the rule. It gets them all. + +I came on my friend telling this crowd of eager new secretaries of the +damage that the Gothas had done the night before. There they stood in +a corner of the hotel with open ears, eyes, and mouths. Most of them +were on their toes ready to make a break for their rooms and get all +the horrible details down in their letters home and their diaries +before it escaped them. They were torn between a fear that they would +forget some of the horrid details and for fear some other fellow would +get the big story back home to the local paper before they could get it +there. When I came in, this nonchalant narrator was having the time of +his young life. He was revelling in description. Color and fire and +blood and ruin and desecration flowed from his eloquent lips like water +over Niagara. + +When I got close enough to hear, he was at his most climactic and last +period of eloquence. He made a gesture with one hand, waving it +gracefully into the air full length, with these words: "Why, gentlemen, +I didn't see anything worse at the San Francisco earthquake." + +In three seconds that crowd had disappeared, each to his own letter, +and each to his own diary. Not a detail must escape. How wonderful it +would be to describe that awful destruction, and say at the end of the +letter: "And this happened just the night before we reached Paris." + +Only the vivid artist of description and myself remained in the hotel +lobby, and having heard him mention San Francisco, my own home, I was +naturally curious and wanted to talk a bit over old times, so I went up +to the gentleman and said: "I heard you say to that gang that you +hadn't seen anything worse at the San Francisco earthquake, so I +thought I'd have a chat about San Francisco with you." + +"Why, I was never in San Francisco in my life," he said with a grin. + +"But you said to those boys, 'I didn't see anything worse at the San +Francisco earthquake,'" I replied. + +"Well, I didn't, for I wasn't there. I just gave them guys what they +was lookin' for in all its horrible details, didn't I? Ain't they +satisfied? Well, so am I, bo." + +This story has a meaning all its own in addition to the fact that it +produced one of the bright spots in my experiences in France. That +eloquent secretary represents a type who will tell the public about +anything he thinks it wants to know about the "horrible details" of war +in France, and facts do not baffle his inventive genius. + +One characteristic of the American soldier in France is his absolute +fearlessness about dangers. He doesn't know how to be afraid. He +wants to see all that is going on. The French tap their heads and say +he is crazy, a gesture they have learned from America. And they have +reason to think so. When the "alert" blows for an air-raid the French +and English have learned to respect it. Not so the American soldier. + +"Think I'm comin' clear across that darned ocean to see something, and +then duck down into some blamed old cellar or cave and not see anything +that's goin' on! Not on your life. None o' that for muh! I'm going +to get right out on the street where I can see the whole darned show!" + +And that's just what he does. I've been in some twenty-five or thirty +air-raids in four or five cities of France, and I have never yet seen +many Americans who took to the "abris." They all want to see what's +going on, and so they hunt the widest street, and the corner at that, +to watch the air-raids. + +One night during a heavy raid in Paris, when the French were safely +hidden in the "abris," because they had sense enough to protect +themselves, I saw about twenty sober but hilarious American soldiers +marching down the middle of the boulevard, arm in arm, singing "Sweet +Adelaide" at the top of their voices, while the bombs were dropping all +over Paris, and a continuous barrage from the anti-aircraft guns was +cannonading until it sounded like a great front-line battle. + +That night I happened to be watching the raid myself from a convenient +street-corner. Unconsciously I stood up against a street-lamp with a +shade over me, made of tin about the size of a soldier's steel helmet. +Along came a French street-walker, looked at me standing there under +that tiny canopy, and with a laugh said as she swiftly passed me, +"C'est un abri, monsieur?" looking up. The air-raid had not dampened +her sense of humor even if it had destroyed her trade for that night. + +[Illustration: The air-raid had not dampened her sense of humor.] + +Another story illustrative of the never-die spirit of the Frenchwomen, +in spite of their sorrows and losses: One night, when the rain was +pouring in torrents, a desolate, chilly night, I saw a girl of the +streets plying her trade, standing where the rain had soaked her +through and through. Were her spirits dampened? Was she discouraged? +Was she blue? No; she stood there in the rain humming the air of an +opera, oblivious to the fact that she was soaked through and through, +and cold to the bone. + +This is the undying spirit of France. I do not know whether this girl +was driven to her trade because she had lost her husband in the war, +but I do know that many have been. I do not know anything about her +life. I do know that there she stood, soaked through and through, a +frail child of the street, plying her trade, and singing in the rain. +The silhouette of this frail girl and her spirit is typical of France: +"Her head though bloody is unbowed." Somehow that sight gave me +strength. + +The reaction of the German submarining in American waters on the boys +"Over There" will be interesting to home-folks. When the news got to +France that submarines were plying in American waters near New York, +did it produce consternation? No! Did it produce regret? No! Did it +make them mad? No! + +It made them laugh. All over France the boys laughed, and laughed; +laughed uproariously; doubled up and laughed. I found this everywhere. +I do not attempt to explain it. It just struck their funny bones. I +heard one fellow say: "Now the next best thing would be for a sub some +night, when there was nobody in the offices, to throw a few shells into +one of those New York skyscrapers." + +"I'll say so! I'll say so!" was the laughing reply. + +"Wow! There'd be somethin' doin' at home then, wouldn't there?" my +friend the artillery captain said with a grin. + +But about the funniest thing I heard along the sunshine-producing line +was not in France but coming home from France, on the transport. It +came from a prisoner on the transport who was sentenced to fifteen +years for striking a top-sergeant. + +One night outside of my stateroom I heard some words, and then a blow +struck, and a man fall. There was a general commotion. + +The next morning the fellow who struck the blow was summoned before the +captain of the transport. + +"See here, my man, you are already sentenced for fifteen years, and +it's a serious offense to strike a man on the high seas." + +"I didn't strike him on the high seas, sir, I struck him on the jaw." + +The captain was baffled, but went on: + +"What did you hit the man for?" + +"He argued with me. I can't stand it to be argued with." + +"But you shouldn't strike a man and split his mouth open just because +he disagrees with you," said the captain severely. + +"I just don't seem to be able to stand it to have a guy argue with me," +he replied, not abashed in the slightest. + +"Well, you go to your bunk. I'll think it over and tell you in the +morning what I'll do about it," said the captain, and turned away. + +But the man waited. The captain, seeing this, turned and said: "Well, +what do you want?" + +"All I got to say, captain, is that you mustn't let any of them guys +argue with me again, for if they do I'll do the same thing over if you +give me fifty years for it. I just can't stand it to have a man argue +with me." + +Silhouettes of Sunshine? France is full of them. There were the +fields full of a million blood-red poppies back in Brittany, and the +banks of old-gold broom blooming along a thousand stone walls; there +were the negro stevedores marching to work, winter and summer, rain or +shine, night or day, always whistling or singing as they marched, to +the wonderment of French and English alike. Their spirits never seemed +to be dampened. They always marched to music of their own making. +There was that baseball game, when an entire company of negroes, +watching their team play a white team, at the climax of the game when +one negro boy had knocked a home run, ran around the bases with him, +more than two hundred laughing, shouting, grinning, singing, yelling +negroes, helping to bring in the score that won the game. Then there +was that Sunday morning when several white captains decided that their +negro boys should have a bath. They took their boys down to an ocean +beach. It was a bit chilly. The negroes stripped at order, but they +didn't like the idea of going into that cold ocean water. One captain +solved the difficulty. He took his own clothes off. He got in front +of his men. He lined them up in formation. Then he said: "Now, boys, +we're going to play that ocean is full of Germans. You stevedores are +always complaining about not getting up front, and you tell me what +you'd do to the Germans if you once got up front. Now I'm going to see +how much nerve you've got. When I say 'Forward! March!' it is a +military order. I'm going to lead you into that water. We are going +in military formation. + +"'Forward! March!'" + +And that company of black soldiers marched into that cold ocean water, +dreading it with all their souls but soldiers to the core, without a +quaver, eyes to the front, heads up, chests out, unflinchingly, up to +their knees, up to their waists, up to their chins, when the captain +shouted "As you were!" and such a hilarious, shouting, laughing, +splashing, jumping, yelling, fun-filled hour as followed the world +never saw. The gleaming of white teeth, the flashing of ebony limbs +through green water and under sparkling sunlight that Sunday morning +was full of a fine type of fun and laughter that made the world a +better place to live in, and certainly a cleaner place. + +War is grim. War is serious. War is full of hurt and hate and pain +and heartache and loneliness and wounds, and mud and death and dearth; +but the American soldier spends more time laughing than he does crying; +more time singing than he does moaning; more time playing than he does +moping; more times shouting than he does whimpering; more time hoping +than he does despairing; and because of this effervescent spirit of +sunshine and laughter his morale is the best morale that any army in +the history of the world has ever shown. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLDIER SILHOUETTES ON OUR FRONT*** + + +******* This file should be named 18078.txt or 18078.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/7/18078 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://www.gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: +https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/18078.zip b/18078.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8c0e430 --- /dev/null +++ b/18078.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1007092 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #18078 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18078) |
