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The War Romance of the Salvation Army

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X.

The Armistice



After the Armistice was signed, on November 11th, it was a great question
what disposition would be made of the troops. It was concluded that they
would be sent home as rapidly as possible and that the three ports--Brest,
St. Nazaire and Bordeaux--would be used for that purpose. Immediately
arrangements were made for the opening of Salvation Army work at the base
ports with a view to letting the boys have a last sight of the Salvation
Army as they left the shores of France. The Salvation Army had served them
in the training area and at the front and were still serving them as they
left the shores of the old world and it would meet them again when they
arrived on the shores of the home-land. In this way the contact of the
Salvation Army would be continuous, so that when they returned, it would
be able to reach their hearts and affect their lives with the Gospel of
Christ.

The problem of buildings was, of course, the first one and a very
difficult one. To secure buildings of adequate size, which could be
constructed in a short space of time, was almost out of the question, but
it occurred to the officers that the aviation section would be
demobilizing and that they had brought over portable steel buildings, for
use as hangars. The matter was taken up at once with the military
authorities and twenty of these steel buildings were secured--each of them
sixty-six feet wide by one hundred feet long. It was planned to place
eight of them at Bordeaux, six at St. Nazaire and six at Brest. By placing
two of them end to end it was possible to secure one auditorium sixty-six
feet wide by two hundred feet long--capable of seating three thousand men.
Adjoining that could be another building sixty-six feet by one hundred
feet, to be used for canteen and rest room.

It was planned to proceed with a religious campaign at these Base Ports,
holding Salvation meetings in these extensive departments.

When the Army of Occupation was started for Germany, two Salvation Army
trucks were assigned to go along with the Army. Whenever the Army of
Occupation stopped for a space of two or three days, places were secured
where doughnuts could be fried, pies made, and at all times hot coffee and
chocolate were available for the men.

When the American soldiers marched through the villages of Alsace-Lorraine
the Salvationists marched with them. At Esch and Luxemburg they were in
all the rejoicing and triumph of the parade, bringing succor and comfort
wherever they could find an opportunity.

When the men arrived at Coblenz the Salvation Army was there before them,
and on their crossing the Rhine, arrangements had been made for the
location of the Salvation Army work at the principal points in the Rhine-
head. They are now conducting Salvation Army operations with the Army of
Occupation.

One of the occasions when President Wilson clapped for the Salvation Army
was at the inauguration of the Soldiers' Association in Paris. The Y had
invited all the other organizations to be present. The meeting was held in
the Palais de Glace, which seats about ten thousand people.

President and Mrs. Wilson were present, accompanied by many prominent
American officials. Representatives of the various War Work Organizations
spoke.

The Salvationist who had been selected to represent the Army at this
meeting had been in the United States Navy for twelve years and was a
chaplain.

When he was called upon to speak the boys with one accord as if by
preconcerted action arose to their feet and gave him an ovation. Of
course, it was not given to the man but to the uniform.

A soldier of the Rainbow Division sitting next to one of the Salvation
Army workers over there, kept telling him what the boys thought of the
Salvation Army, and when the cheering began he poked the Salvationist in
the ribs and whispered joyously:

"I told you! I told you! We've just been waiting for eight months to pull
this off! Now, you see!"

The speaker when given opportunity did not attempt to make a great speech.
He told in simple, vivid sentences of the services of the Salvation Army
just back of the trenches under fire; and President Wilson sat listening
and applauding with the rest.

The chaplain paid a tribute to President Wilson, finishing with these
words:

"President Wilson was not man-elected, but God-selected!"



CHAPLAINS.

For some little time after the War started it was a question as to
whether the Salvation Army was entitled to any representation in the realm
of Chaplaincies of the United States forces. During the progress of the
consideration Adjutant Harry Kline secured an appointment with the
Nebraska National Guard, and his regiment being made a part of the
National Army, he was received as an officer of the same and thus became
our first Army Chaplain.

The War Office decided favorably with regard to the question of our
general representation, and shortly thereafter Adjutant John Allan, of
Bowery fame, was given a first lieutenancy and then followed, in the order
given, Captain Ernest Holz, Adjutant Ryan and Captain Norman Marshall.

The exceptional service that these men have rendered is of sufficient
importance to have a much wider notice than where only the barest of
reference is possible. Shortly after arrival in France Chaplain Allan was
being very favorably noticed because of the character of the work which he
was doing, and it was gratifying to learn that this confidence was
reflected in his appointment as Senior Chaplain of his regiment and his
assignment to special service where probity and wisdom were essential.
Shortly thereafter he was taken to the Army Headquarters, where up to the
present time he is most highly esteemed as a co-laborer with Bishop Brent,
the Chaplain-General of the overseas forces.

Typical of the enthusiasm of each of the five men appointed as Chaplains,
the following story is told of First Lieutenant Ernest Holz, who was
inducted into his office as Senior Chaplain of his regiment right at the
commencement of his career.

At the beginning of the year, when Chaplain Holz knew his Salvation Army
comrades would, as usual, be engaged in special revival work, he thought
it would be a worthy thing to time a similar effort among the men of his
regiment. Approaching the Colonel, he found him in hearty agreement
concerning the effort, and so securing the assistance of his fellow
chaplains they arranged for a series of meetings nightly for one week,
with the result that two hundred of the men of the regiment confessed
Christ and practically all of them were deeply interested.

The effort was wholly directed to the uplift of the men and God commanded
His blessing in a most gratifying manner.




XI.

Homecoming



The boat docked that morning, and one soldier at least, as he stood on the
deck and watched the shores of his native land draw nearer, felt mingling
with the thrill of joy at his return a vague uneasiness. He was coming
back, it is true, but it had been a long time and a lot of things had
happened. For one thing he had lost his foot. That in itself was a pretty
stiff proposition. For another thing he was not wearing any decorations
save the wound stripes on his sleeve. Those would have been enough, and
more than enough, for his mother if she were alive, but she had gone away
from earth during his absence, and the girl he had kissed good-bye and
promised great things was peculiar. The question was, would she stand for
that amputated foot? He didn't like to think it of her, but he found he
wasn't sure. Perhaps, if there had been a croix de guerre! He had promised
her to win that and no end of other honors, when he went away so buoyant
and hopeful; but almost on his first day of real battle he had been hurt
and tossed aside like a derelict, to languish in a hospital, with no more
hope of winning anything. And now he had come home with one foot gone, and
no distinction!

He hadn't told the girl yet about the foot. He didn't know as he should.
He felt lonely and desolate in spite of his joy at getting back to "God's
Country." He frowned at the hazy outline of the great city from which tall
buildings were beginning to differentiate themselves as they drew nearer.
There was New York. He meant to see New York, of course. He was a
Westerner and had never had an opportunity to go about the metropolis of
his own country. Of course, he would see it all. Perhaps, after he was
demobilized he would stay there. Maybe he wouldn't send word he had come
back. Let them think he was killed or taken prisoner, or missing, or
anything they liked. There were things to do in New York. There were
places where he would be welcome even with one foot gone and no cross of
war. Thus he mused as the boat drew nearer the shore and the great city
loomed close at hand. Then, suddenly, just as the boat was touching the
pier and a long murmur of joy went up from the wanderers on board, his
eyes dropped idly to the dock and there in her trim little overseas
uniform, with the sunlight glancing from the silver letters on the scarlet
shield of her trench cap and the smile radiating from her sweet face,
stood the very same Salvation Army lassie who had bent over him as he lay
on the ground just back of the trenches waiting to be put in the ambulance
and taken to the hospital after he had been wounded. He could feel again
the throbbing pain in his leg, the sickening pain of his head as he lay in
the hot sun, with the flies swarming everywhere, the horrible din of
battle all about, and his tongue parched and swollen with fever from lying
all night in pain on the wet ground of No Man's Land. She had laid a soft
little hand on his hot forehead, bathed his face, and brought him a cold
drink of lemonade. If he lived to be a hundred years old he would never
taste anything so good as that lemonade had been. Afterward the doctor
said it was the good cold drink that day that saved the lives of those
fever patients who had lain so long without attention. Oh, he would never
forget the Salvation lassie! And there she was alive and at home! She
hadn't been killed as the fellows had been afraid she would. She had come
through it all and here she was always ahead and waiting to welcome a
fellow home. It brought the tears smarting to his eyes to think about it,
and he leaned over the rail of the ship and yelled himself hoarse with the
rest over her, forgetting all about his lost foot. It was hours before
they were off the ship. All the red tape necessary for the movement of
such a company of men had to be unwound and wound up again smoothly, and
the time stretched out interminably; but somehow it did not seem so hard
to wait now, for there was someone down there on the dock that he could
speak to, and perhaps--just perhaps--he would tell her of his dilemma
about his girl. Somehow he felt that she would understand.

He watched eagerly when he was finally lined up on the wharf waiting for
roll-call, for he was sure she would come; and she did, swinging down the
line with her arms full of chocolate, handing out telegraph blanks and
postal cards, real postal cards with a stamp on them that could be mailed
anywhere. He gripped one in his big, rough hand as if it were a life
preserver. A real, honest-to-goodness postal card! My it was good to see
the old red and white stamp again! And he spoke impulsively:

"You're the girl that saved my life out there in the field, don't you
remember? With the lemonade!" Her face lit up. She had recognized him and
somehow cleared one hand of chocolate and telegrams to grasp his with a
hearty welcome: "I'm so glad you came through all right!" her cheery voice
said.

All right! _All right!_ Did she call it all right? He looked down at
his one foot with a dubious frown. She was quick to see. She understood.

"Oh, but that's nothing!" she said, and somehow her voice put new heart
into him. "Your folks will be so glad to have you home you'll forget all
about it. Come, aren't you going to send them a telegram?" And she held
out the yellow blank.

But still he hesitated.

"I don't know," he said, looking down at his foot again. "Mother's gone,
and------"

Instantly her quick sympathy enveloped his sore soul, and he felt that
just the inflection of her voice was like balm when she said: "I'm so
sorry!" Then she added:

"But isn't there somebody else? I'm sure there was. I'm sure you told me
about a girl I was to write to if you didn't come through. Aren't you
going to let her know? Of course you are."

"I don't know," said the boy. "I don't think I am. Maybe I'll never go
back now. You see, I'm not what I was when I went away."

"Nonsense!" said the lassie with that cheerful assurance that had carried
her through shell fire and made her merit the pet name of "Sunshine" that
the boys had given her in the trenches. "Why, that wouldn't be fair to
her. Of course, you're going to let her know right away. Leave it to me.
Here, give me her address!"

Quick as a flash she had the address and was off to a telephone booth.
This was no message that could wait to go back to headquarters. It must go
at once.

He saw her again before he left the wharf. She gave him a card with two
addresses written on it:

"This first is where you can drop in and rest when you are tired," she
explained. "It's just one of our huts; the other is where you can find a
good bed when you are in the city."

Then she was off with a smile down the line, giving out more telegraph
blanks and scattering sunshine wherever she went. He glanced back as he
left the pier and saw her still floating eagerly here and there like a
little sister looking after more real brothers.

The next day, when he was free and on a few days leave from camp, he
started out with his crutch to see the city, but the thought of her kept
him from some of the places where his feet might have strayed. Yet she had
not said a word of warning. Her smile and the look in her eyes had placed
perfect confidence in him, and he could remember the prayer she had
uttered in a low tone back there at the dressing station behind the
trenches in the ear of a companion who was not going to live to get to the
Base Hospital, and who had begged her to pray with him before he went.
Somehow it lingered with him all day and changed his ideas of what he
wanted to see in New York.

But it was a long hard tramp he had set for himself to see the town with
that one foot. He hadn't much money for cars, even if he had known which
cars to take, so he hobbled along and saw what he could. He was all alone,
for the fellows he started with went so fast and wanted to do so many
things that he could not do, that he had made an excuse to shake them off.
They were kind. They would not have left him if they had known; but he
wasn't going to begin his new life having everybody put out on his
account, so he was alone. And it was toward evening. He was very tired. It
seemed to him that he couldn't go another block. If only there were a
place somewhere where he could sit down a little while and rest; even a
doorstep would do if there were only one near at hand. Of course, there
were saloons, and there would always be soldiers in them. He would likely
be treated, and there would be good cheer, and a chance to forget for a
little while; but somehow the thought of that Salvation lassie and the
cheery way she had made him send that telegram kept him back. When a girl
with painted cheeks stopped and smiled in his face he passed her by, and
half wondered why he did it. He must go somewhere presently and get a bite
to eat, but it couldn't be much for he wanted to save money enough and
hunt up that lodging house where there were nice beds. How much he wanted
that bed!

[Illustration: Right in the midst of the busy hurrying throng of Union
Square]

[Illustration: "Smiling Billy" "One Game Little Guy"]

It was quite dark now. The lights were lit everywhere. He was coming to a
great thoroughfare. He judged by his slight knowledge of the city that it
might be Broadway. There would likely be a restaurant somewhere near. He
hurried on and turned into the crowded street. How cold it was! The wind
cut him like a knife. He had been a fool to come off alone like this! Just
out of the hospital, too. Perhaps he would get sick and have to go to
another hospital. He shivered and stopped to pull his collar up closer
around his neck. Then suddenly he stood still and stared with a dazed,
bewildered expression, straight ahead of him. Was he getting a bit leary?
He passed his hand over his eyes and looked again. Yes, there it was!
Right in the midst of the busy, hurrying throng of Union Square! He made
sure it was Union Square, for he looked up at the street sign to be
certain it wasn't Willow Vale--or Heaven--right there where streets met
and crossed, and cars and trolleys and trucks whirled, and people passed
in throngs all day, just across the narrow road, stood the loveliest, most
perfect little white clapboard cottage that ever was built on this earth,
with porches all around and a big tree growing up through the roof of one
porch. It stood out against the night like a wonderful mirage, like a
heavenly dove descended into the turmoil of the pit, like home and mother
in the midst of a rushing pitiless world. He could have cried real tears
of wonder and joy as he stood there, gazing. He felt as though he were one
of those motion pictures in which a lone Klondiker sits by his campfire
cooking a can of salmon or baked beans, and up above him on the screen in
one corner appears the Christmas tree where his wife and baby at home are
celebrating and missing him. It seemed just as unreal as that to see that
little beautiful home cottage set down in the midst of the city.

The windows were all lit up with a warm, rosy light and there were
curtains at the windows, rosy pink curtains like the ones they used to
have at the house where his girl lived, long ago before the War spoiled
him. He stood and continued to gaze until a lot of cash-boys, let loose
from the toil of the day, rushed by and almost knocked his crutch from
under him. Then he determined to get nearer this wonder. Carefully
watching his opportunity he hobbled across the street and went slowly
around the building. Yes, it was real. Some public building, of course,
but how wonderful to have it look so like a home! Why had they done it?

Then he came around toward the side, and there in plain letters was a
sign: "SOLDIERS AND SAILORS IN UNIFORM WELCOME." What? Was it possible?
Then he might go in? What kind of a place could it be?

He raised his eyes a little and there, slung out above the neatly shingled
porch, like any sign, swung an immense fat brown doughnut a foot and a
half in diameter, with the sugar apparently still sticking to it, and
inside the rough hole sat a big white coffee cup. His heart leaped up and
something suddenly gave him an idea. He fumbled in his pocket, brought out
a card, saw that this was the Salvation Army hut, and almost shouted with
joy. He lost no time in hurrying around to the door and stepping inside.

There revealed before him was a great cozy room, with many easy-chairs and
tables, a piano at which a young soldier sat playing ragtime, and at the
farther end a long white counter on which shone two bright steaming urns
that sent forth a delicious odor of coffee. Through an open door behind
the counter he caught a glimpse of two Salvation Army lassies busy with
some cups and plates, and a third enveloped in a white apron was up to her
elbows in flour, mixing something in a yellow bowl. By one of the little
tables two soldier boys were eating doughnuts and coffee, and at another
table a sailor sat writing a letter. It was all so cozy and homelike that
it took his breath away and he stood there blinking at the lights that
flooded the rooms from graceful white bowl-like globes that hung suspended
from the ceiling by brass chains. He saw that the rosy light outside had
come from soft pink silk sash curtains that covered the lower part of the
windows, and there were inner draperies of some heavier flowered material
that made the whole thing look real and substantial. The willow chairs had
cushions of the same flowered stuff. The walls were a soft pearly gray
below and creamy white above, set off by bands of dark wood, and a dark
floor with rush mats strewn about. He looked around slowly, taking in
every detail almost painfully. It was such a contrast to the noisy,
rushing street, a contrast to the hospital, and the trenches and all the
life with which he had been familiar during the past few dreadful months.
It made him think of home and mother. He began to be afraid he was going
to cry like a great big baby, and he looked around nervously for a place
to get out of sight. He saw a fellow going upstairs and at a distance he
followed him. Up there was another bright, quiet room, curtained and
cushioned like the other, with more easy willow chairs, round willow
tables, and desks over by the wall where one might write. The soldier who
had come up ahead of him was already settled writing now at a desk in the
far corner. There were bookcases between the windows with new beautifully
bound books in them, and there were magazines scattered around, and no
rules that one must not spit on the floor, or put their feet in the
chairs, or anything of the sort. Only, of course, no one would ever dream
of doing anything like that in such a place. How beautiful it was, and how
quiet and peaceful! He sank into a chair and looked about him. What rest!

And now there were real tears in his eyes which he hastened to brush
roughly away, for someone was coming toward him and a hand was on his
shoulder. A man's voice, kindly, pleasant, brotherly, spoke:

"All in, are you, my boy? Well, you just sit and rest yourself awhile.
What do you think of our hut? Good place to rest? Well, that's what we
want it to be to you, Home. Just drop in here whenever you're in town and
want a place to rest or write, or a bite of something homelike to eat."

He looked up to the broad shoulders in their well-fitting dark blue
uniform, and into the kindly face of the gray-haired Colonel of the
Salvation Army who happened to step in for a minute on business and had
read the look on the lonesome boy's face just in time to give a word of
cheer. He could have thrown his arms around the man's neck and kissed him
if he only hadn't been too shy. But in spite of the shyness he found
himself talking with this fine strong man and telling him some of his
disappointments and perplexities, and when the older man left him he was
strengthened in spirit from the brief conversation. Somehow it didn't look
quite so black a prospect to have but one foot.

He read a magazine for a little while and then, drawn by the delicious
odors, he went downstairs and had some coffee and doughnuts. He saw while
he was eating that the front porch opened out of the big lower room and
was all enclosed in glass and heated with radiators. A lot of fellows were
sitting around there in easy-chairs, smoking, talking, one or two sleeping
in their chairs or reading papers. It had a dim, quiet light, a good place
to rest and think. He was more and more filled with wonder. Why did they
do it? Not for money, for they charged hardly enough to pay for the
materials in the food they sold, and he knew by experience that when one
had no money one could buy of them just the same if one were in need.

Later in the evening he took out the little card again and looked up the
other address. He wanted one of those clean, sweet beds that he had been
hearing about, that one could get for only a quarter a night, with all the
shower-bath you wanted thrown in. So he went out again and found his way
down to Forty-first Street.

There was something homelike about the very atmosphere as he entered the
little office room and looked about him. Beyond, through an open door he
could see a great red brick fireplace with a fire blazing cheerfully and a
few fellows sitting about reading and playing checkers. Everybody looked
as if they felt at home.

When he signed his name in the big register book the young woman behind
the desk who wore an overseas uniform glanced at his signature and then
looked up as if she were welcoming an old friend:

"There's a telegram here for you," she said pleasantly. "It came last
night and we tried to locate you at the camp but did not succeed. One of
our girls went over to camp this afternoon, but they said you were gone on
a furlough, so we hoped you would turn up."

She handed over the telegram and he took it in wonder. Who would send him
a telegram? And here of all places! Why, how would anybody know he would
be here? He was so excited his crutch trembled under his arm as he tore
open the envelope and read:

"Dear Billy (It was a regular letter!):

"I am leaving to-night for New York. Will meet you at Salvation Hostel day
after to-morrow morning. What is a foot more or less? Can't I be hands and
feet for you the rest of your life? I'm proud, proud, proud of you!

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