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The War Romance of the Salvation Army

E >> Evangeline Booth and Grace Livingston Hill >> The War Romance of the Salvation Army




One bright young fellow with a bandaged eye turned a cheerful grin toward
the Salvation Army visitor as she said with compassion: "Son, I'm sorry
you've lost your eye."

"Oh, that's nothing," was the gay reply, "I can see everything out of the
other eye. I've got seven holes in me, too, but believe me I'm not going
home for the loss of an eye and seven holes! I'll get out yet and get into
the fight!"

The Salvation Army officer and his wife who were stationed at Bonvillers
visited every man in the local hospital every day, sleeping every night in
the open fields. As they are quite elderly, this was no little hardship,
especially in rainy weather.

Five lassies stationed at Noyers St. Martin were for several weeks forced
by the nightly shelling and air-raids to take their blankets out into the
fields at night and sleep under the stars. One of these girls was called
"Sunshine" because of her smile.

On the eve of Decoration Day a military Colonel visited her in the hut. He
seemed rather depressed, perhaps by the ceremonies of the day, and said
that he had come to be cheered up. In parting he said, "Little girl, you
had better get out of town early to-night; I feel as though something is
going to happen." Less than an hour later, while the girls were just
preparing for the night in a field half a mile distant, an aerial bomb
dropped by an aviator on the house in which he was billeted killed him and
two other Captains who were sitting with him at the time. He had been a
great friend of the Salvation Army.

Out in a little village in Indiana there grew a fair young flower of a
girl. Her mother was a dear Christian woman and she was brought up in her
mother's church, which she loved. When she was only twelve years old she
had a remarkable and thorough old-fashioned conversion, giving herself
with all her childish heart to the Saviour. She feels that she had a kind
of vision at that time of what the Lord wanted her to be, a call to do
some special work for Christ out in the world, helping people who did not
know Him, people who were sick and poor and sorrowful. She did not tell
her vision to anyone. She did not even know that anywhere in the world
were any people doing the kind of work she felt she would like to do, and
God had called her to do. She was shy about it and kept her thoughts much
to herself. She loved her own church, and its services, but somehow that
did not quite satisfy her.

One day when she was about fourteen years old the Salvation Army came to
the town where she lived and opened work, holding its meetings in a large
hall or armory. With her young companions she attended these meetings and
was filled with a longing to be one of these earnest Christian workers.

Her mother, accustomed to a quiet conventional church and its way of doing
Christian work, was horrified; and in alarm sent her away to visit her
uncle, who was a Baptist minister. The daughter, dutiful and sweet, went
willingly away, although she had many a longing for these new friends of
hers who seemed to her to have found the way of working for God that had
been her own heart's desire for so long.

Meantime her gay young brother, curious to know what had so stirred his
bright sister, went to the Salvation Army meetings to find out, and was
attracted himself. He went again and found Jesus Christ, and himself
joined the Salvation Army. The mother in this case did not object, perhaps
because she felt that a boy needed more safeguards than a girl, perhaps
because the life of publicity would not trouble her so much in connection
with her son as with her daughter.

The daughter after several months away from home returned, only to find
her longing to join the Salvation Army stronger. But quietly and sweetly
she submitted to her mother's wish and remained at home for some years,
like her Master before her, who went down to His home in Nazareth and was
subject to His father and mother; showing by her gentle submission and her
lovely life that she really had the spirit of God in her heart and was not
merely led away by her enthusiasm for something new and strange.

When she was twenty her mother withdrew her objections, and the daughter
became a Salvationist, her mother coming to feel thoroughly in sympathy
with her during the remaining years she lived.

This is the story of one of the Salvation Army lassies who has been giving
herself to the work in the huts over in France. She is still young and
lovely, and there is something about her delicate features and slender
grace that makes one think of a young saint. No wonder the soldiers almost
worshipped her! No wonder these lassies were as safe over there ten miles
from any other woman or any other civilian alone among ten thousand
soldiers, as if they had been in their own homes. They breathed the spirit
of God as they worked, as well as when they sang and prayed. To such a
girl a man may open his heart and find true help and strength.

[Illustration: A letter of inspiration from the commander]

[Illustration: The Salvation Army boy truck driver who calmly went to
sleep in his truck in a shell hole under fire]

It was no uncommon thing for our boys who were so afraid of anything like
religion or anything personal over here, to talk to these lassies about
their souls, to ask them what certain verses in the Bible meant, and to
kneel with them in some quiet corner behind the chocolate boxes and be
prayed with, yes, and _pray!_ It is because these girls have let the
Christ into their lives so completely that He lives and speaks through
them, and the boys cannot help but recognize it.

Not every boy who was in a Salvation hut meeting has given himself to
Christ, of course, but every one of them recognizes this wonderful
something in these girls. Ask them. They will tell you "She is the real
thing!" They won't tell you more than that, perhaps, unless they have
really grown in the Christian life, but they mean that they have
recognized in her spirit a likeness to the spirit of Christ.

Now and then, of course, there was a thick-headed one who took some
minutes to recognize holiness. Such would enter a hut with an oath upon
his lips, or an unclean story, and straightway all the men who were
sitting at the tables writing or standing about the room would come to
attention with one of those little noisy silences that mean, so much;
pencils would click down on the table like a challenge, and the newcomer
would look up to find the cold glances of his fellows upon him.

The boys who frequented the huts broke the habit of swearing and telling
unclean stories, and officers began to realize that their men were better
in their work because of this holy influence that was being thrown about
them. One officer said his men worked better, and kept their engines oiled
up so they wouldn't be delayed on the road, that they might get back to
the hut early in the evening. The picture of a girl stirring chocolate
kept the light of hope going in the heart of many a homesick lad.

One ignorant and exceedingly "fresh" youth, once walked boldly into a hut,
it is said, and jauntily addressed the lassie behind the counter as
"Dearie." The sweet blue eyes of the lassie grew suddenly cold with
aloofness, and she looked up at the newcomer without her usual smile,
saying distinctly: _"What did you say?_"

The soldier stared, and grew red and unhappy:

"Oh! I beg your pardon!" he said, and got himself out of the way as soon
as possible. These lassies needed no chaperon. They were young saints to
the boys they served, and they had a cordon of ten thousand faithful
soldiers drawn about them night and day. As a military Colonel said, the
Salvation Army lassie was the only woman in France who was safe
unchaperoned.

When this lassie from Indiana came back on a short furlough after fifteen
months in France with the troops, and went to her home for a brief visit,
the Mayor gave the home town a holiday, had out the band and waited at the
depot in his own limousine for four hours that he might not miss greeting
her and doing her honor.

Here is the poem which Pte. Joseph T. Lopes wrote about "Those Salvation
Army Folks" after the Montdidier attack:

Somewhere in France, not far from the foe,
There's a body of workers whose name we all know;
Who not only at home give their lives to make right,
But are now here beside us, fighting our fight.
What care they for rest when our boys at the front,
Who, fighting for freedom, are bearing the brunt,
And so, just at dawn, when the caissons come home,
With the boys tired out and chilled to the bone,
The Salvation Army with its brave little crew,
Are waiting with doughnuts and hot coffee, too.
When dangers and toiling are o'er for awhile,
In their dugouts we find comfort and welcome their smile.
There's a spirit of home, so we go there each night,
And the thinking of home makes us sit down and write,
So we tell of these folks to our loved ones with pride,
And are thanking the Lord to have them on our side.




V.

The Toul Sector Again



When the German offensive was definitely checked in the Montdidier Sector,
the First Division was transferred back to the Toul Sector and the
Salvation Army moved with it. They had in the meantime maintained all the
huts which had been established originally, and with the return of the
First Division, they established additional huts between Font and Nancy.
When the St. Mihiel drive came off, they followed the advancing troops,
establishing huts in the devastated villages, keeping in as close contact
with the extreme front as was possible, serving the troops day and night,
always aiming to be at the point where the need was the greatest, and
where they could be of the greatest service.

The first Americans to pay the supreme sacrifice in the cause of liberty
were buried in the Toul Sector.

As it drew near to Decoration Day there came a message from over the sea
from the Commander to her faithful band of workers, saying that she was
sending American flags, one for every American soldier's grave, and that
she wanted the graves cared for and decorated; and at all the various
locations of Salvation Army workers they prepared to do her bidding.

The day before the thirtieth of May they took time from their other duties
to clear away the mud, dead grass and fallen leaves from the graves, and
heap up the mounds where they had been washed flat by the rains, making
each one smooth, regular and tidy. At the head of each grave was a simple
wooden cross bearing the name of the soldier who lay there, his rank, his
regiment and the date of his death. Into the back of each cross they drove
a staple for a flag, and they swept and garnished the place as best they
could.

One Salvation Army woman writing home told of the plans they had made in
Treveray for Decoration Day; how Commander Booth was sending enough
American flags to decorate every American grave in France, and how they
meant to gather flowers and put with the flags, and have a little service
of prayer over the graves.

In the gray old French cemetery of Treveray five American boys lay buried.
The flowers upon their graves were dry and dead, for their regiments had
moved on and left them. The graves had been neglected and only the
guarding wooden crosses remained above the rough earth to show that
someone had cared and had stopped to put a mark above the places where
they lay. It was these graves the Salvation Army woman now proposed to
decorate on Memorial Day.

The letter went to the Captain for censorship, and soon the Salvation Army
woman had a call from him.

"I understand by one of your letters that you are thinking of decorating
the American graves," he said. "We would like to help in that, if you
don't mind. I would like the company all to be present."

The day before Memorial Day this woman with two of the lassies from the
hut went to the cemetery and prepared for the morrow.

In the morning they gathered great armfuls of crimson poppies from the
fields, creamy snowballs from neglected gardens, and blue bachelor buttons
from the hillsides, which they arranged in bouquets of red, white and blue
for the graves. They had no vases in which to place the flowers but they
used the apple tins in which the apples for their pies had been canned.

The centuries-old gray cemetery nestled in a curve of the road between
wheat fields on every side. A gray, moss-covered, lichen-hung wall
surrounded it. The five American graves were under the shadow of the
Western wall, and the sun was slowly sinking in his glory as the company
of soldiers escorted the women into the cemetery. They passed between the
ponderous old gray stones, and beaded wreaths of the French graves; and
the officers and men lined up facing the five graves. The women placed the
tricolored flowers in the cans prepared for them, and planted the flags
beside them. Then the elder woman, who had sons of her own, stepped out
and saluted the military commanding officer: "Colonel" said she, "with
your permission we would like to follow our custom and offer a prayer for
the bereaved." Instantly permission was given and every head was uncovered
as the Salvationist poured out her heart in prayer to the Everlasting
Father, commending the dead into His tender Keeping, and pleading for the
sorrow-stricken friends across the sea, until the soldiers' tears fell
unchecked as they stood with rifles stiffly in front of them listening to
the quiet voice of the woman as she prayed. God seemed Himself to come
down, and the living boys standing over their five dead comrades could not
help but be enfolded in His love, and feel the sense of His presence. They
knew that they, too, might soon be sleeping even as these at their feet.
It seemed but a step to the other life. When the prayer was finished a
firing squad fired five volleys over the graves, and then the bugler
played the taps and the little service was over. The lassies lingered to
take pictures of the graves and that night they wrote letters describing
the ceremony, to be sent with the photographs to the War Department at
Washington with the request that they be forwarded to the nearest
relatives of the five men buried at Treveray.

[Illustration: The centuries-old gray cemetery in Treveray]

[Illustration: Colonel Barker placing the commander's flowers on
Lieutenant Quentin Roosevelt's grave]

There were exercises at Menil-la-Tour and here they had built a simple
platform in the centre of the ground and erected a flagpole at one corner.

When the morning came two regimental bands took up their positions in
opposite corners of the cemetery and began to play. The French populace
had turned out en masse. They took up their stand just outside the little
cemetery, next to them the soldiers were lined up, then the Red Cross,
then the Y.M.C.A. Beyond, a little hill rose sloping gently to the sky
line, and over it a mile away was the German front, with the shells coming
over all the time.

It was an impressive scene as all stood with bared heads just outside the
little enclosure where eighty-one wooden crosses marked the going of as
many brave spirits who had walked so blithely into the crisis and given
their young lives.

Some French officers had brought a large, beautiful wreath to do honor to
the American heroes, and this was placed at the foot of the great central
flagpole.

The bands played, and they all sang. It was announced that but for the
thoughtfulness and kindness of Commander Evangeline Booth in sending over
flags those graves would have gone undecorated that day.

The Commanding General then came to the front and behind him walked the
Salvation Army lassies bearing the flags in their arms.

Down the long row of graves he passed. He would take a flag from one of
the girls, slip it in the staple back of the cross, stand a moment at
salute, then pass on to the next. It was very still that May morning,
broken only by the awesome boom of battle just over the hill, but to that
sound all had grown accustomed. The people stood with that hush of sorrow
over them which only the majesty of death can bring to the hearts of a
crowd, and there were tears in many eyes and on the faces of rough
soldiers standing there to honor their comrades who had been called upon
to give their lives to the great cause of freedom.

A little breeze was blowing and into the solemn stillness there stole a
new sound, the silken ripple of the flags as one by one they were set
fluttering from the crosses, like a soft, growing, triumphant chorus of
those to come whose lives were to be made safe because these had died. As
if the flag would waft back to the Homeland, and the stricken mothers and
fathers, sisters and sweethearts, some idea of the greatness of the cause
in which they died to comfort them in their sorrow.

Out through each line the General passed, placing the flags and solemnly
saluting, till eighty graves had been decorated and there was only one
left; but there was no flag for the eighty-first grave! Somehow, although
they thought they had brought several more than were needed, they were one
short. But the General stood and saluted the grave as he had the others,
and later the flag was brought and put in place, so that every American
grave in the Toul Sector that day had its flag fluttering from its cross.

Then the General and the soldiers saluted the large flag. It was an
impressive moment with the deep thunder of the guns just over the hill
reminding of more battle and more lives to be laid down.

The General then addressed the soldiers, and facing toward the West and
pointing he said:

"Out there in that direction is Washington and the President, and all the
people of the United States, who are looking to you to set the world free
from tyranny. Over there are the mothers who have bade you good-bye with
tears and sent you forth, and are waiting at home and praying for you,
trusting in you. Out there are the fathers and the sisters and the
sweethearts you have left behind, all depending on you to do your best for
the Right. Now," said he in a clear ringing voice, "turn and salute
America!" And they all turned and saluted toward the West, while the band
played softly "My Country 'Tis of Thee!"

It was a wonderful, beautiful, solemn sight, every man standing and
saluting while the flags fluttered softly on the breeze.

Behind the little French Catholic church in the village of Bonvilliers
there was quite a large field which had been turned over to the Americans
for a cemetery. The Military Major had caused an arch to be made over the
gateway inscribed with the words: "NATIONAL CEMETERY OF THE AMERICAN
EXPEDITIONARY FORCES." There were over two hundred graves inside the
cemetery.

On Decoration Day the Regimental Band led a parade through the village
streets to the graveyard, the French women in black and little French
children, with wreaths made of wonderful beaded flowers cunningly
constructed from beads strung on fine wires, marching in the parade.
Arrived at the cemetery they all stood drawn up in line while the Military
Major gave a beautiful address, first in French and then in English. He
then told the French children and women to take their places one at each
grave, and lay down their tributes of flowers for the Americans. Following
this the Salvation Army placed flags on each on behalf of the mothers of
the boys who were lying there.

It was noon-day. The sun was very bright and every white cross bearing the
name of the fallen glittered in the sun. Even the worst little hovel over
in France is smothered in a garden and bright with myriads of flowers, so
everything was gay with blossoms and everybody had brought as many as
could be carried.

Over in one corner of the cemetery were two German graves, and one of the
lassies of that organization which proclaims salvation for all men went
and laid some blossoms there also.

At La Folie one of the Salvation Army lassies going across the fields on
some errand of mercy found three American graves undecorated and bare on
Memorial Day, and turning aside from the road she gathered great armfuls
of scarlet poppies from the fields and came and laid them on the three
mounds, then knelt and prayed for the friends of the boys whose bodies
were lying there.

The whole world was startled and saddened when the news came that
Lieutenant Quentin Roosevelt had been shot down in his airplane in action
and fallen within the enemy's lines.

He was crudely buried by the Germans where he fell, near Chambray, and a
rude cross set up to mark the place. All around were pieces of his
airplane shattered on the ground and left as they had fallen.

When the spot fell into the hands of the Allies, the grave was cared for
by the Salvation Army; a new white cross set up beside the old one, and
gentle hands smoothed the mound and made it shapely. On Decoration Day
Colonel Barker placed upon this grave the beautiful flowers arranged for
by cable by Commander Booth.

The girls went down to decorate the two hundred American graves at
Mandres, and even while they bent over the flaming blossoms and laid them
on the mounds an air battle was going on over their heads. Close at hand
was the American artillery being moved to the front on a little narrow-
gauge railroad that ran near to the graveyard, and the Germans were firing
and trying to get them.

But the girls went steadily on with their work, scattering flowers and
setting flags until their service of love was over. Then they stood aside
for the prayer and a song. One of the Salvation Army Captains with a fine
voice began to sing:

My loved ones in the Homeland
Are waiting me to come,
Where neither death nor sorrow
Invades their holy home;
O dear, dear native country!
O rest and peace above!
Christ, bring us all to the Homeland
Of Thy redeeming love.

Into the midst of the song came the engine on the little narrow track
straight toward where he stood, and he had to step aside onto a pile of
dirt to finish his song.

That same Captain went on ahead to the Home Land not long after when the
epidemic of influenza swept over the world; and he was given the honor of
a military funeral.




VI.

The Baccarat Sector



Baccarat was the Zone Headquarters for that Sector.

Down the Main street there hung a sign on an old house labeled "MODERN
BAR."

Inside everything was all torn up. It had never been opened since the
battles of 1914. The Germans had lived there and everything was in an
awful condition. One wonders how they endured themselves. The Military
detailed two men for two days to spade up and carry away the filth from
the bedrooms, and it took two women an entire week all but one day,
scrubbing all day long until their shoulders ached, to scrub the place
clean. But they got it clean. They were the kind of women that did not
give up even when a thing seemed an impossibility. This was the sort of
thing they were up against continually. They could have no meetings that
week because they had to scrub and make the place fit for a Salvation Army
hut.

Two of the lassies were awakened early one bright morning by the sound of
an axe ringing rhythmically on wood, just back of their canteen. It was a
cheerful sound to wake to, for the girls had been through a long wearing
day and night, and they knew when they went to sleep that the wood was
almost gone. It was always so pleasant to have someone offer to cut it for
them, for they never liked to have to ask help of the soldiers if they
could possibly avoid it. But there was so much else to be done besides
cutting wood. Not that they could not do that, too, when the need offered.
The sisters looked sleepily at one another, thinking simultaneously of the
poor homesick doughboy who had told them the day before that chopping wood
for them made him think of home and mother and that was why he liked to do
it. Of course, it was he hard at work for them before they were up, and
they smiled contentedly, with a lifted prayer for the poor fellow. They
knew he had received no mail for four months and that only a few days
before he had read in a paper sent to one of his pals of the death of his
sister. Of course, his heart was breaking, for he knew what his widowed
mother was suffering. They knew that his salvation from homesickness just
now lay in giving him something to do, so they lingered a little just to
give him the chance, and planned how they would let him help with the
doughnuts, and fix the benches, later, when the wood was cut.

In a few minutes the girls were ready for the day's work and went around
to the kitchen, where the sound of the ringing axe was still heard in
steady strokes. But when they rounded the corner of the kitchen and
greeted the wood-chopper cheerily, he looked up, and lo! it was not the
homesick doughboy as they had supposed, but the Colonel of the regiment
himself who smiled half apologetically at them, saying he liked his new
job; and when they invited him to breakfast he accepted the invitation
with alacrity.

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