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Port to Listening Post 
 
 HUGH T. KERR 
 
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 ASSOCIATION PRESS 
 
 Nbw York: 347 Madison Avenub 
 1918 
 
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 Copyright, 1918, by 
 
 The International Committee of 
 
 Young Men's Christian Associations 
 
 NOV 20 1918 
 
 ©CU506642 
 
To My Friend 
 JAMES H. LOCKHART 
 
 uy Tis human fortune's happiest height to be 
 
 A spirit melodious, lucid, poised, and whole; 
 Second in order of felicity 
 I hold it, to have walked with such a soul." 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 Most of us, relatives and friends of our courageous 
 warriors "over there," would be greatly pleased if it 
 were possible for us to take up our abode in France 
 during the duration of the war and so be near to help 
 comfort and cheer our men in their great trials and 
 also to enjoy on the ground with them their many tri- 
 umphs. 
 
 The Young Men's Christian Association is endeavor- 
 ing to give to the men overseas, as well as at home, in 
 some degree many of the best things of home, church, 
 school, club, entertainment, and friendship, from which 
 they have been separated and which are so vital to 
 them. The policy of the War Work Council of the 
 Young Men's Christian Association is to send from 
 time to time representatives of its Executive Commit- 
 tee to France for brief visits to study the work of the 
 Association and to act as liaison officers between the 
 New York and Paris offices. 
 
 In February, 19 18, I was thus commissioned by the 
 Executive Committee, and had the good fortune to 
 secure the following gentlemen to cooperate with me 
 in the work of the mission — Former Senator LeRoy 
 Percy of Greenville, Mississippi, a member of the War 
 Work Council; John C. Acheson, LL.D., President of 
 the Pennsylvania College for Women, Pittsburgh, Pa. ; 
 
vi FOREWORD 
 
 James W. Kinnear, Pittsburgh, Pa., President of the 
 Washington Ordnance Company, Washington, D. C, 
 and the author of this book. During the two months 
 spent in France our commission was enabled to visit 
 nearly all of the camps, from the ports of entry, 
 through the great training areas in the center of the 
 country, to the front line trenches, traveling nearly six 
 thousand miles, and thus had unusual opportunities to 
 view all the phases of the work at first hand and to 
 meet thousands of the men in the service. 
 
 Dr. Kerr's delightful and winning personality 
 brought him an immediate and constant response on 
 the part of the individual soldier, whose intimate life 
 he was therefore enabled to appreciate thoroughly. 
 Combining with these qualities his rare insight and 
 good judgment on matters of policy and procedure, Dr. 
 Kerr has been able in this book to bring to the homes 
 of America in a most graphic manner just those things 
 that we would like to know concerning the welfare of 
 the men of our glorious Army and Navy. 
 
 Ralph W. Harbison. 
 
 Pittsburgh, Pa., November i, 1918. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Foreword v 
 
 I. The Coming of the Convoy i 
 
 II. The Sound of the Guns 14 
 
 III. Barracks and Billets 30 
 
 IV. Playing the Game 41 
 
 V. The Heart of the Camp 54 
 
 VI. The World in France 70 
 
 VII. A Sunday with the Army 82 
 
 VIII. Women and the War 91 
 
 IX. On Leave 101 
 
 X. The Church in Arms 114 
 
 XI. Sans Camouflage 130 
 
CHAPTER I 
 THE COMING OF THE CONVOY 
 
 We were waiting the coming of the Convoy. It was 
 expected to arrive some time during the night, and for 
 its coming everything was ready — the docks, the steve- 
 dores, the tradesfolk of the port, the ships in the har- 
 bor, the officers of the Army and the Navy, and the 
 men and women of the Y M C A. We, too, were 
 restlessly ready, for the coming of the Convoy into 
 port meant not only news and greetings from America, 
 but also the defiance of Germany and victory for the 
 Allied nations, and immediate opportunity for service. 
 
 The hours of waiting were spent in the fifth floor 
 apartment where the "Y" chief and his assistant were 
 making their home. The rooms were beautifully fur- 
 nished and I was told that the father and son of the 
 household had gone to war. The son had been killed 
 and the mother and daughters were keeping the home 
 together against the time of victory. 
 
 The guests of the evening were two distinguished 
 officers, one of the Army and the other of the Navy. 
 The Navy and its daring deeds held the center of in- 
 terest and it was well and truly represented by our 
 distinguished guest, whose name would be recognized 
 were I at liberty to give it. 
 
 I 
 
2 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 As a rule, men of the Army are the worst critics of 
 the Army, and men of the Navy the severest judges 
 of the Navy, but our hero of the sea was unstinted in 
 his praise of the American Navy, and his comrade of 
 the Army readily seconded all his optimistic overtures. 
 We were told tales of men who go down to the sea 
 in ships and we picked our steps without blundering 
 in the questions we asked and the information we 
 sought. It is no easy task to ask sensible questions 
 concerning military and naval secrets. I overheard a 
 genial colonel graciously answer an unduly inquisitive 
 war correspondent by saying, "It is not permissible 
 for me to talk about that" ! One can gather lots of 
 news in France, but most of the news turns out to be 
 rumor. There is a military proverb which passes as 
 current coin in France to this effect : "He that knows 
 doesn't talk, and he that talks doesn't know." The 
 boys in the Army say, "A military secret consists of 
 inaccurate information concerning something which 
 nobody knows anything about and about which every- 
 body talks." 
 
 We were told of the "mystery ships" which, having 
 served their day, have passed into history. They were 
 freighters of the sea, fitted with machine guns and 
 manned by experts of the Navy, who were dressed 
 like ordinary seamen. One of these "mystery ships" 
 holds the record of having ended the career of five 
 submarines. We were told how a submarine had come 
 to the surface so close to a French cruiser that it was 
 impossible for it to discharge its torpedo, lest the sub- 
 marine itself should be destroyed. The gunners on 
 
THE COMING OF THE CONVOY 3 
 
 the cruiser turned their guns point blank and blew the 
 German pirate to atoms. 
 
 We were told interesting tales of how submarines 
 had fought submarines, which I suppose the censor 
 would not choose to sanction for publication, but our 
 guests were firm in the conviction that by the end of 
 1918 the submarine menace would be mastered. "Up 
 to the present the policy pursued has been mainly 
 defensive," one said. "Soon, however, something will 
 happen and the end of the German submarines will 
 come." Of course we wanted to ask another question 
 so that he would explain exactly what he meant, but 
 the bars were up and the subject of conversation 
 changed. Afterwards, when we heard about Zee- 
 brugge and how the British Navy had closed the port 
 at Ostend, we thought we understood what he meant. 
 
 Throughout the Navy there seems to be a quiet and 
 justified confidence that the submarine will be out of 
 business before the year 1918 has run its course. We 
 hear little of the daring deeds of the men of the Navy, 
 but they are among our first heroes. All of them are 
 on board some mystery ship and by day and night they 
 keep the channels of the sea safe for the traffic of the 
 nations of freedom. Every morning the British mine 
 sweepers make the English Channel safe. It was 
 interesting to learn that English mines, when they 
 drift from their moorings, turn over and are harmless. 
 German floating mines remain intact and explode any- 
 where. 
 
 The men of the navies of all the allied nations wear 
 no medals, no croix de guerre, no distinguishing recog- 
 
4 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 nition for service rendered, no badge to allure the ever 
 vigilant spy. They sail they know not where, from 
 unnamed port to unnamed port, and are out upon the 
 sea from dawn to dark, from dark to dawn. These 
 men are among the finest heroes the world has ever 
 seen, and every man of them is worthy of the honor 
 given to men in front line trenches. 
 
 The sailor at your side is sure to be a hero and his 
 story will thrill you if you get him to tell it. Traveling 
 through France I met a young Lieutenant of the 
 French Navy, who did not seem to have passed his 
 twentieth year. Educated in an English school, he had 
 acted for two years as an interpreter with the English 
 fleet. His father is a member of the French Parlia- 
 ment. He had been a year with the French fleet out 
 on the Mediterranean, and had just been home on a 
 fifteen-day holiday and was returning to another year's 
 work. He had no knowledge of the military or naval 
 situation, but he had absolute trust in his leaders and 
 perfect confidence in the outcome. He had been tor- 
 pedoed seventeen times, five times he had been in the 
 water, and once he had seen seven of his comrades 
 swept from the bridge in a storm. He would have 
 been the last to think of himself as a hero, and he is 
 typical of thousands who today defy Germany's dan- 
 ger zone. 
 
 In the morning the Convoy was in. Thirty thousand 
 men had arrived, every man of them disappointed be- 
 cause the enemy had not been encountered, but all of 
 them glad to see the land of the tricolor. There is 
 little shouting and cheering in this war and the ships 
 
THE COMING OF THE CONVOY 5 
 
 had slipped into port unheralded. Only as the grey- 
 mist of the morning lifted did the newly arrived giants 
 of the harbor reveal themselves. The Convoy had 
 done its work and the ships had come safely in from 
 sea. How strange they looked, each one splashed with 
 color after a manner that defied all attempts at ex- 
 planation ! The science of camouflage follows its own 
 order. Sometimes it is a mysterious and mottled 
 order; sometimes it is plain and prosaic; sometimes 
 it follows broad distinguished lines ; sometimes it is 
 fantastic and poetic; and again it is of an order that 
 is murderously monotonous. 
 
 If today we fear the submarine less than we did, 
 let us thank the Convoy. If the hands of the Germans 
 are tied let us not forget that the Hun still prides him- 
 self in his pagan policy, and let us remember that 
 the Allied Navy holds the supremacy of the sea. Since 
 the war broke out the British Navy has transported 
 13,000,000 men, of whom only 2,700 have been lost. 
 Besides these millions of men the British Navy has 
 carried to the battle front 2,000,000 horses and mules, 
 500,000 motor cars, 25,000,000 tons of explosives and 
 supplies, 51,000,000 tons of oil and fuel, and 130,000,- 
 000 tons of food, and has swept the warships of Ger- 
 many from the sea. When it is within her power Ger- 
 many still sends sailors and passengers adrift in open 
 boats, and what that means only the thousands who 
 have experienced it can know. I have heard soldiers 
 and sailors in France try to describe the terror of those 
 open boats. One American boy who had been brought 
 into port, rescued by a British patrol boat, said, in 
 
6 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 telling his experience, "I was in the sea for five hours. 
 After I was picked up and brought to land, for three 
 nights, in my dreams, I was in the water." 
 
 Mr. Alfred Noyes has described what sometimes 
 takes place when men and women and little children 
 fall into the hands of the modern disciples of Kultur. 
 
 "The two boats," he says, "kept together till dark; 
 but at 8 140 p. m. the chief officer's boat capsized, owing 
 to the choppy sea, and the sight of the other boat was 
 lost in the confusion. All hands, after a struggle, 
 managed to regain the boat, but she remained full of 
 water, with her tanks adrift. 
 
 "Before midnight she had again capsized three 
 times; and the reader may imagine for himself what 
 scenes were enacted in that lonely darkness of wind 
 and sea. Only four hands out of fifteen were left 
 at the end of the third desperate struggle. They were 
 the mate, the carpenter, and two seamen. 
 
 "They saw one or two vessels in the early morning, 
 but their only means of signaling was a handkerchief 
 on a stick, and they were not noticed. The boat was 
 battered to and fro like a cockle-shell in the smoking 
 seas; and about eight o'clock in the morning the two 
 seamen became too exhausted to cling on. They were 
 slowly washed overboard. Their faces and hands 
 swirled up once or twice in the foam, and then dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 "At five o'clock on that day, after long hours of 
 struggle, the mate, who was sitting aft, gradually 
 dropped into the water in the bottom of the boat and 
 died there. The carpenter was now the only survivor. 
 All that he endured in the long following night and 
 day, with the dead man washing to and fro at his 
 feet, and the dead face looking up at him through 
 
THE COMING OF THE CONVOY 7 
 
 the bubbling water, can only be imagined. He says 
 that 'nothing particular happened.' 
 
 "At nightfall on the next day, more than twenty- 
 four hours later, after twenty-four hours of lonely 
 battering and slow starvation, he and the dead body 
 were picked up by a Grimsby trawler and landed at St. 
 Ives. Nothing was heard of the other boat." 
 
 Thanks to the Convoy, such stories of the sea are 
 becoming less and less familiar. Victory, however, 
 will not cause us to forget the price Germany must 
 pay for peace. It must be nothing less than the 
 price of penitence. 
 
 There is something about a Convoy that suggests 
 security. It has the flavor of friendliness. My friend, 
 Major Thomas S. Arbuthnot of Base Hospital 2J, told 
 me of the marvelous trip he and his comrades had ex- 
 perienced crossing the Atlantic, and how by a signal 
 gun from one of the destroyers they had been saved 
 from a submarine attack. He said, "Just to think of 
 those little destroyers plunging through the sea, tearing 
 through the darkness, undismayed and undaunted, 
 never resting, never tired, and then when we had 
 entered the harbor and felt the sense of security steal- 
 ing over us, to see them turn and without a salute go 
 back to sea to take up their vigil for other seafaring 
 soldiers. I wanted at least to say, 'Thank you/ but 
 they were gone." Hats off to the Convoy! Thomas 
 Huxley, after he had seen the shipping of New York 
 harbor, exclaimed, "If I were not a man, I would like 
 to be a tug!" Had he lived in our day and known 
 the new dangers and the new service of the sea, he 
 
8 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 would say, "If I were not a man, and a soldier, I would 
 like to be a submarine destroyer and convoy the 
 soldiers of freedom to the shores of France." 
 
 Among the first to welcome the Convoy is the 
 Y M C A. To see one's own language in a foreign 
 land is like meeting a friend, and as the morning broke 
 the troops on both sides of the ship were face to face 
 with the sign of the Red Triangle and its welcome : 
 
 American Soldiers and Sailors 
 
 in Franc^«ELC0MES YOU 
 
 At this Basfe you/will find 
 
 1. The Officers' Club. V 3*/ln every Camp one or 
 
 2. The City Hut (To the cofe?/ more Huts with no key in 
 ner and one block north)y the Door. 
 
 On each troopship a "Y" Secretary had kept com- 
 pany with the men across the water. He had entered 
 into close and friendly relations with them and by the 
 time the Convoy was in port he had bound them to 
 him in enduring friendship. 
 
 On board ship men have time to think and time 
 to get acquainted. The Secretary discovers talent. 
 On the ship which took us over we were in great need 
 of a pianist and accidentally discovered him among a 
 group of marines going over for hydroplane service. 
 
THE COMING OF THE CONVOY 9 
 
 He happened to be a Roman Catholic and was hesitant 
 about playing at the Sunday morning service. He 
 found out, however, that distinctions of civil life do 
 not carry over into the Army. He knew how to play 
 the piano and was eager to serve, and so together we 
 made of the Sunday service a great success. Next 
 day I found him depressed, his eyes filled with tears, 
 and heard from him the story of his life. He had left 
 at home a little motherless girl of four. 
 
 Sometimes a man among the troops finds the sea 
 and the submarine and the danger zone all but too 
 much for his courage. After three days down below 
 where he had seen the doctor twice a day, a colored 
 lad came on deck, rather weak and pale. The wind 
 was blowing, southwest by west, and the boat was 
 not, as you say, quite steady. One of our Y M C A 
 men found him and said: "How are you going, 
 George?" "Pretty poorly, Sir, I feel pretty low." 
 Said his comforter, "Well, we'll soon be over now." 
 "Yes," said George, "but the worse is yet to come. 
 Them submarines live right in here, don't they ?" The 
 "Y" man told him about the speed of the ship and 
 those dogs of war, the guns pointing out to sea, and 
 after a few minutes of thought George said: "If I 
 hadn't come on this trip, I'd been married next month." 
 His friend said, "She'll wait for you, all right, and 
 she'll think all the more of you for doing what you 
 are going to do for her and your country." 
 
 After a long pause during which the ship tipped 
 and rolled, George said : "I've been thinking a lot dur- 
 ing these last few days and I have come to the con- 
 
io PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 elusion that if I ever get through this voyage and do 
 my bit, I'll never get into a place of excitement again." 
 And having said this, he went below. 
 
 Every soldier has his own Convoy story. I was par- 
 ticularly interested in Joe Rogers' story. Joe is at 
 present acting as chauffeur at one of the great rest 
 camps. Accidentally we had him as our guest for 
 luncheon at the Hotel de France, in a little town that 
 nestles close to the beautiful French Alps. Unaware 
 that he was interesting he told us of his trip across 
 the sea in one of the great converted German liners 
 that now run between America and France. "I was 
 six decks down," he said, "and it was like being in 
 hell. There were six thousand of us on board that 
 ship, and they would not let us sleep on deck. The 
 port-holes were closed as tight as a bank vault, and 
 you could see the darkness and cut the air with a 
 knife." "I was six decks down," he repeated, "and 
 every morning when the gong sounded I woke up 
 unconscious and had to walk an hour on deck before 
 I came to my senses. We ran out of one storm into 
 another and I thought the end of the world had come. 
 No ! I was not sick, but you should have seen the 
 bunch ! It was like a street market on Saturday night. 
 For three days the old boat played leap-frog with the 
 waves, and sometimes when it didn't quite make the 
 leap it would lie on the top of the wave and quiver 
 until I wondered whether it would turn over again on 
 its back, or topple over on its stomach, but of course it 
 always came back. Four of the gunners were swept 
 from the deck, and when we last saw them they were 
 
THE COMING OF THE CONVOY n 
 
 on the crest of a wave, their hands up as if signaling 
 a farewell. Ships at sea in war time do not stop at 
 the call, 'Man overboard/ We had to sit on the floor 
 when mess was served, and it sure was a mess ! To 
 keep from sliding I wrapped my legs around one of 
 the pillars and had my hands free. They gave us 
 Cream of Wheat for breakfast, but the floor and walls 
 and sometimes the roof got most of the Cream of 
 Wheat, and then when the ship lurched we all slid 
 like an avalanche from one side to the other with a 
 bang. I want to cross the darned old ocean once 
 more, and that is when I go home." 
 
 Among the first to come on board the troop ships 
 are the "Y" men. They take with them a few ciga- 
 rettes, a little chocolate, and always a welcome. They 
 answer questions and give directions about money, 
 about France, about the life on shore, and hand the 
 men a little printed slip with information to help them 
 through their first days in France. They give advice 
 concerning leisure time and directions about places 
 and points of interest. 
 
 At one port of entry the men were given this printed 
 welcome : 
 
 MEN, you are coming among a people, who have 
 seen fought upon their soil many of the greatest battles 
 in the history of the world, a people, whose sons have 
 in this war gladly given their lives and who have been 
 backed by unparalleled sacrifices on the part of their 
 loved ones at home. It is they, with their splendid 
 fighting brothers of the British Empire, who have 
 stood, for nearly four years, between Germany and 
 your own home land. 
 
12 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 Remember always that you are in France as the 
 GUESTS of a noble people and have come, not to win 
 the war for the Allies, but to help them to win it. In 
 the minds of the French people you represent the 
 UNITED STATES, and wherever you go, we trust 
 that by your exemplary conduct, your chivalry, and 
 your respect for these people and their customs, you 
 will endear yourselves to them and thereby cement the 
 two Republics in an everlasting bond of mutual sym- 
 pathy and respect. Remember too, that in France you 
 are among a people who are universally polite and who 
 set great store by the smaller courtesies of life. For 
 the slightest service you will always receive thanks 
 ("Merci, Monsieur") and will always be expected to 
 give them. 
 
 God bless and keep each one of you. 
 
 The American Y M C A. 
 
 A thousand men had come ashore at one of the 
 French ports where they mingled with the English 
 Tommies, and I was permitted in one of the British 
 huts to give them a welcome. The men had been at 
 sea for nearly twenty days, and for twenty-four hours 
 had been in the English Channel. They said they were 
 lost in the mine fields. For nearly a month they had 
 been out of touch with the world. They were hungry 
 for news. I told them of the German drive on Paris, 
 of Pershing's message to General Foch offering him 
 the American Army, of British valor and French hero- 
 ism, and of the hope which America through the com- 
 ing of her soldiers had brought to the Allies. 
 
 The British soldiers with their seamed faces and 
 weather-beaten countenances gave a touch of prophecy 
 to the situation. Our lads — what was between them 
 
THE COMING OF THE CONVOY 13 
 
 and the seamed face and the weather-beaten counte- 
 nance, and the dread monotony of war? The welcome 
 was short, and then in a moment of heroism I told 
 the new arrivals I would try to answer any of their 
 questions. Immediately the machine gun batteries 
 were opened : 
 
 "How far are we from the front ?" 
 
 "How about the chow over here?" 
 
 "Do the soldiers get their pay regularly?" 
 
 "What will you give us for the head of the Kaiser?" 
 
 "Will there be a ' Y' wherever we go ?" 
 
 "How often do we get our mail ?" 
 
 "How many American soldiers are there in France ?" 
 
 These are a few of the questions they asked. I 
 tried to answer them. I told them that the mail was 
 very uncertain, but that the number of letters they 
 received depended on the frequency with which those 
 at home wrote, and advised them to have their letters 
 numbered, for they might get their fifteenth letter first. 
 I offered them a commission and a life pension for the 
 head of the Kaiser, and told them that I did not know 
 how many American soldiers were in France, but 
 hoped there would soon be enough to smash Germany. 
 
 Two men each volunteered a suggestion. The first 
 remark was to the effect that if the Army did its work 
 as well as the "Y," the war would soon be over, which 
 statement was received with a round of applause. The 
 second remark was facetious and interpretative of the 
 coming of the Convoy. "If ever I get home and that 
 Old Lady they call the Statue of Liberty wants to see 
 me again she'll have to turn round." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 THE SOUND OF THE GUNS 
 
 The heart of America is in France. A million and 
 more of our boys are there and more are to follow. 
 I have seen thousands of them and some whom I 
 wished to see I failed to discover. But France is at 
 war, and our Army is at war and is ever on the move. 
 All we know is that they are "Somewhere in France." 
 Said one lad when asked if he knew where a certain 
 soldier was, "I know where I am; I don't know where 
 anyone else is, and nobody knows where I am." Some- 
 times the censor relents and lets information regarding 
 the whereabouts of a soldier go through to his family. 
 Recently this statement was received: "I am sorry I 
 cannot tell you where I am ; but I venture to state that 
 I am not where I was, but where I was before I left 
 to go where I have just come from." 
 
 One knows as soon as he is in France that he is in 
 a war atmosphere. Even before he lands he is face 
 to face with mystery and the menace of war. There 
 are Mystery Ships upon the sea, and the land is full 
 of mystery. A little grove of pine trees may be a 
 battery, and the hillside a fort. The hillside may look 
 quite natural, when suddenly a gun speaks and you 
 know that you are near the battle line. Everywhere 
 there are signs warning you of danger. In the railroad 
 
 14 
 
THE SOUND OF THE GUNS 15 
 
 trains and in the stations one reads the words "Taisez 
 Vous, Mefier Vous, Les Oreilles Ennemies Vous Ecou- 
 tent." Since the days when Governor Gallieni stood 
 guard at Paris, when the Germans were driving along 
 the Marne, that sign has been before the eyes of the 
 French people, "Don't Talk, Beware, The Enemy is 
 Listening." 
 
 Even Paris is like an armed camp. The poet some- 
 where speaks of Paris as a woman's town with flowers 
 in her hair. But the Paris we remember is gone, and 
 there is a new Paris — a Paris with hangars and air- 
 ships, with cellar gratings sealed for an expected gas 
 attack, with window panes reenforced with strips of 
 paper, with no private automobiles, with hotel life 
 stripped of fashion and luxury, with the Arc de Tri- 
 omphe, the windows of the Louvre, and the statues 
 in the Place de la Concorde buttressed and safeguarded 
 with sandbags. It is Paris with dark nights and un- 
 lighted streets welcoming fog and rain and mist. It 
 is Paris with signs upon the houses calling attention 
 to caves, to improvised dbris, where ten, fifteen, twenty, 
 or one hundred people may find security when a raid 
 is on. It is Paris with flickering blue street-lamps 
 marking the crossings and the metropolitan sta- 
 tions. It is Paris alert and watchful, but self-reliant 
 and secure. Candy shops and cigar stores are gone. 
 Here and there the shutters on the windows bear the 
 sign that the man power that carried on the business 
 is at the front. The soldiers of all the Allied nations 
 meet and pass often without salute, and fifty miles 
 away the enemy is pounding at the door. 
 
i6 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 Nevertheless, with all the bombing and shelling, it 
 is Paris. It is still Paris unshaken and unharmed. 
 You have to search for the damage done after you 
 thought the city had been shaken to its very founda- 
 tion. 
 
 I was in Paris when the Germans expected to break 
 through. The Kaiser is reported to have said : "They 
 are not united, I will beat them." God knows how 
 nearly he succeeded, and he timed his blows and 
 concentrated all he had upon that drive. It was 
 then that the mystery of the long-range gun and the 
 bombing in the nights disturbed the confidence of the 
 French Capital, and for ten days Paris seemed to move 
 out and those that remained spent restless days and 
 sleepless nights. Yet Paris is unharmed and un- 
 afraid. She has learned to hear the shriek of the 
 siren and to sleep on. For a while she listened to 
 the beating of the drum telling that the long-range 
 gun was in action, and then she laughed the drummer 
 from the streets. A shell fell upon a worshiping con- 
 gregation and seventy people were killed. That was 
 a German victory! A bomb fell upon a maternity 
 hospital and the list of dead included a nurse, two 
 mothers, and a little child just born. That is the way 
 Germany is conquering Paris. Next day a French 
 newspaper published these defiant lines entitled "Vic- 
 tory." 
 
 "Across the plains of Picardy 
 Proud Amiens flings her taunt at thee, 
 Bidding thee tame her if thy will 
 Transcends the faith that lights her still. 
 
THE SOUND OF THE GUNS 17 
 
 A line of freemen bars the way 
 Where all thy legions lunge and sway 
 And wither into shadow. Where 
 Is any show of triumph there? 
 
 "But dare man say that all thy pain 
 Is bootless, all thine effort vain ? 
 That all thy trafficking in life 
 Through four black years of frustrate strife 
 Has gained thee nothing but a curse? 
 The list of dead includes a nurse, 
 Two mothers, and a new-born child. 
 
 "The murder of the undefiled, 
 The random slaughter of the weak — 
 What greater triumphs wouldst thou seek ?" 
 
 We saw those wonderful French armies moving up 
 to battle. They came from the South and from the 
 West, but mostly from the East — from East of Rheims 
 and beyond Verdun, leaving our men to man the lines. 
 They came by trains that passed us every seven 
 minutes, loaded in cattle cars, forty men to the car. 
 Every seven minutes a military train passed with men 
 and war materials and mounted machine guns ready 
 for action, and every half-hour a hospital train 
 equipped with operating cars and doctors and nurses 
 went by, to return in a few days with its load of 
 shattered and wounded humanity. They came in 
 trucks, long lines of automobiles moving quickly over 
 those wonderful French roads, with guns and ammuni- 
 tion, with food and men. They came in troops of 
 cavalry over the dusty roads, messing by the side of 
 
18 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 the railroad, and climbing down over the bank to 
 secure the French newspaper which we threw from the 
 train telling them of the tidings of battle. There 
 seemed to be no end to the line of march, no limit to 
 the men France had to pour in to stem that German 
 advance. One wonders whether more to admire the 
 soldiers or the mothers and fathers and sweethearts 
 who bade them goodbye. Those soldiers, who had 
 seen two, three, and four years of war, waved their 
 goodbyes to the French peasants who threw them a 
 flower or a kiss and listened to the ringing confidence 
 with which they called back "Comptez sur nous," and 
 count on them they did. Soon we heard that the Ger- 
 man armies had come to a standstill. 
 
 I was in a British base camp when the drive was 
 on. I saw many of the 33,000 wounded British 
 Tommies who were brought into the base hospital 
 within the limit of a week and saw the forwarding of 
 numbers of these to Channel ports for embarkation to 
 "Blighty," in order to make room for the wounded 
 fresh from the battle front. I shall never forget those 
 hospital trains, car after car, and those ambulances 
 with four men in each, lying so silent and so still, with 
 four pairs of stockinged feet resting now from the 
 battle, but resting perhaps in agony and pain. Then 
 I went into the "Y" hut, where the comrades of those 
 wounded men, who had come safely through the fight, 
 had returned for a three days' leave, and in the twilight 
 those boys who had faced death and hell were quietly 
 singing together some of the old songs of love and 
 home. They were sitting on those narrow backless 
 
THE SOUND OF THE GUNS 19 
 
 benches and singing from the stereopticon screen on 
 which the words of the song had been printed. It was 
 easy to tell where their thoughts were, for they were 
 singing not the ragtime melodies which we associate 
 with soldier life, but those old songs that have ploughed 
 their way into the heart of humanity, and this is the 
 favorite song those boys whose hearts were at home, 
 sang: 
 
 "When the golden sun sinks in the hills, 
 
 And the toil of a long day is o'er — 
 Though the road may be long, in the lilt of a song 
 
 I forgot I was weary before. 
 Far ahead, where the blue shadows fall, 
 
 I shall come to contentment and rest ; 
 And the toils of the day will be all charmed away 
 
 In my little grey home in the west. 
 
 "There are hands that will welcome me in, 
 There are lips I am yearning to kiss — 
 There are two eyes that shine just because they are 
 mine 
 And a thousand things other men miss. 
 It's a corner of heaven itself, 
 
 Though it's only a tumble-down nest — 
 But, with love brooding there, why, no place can 
 compare 
 With my little grey home in the west." 
 
 In the morning, with their hearts full of home, they 
 were back in the battle line. 
 
 France was calling. England with her back to the 
 wall was calling in the words of General Haig: "There 
 
20 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 is no other course open to us but to fight it out ; every 
 position must be held to the last man; there must be 
 no retirement." In the battle of Verdun the Germans 
 employed twenty and a half divisions, but in the first 
 German drive of 1918 there were one hundred and 
 twenty-seven divisions and one hundred and two divi- 
 sions were concentrated against the British line. In 
 April the British officers' casualty list exceeded ten 
 thousand. Yet Britain said, "There must be no re- 
 tirement." Canada and the heroes of Vimy Ridge 
 were calling. They understood the message that Gen- 
 eral Curry sent them. "Advance, or fall where you 
 stand, facing the enemy." And, America heard, and 
 America answered. 
 
 I never expect to see a nation thrilled as France was 
 thrilled when she read those few brief sentences of 
 General Pershing, which offered the American forces 
 to the Allied nations. I had the honor of lunching 
 with General Pershing the day after, and when I spoke 
 to him of the fine thing he had done, he said, "There 
 was nothing else to do." Then I was told how it 
 had happened. He had gone to the headquarters of 
 General Foch, and, in his democratic, American way, 
 had made the offer to him. Grasping him by the hand, 
 General Foch said to him, "Come and tell the men out 
 here what you have just told me," and leading Gen- 
 eral Pershing out to where General Petain and Premier 
 Clemenceau were standing, he said, "Tell these men 
 what you have just told me." Then quietly and in 
 French, General Pershing spoke the words that thrilled 
 them and thrilled France and thrilled America: 
 
THE SOUND OF THE GUNS 21 
 
 "I come to say to you that the American people 
 would hold it a great honor for our troops if they 
 were engaged in the present battle. I ask it of you, 
 in my name and in that of the American people. 
 
 "There is at this moment no other question than that 
 of fighting. Infantry, artillery, aviation — all that we 
 have are yours, to dispose of them as you will. Others 
 are coming who are as numerous as will be necessary." 
 
 These words thrilled France, and French soldiers 
 everywhere lifted up their heads and hearts. One 
 French soldier pointed to the lines of Pershing's mes- 
 sage and said, "Deuxieme Verdun" and showed me 
 by his gestures how the Allied armies would twist the 
 Kaiser's neck. 
 
 I saw our first division move up. It was a great 
 sight. I journeyed with a French officer who acted 
 as interpreter for our Army. The sight of those 
 American soldiers moving up into that historic battle 
 line marked an epoch in the war. They represented 
 the millions that America was preparing to send to 
 France, and they said to Germany in words that we 
 now may make our own: 
 
 "No parleying now — America has all one breath; 
 We're with you now from shore to shore, 
 Ye men of ours, 'tis victory or death." 
 
 In France two convictions took possession of me. 
 I think they are the convictions which any man will 
 have when he has simplified an intricate situation, and 
 has thought through into the fundamental simplicities 
 and the needs of the hour. 
 
22 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 The first conviction is that the first duty of America 
 is to lay aside every other interest and concentrate 
 herself on the winning of this war. Near the front 
 line trenches, the chief of staff of one of our army 
 divisions spoke of the standard of military efficiency 
 which had been set for America. That standard, he 
 said, has been set for us by France. He spoke of 
 the French soldiers, who for nearly four years had 
 been sleeping in French graves. In a little village 
 cemetery on the battlefield of the Marne I counted 125 
 graves, almost as many graves as there were in- 
 habitants in the village. 
 
 The standard has been set for us by Belgium, whose 
 women and children are exiles and whose men have 
 been deported or are clinging to the fifteen-mile strip 
 of homeland that is still theirs. 
 
 The standard has been set for us by Britain, with 
 her enduring patience and her great fleet guarding the 
 seas over which our soldiers travel to the battle front, 
 with her cities and colleges robbed of their youth and 
 her soldiers sleeping in foreign soil, her casualty list 
 in 1917 exceeding 800,000, being 500,000 more than 
 the French. 
 
 But above all, he said, the standard has been set 
 for us by Germany. It has been set by German effi- 
 ciency and German strategy and German sacrifice. 
 To underrate or underestimate that German standard 
 will mean our undoing. 
 
 It is Germany that has challenged us, and we must 
 match German efficiency and German valor and Ger- 
 man arms with American efficiency and American 
 
THE SOUND OF THE GUNS 23 
 
 valor and American arms. And, if Germany can be 
 so powerful, so full of spirit and sacrifice, so defiant 
 of danger and death for an inhuman, damnable, Christ- 
 less cause, we of America can surpass her in efficiency, 
 in daring, and in defiance of death for a cause that 
 is noble and true and Christlike. 
 
 General Pershing's words to us were: "Let us stop 
 talking about reconstruction and about peace and about 
 what will happen after the war is over, and let us 
 see to it that we wage a successful war." This is the 
 military point of view, and however necessary it is to 
 prepare for peace and to be forearmed against the 
 coming of the days of victory, we must gird ourselves 
 for the winning of the victory and to the conviction 
 that victory may be long delayed. 
 
 We shall not succeed because of Germany's failure, 
 nor because of Austria's breakdown. We must win, 
 not by our peace talk, but by our arms, and we must 
 succeed not because of the overthrow of Germany's 
 politicians, but because of the overthrow of her army. 
 We demand a victory not based upon a peace pledge, 
 but upon the triumph of our arms. Peace pledges are 
 scraps of paper to Germany. 
 
 France is not talking about when the war will end ; 
 she is saying to Germany in one voice that this war can 
 end only in her defeat, whether it end this summer or 
 next summer, or the summer five years hence. And 
 America must tell Germany that every month she adds 
 to the war, every crime she adds to crime, and every 
 battle she adds to battle, will make her defeat both 
 more sure and more terribly tragic. 
 
24 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 The second conviction which possessed me was one 
 of optimism. We need not worry about the physical 
 and moral condition of our men in France. "Tell them 
 at home," said General Pershing, "not to worry about 
 their boys. They will come home better than when 
 they left." I am not blind to the dangers that exist 
 in France for our men. I think it is possible to over- 
 idealize France. I hope I shall not be misunderstood, 
 but the moral and religious ideas of France are not 
 those of America. France's attitude toward temper- 
 ance and toward immoral men and women is not our 
 attitude. When in a port city at which our men land 
 there are thousands of licensed prostitutes, how could 
 one who knew these conditions be an idealist? How 
 could one blind his eyes to the dangers that lurk in 
 the way of every American soldier, when he knows 
 that wine is the common beverage in France and that 
 total abstinence is all but an unknown virtue? The 
 moral conditions in France are neither black nor 
 white, and the moral conditions of our American sol- 
 diers are neither black nor white. The American 
 soldier is not a saint. He is just a common man. He 
 is much like other soldiers. He can make the words 
 of the British Tommy his own : 
 
 "Our padre, 'e says I'm a sinner, 
 And John Bull says I'm a saint, 
 And they're both of 'em bound to be liars, 
 For I'm neither of 'em, I ain't. 
 I'm a man, and a man's a mixture 
 Right down from 'is very birth, 
 For part of 'im comes from heaven, 
 And part of 'im comes from earth." 
 
THE SOUND OF THE GUNS 25 
 
 Nevertheless, man for man, our soldiers are better 
 than they were in civil life, and in integrity and moral 
 purity they hold the best record of any army on earth. 
 I do not say that they do not drink. I can only testify 
 that I did not see a drunken American soldier in 
 France. I do not say that immorality does not exist 
 in the Army. I know that it does. But I do know 
 that conditions are better than they were, and I know 
 that the moral condition of the men is better than 
 it was when they entered the Army. The records are 
 open for all those who wish to read. 
 
 After careful investigation of the subject I am con- 
 vinced that ours is the cleanest army that the world 
 has ever seen. The credit belongs to every one. It 
 belongs to the United States Government, which seeks 
 above all an efficient army. The credit belongs to the 
 officers in charge, who are more interested in their 
 men than any professional investigator can ever be. 
 It belongs greatly to the Y M C A that is doing one of 
 the finest pieces of work in France that the world has 
 ever seen. It belongs to the Red Cross, but primarily, 
 it belongs to the men themselves. They have been 
 lifted out of themselves. They are the new crusaders 
 of the twentieth century. Some of them do not know 
 exactly why they are there. They sing, ''We're here 
 because we're here, Because we're here, Because we're 
 here," but they know, all of them know, that they are 
 there for America and for France and for England 
 and for humanity, and they know that they are there 
 to win. They understand the countersign, and have 
 estimated the price they have to pay: 
 
26 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 "Who passeth here? We of the new brigade, 
 Who come in aid, to take your place who fell. 
 What is the countersign ? That we have weighed, 
 The cost ye paid — yet come ! 
 Pass, all is well. ,, 
 
 Said a Frenchman, whose son had been in the army 
 for forty-five months, when asked concerning the fight- 
 ing qualities of our men, "They fight just like our 
 Blue Devils. ,, That is the highest compliment a 
 Frenchman can pay, and every last man is dissatisfied 
 until he is in the fighting line with his back to the 
 wall and his face to the foe. 
 
 The response to religion on the part of the men 
 was something of a surprise to me. I was permitted 
 to speak to thousands of men in France, from the ports 
 of entry to where the singing of the Gospel was ac- 
 companied by the sound of the battle, and the religious 
 receptivity of the men increased as I drew nearer to 
 where the guns spoke their tragic message. The great 
 words of our religion — God, Christ, Faith, Hope, 
 Prayer, Immortality, Service, Life, Love, Justice, 
 Duty, and the Cross — are words that against the back- 
 ground of the curtain of fire are luminous with new 
 meaning and the power of a personal appeal. Men are 
 not only receiving the religious message, they are ask- 
 ing for it and demanding it from us. I do not mean 
 that every boy kneels at his bunk; few of them do. I 
 mean that they respond to the thing we call religion. 
 Before you preach you may hear them singing some- 
 thing like this: 
 
THE SOUND OF THE GUNS 27 
 
 "Goodbye, Ma! Goodbye, Pa! Goodbye, mule, with 
 yer old hee-haw ! 
 I may not know what the war's about, 
 But you bet, by gosh, I'll soon find out. 
 An' O my sweetheart, don't you fear, I'll bring you 
 a king for a souvenir ; 
 I'll bring you a Turk and a Kaiser, too, 
 An' that's about all one feller could do !" 
 
 They have no use for a religion that is based upon 
 pious platitudes or sentimental exhortations. They do 
 not worship a God who is a pacifist, but one whose 
 "blood-red banner streams afar." They believe in a 
 Christianity like that of Oliver Cromwell, that will not 
 hesitate, if the cause of righteousness demands it, to 
 take the head of a king. 
 
 On the battlefields of Europe the channels of new 
 thought and moral conviction are being opened up. 
 Said an American officer to one of our "Y" men on 
 board a transport, "I used to pride myself on being an 
 
 atheist, but this d war has knocked h out of 
 
 my atheism." After a bishop had delivered an ad- 
 dress on the subject of German propaganda, a disap- 
 pointed American lad came to one of my American 
 
 friends and said, "D it, I thought the Bishop was 
 
 going to give us some religion." The Bishop had 
 often given the men religion, but this boy's expression 
 of his expectation is only a revelation of the fact that 
 a religious message is always welcome on any day and 
 at any place. Instead of the war making for a break- 
 down of faith and the overthrow of the Church, it 
 has given the Church the greatest opportunity in 
 
28 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 human history and enthroned faith above all other 
 virtues. 
 
 Then while the guns are playing over their heads, 
 and after they have sung their "Hee-haw songs," you 
 say to the boys, "Well, let's have some hymns. What 
 shall we sing ?" Then, unconsciously, they reveal their 
 hearts and they say, "Rock of Ages." They know 
 what it is to have to hide in an abri in the side of 
 the hills, and those familiar consecrated words have 
 a new meaning, for they sing them with a sort of 
 a thrill: "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide 
 myself in Thee." Then they want "Jesus, Lover of 
 my Soul." In my snug contentedness, I had often 
 sung it, but it had never had the meaning for me that 
 it had that night under the sound of the guns. "Other 
 refuge have I none." And then they want "Nearer, 
 My God, to Thee." I shall never forget how they sang 
 it. We think we know how to sing it. We think we 
 know how to sing, "E'en though it be a cross." Under 
 the black sky, where you can see the flash of the guns 
 and the star shells burst over your head, or, what is 
 worse under the bright moonlight sky, where the 
 aeroplanes, those messengers of death, hover over 
 your head, you discover what it means to sing "E'en 
 though it be a cross." And then, perhaps most popu- 
 lar of all, they want "Abide with Me." 
 
 "When other helpers fail and comforts flee, 
 Help of the helpless, O abide with me." 
 
 What other message is there for them or for us? 
 It is a message not of weak despair, but one of a con- 
 
THE SOUND OF THE GUNS 29 
 
 fident and abiding trust. In the midst of human help- 
 lessness and in the presence of enshrouding mystery, 
 with their faces toward foe and their hearts set on vic- 
 tory, they sing: 
 
 "Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes; 
 Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: 
 Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows 
 
 flee: 
 In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me." 
 
 I think I have seen into the heart of the American 
 soldier, and I know that all is well. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 BARRACKS AND BILLETS 
 
 The American Army is a well-cared- for body of 
 men. One look at an American soldier reveals the fact 
 that he is well fed, well paid, and well housed. The 
 American soldier is a satisfied soldier. 
 
 Writing back from France to his mother, one of the 
 more-than-a-million now in France furnishes first 
 hand testimony to the efficiency of American barracks 
 and billets overseas. 
 
 "When I entered the service I was fat, just plain 
 loose flesh, that was only a burden to carry around. I 
 lost thirty pounds before I had been over here a month. 
 Since, I have regained it, but it is no longer fat nor 
 a burden. Instead, it is muscle and is used about seven 
 days a week, for the purpose of making the world safe 
 for Democracy. Work never hurt anybody, and I am 
 proud to say that I am a member of the Fifteenth 
 U. S. Engineers, and am able to work. Trusting that 
 you are well, I am, 
 
 Your loving son." 
 
 The British Army is housed in tents; their base 
 camps are great tent cities. In the morning sun, they 
 are most impressive. The camp is a city in khaki. The 
 streets are named after the familiar thoroughfares 
 of London or the towns and villages of the soldiers' 
 homeland. 
 
 30 
 
BARRACKS AND BILLETS 31 
 
 One comes upon Piccadilly and the Strand, upon 
 Russell Square and Downing Street. There is a 
 touch of familiarity and friendliness and withal a 
 prophecy of permanency about it all. 
 
 In the tent city one finds much that he finds at 
 home, with the military purpose always evident. 
 Twenty or thirty Y M C A centers furnish entertain- 
 ment and social and religious opportunity. The 
 Church of England, not fully satisfied with the reli- 
 gious opportunities furnished by the "Y," has equipped 
 a hut where the Altar is always awaiting the penitent 
 and the man of prayer. 
 
 The Army Canteen, both wet and dry, is thronged 
 with men, going forward to, or returning from, the 
 battle. 
 
 I was charmed with the Hospitality House of the 
 Y M C A which is operated by the splendid English 
 women who have made such a success of the Woman's 
 Department. This place of retreat in the midst of 
 the busy camp is prepared against the day when in 
 the hospital a lad wounded sorely, or perhaps dying, 
 reaches out his hand for home, and by permission of 
 the authorities, father or mother, wife or sweetheart, 
 hurries in the night across the channel to watch for 
 an hour beside his bed and to find a welcome in this 
 home among the tents. 
 
 Flowers are in the garden, and the touch of woman- 
 hood everywhere: the very pictures on the walls 
 speak of home and hope. It struck me as one of the 
 most Christlike and beautiful of all the things I saw 
 in France. 
 
32 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 The American Army lives either in barracks or in 
 billets. Few tents are in use. Sometimes a company 
 will sleep in the open on the banks of a French river, 
 but they are on their way to more permanent quar- 
 ters. 
 
 The barracks in France are constructed after the 
 design which has become familiar to us in our great 
 American cantonments. In this, we have followed 
 the French system. Sometimes our armies occupy 
 barracks formerly occupied by the French, and some- 
 times in the same camp both French and American 
 soldiers are quartered. 
 
 The building is long and narrow, with beds along 
 each wall and an aisle down the center. The mess 
 halls are similarly constructed and the entire camp 
 is equipped with electric light and running water. The 
 officers' barracks are divided into little rooms, perhaps 
 ten feet square, open at the top, the hallway running 
 through the center between the rooms back to the 
 mess hall. In each room, there is a little stove, and 
 at night happiness and contentment reign. 
 
 The French climate tests the enduring qualities of 
 our men. Not so rigorous as our winter, the French 
 cold, nevertheless, penetrates to the very heart, and 
 no quantity of army blankets suffices to satisfy. Of 
 course the hardened soldier has a fire always burning 
 in his own warm blood, but notwithstanding all the 
 heroism of army life, a fire is the most welcome 
 friend in France. 
 
 One night, I stepped into the headquarters of a com- 
 pany of the 15th Engineers. This company was sepa- 
 
BARRACKS AND BILLETS 33 
 
 rated from the rest of the regiment, and the men 
 were drawn into the closest kind of good comradeship 
 because of the fewness of their numbers. The morn- 
 ings and nights of February were cold and desolate 
 and the chill crept down by thrills, and settled in the 
 warm woollen socks knitted by loving hands. 
 
 In the barracks, these boys had a stove, and around 
 it in the evenings they gathered and discussed all 
 things in and out of the universe and usually broke 
 up in a row. In the morning, they found themselves 
 ranged in their usual places around the stove and new 
 subjects and new contestants were ready to enter the 
 field. 
 
 The boys were organized and called themselves 
 "The Stove League." They had a President, Dono- 
 van, and a General Supervisor, Crux, and when I 
 stumbled in upon them and was welcomed as one 
 from home, they were all at a standstill over the inter- 
 pretation of the thirteenth chapter of the Book of Reve- 
 lation. Crux had insisted and argued for weeks that 
 the Book of Revelation clearly outlined the progress 
 of the great war, identified the Beast in the Kaiser, 
 and determined that the war would end in forty-two 
 months as foretold in the fifth verse. The forty-two 
 months would be up on the 26th of February, and now 
 the day was the 28th, and prophecy and the Bible 
 had both fallen to the ground. It was like coming 
 into a sort of Prophetic Conference. 
 
 I would give much to have a photograph of that 
 group at headquarters that night. The boys sat on 
 beds, on the floor, on chunks of wood, on boxes, but 
 
34 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 all around the stove, and taps sounded before the Bible 
 class broke up. 
 
 I told them that the Book of Revelation was written 
 for days like these, and that in those days power was 
 in the hands of tyranny. The tyrant's name was 
 Caesar and the modern spelling is Kaiser. I told them 
 that the book was written in a peculiar symbolic lan- 
 guage, so that those who understood would know and 
 those who did not possess the key would pass it by 
 as meaningless. I told them that it contained only 
 one message and that was to the effect that however 
 sore the trial, and however hot the fire of persecution, 
 even though death should result, yet faith was bound 
 to triumph and God would have the last word. Then 
 we saw that the message of the book was timeless 
 and had little to do with dates and names and num- 
 bers, but had everything to do with comfort and hope 
 and courage, for through the ruin and the desolation, 
 we see a new heaven and a new earth. We instinc- 
 tively felt that we were not alone in the experience of 
 disaster and war's desolation and that they who sang 
 their new song in the Book of Revelation would not 
 sing alone, for we too would join in the chorus, "Halle- 
 lujah, for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth." 
 
 The majority of the men of the American Army 
 are not in barracks, but in billets. They are billeted 
 in the villages and towns of France. The army au- 
 thorities, assisted by the French Government, set apart 
 an area covering perhaps a dozen or more French vil- 
 lages, and in that area, perhaps ten or twenty miles 
 across, a whole army division of 26,000 men will be 
 
BARRACKS AND BILLETS 35 
 
 billeted. This necessitates the breaking up of the 
 division into separate units, ranging from a few hun- 
 dred to two or three thousand men. Before the 
 soldiers arrive, billeting officers make a thorough 
 canvass of the situation and every available space is 
 secured and the number of men assigned to each 
 barn, shed, public hall, courtyard, and home is defi- 
 nitely determined. 
 
 It is not difficult to understand how monotony 
 creeps into the life of our men so situated. They do 
 not know the French language, there are no pastimes, 
 no libraries, no movies, no newspapers, and except 
 for the service of the "Y" no provision is made for 
 recreation and amusement. The men of France be- 
 tween eighteen and fifty have all gone to war and 
 only the women, the children, and men unfit for mili- 
 tary duty are left. The work of the Army and of the 
 Y M C A becomes in circumstances such as these both 
 more necessary and more difficult. 
 
 The Army has accomplished marvelous things and 
 the sanitary conditions of our American camps in 
 France are as perfect as American science can make 
 them. France has been both surprised and charmed 
 at the dispatch with which villages and whole sections 
 of territory have been made fitter places to live in. 
 A French Protestant clergyman, Pastor R. Saillens, 
 expressed to me the conviction that the American 
 Army had in a few days been able to cleanse and 
 purify the life of French communities where for a 
 generation the French Government had only imper- 
 fectly succeeded. 
 
36 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 Thousands of soldiers live on trains. They travel 
 from port to camp, and from camp to camp. They 
 eat and sleep during the days they are en route in the 
 railroad cars which are designated to hold eight horses 
 or forty men. It takes as much heroism on a frosty 
 morning to wash with water from a cold canteen 
 water bottle as it does to go over the top in December 
 weather. We saw boys pouring water into the hands 
 of other lads while they held their heads out of the 
 car door. We said, "Where are you going?" "To 
 
 h ," came the quick and hearty response. We got 
 
 even by asking, "How would you like some buttered 
 toast and coffee?" They came back with the chal- 
 lenge, "Do you want to get shot?" 
 
 Good cheer is welcome, but when it is accompanied 
 with good chocolate it is better. When those boys 
 landed at their destination a few hours later they 
 found that the "Y" had preceded them and was ready 
 with steaming caldrons of hot chocolate to satisfy 
 their physical and social need. Their greeting, "Gee, 
 here's the old 'Y' " is high commendation from the 
 Army. 
 
 There are always thousands of men and officers who 
 are temporarily located in Paris, in port cities, and in 
 headquarters' centers. For these men the Y M C A 
 has, with wise foresight, provided hotels and club 
 rooms for officers and privates. The eleven hotels 
 managed by the "Y" for the use of American soldiers 
 and sailors have fully justified themselves under the 
 wise oversight of Frederic B. Shipp. They practically 
 carry themselves financially, and their popularity is 
 
BARRACKS AND BILLETS 37 
 
 evidenced by the fact that rooms are engaged by 
 officers weeks in advance. 
 
 In these officers' hotels and clubs, we found library 
 and canteen facilities, with music and a wholesome 
 homelike American atmosphere. In these centers 
 American women are helping as Y M C A Secretaries, 
 and their presence has added both charm and cheer 
 to thousands of our men. These hotels and clubs are 
 under army regulations and are provided with army 
 fare. This means not restriction but liberty, for in 
 Paris they are the only places where our men can 
 secure white bread, butter, sugar, and the little deli- 
 cacies that American men like. The service carried 
 on for the officers in hut and club and hotel is perhaps 
 the most appreciated of all the activities for which 
 the Y M C A has made itself responsible. 
 
 Like the martyrs of old, our men live also in "dens 
 and caves of the earth." In trench and dugout, in 
 caves along the road and in the hills, in shelves along 
 the side of the trench, sleeping behind damp gas- 
 sheltering canvas, they live their lives and win their 
 victories. 
 
 One dark night with the shells screaming over us 
 and the star-shells lighting up "No Man's Land," 
 we asked the boys what they wanted. They said, 
 "Bread and candles." War brings us to the simplici- 
 ties and what else do men require but "bread" and 
 "light"? 
 
 I asked a man who was cleaning his rifle the name 
 of the little village where he and his comrades were 
 billeted. He answered with a surprised look, "Blamed 
 
38 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 if I know. I've only been in this crazy place for five 
 days." Tomorrow he was gone to find quarters in an- 
 other village. 
 
 Ours is a mobile army. In sixty days one of our 
 army divisions of 26,000 men was encamped in five 
 different places 150 miles apart. No wonder mail 
 addressed to P. O. 709 was delayed. 
 
 One of our camp areas covers a territory 250 by 
 150 miles. The YMCA, following the advice of 
 the army authorities, projected thirteen huts in one 
 section of that area, to find after the work was com- 
 pleted that the army plans had been suddenly changed. 
 Such experiences, however, belong to the fortunes 
 of war. 
 
 The road that leads into the city of Verdun is called 
 "The Holy Road/' It is not a long road. It winds 
 over hills and along valleys from Bar le Due to Ver- 
 dun. When the Crown Prince massed his twenty 
 army divisions against the French, he destroyed the 
 main line of communication leading into the city. 
 The evidence of that reign of terror is everywhere 
 evident. A French officer pointed out a bridge a few 
 miles behind the city, near which a German shell fell 
 every fifteen seconds for days at a time, and yet 
 amid ruin and desolation the bridge was not destroyed. 
 
 Not far from Verdun, in a cemetery that seemed no 
 larger than the ground covered by an ordinary church 
 building, 5,000 French soldiers lay buried. It had 
 looked as if Verdun would fall, for the only railroad 
 that led into the city was a narrow road over which 
 it took me almost five hours to travel thirty-five miles. 
 
BARRACKS AND BILLETS 39 
 
 Into the city, however, ran a splendid highway, and 
 over the road the reserves of France traveled. Every 
 day for three months 12,000 trucks went forward, 
 loaded with men and ammunition and food, and every 
 day for three months 12,000 trucks returned, loaded 
 with wounded or wearied men. If a truck failed to 
 move, it was quickly cast aside and the great, grey 
 endless procession moved on. Over that highway 
 more men went forward never to return, than over 
 any other road in the world's history. This is why 
 the French people speak of it today in hushed voices 
 as "The Holy Road." 
 
 Every road in France and every road that leads 
 to France is a holy road. Most of our boys that 
 travel over those highways with songs of rejoicing, 
 will come back to us again. Some will never come 
 back, but all of them must know that with them we, 
 too, have traveled. 
 
 We can do this by furnishing and equipping the 
 army agencies which follow them right up to the very 
 front. The Red Cross and the Y M C A are out upon 
 these holy roads and must be furnished and equipped 
 with men and women, for they, too, claim the right 
 to the road. 
 
 We do not dare to send our Army and our Navy 
 out into danger without following them to the vic- 
 torious end, and for the welfare service thousands 
 of men and women are needed. They are needed to 
 relieve the strain upon the workers — all too few — who 
 are now in France. They are needed to fill gaps 
 caused by death, for the Red Triangle and the Red 
 
4 o PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 Cross have no place in their ranks for the pacifist or 
 the slacker. Many workers are in France for limited 
 terms of service and their places must be filled. Men 
 and women who can find no place in the ranks of the 
 military must go, in order to keep faith with them- 
 selves and to live on good terms with themselves after 
 the war is past. 
 
 It is to this challenge that Rudyard Kipling refers in 
 his verses, "The American Spirit Speaks" : 
 
 "But after the fires and the wrath, 
 But after searching and pain, 
 His Mercy opens us a path 
 To live with ourselves again." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 PLAYING THE GAME 
 
 Every man who enters one of the British Y M C A 
 huts comes face to face with the words : 
 "Live clean." 
 "Talk clean." 
 "Fight clean." 
 "Play the game." 
 For four years the British Tommy has fought clean 
 and played the game. 
 
 The motto appeals to our American boys. They 
 have come at a rather late hour upon the battle field 
 of France, but they have come determined to live clean, 
 to talk clean, to fight clean, and to play the game. 
 
 The American soldier in France has long ceased to 
 be a novelty. The nations that mingle in France have 
 become accustomed to the uniform of the United 
 States soldier. People are still tremendously interested 
 in him. Little children' gather around him and are 
 proud to be spoken to. French soldiers are always 
 eager to welcome and converse with him and every- 
 where he has been given the right of way in France. 
 
 But the thrill is over, the thrill of those first days. 
 A young lad from Alabama told me of the stirring 
 days when they marched through the streets of Paris. 
 Those days can never be repeated, and now troops land 
 
 41 
 
42 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 as if they were arriving at one of our own American 
 ports. This same lad from Alabama had driven a 
 motorcycle from the port of entry to headquarters. 
 He passed through a French town where a man in a 
 silk hat waved at him and afterwards followed him 
 to the next town on a bicycle. The man with the silk 
 hat was the Mayor of the village through which the 
 American soldier had passed without ceremony. The 
 soldier was taken back to the Mayor's town; received 
 by the Mayor's family; entertained at dinner, and 
 when he returned to his motorcycle he found that the 
 children of the village had filled the side seat of his 
 motorcycle with French flowers. Those days are 
 gone. Today American soldiers are everywhere. They 
 are in the port cities ; along the highways ; in little 
 villages; on the Swiss border; in the valleys of the 
 French Alps ; along the shores of the English Channel, 
 and in the words of General Pershing: 
 
 ''Others will come as numerous as may be needed." 
 How distinguished they look! It is not the uni- 
 form that distinguishes them, for in some respects the 
 American uniform is less attractive than the uniform 
 of other nations. It lacks the touch of beauty and 
 personality of the French and it lacks the comfort of 
 the British and the dash of the Colonial. It is their 
 straightness, their strength, their manliness, that dis- 
 tinguishes them. An English officer who had watched 
 them enter France said to me that they looked just 
 as the Canadians looked four years ago, fresh and 
 vigorous and forward-looking. There was a touch of 
 pathos in his voice as he thought of the hardships 
 
PLAYING THE GAME 43 
 
 through which the Canadians had come before the 
 freshness of youth had been changed into the rugged- 
 ness of experience. 
 
 The thing that impressed me about the American 
 soldier was his abounding vitality. He was always do- 
 ing something and planning something. He was al- 
 ways on the move. Whatever his work, he was always 
 chafing under restraint. His first question was, "How 
 near are we to the front?" After he has been in 
 France for a month or six weeks he will say to you 
 in an apologetic tone, "It isn't my fault that I am not 
 under shell fire." 
 
 A young Lieutenant who speaks excellent French, 
 and for that reason has been attached to the General 
 Staff, told me that he lay awake every night trying 
 to scheme out some way by which he could get up 
 under the sound of the guns. Even the men and 
 women of the Y M C A grow restless in the necessary 
 service of the rear and demand to be sent into the 
 danger zone. 
 
 When the French turned over the Lorraine front 
 to our boys, things had been quiet along the line for 
 months. I was told the Germans felt free to walk at 
 ease in No Man's Land and that no shots were fired 
 between the contending forces. They were content to 
 hold the trenches awaiting developments elsewhere. 
 Our boys went into the trenches in the night. Next 
 morning the Hun went out for his usual walk on the 
 parapet and received a baptism of fire. Since then 
 there has always been something doing. The French 
 were disturbed at first and thought the Americans had 
 
44 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 spoiled everything, and had stirred up for themselves, 
 and for them, a hornet's nest. But the Germans have 
 had to strengthen their lines there and have been 
 given no peace day nor night. 
 
 If the boys are not in actual warfare, they are up to 
 American pranks. They load a piece of wire with a 
 weight of iron and then in the night one of the boys 
 slips out into No Man's Land and throws the heavy 
 end over the German wire entanglements and goes 
 back to the trench. Then they pull, and the grinding, 
 scraping noise of the wire causes "Fritz" to throw up 
 star-shells to see where the enemy is and what is going 
 on in his entanglements. The colored men have the 
 same spirit. They were in the front line, brigaded with 
 French troops, in the hills, and in the swamp pro- 
 tected by a maze of trenches and a maze of wire. 
 Harry Lauder asked one of the English Tommies 
 how long the war would last. "Forty years," he said. 
 Astonished at the answer, he asked the reason for his 
 pessimism. "Oh," said Tommy, "it will take a 
 year to finish the war and then it will take thirty-nine 
 years to wind up the wire." He was thinking of 
 those miles and miles and miles of barbed wire en- 
 tanglements. 
 
 One night the Captain of a colored company asked 
 for six volunteers from his colored troops to re- 
 connoiter in No Man's Land ; instead of six, every man 
 in the company stepped forth for duty. "Tell the 
 Hun," said one of the colored men, "that the black 
 man has come and the German has got to leave." 
 Speaking in the tent one night one of the Y M C A 
 
PLAYING THE GAME 45 
 
 Secretaries was saying that that very night — it was the 
 crisis of the first German drive — hundreds of British 
 and French soldiers were dying on the battlefield and 
 he hoped thousands of Germans. He sort of hedged 
 when he made that statement and went back over it 
 to explain just what he meant, but one of the men in 
 the audience cried out, "Oh, never mind, that is what 
 we are here for, to kill the Hun." They don't ask you 
 over there how long the war will last. Our boys in 
 France are saying, "I hope the war will not end until 
 I get a chance at the front." That is the spirit of the 
 American soldier and though at times the thought of 
 home pulls hard, he does not intend to come back until 
 he comes with bands playing and banners waving. 
 
 These men of ours have not wasted their youth. 
 They have had their youth, and now in these days of 
 testing they stand the strain. They contrast favorably 
 with the men of other nations. They are more viva- 
 cious, they laugh more, they play more. The little 
 children of France fall in love with them and like their 
 fun and merriment. They walk with them on the 
 street, hand in hand, and are instinctively drawn to 
 them. Kipling once, thinking about the youth of his 
 nation, wrote : 
 
 "The Lamp of our Youth will be utterly out : 
 But we shall subsist on the smell of it." 
 
 One has only to look at a regiment of American sol- 
 diers to understand that the lamp of youth has never 
 gone out, and that the ardor and strength of young 
 manhood is strong upon our men, and, because of their 
 
46 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 past well-living and well-doing they have a reserve 
 strength to fall back upon. 
 
 The fine spirit that possesses our men comes down 
 to them in a manner from the officers. Our men are 
 well officered. The message of General Pershing to 
 our American men hangs in all our Y M C A buildings 
 in France. 
 
 "TO THE AMERICAN SOLDIER 
 
 Hardship will be your lot, but trust in God will give 
 you comfort. Temptation will befall you, but the 
 teachings of our Saviour will give you strength. Let 
 your valor as a soldier and your conduct as a man be 
 an inspiration to your comrades and an honor to your 
 country. —Pershing." 
 
 When the first American troops entered France, 
 General Pershing welcomed them in these words: 
 
 "You are now in France, to expel an enemy that has 
 invaded this beautiful land. Your first duty is to fight 
 against this foe, and protect our Ally. You are here 
 also to lift a shield above the poor and weak. You 
 will be kind, therefore, to the aged and the invalid. 
 You will be courteous to all women, and never have 
 so much as an evil thought in your mind. You will 
 be very tender and gentle with little children. You 
 will do well, therefore, to forswear the use of all 
 liquors. You will do your duty like brave men. Fear 
 God. God have you in his keeping." 
 
 Compare this with the Kaiser's charge to his soldiers 
 about to sail for China in 1900: 
 
 "When you meet the foe you will defeat him. No 
 quarter will be given, no prisoners will be taken. Let 
 
PLAYING THE GAME 47 
 
 all who fall into your hands be at your mercy. Just 
 as the Huns one thousand years ago under Attila 
 gained reputation, so may the name of Germany be- 
 come known in such a manner in China that no China- 
 man will ever again dare to look askance at a Ger- 
 man." 
 
 In an obscure corner of France where a regiment 
 of our soldiers was stationed, I found a copy of an 
 order posted for Company M, of the 161 st Infantry. 
 Here it is : 
 
 "Sunday being a day of rest and meditation, when 
 every American can worship God according to the 
 dictates of his own conscience, a portion of the day 
 cannot be spent in a more reverent manner than by 
 writing a letter home to your mother, or, if she is not 
 living, then to your next of kin. 
 
 "Remember that your mother is the one who is 
 brave, not you. She is the one who is carrying the 
 cross. You are uppermost in her thoughts all the 
 time and she is praying for your safe return. Gladden 
 her heart by writing to her regularly. 
 
 "David Livingstone, 
 
 "Captain 161 st Infantry." 
 
 This fine spirit possessed by the officers is reflected 
 in the men. There are officers in the American Army 
 who are acting as real chaplains to their men. One 
 of the officers, a Colonel with whom we were lunching, 
 and at whose table the officers bowed their heads while 
 prayer was offered for the camp and for the men, 
 handed us these verses which had been written by one 
 of his own men, a private in the Quartermaster's De- 
 
48 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 partment, and which he carried around with him, 
 apparently prouder of them than if he had written 
 them himself. 
 
 "He swore his oath as a soldier should 
 
 With eyes steadfast and loyal : 
 He sold his hopes of a life of ease, 
 
 For a soldier's lonely toil. 
 He said goodbye to the girl at home, 
 
 And left her proud and sad ; 
 And went away to play his part, 
 
 In a world gone stark mad. 
 
 "Oh, never were hopes as high as his 
 
 Or never were aims so dear: 
 The trenches had no horrors for him 
 
 And hungry guns no fear. 
 But he did not know that the risks of war 
 
 Are not confined to the line, 
 And he fell for a pair of painted cheeks 
 
 And a belly of vixen wine. 
 
 "He couldn't see that the harm he did 
 
 Was not to himself alone, 
 And he bartered the best of his life away 
 
 Like a dog for a poisoned bone. 
 He didn't go to the trenches, 
 
 For he bore the marks of Eve, 
 But they sent him home with a Medical D.D. 
 
 For his friends to see and grieve. 
 
 "Did he go back to the girl he left behind ? 
 Does a burnt cur slink to the fire? 
 No ! he dropped from the ken of decent men 
 To the depths of souls for hire. 
 
PLAYING THE GAME 49 
 
 So this is the law of the God of war, 
 
 Ye men who have heard the call, 
 The Hun is bad, but a painted face 
 
 Is the wickedest foe of all." 
 
 The alertness and vitality of the men in the Army 
 is the reflection of the soul of the American nation. 
 As the nation goes, so goes the Army. The Army is 
 the apex of the pyramid which rests upon the great 
 enduring foundation of the nation. The Army is the 
 keen cutting edge of the wedge whose driving power 
 comes from the bulk of the nation's strength. The 
 Army can never be beaten so long as the nation is 
 strong. This war has become a spiritual and a moral 
 struggle. If the men at the front are to play the game, 
 it is necessary that the men and women at home learn 
 to play the game also. Not until Germany destroyed 
 the soul of Russia did she win a victory over Russian 
 armies. I saw Italian soldiers working on the roads 
 in France — soldiers that had been pushed back by the 
 great German drive, but not until the soul of the 
 Italian people had been weakened by German propa- 
 ganda did the Hun set foot on Italian soil. When 
 the political life of France was weak and uncertain, 
 the French armies wavered and the Somme offensive 
 broke down. When the great smash of the German 
 spring drive came against the armies of Britain more 
 British soldiers fell in a single week than had ever 
 fallen during a similar period at any time in her great 
 history. And it was only because the heart of the 
 nation was sound that the Army stood like a wall of 
 
50 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 steel against the enemy. As long as the nation is true, 
 the Army will never fail. 
 
 The men who represent us in France will play the 
 game, but they cannot play it without us. If the 
 nation at home is weak, the Army will be weak. If 
 the nation is hesitant, the Army will be hesitant, but 
 if the nation is self-reliant and strong and victorious, 
 the Army will be strong, defiant of death, and tri- 
 umphant. It is because the soul of the American 
 nation is true and strong and victorious that it will not 
 tolerate any form of political profiteering while the 
 war is on. 
 
 A young lad of the Navy just in from sea said to 
 me, "War is a mighty strange thing and America is 
 going to gain just what Germany wanted to gain." 
 He had thought things out for himself and he had 
 come to the conclusion that in commerce and trade, 
 and in the markets of the world, America had found 
 her place among the nations. And then he said, "Of 
 course it's mighty fortunate that we will be the victors 
 and not Germany." And in the back of his mind I 
 knew what he was thinking about. He was thinking 
 of the victory not only of armies but of ideas, not of 
 the sword only but also of the spirit. 
 
 The American soldier is his own best interpreter. 
 Here is a letter from one of them: 
 
 "April 22nd, 1918. 
 
 Dearest : 
 
 Was delighted about Roy and wish him the best of 
 luck with my sincerest congratulations. Am proud of 
 him and I know you will always be from now on. It 
 
PLAYING THE GAME 51 
 
 doesn't matter so much what the service is, but there's 
 a niche for every man in this stunt, and he ought to 
 fill it when he can be relieved of domestic obligations, 
 as in Roy's case. Then besides, wouldn't the poor 
 devil have an awful time trying to explain to pos- 
 terity that his wife wouldn't let him serve his country ? 
 Parental love is ruthlessly disregarded and magnifi- 
 cently submerged in the patriotism of this great event, 
 so why should not marital happiness take a back seat 
 for a time being? Change the T to make it 'martial,' 
 and you will find that selfishness will give place to 
 service and self-sacrifice, and thereby you will breathe 
 deeper, for your spirit will be liberated and your soul 
 will go on a regular spree. Take that from me, for 
 I'm 'Jake' and I know. 'Jake' means 'just right' in 
 the army, and our up-to-date Y M C A pastor gave 
 the men a sermon last night on the text: 'Are you 
 Jake ?' which means, 'Are you at peace with yourself ?' 
 and I have found out that I am. Strangely enough, 
 too, I never really understood that feeling before, nor 
 do I know why I have come by it recently. I used 
 to be a little bit worried now and then about getting 
 through it all, and often wished I could be back home 
 with you all once more. 
 
 You see the whole big idea spells SERVICE. I 
 never knew the full meaning of that word before and 
 the glorious feeling of standing ready to give every- 
 thing and ask nothing in return — not blind, but un- 
 questioning service to our country, to humanity, and 
 to God. That isn't meant as oratory, either, for I 
 know that a thousand like myself would scarcely cause 
 a ripple on this sea, but the biggest sacrifice that any 
 one could make wouldn't be too much to ask with a 
 beast overrunning the world, would it? We Ameri- 
 cans are a great and glorious people, and, thank God, 
 we are finding ourselves. 
 
 Don't worry about me at all. The Boche has had 
 
52 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 three or four awfully good chances to get me, and he 
 hasn't yet. Besides, the American troops will be pull- 
 ing a lot of spectacular stuff from now on, I imagine, 
 and, if every time you hear of their being in a bit of 
 a smash, you imagine that I am in it, you will just be 
 overwhelming yourself with a lot of unnecessary 
 worries. 
 
 I've got a dandy chance of getting through it all, 
 perhaps without a scratch, and even if I don't, I'm 
 Jake — See ! 
 
 Fondly, 
 
 Henry." 
 
 One day in France I stood in a cathedral back of 
 the fighting line. Its windows had been shattered by 
 shells and the beautiful building was open to rain and 
 sun. I was alone and waited in the silence of the 
 great building for a moment of quiet. While I was 
 waiting a soldier entered, a soldier in blue, a young 
 man not yet twenty-five. He took a seat near the 
 front and worshiped with bowed head. A moment 
 after a woman, veiled and in deep mourning, took her 
 place near the rear, and, she too, bowed in worshiping 
 silence. What a picture it made — a cathedral, shat- 
 tered by the shells of war — a woman with a sur- 
 rendered past, with love and hope lying buried in a 
 trench grave where her boy lay sleeping — and then, 
 beside her in the House of God, youth consecrating 
 itself to the hopes and dreams of tomorrow! It is 
 only when we stand in the presence of the eternal that 
 dreams take the form of reality even in the midst of 
 the tragedy of war. We see in the night and in the 
 darkness the flash of the sword of victory. 
 
PLAYING THE GAME 53 
 
 'Dreamer of dreams? We take the taunt with glad- 
 ness, 
 Knowing that God, beyond the years you see, 
 Has wrought the dreams that count with you for 
 madness 
 Into the substance of the world to be." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 THE HEART OF THE CAMP 
 
 The heart of the camp is a hut. The hut is head- 
 quarters for the men of the Army. Millions of men 
 pass through the door of the Y M C A hut to the front 
 line trenches. The hut is part of the equipment for 
 war. It is a war measure. It is in France to help 
 win the war. Napoleon said, "Morale is to other 
 features in war as three to one," and the Y M C A is 
 in France to help the American Army reach the high- 
 est point of efficiency. 
 
 The sign of the Red Triangle has become part of 
 the scenery of France. To Frenchmen the triangle 
 is the sign of the Masonic Order, but the Red Triangle 
 with the letters Y M C A speaks a unique language 
 and proclaims the message of Christianity. The Tri- 
 angle represents the application of religion to the 
 whole man — body, mind, and spirit. 
 
 The representatives of the Association during a 
 recent visit to Italy found the King, Victor Emmanuel, 
 established near the front in a small and plainly fur- 
 nished soldier's barracks. After the polite Italian 
 presentation the King asked the significance of the 
 Red Triangle on the sleeve of the Y M C A uniform. 
 Dr. John R. Mott took time to explain. 
 
 "This side of the Triangle," he said, "represents 
 
 54 
 
i-3 
 
 a 
 w 
 
 i— i 
 
 to 
 w 
 H 
 
 > 
 
 I— I 
 
 w 
 r 
 o 
 
 O 
 
 w 
 
 H 
 M 
 
 JO 
 
 > 
 n 
 
 M 
 
 O 
 >-d 
 w 
 
 w 
 
 D 
 <— i 
 G 
 
 
THE HEART OF THE CAMP 55 
 
 the body. We try to minister to the health of the 
 soldiers. We believe that a sound, healthy physique 
 makes for military efficiency and so our athletic de- 
 partment initiates games and sports and out-of-door 
 exercises." 
 
 "This side of the Triangle," he continued, "repre- 
 sents the mind. Men cannot live by bread alone and 
 the 'Y' seeks to feed the mind by furnishing the men 
 with libraries, lectures, magazines, and inspirational 
 addresses. The Triangle also speaks of the things of 
 the spirit. The Y M C A serves in the name of Him 
 who came not to be ministered unto but to minister, 
 and to give His life a ransom for many." 
 
 This gave Dr. Mott an opportunity to point out 
 that the entire work of the Association was motived 
 by the Gospel and that this was the way the Chris- 
 tian churches of America were relating themselves to 
 the men of the Army. 
 
 The King was interested, and Dr. Mott was grate- 
 ful for his opportunity. 
 
 The first hut in France was a tent. It was donated 
 by the women of the "Twentieth Century Club" of 
 Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The Association has now 
 nearly 900 centers with our American Army in France, 
 and 600 points of contact with the French Army. The 
 huts in the French Army are built and equipped by 
 the French Government and are manned by a French 
 Director and an American Secretary. The French 
 huts are called Foyer du Soldats. The American hut 
 may be an abri tent which will take care of a hundred 
 or two hundred men; it may be a school house or a 
 
56 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 hall or the Hotel de Ville obtained from a French 
 village where the troops are billeted; it may be a 
 dugout or a cellar in a destroyed and abandoned town 
 near the front, or it may be the standard single or 
 double frame hut erected for the purpose. 
 
 In each standard hut there is an audience room 
 used for lectures and moving picture exhibitions at 
 night, for writing and reading room during the day, 
 for church on Sunday. At one end is a platform with 
 a piano and a victrola and with a table or desk for a 
 pulpit. The allied flags are draped behind the plat- 
 form and on the walls American Liberty Loan and 
 French government posters give a touch of beauty 
 to the interior. At the end opposite the platform is 
 the canteen, where the men can secure the little things 
 all soldiers need. Around the walls near the windows 
 or in the center of the room are benches and tables 
 with ink and pens. Letter paper is furnished free at 
 the counter. Behind the canteen may be two or more 
 rooms used by the Secretaries for bedrooms or offices. 
 If the hut is double, there is a second large audience 
 room. It may be equipped as a lounge room, with a 
 separate apartment for the officers, furnished with 
 chairs, tables, books, magazines, and a fireplace. Both 
 audience rooms can be thrown open and a packed 
 house welcomes a distinguished guest, a French officer, 
 a minstrel show, a boxing match, or a visiting clergy- 
 man. 
 
 In the beautifully appointed and tastefully fur- 
 nished hut in one of the aviation camps a tablet tells 
 of the love that made such provision for the boys. 
 
THE HEART OF THE CAMP 57 
 
 The words of the tablet speak a message of splendid 
 
 heroism : 
 
 To THE 
 
 Happy Memory 
 
 of Pilot 
 
 William Henry Meeker 
 
 Corporal 
 
 In the Foreign Legion 
 
 This Y. M. C. A. Hut 
 
 is Dedicated 
 
 Died Sept. ii, 191 7 
 
 Aged 23 
 
 The hut is the heart of the camp. In the hut the 
 boys meet their friends, write their letters, play their 
 games, exchange photographs, read the current maga- 
 zines, secure their copy of the Stars and Stripes, the 
 Daily Mail, or the Paris edition of the New York 
 Herald. In the hut they get their baseball and bat, 
 basketball, boxing gloves, a cup of chocolate and a 
 sandwich from one of the Y M C A women, an apple 
 or an orange, dates and figs, cigarettes, and tooth 
 paste. 
 
 In one of the port cities of France five American 
 lads, strangely dressed, were inquiring their way to 
 the hut. They were neither in sailor costume nor 
 soldier uniform. There was nothing to distinguish 
 them. They came into the hut for a few cigarettes 
 and a little chocolate. After their wants had been 
 supplied, they sat down in a corner in quiet content. 
 We watched them and wondered where they belonged, 
 and then, after a few moments of friendly conversa- 
 tion, they told their story. They had just come in 
 
58 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 from sea. Their boat had been torpedoed and they 
 had been picked up by an English patrol boat. Their 
 ship had sunk in less than five minutes and seven 
 of a crew of thirty-eight had been drowned. One of 
 the five had been torpedoed six times, twice in one 
 day, and he told how in his dreams he had been three 
 nights in the water, and yet he was all eager to return 
 to the sea again. Instinctively they had sought the 
 "Y," which ministered to their bodily comfort, and 
 to them it was a haven of peace. 
 
 No department store carries on more multiplied 
 activities. The "Y" furnishes paper and envelopes, 
 pens and ink. It gives a warm place by the fire, per- 
 haps the only cosy spot in the camp. It cashes Army 
 checks when banks refuse, and when the boys run 
 out of money it takes their I. O. U. It supplies to- 
 bacco, which seems to be the first requisite of the sol- 
 dier and the sailor, and matches which seem to be the 
 second requisite. I was told that at one time the "Y" 
 had in its possession one-third of all the matches in 
 France. Next to tobacco come New Testaments and 
 chocolate, chewing gum and peanuts, oranges and 
 apples, figs and dates, soap and candles, hymn books 
 and crackers. 
 
 The following statement by the War Council con- 
 cerning shipments to France during the first year con- 
 tains interesting information: 
 
 "In addition to the enormous quantities of cigars, 
 cigarettes, and canned fruit sent to France, the con- 
 stantly expanding needs of the American Overseas 
 forces had dictated up to March 31, the shipment by 
 
THE HEART OF THE CAMP 59 
 
 the Y M C A of 2,578 cases of biscuits, 230,724 
 pounds of cocoa, 374,605 pounds of coffee, 446,208 
 cans of condensed milk, 193,483 sacks of flour, and 
 90 cases of coughdrops. In addition to shipping across 
 331,446 pounds of chocolate, the YMCA takes the 
 entire output of three factories in France, an average 
 of 1,000 tons of bar-chocolate a month. 
 
 Athletic goods by the ton were sent over, among 
 the principal items being 1,271 cases of material, in- 
 cluding baseballs, basket balls, indoor baseballs, boxing 
 gloves, footballs, baseball gloves, masks, and pads, 
 medicine balls, soccer balls, volley balls, playground 
 balls, and punching bags. 
 
 To provide soldiers with writing material for the 
 letters home, the Y M C A in this period shipped 360,- 
 000,000 sheets of writing paper and envelopes to 
 France. The varying needs of the soldiers were re- 
 flected in the shipments of 34,760 cans of jams, 3,295,- 
 735 pounds of sugar, 274 chests of tea, 21,000 phono- 
 graph records, 350 talking machines, 621,212 pounds 
 of chewing tobacco, 643,040 pounds of smoking to- 
 bacco, and 204,480 tubes of tooth paste. 
 
 For the entertainment of the American boys in the 
 war zone, the YMCA shipped approximately 1,000,- 
 000 feet of motion picture film, as well as a full com- 
 plement of projecting machines and motion picture 
 accessories. In addition, the organization sent over 
 thousands of blankets, scores of lighting plants, hun- 
 dreds of thousands of razors and blades, as well as 
 shaving soap, toilet soap, soda fountain syrup, auto- 
 mobile tools, stereopticon slides and sundries, auto- 
 mobile parts, and tires." 
 
 In one shipment to France the following items ap- 
 peared on the bill of lading: 4,000,000 letter heads 
 and envelopes ; 144,000 pens and penholders ; 75 mov- 
 
60 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 ing picture machines ; 60 tons of chocolate ; 1 carload 
 of condensed milk; 1 carload of canned "hot dogs"; 
 125 talking machines with 6,000 records ; 55 tons of 
 sugar; 75 tons of flour; 20 tons of soap; 10,000 song 
 books ; 30,000 copies of Scripture. 
 
 The "Y" has become one of the world's greatest 
 business corporations. It is a corporation with a soul. 
 The hut takes the place of church, club, store, but 
 most of all, of home. 
 
 When I was speaking one day to the Army from 
 the text, "What is your life?" the boys were asked 
 to fill in their own answer, and the first answer that 
 came back was "Home." This is the word that counts 
 for most in the Army. A piece of writing paper left 
 on the desk in a hut with the words "My dear Mar- 
 garet" is typical of the attitude of the Army. Millions 
 of letters home testify to the value of the hut in the 
 life of the soldier. I brought home from the front 
 hundreds of messages for the friends and parents of 
 the boys I met in France. Here are some of the ex- 
 pressions scribbled upon scraps of paper, backs of 
 envelopes, or on a page out of a boy's notebook. 
 
 "I only want to tell you that I am perfectly well 
 and I am thinking of you all at home, and wish many 
 times that I was over there with you." 
 
 "Father and Mother : Everything going all right." 
 
 "Dear Mother and All : Just a line to let you know 
 I'm well and send my love to all. Lovingly, your son." 
 
 "Tell Mother I'm getting along fine." 
 
 "Corporal George McG. sends love to his mother, 
 also to Miss Helen." 
 
THE HEART OF THE CAMP 61 
 
 "Will you kindly remember me to the girls of the 
 Fifth Avenue Dormitory? I shall never forget your 
 message ?" 
 
 "Tell him you saw me. I was feeling fine and that 
 I hope some day to see him again." 
 
 "Tell her you saw me. I was feeling fine and 
 through you send my love and best wishes." 
 
 "Tell Mother I am sending this message with the 
 Y M C A man. I am O. K. Your son." 
 
 "Love to yourself and baby. All's well. I'm glad to 
 be where I am. Love. Everything O. K." 
 
 "Tell them I'm going good. From her son Archie." 
 
 The last Sunday I was in France was Mother's Day. 
 All over France the boys in the Army were celebrat- 
 ing. American homes know that thousands of mes- 
 sages came over the wire, and it is the "Y" that plans 
 and makes all this possible. 
 
 The Mother's Day program sent out to the boys in 
 every hut contained this ideal mother's letter: 
 
 "My dear Boy: 
 
 Your father says to tell you that he will give his 
 son to his country, but that he will be — (never mind 
 what) if he will give all his new suspenders. He says 
 you pinched three pairs from the top drawer of his 
 bureau — he adds that he is onto your curves/ Nora 
 says you were very wise to take them, and she would 
 give you all of her's, if she had any. Betty says to 
 tell you that she hears Jack Ellis sails next week — I 
 know just how his mother will feel for those ten days 
 while he is crossing. But she wouldn't have him stay 
 at home, any more than I would have had you. All 
 
62 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 the same, she won't have a good night's sleep until she 
 hears he has landed. I keep thinking what a different 
 world it will be to mothers, when you all come march- 
 ing home again. 
 
 And when you do come marching home — old fellow, 
 bring me back the same boy I gave my country, true 
 and clean, and gentle, and brave. You must do this 
 for your father and me and Betty and Nora — and 
 most of all for the daughter you will give me one 
 of these days. Dear, I don't know whether you have 
 ever met her yet — but never mind that. Live for her, 
 or if God wills, die for her — but do either with cour- 
 age, with honor and clean mirth. But I know you 
 will come back to me — 
 
 Mother." 
 
 Glimpses of the work carried on by the men and 
 women in the service of the Y M C A may be ob- 
 tained from the following letters. The first refers to 
 one of many similar services performed by clergymen 
 serving as "Y" Secretaries. 
 
 "Office of the Attending Surgeon. 
 
 U. S. T. P., P. O. 702, 
 
 April 18, 1918. 
 From: The Attending Surgeon. 
 To: Chief Secretary, Y M C A, Paris. 
 Subject: Rev. Mr. Benedict. 
 
 1. On behalf of the Medical Department, U. S. 
 Troops, Paris, it is desired to express our appreciation 
 for the services rendered by the Rev. Mr. Benedict 
 of the Y M C A in visiting a Lieutenant of the Army 
 who was dying of smallpox in one of the French 
 hospitals for contagious diseases. He was informed 
 of the great danger of contracting this disease, but 
 was not at all deterred from his duties. 
 
THE HEART OF THE CAMP 63 
 
 2. Please accept our sincere thanks for the services 
 rendered by Mr. Benedict in this case. 
 
 Thomas C. Austin, 
 Major, Medical Corps." 
 
 Mr. Benedict stayed with the dying soldier for two 
 hours until he passed out into the quiet and then com- 
 municated his message of comfort and hope to the 
 sorrowing parents in America. 
 
 The second letter carries a message of Christmas 
 cheer. 
 
 "Hut No. 2, Base Camp, No. 1. 
 Mr. E. C. Carter, December 28, 1917. 
 
 Paris, 
 My dear Mr. Carter: 
 
 It was nearing midnight of Christmas Eve when 
 we first inspected the contents of the three 'Santa 
 Claus sacks' of presents sent us by the Paris office 
 for distribution among the soldier-boys in our encamp- 
 ment; we had just taken part in a real Christian 
 Christmas service of prayer and song and carol and 
 heart-to-heart talks about the man, Jesus Christ ; every 
 man present became deeply, intensely and earnestly 
 aware of Him as the Prince of Peace and Leader of 
 Men in all things and at all times, and many have 
 cheered our hearts by speaking to us individually of 
 their feelings of comfort and hope, renewed and re- 
 affirmed. But any weariness that we may have felt 
 after giving of the very depths of our spiritual life, 
 was forgotten in waves of amazement and pleasure 
 that swept over us as we burrowed to the bottoms of 
 those Christmas bags. But we did not then anticipate 
 the joy and fun we were to have the next night when 
 we distributed them at our Christmas tree. We could 
 not retire until we had put up three big packages of 
 
64 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 the contents to send off with a company of 250 men 
 who were leaving the camp and would be spending 
 their Christmas in box cars. We added candy, ciga- 
 rettes, cookies, and cigars for the officers, and then 
 went to our cold cubicles at half after one to dream 
 of the morrow, first setting the alarm at 5.30, that we 
 might be sure to arise in time to deliver the packages 
 before the boys left. We kept our engagement with 
 Santa Claus all right and sent them off with the 
 'Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from the 
 YMCA' and a 'bon ap petit' to aid in the enjoy- 
 ment of the turkey dinner whose cold, well-roasted 
 drumsticks were protruding from a barrel in the sup- 
 ply camion. 
 
 Our Christmas entertainment went off with a bang. 
 There was a good crowd and we all enjoyed a good 
 sing-song, with an excellent quartet and some old- 
 fashioned carols and solos. Some Santas were 
 equipped from the contents of the bags and we all 
 took part in distributing the toys and whistles, paper- 
 caps, etc., among the eager and joyously boisterous 
 soldier-boys. What a tooting and a shrieking and a 
 bedlam of fun ensued, lighted up by the sudden flares 
 and fiery splutterings of the fake cigarettes or inter- 
 rupted by the loud laughter when some lad opened a 
 surprise box of matches, or by the explosions of the 
 snappers. What curious capers the men cut in their 
 gay headgear ! They were all boys once more, and we 
 are almost sure that no family of lads in America 
 had more fun than they when Santa came around. 
 Barnum and Bailey's parade and brass bands had noth- 
 ing on us when we all lined up and encircled the 
 parade grounds in a grand march of Christmas joy. 
 It seemed from the noise they made that the men 
 wanted and expected the folks across the waters to 
 hear and to take comfort from the fact that they 
 
THE HEART OF THE CAMP 65 
 
 were actually happy on this night, even though they 
 were in the far-off 'Somewhere in France/ The 
 little tin fifes and rubber bagpipes and rattling drums 
 played all the famous marches of the Allies in per- 
 fect discord. The Officer of the Day rushed out, 
 expecting to be swept off his feet by an invasion of 
 the Hun hordes. As the line swung back into the 
 
 Y M C A hut, in twos, they were served by the ladies 
 to cups of hot chocolate, cigarettes, and cakes, and we 
 gave them the Christmas Greeting cards of the 
 
 Y M C A, with our own personal good wishes and an 
 extra card or two to send home to their folks. 
 
 We all feel that the party was a success; our hut 
 was like a home to every man; there was no disorder 
 of any kind, no jostling for hand-outs or anything of 
 the sort, and at the hour of departure numbers of the 
 boys came up to us and thanked us for one of the best 
 Christmases they had ever enjoyed. Today there is 
 a different spirit in the camp and a change of attitude 
 towards the Y M C A. We did not forget the 
 prisoners, white or colored, but gave them a treat the 
 next night. We will not forget their gratitude or the 
 speech of one of their number, who told us feelingly 
 of their appreciation of our remembrance. 
 
 We as workers want to thank the Paris office for 
 the fact of being actually drawn nearer to the men 
 than ever before, and for the feeling of real coopera- 
 tion with the whole organization of the Y M C A as 
 shown by this splendid sensing of the needs of the 
 soldiers, and the actual meeting of those needs. 
 
 Wishing you a happy New Year, we are, 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 W. D. Shipps. 
 Roy A. Welker. 
 D. H. Hoves, Jr." 
 
66 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 The hut may be at the front. It may be in a room 
 of what is left of a house in a ruined village. It 
 may be in a shell proof shelter near where the trench 
 system begins and where already some of our workers 
 have laid down their lives. 
 
 One "Y" worker, a man past middle life, had been 
 removed by the Army during a gas attack and had 
 been taken to the hospital. For hours we had searched 
 and finally discovered him in a French hospital, which 
 was cleverly concealed in a forest by the side of the 
 road. He was far past middle life and had insisted 
 upon going to the most dangerous point on the Ameri- 
 can line to man the Y M C A hut — a mere dugout built 
 there for the boys in the trenches. 
 
 They told us he had stood at his post when the 
 attack was on and had been carried off unconscious. 
 He greeted us with a cheery smile, but could only 
 talk in a whisper. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "It was the gas . . . got me . . . 
 but I'm all right . . . now. I will soon ... be back 
 ... at my work . . . again. I hope . . . you can 
 visit . . . the boys at the hut." 
 
 That was a request that could not be denied, and 
 after a friendly visit, we made our plans to go to the 
 place where he had left his comrade to man the hut 
 alone and to minister to the men in the trenches. We 
 had to wait until the dark came down before we 
 could reach the hut. The roads had all been photo- 
 graphed and registered and danger lurked in every 
 foot of that front line. 
 
 When it grew dusk we started. The Ford camion- 
 
THE HEART OF THE CAMP 67 
 
 ette was ready, and chocolate, cigarettes, matches, 
 crackers, figs, candles, and a few knicknacks were 
 stowed away for delivery. 
 
 What a ride it was — over roads dark and shell-torn, 
 past ammunition trucks working their way to the 
 front through the long road-lane safeguarded by 
 camouflage on every side and overhead, past trees 
 torn by shrapnel, and through destroyed and desolate 
 villages, over hills gutted by shells with abri-shelters 
 here and there in the rocks and soldiers standing 
 sentry. There among the wooded hills the masked 
 batteries spoke their tragic message. At last we came 
 to the end. The road went no further. The highway 
 ran right into the "Y" dugout on the hillside. 
 
 A group of soldiers stood at the door of the hut 
 waiting for the supplies we had brought. Their wel- 
 come was heard before we arrived. "Here comes the 
 old 'YV they shouted. I noticed one of the men 
 standing apart from the rest, with his helmet split up 
 the back. My companion said, "How in thunder did 
 you do that?" "Shrapnel," he said, and turned away 
 to break off a piece of chocolate. He was muddy, 
 discouraged, and dispirited. While the canteen sup- 
 plies were being taken off, and the shells went shriek- 
 ing and crying over our heads, he told me what had 
 happened. 
 
 "I've had about all I want," he said. "When the 
 Boches turned their barrage on us, some of the fellows 
 couldn't stand it and were ready to run, but there was 
 no place to run to, so we stood up to it. It was our 
 first experience under fire. Yes, one of my pals was 
 
68 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 killed at my side and some were wounded, and when 
 the gas came over, others were caught. When the 
 shrapnel struck my helmet, I said, 'That's your num- 
 ber/ and when I looked, I saw a piece of hot iron 
 at my feet, and here's my cap to show for it." He was 
 silent for awhile and his thoughts were far away. 
 Then he said, "Why do you fellows come out here? 
 God knows what we would do without you. But I 
 can't see through your game. The 'Y' is like father 
 and mother to us, but you don't have to come. None 
 of you belong to the draft age. The man that drives 
 that Ford out here every night is nearly sixty years 
 old. Why do you come ?" he said. "You don't have to." 
 
 It had never been put up to me just like that and 
 I couldn't answer. Metcalf, who had driven the car, 
 is a college professor. His exact age is fifty-seven, 
 and no one could ever charge him with being a slacker, 
 and no one would ever dare to ask him why he was 
 there. 
 
 Only one "Y" man was in the dugout and for awhile 
 we talked together about the fighting and then of 
 home. He belonged to the same place back home as 
 I did, and we talked of the people we knew and of 
 the big city. He plucked a few flowers from the hill- 
 side and wrapping them in a piece of newspaper 
 asked if I would deliver them back home to the one 
 he loved. Searching for an answer to my hero's ques- 
 tion, I said, 
 
 "Why did you come out here ?" 
 
 He looked at me as if I had said something foolish. 
 
 "Because I couldn't stay at home," he said. 
 
THE HEART OF THE CAMP 69 
 
 "How long are you going to stay?" 
 
 His answer came quick and sure : 
 
 "Till the war is ended right and a year after." 
 
 When I saw my friend with the smashed helmet 
 he had had a cup of hot chocolate and a few 
 figs and was feeling like a fighting man again. The 
 "Y" had performed the ministry it came out to do, 
 and that elusive thing officers call "morale" had been 
 again established. He was ready to go back in the 
 morning and avenge himself and his country for his 
 lost pal. 
 
 "I know why you fellows are here," he said. "You 
 are here because we are here." He was right. The 
 "Y" men had come with the American Army to win 
 the war. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 THE WORLD IN FRANCE 
 
 The world is in France. To France in our day, as 
 to Jerusalem in days gone by, the tribes of the world 
 go up. 
 
 We thought the world was in America. We have 
 been accustomed to speak of America as the melting 
 pot of the world. From every nation under heaven, 
 people have come to America to be molded into democ- 
 racy's ideal citizenship. Today, however, France is 
 the melting pot of the world. In France we discover 
 the new internationalism. While men discuss "The 
 League to Enforce Peace," some such league has 
 gathered on the shores of France. Every nation that 
 loves liberty and raises the standard of freedom is 
 represented today in France. 
 
 The ship upon which we traveled to France spoke 
 of this new internationalism. The passenger list in- 
 cluded people from all ranks and from all nations. 
 We had on board a group of American marines pre- 
 pared for naval aviation in France. There were fifty 
 Y M C A Secretaries equipped for service in the 
 American, French, and Italian armies. There were 
 twelve Y W C A women going for service in French 
 munition plants and with American telephone girls. 
 We had with us twenty-five men of the Red Cross who 
 
 70 
 
THE WORLD IN FRANCE 71 
 
 were to see service on the battle front and to report 
 their findings to the American people. There were 
 twelve women doctors, ready for surgical service in 
 the hospitals of France. Dr. Alexis Carrel, the 
 eminent French surgeon who has done so much to 
 alleviate the suffering of war's wounded and shat- 
 tered humanity, was returning to his ministry of mercy 
 on the battle front. Men high in the ranks of world 
 diplomacy were there — the "French High Commis- 
 sion" returning from its visit to America; the Amer- 
 ican minister to Switzerland going back to his post; 
 the Serbian ambassador to France returning from his 
 official mission to America; and the representative of 
 the American Embassy to France. 
 
 Men distinguished in military science were there — 
 among them Major Requin, who had carried General 
 Foch's message to the French Division which struck 
 the victorious blow in the Battle of the Marne. There 
 were educators and entertainers going forward for 
 service with our troops and with the soldiers of 
 France — among others Madame Giles of the French 
 Opera, Elsie Janis of the American stage, and Ella 
 Wheeler Wilcox, who told how her study of world 
 religions had resulted in the familiar verse: 
 
 "So many gods, so many creeds, 
 
 So many paths that wind and wind, 
 And just the art of being kind 
 Is all this old world needs." 
 
 The mingling of the nations in France has given 
 a new France, a France that is no longer pleasure- 
 
72 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 loving nor fashion-following, but a France that is 
 serious, war-scarred, heroic, and defiant; a France 
 that during four years of war has by her men in blue 
 held 304 out of the 400 miles which make up the 
 western front. It is France represented by her women 
 in black who cry through sorrow and sacrifice, "Vive 
 la France!' It is France whose Army proclaims 
 against all the forces of iniquity the triumphant 
 watchword: "They shall not pass." 
 
 Into the motherland of France have come all the 
 children of France. The colonies of France are there 
 — Senegal, Madagascar, Tunis, Algeria. The France 
 of Europe and the France of Africa are there, united 
 and victorious. To one of the French colored men 
 from North Africa one of our colored soldiers from 
 the Southland made overtures of friendship, but was 
 greeted in the French language, which conveyed no 
 meaning to the soldier from America. His confusion 
 found expression in the words, "For the Lord's sake, 
 here's a nigger who don't know his own language." 
 
 Belgium is there in the person of her Army, her 
 orphaned children, and her refugees. The Belgian 
 Army tenaciously clings to a little strip of land fifteen 
 miles from the French frontier, her government exiled, 
 her heroic King and Queen living under the sound of 
 the guns, everything gone but honor, the blood of her 
 martyrs crying unto the nations for vengeance by 
 night and by day. 
 
 Great Britain is there. She is there and on four- 
 teen other fronts. She has driven Germany from her 
 colonies and closed the gates of the sea upon her com- 
 
THE WORLD IN FRANCE 73 
 
 merce. She is there with her great Army. Her ''con- 
 temptible army" of 160,000 has grown into millions. 
 In two years she put 5,000,000 volunteers into France. 
 Her casualty list for 191 7 was 800,000. Her casu- 
 alty list for the month of May was 40,000 a week. She 
 has raised the age of enlistment to fifty, and, while 
 her Navy guards the high seas and makes possible 
 the transport of our troops to France, she defies the 
 power of Germany in the west. Scotland is there. 
 Out of a population of 5,000,000 Scotland has sent to 
 the colors 1,000,000 men. It is perhaps the greatest 
 record in history, and, so efficient has been that army 
 that Harry Lauder, loved and honored among men, 
 has humorously said that if all the Army had been 
 in kilts, the war would have been over long since. 
 The people of Ireland and of Wales are there. Conan 
 Doyle gives high praise to the Welsh, and all the 
 world knows that the first Victoria Cross granted in 
 this war was won by an Irishman. 
 
 With all her children, Britain is there. Canada is 
 there. For nearly three years Canada has represented 
 the spirit of the western world on the battle field. 
 So truly has the pulse of Canada beat in harmony 
 with the best spirit of the United States that the call 
 which brought 400,000 Canadians to the colors brought 
 30,000 Americans across the line into that same Ca- 
 nadian Army. One out of sixteen of the population in 
 Canada has entered the service and 41,000 have laid 
 down their lives on the battle field in France. 
 
 Australia is there. The Australian soldier, with his 
 jaunty hat and defiant stride, has a peerless record 
 
74 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 among the soldiers of the Allied Armies. Of their 
 own accord 400,000 volunteers have crossed 12,000 
 miles of sea, and, while 100,000 of them have been 
 wounded and 47,000 of them have laid down their 
 lives, only 3,000 have been taken prisoner by the 
 enemy. 
 
 The record of the colonies of Great Britain is an 
 illustrious one. The presence of the troops from 
 South Africa is one of the marvels of history. In 
 fifteen years the land that was Britain's fighting foe 
 has become, through the wise and wonderful colonial 
 policy of the motherland, changed to fighting friend. 
 
 Even India, from whom Germany expected so 
 much, has responded to the call of the Empire. The 
 best maps of the harbors and roads and cities of 
 India are in Berlin. The best wireless station in 
 India was erected on the smokestack of a German 
 mission station and from that secret wireless station 
 the "Emden" got her information concerning the 
 movement of ships in the Indian Ocean. Yet India 
 has sent a million men to the front, and has justified 
 the words of Kipling, "Who dies if England lives." 
 
 Italy is there. During the great spring drive we 
 saw the armies of Italy moving up into the French 
 battle line. America forgets that the Italy of today, 
 the Italy of Cavour and Mazzini and Garibaldi, is yet 
 a child among the nations. Nevertheless she has 
 equipped and thrown into the battle nearly 4,000,000 
 men, and holds the Central Powers at bay. 
 
 Serbia is there ; and Portugal and Poland. I visited 
 a Polish camp in the heart of France, a camp im- 
 
THE WORLD IN FRANCE 75 
 
 mortalized by the letters of Alan Seeger, and there 
 I found 5,000 American Poles in French uniform 
 training for the coming battle. It was one of the most 
 interesting of all the camps visited. Lovers of art and 
 music, they were discovering ways of expression un- 
 thought of in other encampments. They had taken 
 limestone, and pieces of broken glass, and had 
 fashioned from them wonderful representations of 
 the American flag, of the Polish ensign, of President 
 Wilson and Marshal Joffre, and had decorated each 
 barracks with its own distinguishing insignia. They 
 had created from among themselves a band consist- 
 ing of thirty pieces and were training to play "The 
 Marseillaise," "The Star Spangled Banner," and "God 
 Save the King." From their long day's march we saw 
 them come swinging into camp to the lilt of a song. 
 
 China is there. The most interesting service I was 
 present at in France was a Chinese service. No one 
 seems to know how many Chinese there are in France. 
 To the publisher of an American encyclopedia, which 
 stated that there were 500,000 Jews in America, Mark 
 Twain wrote, saying there must be some mistake, for 
 he knew that many personally. I think I saw at 
 least 500,000 Chinese in France ! 
 
 They are laboring with the French and British and 
 the American troops, building roads and railroads and 
 acting as laborers in camp construction. There are 
 about a thousand in the barracks which we visited. 
 They thought they were in America. They had come 
 across the Pacific and had gone through Canada and 
 across the Atlantic and they thought they were then 
 
76 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 m America. A few days before I reached the camp a 
 tragedy had taken place and an American sentry had 
 shot a Chinese. The Chinese had not understood what 
 was wanted and had insisted on passing along the 
 highway, so he had paid for his mistake with his life. 
 The men were sullen and resentful and the Army Staff 
 was unable to secure satisfactory service from them. 
 The whole situation was menacing and ominous. 
 
 When conditions were most dangerous, a Chinese 
 missionary, Dr. Walter Scott Elliot, stepped into the 
 camp. He came as one of the YMCA Secretaries. 
 He had been in China for fifteen years. Immedi- 
 ately the atmosphere changed and the situation im- 
 proved. He was able in a few hours to discover the 
 mind of the Chinese workmen and to relate them to 
 the American Staff. His presence increased their 
 efficiency fifty per cent. The night he arrived we 
 went to their barracks, a great dark room filled with 
 wood smoke. We carried two or three bushels of 
 peanuts and a basket of cigarettes and after we had 
 disposed of our wares, which took only a few minutes, 
 they gathered around us and around the two candles 
 which lighted the darkness and listened to a talk on 
 the obedience which gives freedom. The service of 
 these Chinese and Indian missionaries who teach the 
 men how to read and write, who interpret their needs 
 and necessities to the Army, and who minister to them 
 in their spiritual affairs, is one of the finest services 
 rendered by the Y M C A in France and has of itself 
 justified the foreign missionary policy of the Chris- 
 tian Church. Writing from one of the camps, where 
 
THE WORLD IN FRANCE 77 
 
 he had been sent at the urgent request of the Army, 
 one of our Chinese missionaries acting as a Y M C A 
 Secretary, wrote to Mr. Fred B. Shipp at the Paris 
 headquarters : 
 
 "Army Post-Office, Number 713. 
 
 "Dear Mr. Shipp : 
 
 "The situation here is such that I do not see how 
 I could be needed more anywhere in Europe. In my 
 camp there are about 800 Chinese. 250 more came 
 last night, and 300 this afternoon. All the men are 
 from my province, Shantung. Some are old acquain- 
 tances and they understand every word I say. They 
 received me most cordially and the officers who are 
 directing them in their work say I have increased 
 their efficiency one-fourth. 
 
 "Major Bates is enthusiastic about the YMCA 
 work. 
 
 "Charles A. Leonard." 
 
 Russia is in France — poor, betrayed, and bewil- 
 dered Russia. Soldiers that once fought side by side 
 with British and French are now marking.time, await- 
 ing the day of delayed deliverance. 
 
 Even Germany is there in the person of her pris- 
 oners — Germany that can betray and deceive but can- 
 not defeat; Germany that has three allies and no 
 friend. 
 
 And America is there. She occupies land from the 
 ports of entry to the Vosges Mountains. The Amer- 
 ican troops line the highways of France. They 
 represent all America — America from shops and 
 schools, from colleges and farms, from cities and 
 villages, America East and West, North and South, 
 
78 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 America black and America white, America native- 
 born and naturalized. Americans born in England, 
 Scotland, Ireland, Canada, Africa, Cuba, Italy, 
 Poland, Austria, even in Germany itself, are there. 
 It is America one and united that is in France today. 
 Rev. Robert Freeman, who has had much to do with 
 the religious work connected with the Y M C A in 
 France, has given this thought beautiful expression. 
 
 We come from Old New England, 
 We come from Siskiyou, 
 We mowed the grain upon the plain, 
 We picked the cotton too; 
 We mined in far Alaska, 
 We built the Roosevelt Dam ; 
 We staked our claim, but all the same, 
 We're one for Uncle Sam. 
 
 Our fathers came from Scotia, 
 Or they crossed the Irish sea, 
 There's blood in us of Frank and Russ, 
 We sing of Italy ; 
 We're sons of Johnny Bull, 
 We're sons of Abraham. 
 It took the earth to give us birth, 
 We're one for Uncle Sam. 
 
 We're off to fight for freedom, 
 In lands of foreign speech, 
 To make them feel from Kut to Kiel, 
 The length of Samuel's reach, 
 We're off to fight for freedom, 
 From here to Ispaham ; 
 To bear our stars and flaming bars, 
 For man and Uncle Sam. 
 
THE WORLD IN FRANCE 79 
 
 We're one for Uncle Sam, 
 We're one for Uncle Sam, 
 It used to be for you and me, 
 But now it's Uncle Sam, 
 In danger anywhere, 
 In earth or sea or air, 
 The Boche and Hun will find us one, 
 All One for Uncle Sam. 
 
 These boys know why they are in France. They are 
 there because of their righteous indignation. They 
 remember Belgium, with its horrors and atrocities. 
 They remember the Lusitania, with its martyred 
 women and little children. They remember the gas, 
 the liquid fire, and the betrayed signals of the Red 
 Cross. They remember broken promises and open 
 boats at sea. They remember Dernberg and Bernstorrr* 
 and the traitors who directed and inspired the cruel- 
 ties of this war. They have seen images and pictures 
 of Christ defaced and mutilated. In France they have 
 heard stories of martyred men and outraged women, 
 and, while they may not have followed the philosophy 
 that has led Germany into this world tragedy, they 
 know who is responsible and they know that the 
 Kaiser, if he had lifted his hand, could have stayed the 
 storm of war. 
 
 There is a time to be forgiving and there is a 
 time to be angry. Patience with wrong is not a 
 virtue. 
 
 Our men have gone forth to the battle fired with 
 a passion of holy wrath. Words written concern- 
 ing John Brown of slavery days make a new ap- 
 peal: 
 
80 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 "God give us angry men in every age, 
 
 Men with indignant souls at sight of wrong, 
 
 Men whose whole being glows with righteous rage, 
 Men who are strong for those who need the strong." 
 
 But our men are in France, not because of animosity 
 or hatred, but because of love and the passion of a 
 great ideal. They are there because they have known 
 what it is to live under a flag of freedom and they 
 fight for those ideals for which that flag stands. One 
 night under the sound of the guns, we were conducting 
 a quiet Sunday evening service. The boys had been 
 singing some of the old hymns and the last one they 
 sang closed with the words : 
 
 "In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the 
 
 sea, 
 With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and 
 
 me. 
 As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men 
 
 free, 
 While God is marching on." 
 
 After the service a young fellow who had gone forth 
 into the Army from the theological seminary came 
 to me and asked if I would take a message to one 
 whom he loved back in America. She had promised 
 to send him anything he wished, even to half the 
 kingdom, and, taking her at her word, he was making 
 his wishes known. Men are very open about their 
 lives in France and share their secrets with those 
 whom they trust. What did he want from her? He 
 wanted a little American flag, the best she could buy. 
 
THE WORLD IN FRANCE 81 
 
 And why did he wish it? He wanted an American 
 flag, the best money could buy, to drape over her 
 picture. 
 
 That story reveals the psychology of the American 
 Army — an American flag, draped around a woman's 
 face. The face may be of one whose hair has grown 
 gray with the years or of a little curly-headed child. 
 The face may be that of mother, wife, sweetheart, 
 sister, or little babe. That is the secret which holds 
 the heart of the American soldier, and for love's sake 
 he suffers and endures all things that they and those 
 whom he loves may be free. 
 
 When I was in France the Paris edition of the New 
 York Herald offered a prize for the best poem written 
 by one of the soldiers. It was won by Private W. L. 
 Grundish of the 15th Engineers. What he wrote was 
 not for himself only, but for all his comrades. 
 
 "When I behold the tense and tragic night 
 
 Shrouding the earth in vague, symbolic gloom, 
 And when I think that, ere my fancy's flight 
 
 Has reached the portals of the inner room 
 Where knightly ghosts, guarding the secret ark 
 
 Of brave romance, through me shall sing again, 
 Death may engulf me in eternal dark — 
 
 Still I have no regret nor poignant pain. 
 Better in one ecstatic epic day 
 
 To strike a blow for Glory and for Truth, 
 With ardent, singing heart to toss away 
 
 In Freedom's holy cause my eager youth, 
 Than bear as weary years pass one by one, 
 The knowledge of a sacred task undone." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 A SUNDAY WITH THE ARMY 
 
 In the first-line trenches Sunday slips out of the 
 reckoning. I met a couple of lads returning from 
 the firing line, who had a wager whether the day they 
 got their leave was Saturday or Monday. Both of 
 them lost. The day was Sunday. 
 
 In the base camps, however, and along the lines of 
 communication, in port cities when troops are not 
 arriving, in the great construction camps, Sunday has 
 a unique place in the Army. People who say the 
 Army takes no account of Sunday and remind you 
 of the great battles fought on that day fail to dis- 
 tinguish between the front line and the camps of the 
 rear. 
 
 It is impossible, even in France, to escape the atmos- 
 phere of Sunday. The boys themselves create the 
 atmosphere. Even if the YMCA canteen is open 
 and ball game, boxing bout, or band concert is sched- 
 uled for the parade ground, the day has its own mes- 
 sage and its own great memories for thousands. 
 
 I have in my mind a picture of one of the most 
 beautiful of France's beautiful roads. It runs between 
 rows of trees and had blossomed into springtime 
 beauty. It follows the course of one of the most 
 fascinating rivers of France. From camp to village 
 
 82 
 
A SUNDAY WITH THE ARMY 83 
 
 is a distance of four miles and our boys in groups, 
 in pairs, and alone, were taking their Sunday after- 
 noon stroll in the sun. The atmosphere of the whole 
 situation fell upon me like a benediction. 
 
 A lad of twenty from North Dakota was walking 
 with a group of little French boys. They were making 
 a language path for their friendship by exchanging 
 English words for French. With the help of a little 
 pocket French-English dictionary, they were intro- 
 ducing each other to a new world. They had met by 
 appointment and this was the third Sunday they had 
 been together. Such scenes are common in hundreds 
 of French villages. 
 
 I was in France on Easter Sunday. The great Ger- 
 man drive of March 21st was on, and the long-range 
 gun was shelling Paris. The air was electric with war 
 excitement. I was under appointment to conduct 
 Easter services at the Y M C A hut in the town where 
 General Pershing's headquarters are located. Travel- 
 ing was very difficult, almost impossible. The railroads 
 were freighted with troops going to the front and 
 many of the stations were crowded with civilians 
 seeking safety — refugees of northern France. 
 
 The night before we had been in a town where 
 for five successive nights the Germans had dropped 
 their death-dealing bombs. They had threatened to 
 destroy the place in twelve days. I saw the entire 
 population moving out. It was a sight never to be 
 effaced from memory. I saw old men and women led 
 by wounded soldier sons ; boys and girls, each carrying 
 a loaf of bread; little curly-haired children in baby- 
 
84 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 carriages ; the sick on stretchers — all moving out leav- 
 ing behind them their homes and their shops, moving 
 out to spend the dreaded night upon the roadside, in 
 the woods or in the wine cellars of the hills. In one 
 of the wine cellars where forty people had taken 
 refuge only one escaped when a bomb fell upon their 
 abri. Next day, fifty miles to the south, I found the 
 streets and the station crowded with these refugees 
 who were seeking security, especially for their little 
 children, in the far southland of France. 
 
 I reached the headquarters of General Pershing 
 long after midnight. The darkness of war was upon 
 the village. Not a light in street or home was to be 
 seen. I felt my way through the narrow streets, lis- 
 tening for a footfall. Darkness is one of the fruits 
 of war and the dark towns of northern France speak 
 of air raids and enemy bombs; at night to walk in 
 the light is a forgotten luxury. A moonlight night 
 awakens other thoughts than those of the poet and 
 instead of being welcomed is dreaded. 
 
 Next day was Easter Sunday. The morning broke 
 in beauty upon the French hills surrounding the camp. 
 It was the American Army's first Easter since the 
 declaration of war, and every man was thinking back 
 through the months to the old familiar scenes before 
 the war came to claim him. There was everywhere a 
 touch of Easter about the Y M C A huts throughout 
 France. Soldiers and sailors met in port cities, along 
 the lines of communication, behind front line trenches, 
 and joined in the Lord's Supper. 
 
 A young lad from Pennsylvania, just past his 
 
A SUNDAY WITH THE ARMY 85 
 
 seventeenth year, said that it was the first Easter he 
 and his widowed mother had been separated, but he 
 felt she would be glad to know he had not missed the 
 Easter Communion. 
 
 The Chaplain led the morning service in the "Y" 
 hut at headquarters. A group of army boys led the 
 singing. A soldier in khaki played the piano, and an- 
 other the violin. One of the "Y" women, just before 
 the service opened, brought to the table which served 
 for a pulpit a bouquet of flowers she had gathered in 
 the woods nearby. Behind the platform on the wall 
 the French, British, and American flags hung side by 
 side. The hut was crowded with men. They sat on 
 narrow benches without backs. They belonged to the 
 ranks and to the staff; a major and a private, a cap- 
 tain and a sergeant, an orderly and an officer, sat side 
 by side. The hymns spoke of things fundamental — 
 "Come, Thou Almighty King/' "O God, Our Help 
 in Ages Past," "Abide with Me." The sermon was 
 short, as all army sermons ought to be, and the 
 prayers were simple, speaking of home and loved ones, 
 of the wounded, the sick, and the dying, of the day's 
 cares and tomorrow's needs, of the power of God to 
 help and hold forever. 
 
 All over France that day similar services were re- 
 peated. At one of the aviation centers 700 men 
 crowded the "Y" hut, and 200 remained for the Com- 
 munion Service that followed. In one of the port 
 cities, where Dr. John C. Acheson conducted memor- 
 able religious services, five sailor-lads ran three miles, 
 fearing they would miss the service where a hundred 
 
86 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 men from the ships were gathering for the Holy 
 Supper. Men were touching God in a foreign land and 
 were holding fellowship with those they loved at home. 
 The great camp, with its restless, buoyant young 
 manhood, is sufficient unto itself Sunday afternoon. 
 It needs no direction, no oversight, no supervision; 
 with a baseball and a bat the American Army can take 
 care of itself when duty ceases to call. Every regi- 
 ment has its ball-team, the best in France, and every 
 hundred yards has its ball-game, with its interested 
 spectators and its applauding rivalry. Company C. 
 of the 15th Engineers claims to have a team that has 
 never been beaten. It is not an unusual sight on a 
 Sunday afternoon to see the people of France watch- 
 ing America playing ball, and behind their intense in- 
 terest they are saying that a good ball-player will make 
 a superb grenade thrower. Meanwhile the band has 
 gathered its own crowd and has stirred memories of 
 Broadway and Fifth Avenue, and as they play the 
 boys break out into singing: 
 
 "Where do we go from here boys, 
 Where do we go from here? 
 Slip a pill to Kaiser Bill 
 And make him shed a tear; 
 And when we see the enemy 
 We'll shoot him in the rear, 
 Oh joy, oh boy, where do we go from here?" 
 
 Our Easter Sunday afternoon was spent with the 
 boys in the Roosevelt Hospital Unit. Rev. George M. 
 Duff of the Y M C A had charge of the afternoon's 
 services, and Senator Leroy Percy and I had 
 
A SUNDAY WITH THE ARMY 87 
 
 promised to help. To spend Easter Sunday in a hos- 
 pital in a foreign land is not the most pleasant of 
 prospects, but we were glad to carry a message of 
 friendly cheer to the men. Some of our boys had 
 been to the front and had returned sick or wounded 
 or gassed, and to ward after ward we carried the 
 sunshine of church and home. We took with us an 
 armful of hymn-books, some Easter pictures, and a 
 little baby organ. At one service Secretary Duff played 
 and I led the singing, and in the next ward the order 
 was reversed. The singing was best when he led, for 
 the mass singing of a group of gassed and wounded 
 men partook mostly of solo singing on the part of the 
 leader, and Duff has a well-trained tenor voice. The 
 services were familiar and friendly. Personal friend- 
 ship goes far in the Army. The men like to be 
 "located" and in a few minutes they had related them- 
 selves to Ohio, Illinois, Tennessee, New York, Mon- 
 tana, Pennsylvania. In France, Chicago and Denver 
 are neighbors, and Pittsburgh and Philadelphia twin 
 cities. Senator Percy told them about America and 
 the unfailing love that held the hearts of the home 
 folk, and of the nation's pride in their well-doing. 
 We read the ever-thrilling Easter story and gave a 
 short talk on the Easter message. 
 
 The first group needed a word peculiar to itself. It 
 was composed of men who had through their own 
 misconduct brought sorrow upon themselves. They 
 had stood up against the Hun undaunted, but had 
 surrendered to the evil thing that lies in wait to de- 
 ceive and destroy. It was not a word of reproach they 
 
88 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 heard, but a word calling them to their best. "Love 
 believeth all things, hopeth all things." They listened 
 quietly to words written by a private, and felt the 
 pull of the Spirit within them. 
 
 "The kid has gone to the colors, 
 
 And we don't know what to say ; 
 The kid we've loved and coddled, 
 
 Stepped out for the flag today. 
 We thought him a child, a baby, 
 
 With never a care at all, 
 But the country called him man-size, 
 
 And the kid has heard the call. 
 He paused to watch the recruiting, 
 
 When fired by the fife and drum, 
 He bowed his head to Old Glory, 
 
 And thought that it whispered, 'Come/ 
 The kid, not being a slacker, 
 
 Stood forth with patriotic joy, 
 To add his name to the roster, 
 
 And, God, we're proud of that boy." 
 
 In the next ward were boys who had been wounded 
 on the Lorraine front. They had gone "over the top" 
 for freedom. One brave fellow, whose wound would 
 put him out of the war, said, when we tried to sympa- 
 thize with him, "Well, war is hell, and hell is fire, and 
 it wasn't a pink tea I expected." One young lad had 
 five wounds and he was cheerfully counting the days 
 when he would be back in it all again. To them the 
 Easter message was interpreted as one of victory, the 
 triumph of truth, the conquest of life at its best, of 
 the living Christ whose triumph is the pledge of 
 victory over every foe. 
 
A SUNDAY WITH THE ARMY 89 
 
 I shall never forget the evening service. The games 
 of the afternoon were finished, the letters home had 
 been mailed, the walks to the outlying villages were 
 over, and the great "Y" hut at headquarters was 
 crowded to the doors. Two or three hundred men, 
 not able to secure seats, stood during the entire serv- 
 ice. A choir of soldiers led the singing, but little 
 leading was needed. A boy who came up out of the 
 audience sang: 
 
 "When I fear the foe will win, 
 Christ will hold me fast." 
 
 French soldiers in blue gave color to the crowd in 
 khaki. One always sees French soldiers, privates or 
 officers, at the "Y" services. Perhaps they wish to 
 improve their English, but frequently they express 
 deep personal interest in the message. Uniforms and 
 official insignia do not change men and these boys in 
 khaki belong to American church-going homes. It is 
 easier to preach to soldiers than to any other group 
 of men. Their religion is unconventional, personal, 
 practical, and vital. Kennedy Studdert in his "Rough 
 Rhymes of a Padre" has touched off the soldier's 
 theology. 
 
 "It ain't as I 'opes E'll keep me safe 
 While the other blokes go down ; 
 It ain't as I wants to leave the world 
 And wear an 'ero's crown. 
 It ain't for that as I says my prayers 
 When I goes to an attack, 
 But I pray that whatever comes my way 
 I may never turn me back. 
 
90 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 I leaves the matter o' life and death 
 
 To the Father who knows what's best; 
 
 And I prays that I still may play the man 
 
 Whether I turns east or west. 
 
 I'd sooner that it were east, ye know, 
 
 To Blighty and my gal Sue ; 
 
 I'd sooner be there wi' the gold in 'er 'air 
 
 And the skies behind, all blue ; 
 
 But still I pray I may do my bit, 
 
 And then if I must turn west, 
 
 I'll be unashamed when my name is named, 
 
 And I'll find a soldier's rest." 
 
 After the service a lad came up to the platform and, 
 taking his New Testament from his pocket, opened it 
 and, without a word, showed me where he had writ- 
 ten on the flyleaf my name, the date, and two New 
 Testament texts. "Where did we meet before?" I 
 asked. "Allentown," he answered. . I had spoken in 
 the Y M C A tent at Allentown to the Ambulance 
 Corps in the summer of 191 7, and the message still 
 lived. That is the reward one gets now and again, 
 and it is enough. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 WOMEN AND THE WAR 
 
 In a book all women have read, "Sesame and Lilies," 
 John Ruskin says: "There is not a war in the world, 
 no, nor an injustice, but you women are answerable 
 for it; not in that you have provoked, but in that you 
 have not hindered. There is no suffering, no injustice, 
 no misery, in the earth, but the guilt of it rests solely 
 with you." 
 
 Ruskin feels that women sense injustice and react 
 to cruelty quicker than men. They are quick to gird 
 on the armor for defense and vindication. They glory 
 in heroism and rejoice in valor. Since the days of 
 chivalry war has waited upon a woman's word. 
 
 If women inspire the sacrifice of war, they also 
 inspire victory. This war could not have been car- 
 ried through but for the bravery, the heroism, the 
 self-sacrifice of the women of the world. 
 
 We think of the women who have given their men 
 and have sent them forth uncomplainingly. We think 
 of the mothers who have kissed their boys good-bye; 
 of young women just married who have closed their 
 cherished homes, and while their husbands have put 
 on the uniform have girded themselves for service in 
 office and shop and factory; of girls who have turned 
 
 9i 
 
92 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 away their faces from happy and alluring visions of 
 the future to urge those whose lives were linked in 
 love with theirs, to go out into the unknown dangers. 
 "Remember/' said the Captain in a letter quoted else- 
 where, "that it is your mother who is brave, not you." 
 I know a mother in Canada who has sent two sons 
 to the war. After the first month in France they 
 were both reported missing. They had been in the 
 battle of Vimy Ridge and from that day to this no 
 word has come back to her. She still goes about her 
 work; no one has ever seen her shed a tear, but many 
 have heard her say: "I am glad they were willing to 
 go. I would not like to have had them hide behind 
 the sons of other mothers." 
 
 "Honor the men who fight and fall, 
 Honor the men who fight and live, 
 Honor the women most of all, 
 Who suffer and give. 
 
 "They give their men, their sons, 
 
 To make the nations free, 
 
 They never see the battle field, 
 
 But they gain the victory." 
 
 Far down to the south of France I met a woman 
 managing a little shop and selling post-cards to those 
 who would buy. Her face, it was easy to see, had 
 been purified with much sorrow. She had known 
 what it was to suffer. She was one of the refugees 
 from Belgium, proud of the martyrdom of her people 
 in which she shared, rejoicing because of persecution 
 for the cause of righteousness. 
 
WOMEN AND THE WAR 93 
 
 Everywhere in France one is face to face with hero- 
 ism. One night, near the Verdun front, we slept in 
 a town which in the early days of war had been in 
 German hands. We were billeted in the home of the 
 former Mayor of the village. When the Huns ravaged 
 the country they dragged the Mayor out into the 
 street, made him stand with his back to the wall of his 
 home and shot him dead. In a few days the mother 
 of the household was killed by a German shell. The 
 two girls of that home now live alone in that desolate 
 place and carry on the work of the farm. To such 
 belongs the Croix de Guerre. 
 
 There are no idle women in France and no weep- 
 ing women. They are all working women. They are 
 the porters at the depots, the guards on the trains, the 
 conductors on the tramcars, the laborers on the farm 
 and in the factory. If the men of France are in blue, 
 the women of France are in black. How magnificently 
 they carry themselves! I saw a French woman serv- 
 ing as conductor on one of the metropolitan trains one 
 Saturday evening. She was dressed in true French 
 taste, and I instinctively felt, even in that under- 
 ground car, as if I were being received by a lady of 
 refinement in her own drawing-room. 
 
 There is a French woman on the Lorraine battle 
 front who has expended a million francs caring for the 
 graves of the soldier dead. One of our American 
 boys was buried behind the line while we were there, 
 and upon his grave this French patriot placed with 
 reverent hand the Stars and Stripes, the flag for 
 which he died. 
 
94 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 Over 1,500,000 women are working in the muni- 
 tion factories of Great Britain, and because of this, 
 Britain is now sending to France in a week as much 
 ammunition as was accumulated in all the Empire 
 when war was declared. The women of Britain are 
 soldiers who know how to endure hardship. They 
 wear no sign of mourning, for they walk with their 
 dead in the land of the living. 
 
 Longfellow called Florence Nightingale "The Lady 
 with the Lamp." There are thousands of Florence 
 Nightingales today upon the battle fields of France 
 and Flanders, holding in their strong hands the light 
 of love and mercy. Writing from the front, one of 
 these women serving in a military hospital speaks for 
 all her companions : 
 
 "Never have I been so affected and moved in my 
 life as at the hospital this morning. An American 
 lad, right from the front and wounded, was operated 
 on, and while coming out of ether he lived over those 
 minutes before he was hit. It was so dramatic, so 
 terrible that it made our hearts beat faster, for no 
 longer was I in a civilized hospital, but in a veritable 
 hell of mud and fighting. Oh, I have heard French 
 soldiers and I love them, but to hear it in our own 
 dear American slang made me realize that after all 
 it cannot but be one's own country first. He kept 
 crying, 'Ah, I've got that one. Don't tell mother 
 I've killed him, don't. Damn this mud. After them, 
 boys. Fix bayonets, that's a boy.' And with clenched 
 teeth and shaking his fine young head, 'Damn the 
 Huns, the dirty Boches, ah, (a sound of horror) they 
 
WOMEN AND THE WAR 95 
 
 are coming waves on waves of them.' My merely 
 writing can't possibly make you picture it, the dark- 
 ened room on account of the raid, the smell of ether, 
 the tossing figure and young voice, and there are going 
 to be hundreds of them, thousands of them, with youth 
 and the same splendid spirit in them. 'I forgot/ he 
 repeated endlessly, 'they can't lick an American,' and 
 I knew then that they couldn't, not possibly. Oh, 
 how depressed, how unhappy we are about the whole 
 state of the war! Even if the offensive has been 
 stopped, the losses have been so tremendous, so 
 ghastly that one almost wonders if the game is worth 
 the candle. The poor, poor English ! My little friend, 
 the Welshman here at the hotel — Welsh Fusiliers he is 
 — keeps thinking of his pals lying dead in those 
 woods which England so hardly won to lose again. 
 The thought of the uselessness of the Somme offensive 
 saddens them so." 
 
 In a military hospital one wonders whether the 
 heroes are the women or the wounded. I have seen 
 refined and cultured women by their very presence 
 bring cheer to a hospital full of wounded and broken 
 men. Every nurse is a front-trench hero. 
 
 There are about five hundred Y M C A women in 
 France. Two have been mustered out by death, 
 victims of German shells. Under the sound of the 
 guns, I met a young woman, refined and beautiful, 
 a former professor in one of our great American col- 
 leges, serving with the Y M C A, the men of the Army. 
 She was equipped with steel helmet and gas mask. 
 When the Colonel discovered her he said, "What in 
 
96 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 h are you doing here?" She replied, "I am here 
 
 to help." She was unafraid and she was invaluable. 
 She understood and spoke French fluently and was 
 the only one in that area who could relate the "Y" to 
 the French Army, and sometimes the only one who 
 could act as liaison between American and French 
 officials. She was worth a half dozen men in the 
 peculiar situation where she served. 
 
 The Government never calls for help but women 
 are the first to respond. There is a growing group of 
 American telephone girls now in France. I met a 
 dozen of them at dinner one evening. They are 
 sheltered and mothered by a Detroit Y. W. C. A. 
 woman of sense and culture. She has left a home of 
 luxury and comfort and has gone to serve across the 
 sea. These young telephone girls were put in her 
 charge. They had gone to France prepared for any 
 sacrifice. Some of them had cut their hair. Others 
 were equipped with army shoes and all had army uni- 
 forms. For every six months' service they are to re- 
 ceive a gold strip to be placed on the sleeve of their 
 dressy dark blue uniforms, for they, too, are among 
 America's heroes. 
 
 When the first great German drive was on, General 
 Haig said to his men : "With our backs to the wall and 
 believing in the justice of our cause, each one of us 
 must fight on to the end. The safety of our homes 
 and the freedom of manhood depend alike upon the 
 conduct of each of us at this critical moment." Our 
 men, too, fight with their backs to the wall. The wall 
 upon which they lean is American womanhood. 
 
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WOMEN AND THE WAR 97 
 
 "Human beings," says Anthony Trollope, "need a wall 
 to lean on, some support is necessary." The sup- 
 port men need is a woman's hand and a woman's 
 heart. This is the answer to the repeated question of 
 home folks, "What can we do?" The answer is, 
 "Stand fast." The words of Ruskin which introduced 
 this chapter may be continued in this connection. 
 "The soul's armor," he says, "is never well set to the 
 heart unless a woman's hand has braced it; and it is 
 only when she braces it loosely that the honor of 
 manhood fails." In the background of the battle the 
 soldier sees a woman's face. 
 
 In his letters home Coningsby Dawson says: "We 
 have always lived so near to one another's affection 
 that this going out alone is more lonely to me than to 
 most men. I have always had some one near at hand 
 with love-blinded eyes to see my faults as springing 
 from higher motives. Now I reach out my hands 
 across six thousand miles and only touch yours with 
 my imagination to say good-by. What queer sights 
 these eyes, which have been almost your eyes, will 
 witness! If my hands do anything respectable, re- 
 member that it is your hands that are doing it. It is 
 your influence as a family that has made me ready for 
 the part I have to play, and where I go, you follow 
 me." 
 
 Certain it is, that the touch of home is the touch of 
 power. The songs most frequently sung by British 
 soldiers who have been in the struggle for nearly four 
 years are "home" songs, and the one best known and 
 most loved is : 
 
9 B PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 "In that old-fashioned house in that old-fashioned 
 street, 
 
 Dwell a dear little old-fashioned pair ; 
 I can see their two faces so tender and sweet, 
 
 And I love every wrinkle that's there." 
 
 On the streets of a city in France toward which our 
 American troop trains converge, I fell in with a young 
 fellow who was seeking information which he had 
 hitherto failed to secure. He seemed depressed and 
 soon opened his heart. He had found army life hard. 
 His words were, "I feel myself sagging." He was a 
 retiring lad and the comradeship of the Army had not 
 yet gripped him. He said he had been ordered to one 
 of the port cities of France. I told him of the men 
 
 and the work there. "They say it's a h hole," he 
 
 said. I told him that things were better than they 
 were and that he had the secret of security within 
 himself. "Not in myself," he said, "but in this." He 
 drew from his pocket the photo of a girl still in her 
 teens and said, "It's her face that keeps me safe." 
 
 The faces of the young women serving as canteen 
 workers in Y M C A huts and officers' clubs are the 
 only reminders of home and loved ones which thou- 
 sands of our men in France have. Many of the boys 
 have been careless and thoughtless. They carry to 
 France the same temptations, the same weaknesses 
 which dogged their steps at home. It is a familiar 
 sight in the huts to see young fellows hanging around 
 the canteen for no other reason presumably than to 
 hear a woman's voice, and catch the inspiration of 
 her presence. Since history began, immoral women 
 
WOMEN AND THE WAR 99 
 
 have always followed the Army, but in this war our 
 men have been followed and helped by good women. 
 The moral value of their service cannot be filed away 
 in any card index system. It belongs to the realm of 
 the inarticulate. 
 
 The women of the "Y" are at their best when they 
 take the initiative. They furnish and beautify the 
 hut, the officers' club, and the barracks which are 
 assigned to them. They plan for little homelike after- 
 noons when the weather is bad, on off" hours, in the 
 evenings, and on Sunday. They make chocolate and 
 sandwiches. They stand behind the counter and hand 
 out candy, tobacco, crackers, and good cheer. They 
 arrange concerts and entertainments, and pick out the 
 depressed and dispirited for special attention. They 
 recommend books and conduct Bible classes, and are 
 everywhere accredited, "the angels of the camp." 
 
 One night near the camp, when the guns were boom- 
 ing, we held a short Sunday evening service in a 
 camouflaged barracks. The men were unusually seri- 
 ous. After the meeting broke up a young officer 
 slipped up and said, "Do you know the 91st Psalm?" 
 I began, "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the 
 Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the Al- 
 mighty. I will say of Jehovah, He is my refuge and 
 my fortress; my God, in whom I trust." "Will you 
 come to my room?" he said, and we walked over to 
 the officers' barracks. We sat down in a room dimly 
 lighted and slightly warmed by a little gas-o-peep fire, 
 and he began reading a letter from his wife asking him 
 to make the 91st Psalm his own. Then he told about 
 
loo PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 his life and his father's life. It was a fascinating 
 story that cannot be given here. 
 
 He opened his heart to one who the day before had 
 been a stranger, and he told of his plans for the wel- 
 fare of his men. "What made you such a staunch 
 Christian ?" I said. He took from the wall beside his 
 cot a girl's picture. "She did," he said. "She's the 
 most wonderful woman in the world." It was the 
 picture not of a woman, but of a slip of a girl with 
 laughing eyes and fluffy hair — a girl with a soul, and 
 for him she was like a wall of fire. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 ON LEAVE 
 
 The first soldier I met in France was recovering 
 from a debauch. He was not an American. He be- 
 longed to one of the armies of our Allies. I met him 
 on the street of one of the great port cities. He was 
 without money and very talkative. According to his 
 statement he had been separated from his money the 
 night before and was now 500 miles from his base 
 camp. 
 
 We talked about the war and about France and then 
 I asked him about his home. The word "Home" is 
 the key to the soldier's heart. He drew from his 
 pocket a photograph. It was a picture of his wife 
 and his two beautiful children, a boy and a girl, 6,000 
 miles away. In a moment of penitence he said, "For 
 their sake I am going back on the square, but these 
 days 'on leave' knock h out of me." 
 
 A soldier "on leave" presents one of the problems 
 of the war. The French soldier can go home. Every- 
 thing is in his favor. He is fighting with his back 
 to his own fireside and has the advantage of being 
 within a day's journey of those he loves. 
 
 It is wonderful to see the French soldier return to 
 his home after he has served his days at the front. 
 He takes his place in the social order as if nothing 
 
 101 
 
102 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 had happened. Pie returns to his desk again. He 
 takes his place in the working world. He is found 
 in the shop or in the factory. He drives a taxi or a 
 tramcar, and is happy in his old associations and in 
 the fact that he has earned for a week at least more 
 than a soldier's pay. If he is an officer, or has wealth 
 in his own keeping, he will shoot woodcock for a 
 week, or ride horseback with his friends. 
 
 In a certain sense this is also true of the British 
 soldier. He, too, is within a day's journey of his 
 home. His base camp is within a few hours of the 
 channel, and the channel crossing can be made in a 
 night. The British Tommy and the soldiers from 
 Ireland and Scotland are always within reach of home 
 and in the motherland the Colonials are welcomed in 
 their own language. 
 
 It is different with the American soldier. He can- 
 not go home. The language of France is strange to 
 him, and Britain to most is a foreign land. His heart 
 leads him to Paris. Paris draws him like a magnet, 
 but Paris is denied him. Those of us who have been 
 in Paris in war time feel that in this, the soldier is 
 subject to no great deprivation. Paris with its dark 
 streets, with its air raids, and its long-range shells, is 
 not the best place in the world for rest and recreation. 
 The supposition is that Paris is denied to the American 
 soldier because there, strong and subtle temptations 
 are presented. The temptations, however, which sol- 
 diers face in the capital city of France present them- 
 selves in even worse forms in other cities, and the 
 soldier "on leave" must find protection within himself. 
 
ON LEAVE 103 
 
 It is good to know that the United States Govern- 
 ment, and the officers of the Army and Navy desire 
 to do everything in their power to make the life of the 
 soldier secure. 
 
 Liquor is prohibited to American soldiers, as are 
 also wine and beer containing more than twelve per 
 cent alcohol. Wine shops are closed except during 
 meal hours. The meal hours, however, are generous, 
 the evening hours being from five o'clock till nine! 
 It is impossible for the American Army to regulate 
 the liquor traffic of France, for French trade is sub- 
 ject to French law. The American Army, however, 
 can legislate for itself, and this it has done. 
 
 Disturbed by the conflicting and contradictory ac- 
 counts of the moral situation in France, General 
 Pershing cabled the following message to the United 
 States Government: 
 
 "Inasmuch as the press reports indicate considerable 
 discussion regarding recent orders issued by me re- 
 garding the control of drinking, it is deemed advisable 
 to cable pertinent paragraphs of the orders for such 
 use as the Department may care to make. Paragraph 
 1 1 : Commanding Officers at all places where our 
 troops may be located will confer with the local 
 French authorities and use every endeavor to limit to 
 the lowest possible number the places where intoxi- 
 cants are sold. It is desired that these authorities be 
 assisted in locating non-licensed resorts, which should 
 be reported immediately to the proper authority for 
 the necessary action. Paragraph 12 : Soldiers are for- 
 bidden either to buy or accept as gifts from inhabi- 
 tants, whiskey, brandy, champagne, liquor, or other 
 alcoholic beverages other than light wines or beer. 
 
104 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 The gift or retail sale of these by inhabitants in the 
 zone of the Army is forbidden by French laws. Com- 
 manding Officers will see that all drinking places 
 where alcoholic liquors named above are sold, are 
 designated as 'Off Limits' and the necessary means 
 adopted to prevent soldiers visiting them. As there is 
 little beer sold in France, men who drink are thus 
 limited to the light native wines used by all French 
 people. Even this is discouraged among our troops 
 in every possible way. I hope to secure the coopera- 
 tion of the French Government to prevent the sale 
 of all liquors and wines to our troops. The question 
 is under discussion. Personally I favor prohibition 
 in the Army, but it is impracticable and inadvisable 
 to issue orders that cannot be enforced without the 
 cooperation of the French Government." 
 
 The temptation to immorality presents a peculiar 
 problem to our American officials. The laws of 
 France are not the laws of America. The American 
 Army cannot make French laws. Our Army can 
 make laws for itself, and in doing so has succeeded 
 in creating and maintaining the cleanest army the 
 world has ever known. The Army in France is fitter 
 and cleaner than it was when it left America. The 
 official estimate of troops in one of the port cities 
 in relation to venereal disease in October, 191 7, was 
 16.89 to the thousand, and in January, 1918, it was 
 only 2. 1 1 to the thousand. In February, 1918, there 
 were 674 cases in one of our base hospitals : 348 cases 
 of mumps, 37 pneumonia, 23 measles, 19 scarlet fever, 
 39 venereal disease, the rest minor complaints. In a 
 camp of 1,200 negroes, only 25 were in the guard 
 
ON LEAVE 105 
 
 house, 16 being there for absence without leave, 3 
 for fighting, 2 for carrying pistols, 4 for drinking. 
 The situation has often perplexed and discouraged the 
 men responsible for the efficiency of the Army, but at 
 present everything goes to show that nothing has been 
 left undone to safeguard the morals of our men and 
 that America has succeeded beyond all praise. 
 
 Sometimes the men when they get their leave prefer 
 to stay near the base. Money frequently is the deter- 
 mining factor. A boy getting $33.00 a month, after 
 he has paid for his Liberty Bond and his insurance 
 and sent home a little to his family, has a narrow 
 margin upon which to take a vacation. And the 
 American soldier does send money home. In March 
 the soldiers sent through the Y M C A to their homes 
 in America $97,000, and during the first two weeks 
 in April they sent $95,000. 
 
 To the soldiers who remain in camp the Y M C A 
 owes particular responsibility. The Athletic Depart- 
 ment of the "Y" is a veritable means of grace. The 
 men become soggy with monotony. They come back 
 from the trenches with a peculiar emotional life that 
 concentrates itself upon the war. Their thought goes 
 round and round the treadwheel of trench life. Call 
 it shell shock or what you may, it is a physical condi- 
 tion which borders on extreme danger. Reaction sets 
 in quickly and more army men are destroyed through 
 the wrong use of leisure than through anything else. 
 It is then that football, baseball, and basketball become 
 possessed with magic power, and the men are lifted 
 out of themselves into a new world. 
 
io6 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 Those who can afford it may travel while "on leave." 
 They go to the south of France or to Brittany. Many 
 are students and are interested in the history, litera- 
 ture, and life of the French people. They expect to 
 see France before they return to America, and their 
 leisure becomes an opportunity for self-education and 
 personal enjoyment. 
 
 The chief rendezvous, however, of the American 
 soldier when "on leave" is the rest camps among the 
 French Alps at Aix-les-Bains and Chambery. To these 
 and other leave resorts they go, at the expense of the 
 Army, for a ten days' rest. The valley of the Savoy 
 area is one of the most beautiful and picturesque in 
 the world. Aix-les-Bains is situated on Lake Bourget, 
 which is eleven miles long and lies at the base of Mont 
 du Chat. All kinds of crops are grown in the valley of 
 Aix, the fields are covered with grain, and on the hill- 
 side are the familiar vineyards of France. Higher up 
 are groves of chestnut trees, then the pine woods, and 
 further up the Alpine forests. The snowcapped moun- 
 tains rise like sentinels in the distance, and from the 
 top of Mont Revard a marvelous view can be had of 
 the Swiss Alps and of Mont Blanc. The air is pure 
 and the temperature most regular. It is one of the 
 world's most famous resorts. Its medicinal waters are 
 famous and the Romans gave the place the name of 
 Aquae Gratianae. The remains of their splendid baths 
 are still there. 
 
 The Y M C A has taken over the famous Casino of 
 Aix-les-Bains, and the hotels of the town have been 
 chartered for the use of American soldiers when on 
 
ON LEAVE 107 
 
 leave. In this rest area the "Y" has a staff of fifty- 
 two Secretaries, half of them women. 
 
 When the war fell upon France the Casino lost its 
 patronage. - No gambling has been permitted in France 
 since the first days of the war. At a cost of several 
 hundred thousand francs the Y M C A has taken over 
 this marvelous building. What was once a gambling 
 hall and a place of luxury has become a place of repair 
 for the armies of America. On the walls may be seen 
 such signs as : 
 
 "If you want a New Testament ask for it." 
 
 "Ask the 'Y' Secretary for the new swear words." 
 
 "Can the cussing." 
 
 "Communion service Sunday morning at 10 o'clock." 
 
 "Excursion on the lake this afternoon at 2 o'clock. 
 Tickets at the desk." 
 
 "The train for Mont Revard leaves at 1 o'clock. 
 Mr. Smith will lead the party." 
 
 In what was once the Royal Bar a prayer service 
 is held every morning at nine o'clock. The "Grand 
 Circle," a most attractive theater, which seats com- 
 fortably a thousand people, is the "Y" play-house for 
 the men on leave. It was there that Mr. E. H. 
 Sothern, as a Y M C A Secretary, gave his exhibitions 
 of Shakespeare, and there also that the John Craig 
 Company of Boston produced their exquisite shows for 
 the amusement of our men. 
 
 The letters of the boys themselves reflect the value 
 of this splendid service. 
 
io8 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 "France, February 21, 1918. 
 
 Your letter of the 29th of December received ten 
 days ago, but had no chance to answer it till now, as 
 I have been in the trenches for quite a long time. At 
 the present time I am on pass at one of the most 
 beautiful resorts in France. The people are very kind 
 to us, and will do anything for us, if they think they 
 can please us by it. 
 
 I was in the first bunch to land here. They took 
 movies of us, pictures for the papers and magazines. 
 Maybe we weren't an awful sight, mud from head to 
 foot, but that made us look more realistic. I tell you 
 
 Sherman was right; war is h , but we'll make the 
 
 Boche think it's worse than that when we get through 
 with them. When we first went into the line the 
 Boche were very careless, they would stick their 
 heads out of the trenches; but now they know the 
 Americans are there, and they don't dare show them- 
 selves if they value their life. There have been times 
 when I couldn't have sold my life for two cents. Just 
 imagine how you would feel if you were lying in the 
 bottom of a muddy trench with shrapnel bursting 
 around you and covering you up with dirt. It would 
 make you homesick, wouldn't it ? That is an everyday 
 occurrence. 
 
 The Y M C A people are right on the job here. 
 When we landed, the train had hardly stopped before 
 they were there giving us chocolate. You should see 
 their building, most magnificent place I ever saw — 
 hardwood floors, enormous mirrors, huge marble pil- 
 lars, billiard tables, theater, moving picture, beautiful 
 reading and writing rooms — it certainly is grand. Be- 
 fore the Y M C A took it over it was used by million- 
 aires. Just imagine staying at the same hotel J. P. 
 Morgan stayed at — some class ! 
 
 Mostly every day we climb the mountains some 
 
ON LEAVE 109 
 
 5,000 feet high, from which can be seen the whole 
 of the Alps. It certainly is grand. I have a beautiful 
 room with a fine bed, electric lights, much better than 
 pumping water out of a dugout and going to sleep in 
 a bunk made of chicken wire, but this life is the most 
 healthy of all." 
 
 "March 24, 1918. 
 
 Until my trip to Aix I must confess I lacked confi- 
 dence in the Y M C A, and I used to teach in ours 
 back in the States. At Aix my confidence was com- 
 pletely restored and I shall never do any knocking 
 again. I shall have to bend my energies and aspira- 
 tions along that line to something that really needs 
 reform. Perhaps I can find something. Scarcely a 
 day goes by that we do not go over the trip to Aix 
 again. You may be sure that we miss you all ; indeed 
 the meeting of such charming people was just what 
 we needed, for it gave us a sort of mental renovation. 
 You surely are doing your bit in a splendid way." 
 
 "April 2, 1918. 
 
 The Y M C A and its representatives, both men and 
 women, are doing wonderful work over here and they 
 have huts and workers in every camp and sector of 
 the U. S. Army. The retinue of workers here at Aix 
 les Bains is too wonderful to describe. Never since 
 I left home, the first of May, have I encountered 
 such welcome and hospitality. They try to make you 
 forget all your troubles and enjoy yourself in a very 
 jolly and fitting manner and what is more, they actu- 
 ally do. If the mothers back home could see the moral 
 effect produced by these people on their sons, I am 
 sure that a great burden and a lot of worry would be 
 lifted from them." 
 
 "April 2, 1918. 
 
 The Y M C A is the one smile of our life here. 
 They are at the ports, concentration camps, in the 
 
no PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 cities, on the lines of communication, and go direct 
 to the trenches. They have an utter disregard of their 
 own safety, saying, 'Where you go, we go/ Two 
 young YMCA ladies have been knocked off this 
 week, and they only arrived in February. They are 
 everywhere with a word of cheer, encouragement, 
 reading, and the ever-famous canteen. Then we 
 arrive 'on permission' and find them in possession of 
 the big Casino at Aix les Bains, with all sorts of 
 amusements at a cost of $1,000,000 a year — well 
 spent; for thousands of fellows will come here." 
 
 "April 5, 1918. 
 I would be delighted if you could tell mother just 
 how we looked and seemed to be feeling from our 
 toes up. Tell her of the smiles that the soldiers are 
 wearing, how we spend our vacation on leave and all 
 the good things that the 'Y' does for us in the Savoy 
 district. I will say that it does everything that a good 
 friend or brother or sister could do for one on a 
 visit. 
 
 The Savoy district is charming and it has a most 
 wonderful history. It inspires one to higher ideals 
 and gives one a chance to think why we are fighting 
 for justice and that we never will give up the fight till 
 German vain ideas are crushed and she adopts the 
 modern idea of government as it has been set forth 
 by the people of the world. 
 
 Give Mother and all a good excuse why I don't 
 write more often, or why they don't get big fat let- 
 ters. I will say, it's a strenuous life that we are living 
 and after the duties of the day are finished, a letter 
 is out of the question." 
 
 When the soldiers arrive, they are welcomed at the 
 station, and when they leave they are escorted to the 
 
ON LEAVE in 
 
 train. The day we were there 200 of them marched 
 through the streets from the Casino to the depot, sing- 
 ing their cheery songs, only to find that the train was 
 three hours late. 
 
 The officer in charge gave the boys leave to go 
 where they liked. When the time came to round 
 them up again all but seven of the 200 were found in 
 the Casino. They had returned to the Y M C A head- 
 quarters, drawn by the subtle attraction of the staff 
 and the service. 
 
 The days "on leave" are planned for the boys by 
 the men and women of the "Y." Boat trips upon the 
 lake, fishing parties in the hills, walks and picnics, are 
 planned for every day of their stay. The crowning 
 trip, however, is the ride up the cogwheel railway to 
 the top of Mont Revard. The day we went up with 
 the boys will never be forgotten. The snow had fallen 
 a few days before and four to six feet of snow lay 
 upon the mountains. For two days the train had been 
 unable to run and this was the first trip after the 
 tracks had been cleared. 
 
 The President of the railroad accompanied us. The 
 sun was shining as on a summer day and no breath 
 of wind stirred. It was one of the most perfect of 
 days. When we reached the station the guide said 
 it was impossible to reach the tower on the summit; 
 the snow he said was too deep. "Nothing is im- 
 possible," said one of the women Secretaries, and 
 started out with the remark, "111 lead the way." And 
 she did lead the way and in ten minutes a beaten path 
 was made to the summit of the mountain. A French 
 
ii2 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 photographer took moving pictures of the company 
 as they made their way over the trail, and took more 
 pictures of the improvised snowball battle on the sum- 
 mit. These pictures have since been seen in the mov- 
 ing picture theaters of America, but they do not tell 
 that the trip was planned and made possible by the 
 men and women of the Y M C A. 
 
 We sat in the snow in the soft glow of sunshine 
 almost like summer and looked out over the precipice 
 to the range of mountains beyond us. We were look- 
 ing east and one of the number began to say: 
 
 "It is good to see the old world, and travel up and 
 down." 
 
 And then, at the urgent request of those who knew 
 the familiar words, with his back to the precipice, his 
 face toward Mont Blanc, with a great group of Ameri- 
 can soldiers and French civilians in front of him, 
 Senator Leroy Percy of Mississippi quoted with one 
 significant alteration, the verses which are perhaps the 
 best which Henry Van Dyke has written, and which 
 the soldiers in the American camps in France love to 
 hear: 
 
 "Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me! 
 My heart is turning home again to God's countrie, 
 To the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean 
 
 bars, 
 Where the air is full of sunshine and the flag is full of 
 
 stars. 
 
 It is good to see the old world, and travel up and down 
 Among the famous countries and the cities of renown, 
 
ON LEAVE 113 
 
 To admire the crumbly castles, and the monuments and 
 
 kings ; 
 But soon or late you have enough of antiquated things. 
 
 Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air ; 
 And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair ; 
 And it's sweet to loaf in Venice, and it's great to study 
 
 Rome; 
 But when it comes to living, there is no place like home. 
 
 I like the Alpine fir-woods in green battalions drilled ; 
 I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains 
 
 filled; 
 But oh to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a 
 
 day 
 In the friendly Western woodland where nature has 
 
 her way! 
 
 Oh! Europe is a fine place, yet something seems to 
 
 lack, 
 The past is too much with her, and the people looking 
 
 back; 
 But life is in the present, and the future must be free; 
 We love our land for what she is and what she is to be. 
 
 So it's home again, and home again, America for me! 
 My heart is turning home again to God's countrie, 
 To that blessed land of Room Enough, beyond the 
 
 ocean bars, 
 Where the air is full of sunshine and the flag is full of 
 
 stars." 
 
 No wonder the men are in love with Aix, and no 
 wonder they sing the praises of the "Y." It is the "Y" 
 working with the American Army that makes Aix 
 and similar leave resorts possible. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 THE CHURCH IN ARMS 
 
 The boys of the 28th had just come back from their 
 first real fight. Not all of them had come back. 
 Some were lying out in the conquered territory and 
 some had been hurried off to places of repair in ad- 
 vanced hospital units. Those who did return, returned 
 victorious over mud and fire and foe. 
 
 The Chaplain was standing near one of the shelters 
 resting a moment from his now multiplied duties, and 
 thinking of the work of tomorrow — Sunday — when 
 the regiment would gather around him for the first 
 time after their baptism of fire together. 
 
 One of the men, seeing him apparently unoccu- 
 pied, stepped up and saluting him said, "Are you 
 thinking what you will preach about tomorrow, sir?" 
 The Chaplain had already selected his text and his 
 subject, but the opportunity was too good to lose and 
 if necessary, he could change both text and theme, so 
 he said, "Yes, I was just wondering what the boys 
 would like to hear, and I am not sure what I ought 
 to preach." The lad's face lighted up. "I'll tell you 
 what to preach about," he said. "I think it's the last 
 verse in the Gospel of Matthew, 'Lo, I am with you 
 always.' ' Then, after a pause, he continued, "I 
 have known those words ever since I was a boy, but 
 I never knew what they meant until these last few 
 
 114 
 
THE CHURCH IN ARMS 115 
 
 days. There were minutes when I never expected to 
 come out alive, and the words kept coming back into 
 my mind, and I knew I was not alone. After that, it 
 didn't matter what happened." It is the mission of 
 the Church of Christ to bear witness to the fact con- 
 tained in the soldier's text, "Go . . . and lo, I am 
 with you always." 
 
 Whatever failure the American Church must con- 
 fess regarding the fulfillment of her duty to the non- 
 Christian peoples at home and abroad, certainly she is 
 awake and alert to the obligation of service in rela- 
 tion to the Great War. Neglectful of the needs of the 
 Army and of the Navy in peace times, suddenly over 
 night the Church has become partaker of the quicken- 
 ing which now stirs the nation from sea to sea. The 
 young men who manned her Sunday schools, her 
 music, her organized life, slipped from their places 
 and went forth to battle. They went forward, with 
 thousands who had forsaken or neglected the Church, 
 and over whom the Church seemed to exert no in- 
 fluence. Yesterday they were unshepherded and lived 
 their lives apart from the Church; today they are 
 conscious of the fact that in the prayers offered in 
 chapel and in cathedral they too have a share. 
 
 The spirit of humility has fallen like a benediction 
 upon the Church. Office bearers and long-time mem- 
 bers of the Church have suddenly been surprised into 
 the position of second place. The young men, who 
 caused them anxious and prayerful concern, have 
 taken the scepter out of their hands and moved up 
 through the spirit of service and of sacrifice into the 
 
n6 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 first ranks. It is this fact that the Church has had 
 to face. She is seeing her best and bravest young men 
 go forth ready to die, for the children, the women, 
 and old rejected men. It is the better, giving itself 
 for the worse, and in the heart of the Church a new 
 love and a new consecration have been born out of the 
 very spirit of the Cross. In every church hangs a 
 service flag filled with stars, and the boys in France 
 and upon the sea and in the American cantonments 
 know that they are loved and remembered and prayed 
 for every day in the old home church. 
 
 The cause for which they fight — what is it, but the 
 cause of the Church itself ? The crusades of old were 
 weak and worldly movements compared with this 
 twentieth-century crusade. When I was in France, 
 the French papers reported with evident satisfaction 
 the words of Elihu Root in which he introduced the 
 Archbishop of York to the people of America: "This 
 is not a war for Servia, for Alsace-Lorraine, for 
 Poland, not even for Belgium," he said. "It is a 
 struggle for the overthrow or the maintenance of all 
 the progress that the civilization of a century has 
 made toward Christianity. It is a war to determine 
 whether the world shall go back under the dominion of 
 the power of darkness, back out of the light, back 
 again to the days of despair and ignorance and slav- 
 ery, or whether the good God who is just and com- 
 passionate may still smile on a world where He is 
 worshiped in spirit and in truth." 
 
 In this war, the Church must follow the flag. 
 Christianity must be militant. The Church is not 
 
THE CHURCH IN ARMS 117 
 
 set for self-defense, but for the defense of the weak 
 against the strong, and to keep the torch of truth 
 aflame in dark and desolate days. 
 
 The Church follows the flag in the person of the 
 Chaplain. He is the official representative of the 
 Church, and is part of the army organization. There 
 is no group of men in the Army which has carried 
 more responsibility and faced more difficulties than 
 the chaplains. They have been tempted to turn their 
 attention to anything and everything, and to make 
 their primary duties secondary. They have acted as 
 school teachers, librarians and athletic directors. 
 They have been hidden away for days at a time 
 censoring mail. They have served in the post ex- 
 change and on court materials, and have featured mov- 
 ing-picture entertainments. Their parish has doubled 
 and yet they have been given no additional assistance 
 and little equipment. They formerly served a regi- 
 ment of 1,000 men, and they now continue to serve a 
 regiment after it has been increased to 3,700. Through 
 the efforts and interests of the Church, and the sym- 
 pathetic cooperation of the Army, the intention now is 
 to have one chaplain for every 1,200 men. 
 
 Notwithstanding the rapid increase in the number 
 of chaplains, the whole subject is full of perplexity. 
 The chaplains are appointed as representatives of the 
 denominations, in proportion to their numerical 
 strength, and consequently are without organization 
 or unified programme. To meet the needs of the 
 situation a chaplain staff has been appointed consist- 
 ing of three Protestants and two Catholics, with 
 
n8 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 Bishop Brent as Chairman. This committee will 
 endeavor to relate and organize the chaplain force 
 and to foster a spirit of unity and purpose among the 
 official representatives of the Church in the Army. 
 
 The splendid service of obscure chaplains will mul- 
 tiply the war literature of the world and feed the 
 faith of the church for centuries. At Passchendaele a 
 Canadian officer said, "Without the Chaplain it would 
 be impossible to keep the morale of the men." When- 
 ever there is need and danger, there you find the 
 padre of the camp. "Our Chaplain," says a private 
 of the First Royal Irish Rifles, "is always in the 
 trenches with the regiment. He has faced death forty 
 times since we came out. I have seen him in the 
 front trenches hearing confessions, with bullets in 
 showers like hailstones pasing overhead. That is what 
 makes soldiers fight well and die calm. When they 
 have loads off their consciences, their minds are easy, 
 and they don't fear death." 
 
 Writing from the battle-field in France in the early 
 days of the war, a British soldier gives a revealing 
 picture of the chaplain's opportunity: 
 
 "A padre turned up yesterday, and at night (it was 
 not safe to begin earlier) we held a service which a 
 great number of our men attended, and afterwards 
 there was a large attendance at Holy Communion. It 
 was a strange sight. It was in a wood, in black dark- 
 ness save for two candles on a packing-case which 
 served as an altar ; the chalice was a tin mug ; the 
 soldiers, grimed with battle, each with his rifle, knelt 
 in a circle round the light. There must have been 
 such scenes in very early Christian days." 
 
THE CHURCH IN ARMS 119 
 
 One Saturday night, I found myself among the 
 ruins of a French town, on the Lorraine front. The 
 town had been shot to pieces in the early days of the 
 war, and the day I arrived a shell had exploded in 
 what formerly was the main street of the village, kill- 
 ing five mules and wounding a soldier who was on 
 guard. From this town the trench system began and 
 every now and then the sky was lighted up with star 
 shells. I went into the cellar where the Y M C A had 
 its headquarters and where in the pale flickering 
 candle-light, the boys obtained tobacco, chocolate, 
 matches, and a little fellowship. I pushed on through 
 the dark passage-way into the rear cellar. A man 
 was sitting alone, looking into the flame of the little 
 wood fire which was the only light in that dark and 
 dismal dwelling. As I entered he looked up, and the 
 fire lighted both our faces. "Great Scott," he said, 
 "how did you get out here?" I had known him in 
 other days and had seen him when comfort and repu- 
 tation were his, but I had never seen him so satisfied 
 nor so sure of his calling, as he was under the sound 
 of American guns in France. "This is the real thing," 
 he said, and carried me away to show me the im- 
 provised chapel where, in the morning, he and his men 
 would meet God face to face. 
 
 In France, the churches of America function not 
 only through the chaplains, but through the Y M C A. 
 When asked as to the relation of the "Y" to the 
 Church, Gipsy Smith said, "A communication 
 trench." That explanation, however, is both inade- 
 quate and misleading for the "Y" and the Church are 
 
i2o PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 and ought to be one. They are one in their personnel 
 and one in their purpose. 
 
 Denominations have laid aside their differences and 
 have concentrated upon the task of helping our men 
 and they find the "Y" the channel through which that 
 service can be rendered most efficiently. Never before 
 in history could Christians more truly sing, 
 
 "We are not divided, 
 All one body we." 
 
 The Red Triangle is the sign not only of the 
 
 Y M C A, but of the churches of America, and clergy- 
 men from all denominations, bishops and rectors, 
 pastors and professors, presidents and preachers, 
 elders and deacons, Sunday school teachers and 
 
 Y M C A Secretaries, all in uniform, and all without 
 rank distinction, are serving in the huts across the 
 sea. 
 
 The "Y" took E. C. Carter from India, F. B. Shipp 
 from America, and D. A. Davis from Turkey, and 
 placed in their hands this sacred trust. Trained to 
 think in international terms, they have won the con- 
 fidence of the American and Allied Armies, and of 
 their leadership General Pershing has expressed his 
 warmest approval. 
 
 To every man responsible for the religious work in 
 the camp, Dr. Robert Freeman, the eloquent poet- 
 preacher of California and head of the Religious Work 
 Department, has issued the following instructions: 
 
 "The big worth of the Y M C A lies in the Secre- 
 
Executive Secretaries Overseas- 
 E. C. Carter and F. B. Shipp 
 
THE CHURCH IN ARMS 121 
 
 tary himself. His service, his thoughtfulness, his un- 
 selfishness, far outweigh the supplies of the canteen or 
 the conveniences of the hut. There is no substitute for 
 his simple brotherly kindness, nor sales, nor shows, nor 
 sermons. 'It is the mightiest kind of preaching. 
 
 Nevertheless, we want to make sales and give shows 
 and deliver sermons, and we need far-sighted planning 
 that these may accomplish the greatest measure of 
 good. We know that religion is not in organization, 
 but we know, too, that the reach of religion can be 
 extended and its grip strengthened by methods of or- 
 ganization. 
 
 Therefore, we propose the following concrete 
 methods born of the experience of a number of our 
 fellow-workers : 
 
 I. Religious Services 
 
 There shall be three regular services a week in each 
 hut. 
 
 1. Sunday morning: Whenever possible have the 
 Chaplain conduct a service. A goodly percentage of 
 our soldiers are of the Roman Catholic faith, and it 
 is desirable that we take pains to plan for such reli- 
 gious exercises as are familiar to them. If the Chap- 
 lain be a Roman Catholic, hold also a Protestant 
 service, at least a Bible class. 
 
 2. Sunday evening: Have a 'sing' using wholly, or at 
 least leading up to some favorite hymns, and being 
 followed as frequently as possible with an address. 
 Exchange between hut Secretaries will provide a good 
 many speakers; in some sections addresses by army 
 medical officers, promoting the clean life, fit in, too. 
 
 3. Midzveek service: Plan a regular service of a 
 devotional character for Wednesday or Thursday eve- 
 nings, whichever suits best. Your own personal read- 
 
122 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 ing will doubtless give you a few minutes' remarks, 
 if you do not have another speaker; the singing will 
 cheer the men up; and a prayer, whether read or 
 impromptu, will wash the souls of your men. 
 
 II. Bible Classes 
 
 1. Have a Bible class in every company, squadron, 
 and battery, led by one of the men, and meeting on 
 week nights. That man may be found generally 
 through the top sergeant. Later, when you are plenti- 
 fully supplied with gospels, you could make a man- 
 to-man visitation of your soldier family, offering a 
 gospel to every man who wanted it without any urging 
 on your part; at the same time telling him that if, 
 when he had finished, he desired the whole Testament, 
 he should report to you. This would offer you your 
 best chance for personal work and for enlistments 
 for your Bible classes. 
 
 2. Hold a normal class of all your leaders, instruct- 
 ing them on the next lesson. Nine o'clock Sunday 
 morning is a good time. 
 
 3. Your Sunday morning Protestant service might 
 very well take the form of a talk by you on the lesson 
 studied the preceding week. The men will be in- 
 terested and full of questions. Competition between 
 companies in the matter of attendance might be 
 fostered. 
 
 III. Discussion Groups 
 
 In some of our huts, Sunday afternoon discussion 
 groups using some such text-book as "The Social Prin- 
 ciples of Jesus," by Rauschenbusch, are making a go. 
 
 IV. Free Literature 
 There ought to be always in sight some pamphlets 
 
THE CHURCH IN ARMS 123 
 
 and booklets under a sign: 'Help yourself/ Many of 
 these will disappear when you are not looking. They 
 may be on a counter or in a rack. I know we have not 
 much of this thus far, but perhaps 'Friend or Enemy' 
 has reached you, and other such. If not, I want you 
 to know what we plan as soon as the material is in 
 hand. 
 
 Now this seems like a great deal, I know, for you 
 feel all the time that you are swamped with little 
 material tasks that take all your time and leave you 
 wearied and discouraged. For that very reason, if 
 for no other, you must make such plans as the above. 
 Religious instruction will find no place unless you 
 plan for it. Let us therefore, unostentatiously but 
 constantly and systematically seek to turn men's 
 thoughts to the highest things." 
 
 More clergymen than trained Y M C A Secre- 
 taries are serving in France today. They have gone 
 forth from churches, theological seminaries, and col- 
 leges, to serve the Association, and are the pledge of 
 the unity and spirit which exists in the American 
 churches. The Church has seized this opportunity for 
 service, and has contributed through the channel of 
 the Y M C A clergymen, laymen, money, and leader- 
 ship, in hitherto undreamed-of proportions. In this 
 war the entire Church is in arms. 
 
 After a Sunday evening service, where the boys to 
 the number of 500 were gathered, a Jewish lad from 
 Pittsburgh put his arm over the preacher's shoulder 
 and said, "Tell the Y. M. H. A. back home to give all 
 its money to the Y M C A, for it has made me feel 
 at home here, and it has no respect for any religion." 
 
124 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 We understand the fine sentiment behind his words. 
 The Y M C A had respected his faith, and through 
 the doors of the hut he had entered into the atmosphere 
 of home. 
 
 Church union is in France an accomplished fact. 
 Frequently the Communion is served by ministers of 
 all denominations assisting. In the service on Sunday 
 and week-night, Protestant, Catholic, and Hebrew sit 
 upon the same benches. On Good Friday a priest of 
 the Roman Catholic faith, together with a Baptist 
 clergyman, explained the "Stations of the Cross." In 
 one case a Y M C A clergyman acted as interpreter at 
 the last sacrament administered by a French priest to 
 a dying American soldier. We have long prayed for 
 unity. Let us pause for a moment to give thanks. 
 
 It takes virile and versatile men to do front line 
 work in France, and it is surprising how many clergy- 
 men are promoted to that service. 
 
 When our first division moved from the eastern 
 front into the line of battle to help stem the German 
 advance, the entire service of the Y M C A had to be 
 transplanted. Fourteen trucks, loaded in the night 
 with tents, equipment, and canteen supplies, moved 
 out along the road at daybreak. Two young clergy- 
 men from Western Pennsylvania headed the party, 
 and when night fell, those fourteen trucks drew up 
 at the destination where the troops were disembarking 
 near the French front, and were greeted by the familiar 
 and hearty welcome. "Here comes the old 'Y.' " That 
 is part of the reward that comes from following the 
 flag. 
 
THE CHURCH IN ARMS 125 
 
 A well-known clergyman from the West, who was 
 known among the boys as "Angel-Face" because of 
 his pleasing ways and cheery smile, was assigned to 
 manual labor at a base camp. His first task was road- 
 making. He drove a truck loaded with broken stone 
 from the quarry near by, to the highway that needed 
 some quick repair work. For some days he labored 
 and his hands became bruised and calloused. His 
 second task was building a hut and putting the canteen 
 in shape for efficient service. One morning he was 
 commissioned to Paris for supplies, and while there 
 overheard three American chauffeurs who were stand- 
 ing near the entrance at headquarters, talking. One 
 
 of them said, "It makes me sick to see these d d 
 
 preachers loafing around here doing nothing." "Angel- 
 Face" went on into the building to cool off, but in- 
 stead of becoming cooler he got hotter, and coming 
 to where the men were still talking, he faced his man. 
 
 "I heard what you said just now about those d d 
 
 preachers and I want you to understand that I'm one 
 of them. Look at my hands. They are hard as iron, 
 and unless you take back your dirty words, I'll knock 
 you down." The man hedged and hesitated, but 
 "Angel Face's" iron fist was near his head, and another 
 critic of the clergy was silenced. "I didn't mean any- 
 thing, Mister," said the chauffeur. "Well, why don't 
 you say what you mean?" said "Angel Face" and 
 walked away. Down near the front he is no longer 
 called "Angel Face"; his pals call him "Gyp the 
 Blood." 
 
 Two of our soldier boys passing through Paris were 
 
126 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 seeing the city. The ever-alert "guide" had discovered 
 them and had engaged himself to show the soldiers 
 the sights of Paris. At an opportune moment a clergy- 
 man wearing the Y M C A uniform passed and took 
 in the situation at a glance. "Where are you taking 
 the boys?" he quietly asked the guide. "None of your 
 business," came the retort. "Well, we'll see if it's 
 not my business," said the Clerical Secretary. "I have 
 a free hour now and I'll go along." That proposition 
 did not suit the "guide," for he knew the insignia of 
 the Red Triangle. He grew ugly and closed in to fight, 
 but before he knew what had happened he found him- 
 self lying on his back. When he arose he took to his 
 heels and disappeared round the corner. The next 
 day those two boys visited their new-found friend at 
 headquarters, and left with him a little package. When 
 the clergyman opened it he found a little American 
 flag with a note thanking him, not for protection — 
 they could take care of themselves — but for the cour- 
 age and the reality of his friendship. 
 
 There is scarcely a town in America that has not 
 released one or more of its pastors for war work serv- 
 ice under the direction of the Y M C A. Half the 
 force that mans the British huts comes from the ranks 
 of the clergy, and American churches will make will- 
 ing sacrifices that the Army and the Navy may be 
 ministered to in all good things. From city and rural 
 churches, from Eastern states and from needy West- 
 ern communities, men trained for spiritual ministry 
 are serving in prominent and obscure places overseas. 
 Concerning the service of one of these men, whom the 
 
THE CHURCH IN ARMS 127 
 
 Church at home has sent to the men in France, Ralph 
 W. Harbison of the War Work Council, who accom- 
 panied me to France, writes : 
 
 "After a supper of chocolate, war bread, and canned 
 beef, the six of us Secretaries were ordered to the 
 cellar of the *Y,' together with fifty soldiers who hap- 
 pened to be in the old shell-torn building, as the 
 Boche were beginning again to shell the town. We 
 took candles, a big basket full of canteen supplies to 
 last us in case we should have to be dug out later, 
 overcoats, and blankets. We fitted our gas masks on, 
 to be sure they were working well, and then settled 
 down, or tried to, in the dungeon, and here I saw the 
 first real service of the chief 'Y' man, the Rev. George 
 Clarke, pastor of the Presbyterian Church at La 
 Grange, Oregon — a real man among men, who had 
 not left his post for fourteen days. He entered the 
 cave last and noticing that the soldiers were very quiet 
 and perhaps a bit anxious, he said cheerily, 'Well, 
 boys, let's sing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," ' 
 and then he read them some good poems and talked 
 to them. We expected to have to stay all night but 
 in an hour a sentry called 'all out' and out we gladly 
 went. The rest of the evening we spent upstairs in 
 one of the reasonably whole rooms with piano and 
 songs and stories and the ever-present and wonderful 
 canteen. An ex-New York motorcycle policeman, who 
 holds the world's hurdle record, led the singing and 
 told a funny story of his arrest of three Brooklyn boys 
 on Brooklyn Bridge for some minor offense. The 
 three boys mentioned were right there in the group 
 and laughingly confirmed it all." 
 
 One wonders whether the soldier or the minister, or 
 the Church at home that makes such ministry possible, 
 
128 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 receives the greatest blessing. Certainly the men who 
 thus serve will, when the war is ended, be trained 
 and prepared for a service which the new world will 
 sorely need. 
 
 Much is being written today about the Church of the 
 future. Theorists are at work, denouncing former 
 creeds by which men lived and died and formulating 
 new creeds for tomorrow. The creed of tomorrow 
 will not be made by what Kipling calls "The Per- 
 severance Doubters and the Present Comfort Shirks." 
 It is being fashioned now in the fire and it is being 
 lived by those who find themselves in at the battle 
 front. The Civil War made for division in theology, 
 and for denominational Christianity. This war has 
 already made for religious reality and Christian unity. 
 The Spirit of God is moving on the face of humanity 
 and where the Spirit of God is, there are liberty, 
 equality, and fraternity. 
 
 I found no tendency on the part of the men of the 
 American Army in France to criticize the Church. In 
 civilian and military life, the door of opportunity 
 stands open and if the Church fails now to enter and 
 possess her heritage, she will have missed the greatest 
 opportunity in history. 
 
 Those who have heard in Paris the shriek of the 
 siren in the night, telling them that the death-dealing 
 bombs of the enemy are overhead, will never forget 
 that weird sound. It sends soldiers and sailors, officers 
 and men, women and children, in utter helplessness in 
 search of safety. It stops trains and railways, and 
 the doors of hotels and shops are closed, while silence 
 
THE CHURCH IN ARMS 129 
 
 broken by the explosion of bombs reigns over the city. 
 An hour, two hours, three hours, go by, and then in 
 the streets one hears the glad clarion notes of the 
 recall. The trumpeter with the silver trumpet, borne 
 through the streets in automobile or in fire engine, 
 sounds those silver notes that thrill with the triumph 
 of victory, and from their shelters men and women 
 come forth to breathe the breath of full life again. 
 
 The Church for years past has listened to the call 
 of the siren. Already another note is heard in the 
 literature and legislation of the world. It is the note 
 that sounds the recall. It is the trumpet of God calling 
 men forth to full life to the celebration of the triumph 
 of Truth, to the recognition of the supremacy of the 
 spirit. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 SANS CAMOUFLAGE 
 
 Camouflage is a war word. Yesterday it was un- 
 known, today it is one of the commonest words in 
 the world. It speaks of war. It suggests the kiss 
 that betrays, the olive branch that is a sword, the 
 treaty that is a scrap of paper. It transforms a bat- 
 tery into a grove of trees, an ammunition dump into 
 a field of grain, a moving train into a herd of cattle in 
 the meadow. Camouflage enables things to be other 
 than they seem. 
 
 There is a tendency now to use the word in relation 
 to religion. I suppose it can be so used. The word 
 is just French for hypocrisy. It may be possible to 
 relate the word to religion in times of peace, but it is 
 increasingly difficult and dangerous to do so in a world 
 at war. There is no camouflage about religion at the 
 front. The one thing that has not succeeded with the 
 men of the Army is a camouflaged religion. The 
 Army demands reality. Soldiers and sailors abhor 
 hypocrisy. They surrender to sincerity. 
 
 One dark moonless night I drove out from the 
 Y M C A headquarters in a Ford truck to the front 
 line. The guns were speaking and the sky was lumi- 
 nous with shell fire. We traveled along the registered 
 highway over roads screened on both sides and over- 
 head. We passed soldiers marching to the front, and 
 
 130 
 
SANS CAMOUFLAGE I3I 
 
 army trucks loaded with ammunition creeping slowly 
 towards the battle-line. The road was rough from 
 much wear and from frequent shell explosions and 
 ran into the wooded hills of the Lorraine front, where 
 the trees had been stripped by shrapnel and the hill- 
 sides gutted with shell holes. One could count hun- 
 dreds of shell holes to the acre. 
 
 Leaving the highway, we followed a narrow trail 
 through the hills where sentries stood beside abri- 
 shelters until we had lost all reckoning as to direction 
 and distance. The road ended in a "Y" dugout, 
 where the soldiers who had just returned from the 
 trenches were waiting the coming of canteen supplies. 
 The men had been in the fire and had lost some of 
 their pals in the barrage. 
 
 Late in the night we walked further into the mystery 
 of the hillside and discovered hidden in the trees a 
 little rustic chapel, faith's abri-shelter, a shrine of the 
 soul, where in that lonely and desolate land men dis- 
 covered themselves in the light of the eternal. The 
 boys with their own hands had built it out of the trees 
 of the woods and there it stood — an expression of 
 undying faith and of religion which always speaks the 
 last word of life. 
 
 The nearer one gets to the front line trenches the 
 nearer one gets to God. "Writing in a tragic hour a 
 solemn page of history, we resolved that it should be 
 sincere and glorious." Thus wrote Cardinal Mercier 
 in the dark days of Belgium's martyrdom. When men 
 come face to face with things inscrutable they are not 
 far from making the great discovery. God is not far 
 
I 3 2 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 off. Wherever there is helplessness, when men can- 
 not by logic understand and explain, they "touch God's 
 right hand in the darkness/' "Clouds and darkness 
 are round about Him, righteousness and judgment 
 are the habitation of His throne." When the temple 
 is filled with smoke the prophet discovers God. It is 
 the history of all the ages. At the end of the path, 
 when human helpers fail, men discover God. It was 
 in the forests of France that the faith of the Hugue- 
 nots was born. It was on the mist-covered hills of 
 Scotland that the Covenanters' creed was fashioned. 
 It was in the fire of affliction that America was reborn, 
 and out of the furnace of fire our men are climbing 
 the great world altar stairs that slope through dark- 
 ness up to God. 
 
 The Serbian Ambassador to France told us that 
 when the remnants of the Serbian Army were taken 
 by the Allies across to the island of Corfu in the 
 Adriatic, all of their priests had been lost or slain, and 
 a peasant school teacher among them composed for 
 them this prayer to represent the faith and unconquer- 
 able spirit of the Serbian Army and people. 
 
 "O, Lord God, our Father and our Creator, God of 
 Justice, God of Truth, God of Pity, hear our prayer, 
 the prayer of the whole Serbian people, crucified and 
 agonized. 
 
 From a country where we are strangers, where we 
 wait with longing, our wives and our children, far, 
 far, from our Serbian motherland, kneeling and with 
 tears, we implore Thee, Lord. 
 
 By the might of Thy hand stay up, Almighty 
 
SANS CAMOUFLAGE 133 
 
 Creator, the throne of our King, keep and guard and 
 preserve the Serbian Army, the Serbian people, our 
 little ones, and our youth who are in bondage and in 
 distress. 
 
 For them and for us, we pray Thee, graft in our 
 hearts the spirit of wisdom and of faithfulness and of 
 endurance, that we may bear ourselves like men, and, 
 that even out of these untold wrongs and these bitter- 
 est trials, we may still turn our hearts to Thee, our 
 God. 
 
 For Thou, O God, art the source of all power and 
 might. Hearken then to our prayers ; hear the cry of 
 our distress, and bring ere long our bark of life out 
 of danger and to the haven of rest from suffering. 
 
 And to Thee, be the glory throughout all ages now 
 and forever more, Amen and Amen." 
 
 Even if one has never seen the battle front, he 
 knows that God has come nigh to men in the fighting 
 line. He has read of it, even if he has not seen it. 
 He has read of Private Peat's vision of Calvary as 
 he lay out in the mist and the shadows among the 
 dead and the dying. He has read of it in the poetry 
 of Rupert Brooke, whose verses before the war awoke 
 no real response, but whose war sonnets are winged 
 with immortality. But at the battle front he is sure 
 of it. 
 
 One dark night in the Lorraine sector, after we 
 had gone as far as we could towards the front, we 
 came to a destroyed and ruined village. At the edge 
 of the village the trench system began that led out 
 to "No Man's Land." The village was in ruins. The 
 little stone church had been totally destroyed. The 
 
134 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 tombstones in the cemetery were shattered and muti- 
 lated. While we were out in the trenches shells from 
 German guns came shrieking over our heads and ex- 
 ploded among the ruins behind us. American soldiers 
 were quartered there in cellars and in what was left 
 of the houses. Underground we found a little impro- 
 vised chapel. The Chaplain lived there with his men 
 and had gathered from the ruined church the symbols 
 of worship which had escaped destruction. Nothing 
 was perfect. Everything had been mutilated. Statues 
 of Christ without arms or head were there. Mutilated 
 images of the Virgin were there. Leading down from 
 that cellar chapel was a cave in which twenty Ameri- 
 can soldiers were sleeping. It was a sight never to be 
 forgotten — the sleeping soldiers and the improvised 
 chapel amid the ruin and desolation wrought by the 
 Hun. In the danger and in the dark the men some- 
 how felt that God was near. 
 
 In the ruined buildings the Secretaries of the 
 Y M C A carry on their ministry of help and hope, 
 and there at night these same Secretaries with their 
 packs upon their backs go through the communicat- 
 ing trenches into the front line and out to the distant 
 listening posts, serving the men. In one night one 
 of these men going from place to place held ten serv- 
 ices in the trenches, reading the gospel message by a 
 flickering candle light, and speaking a word of faith 
 and love. The evidence of religious response is found 
 everywhere. 
 
 On the night of Good Friday the men had gathered 
 in one of the huts. It was behind the lines and the 
 
SANS CAMOUFLAGE 135 
 
 sound of the guns was constant. The Chaplains and 
 the Y M C A men, the Commanding Officer of the 
 camp and his staff, two or three Y M C A women, a 
 French officer, a few French soldiers in blue, and two 
 or three hundred of our American boys were ready 
 to receive and welcome the religious message. That 
 dark hut and the booming of the guns will always live 
 in our memory. But most significant of all is the 
 memory of the hush that fell upon the men as we read 
 to them the story of the crucifixion, of the greatest 
 tragedy in human history, where faith and love were 
 crowned. The lesson required no comment. 
 
 Along the river Marne, during a rest interval when 
 orders had been received that the camp was to be 
 moved and then countermanded, the Y M C A Secre- 
 tary, who was a lay-evangelist, received permission 
 from the Colonel and from the Catholic Chaplain to 
 conduct in the camp a series of week-night religious 
 services. These services were continued for ten nights 
 with unabated interest, and before they closed sixty 
 men had openly confessed Christ, and sixteen had been 
 baptized in the river Marne by the Chaplain from a 
 neighboring camp. 
 
 In an Australian rest camp, at a time when several 
 companies of soldiers were ordered back to the front, 
 a large religious service was held, conducted by the 
 Church of England Chaplain and a clergyman from 
 one of the Australian churches. They talked to the 
 men in the most serious and direct manner, using as 
 their text the command given to Joshua when he was 
 about to undertake his very dangerous campaign: 
 
136 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 "Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of 
 good courage ; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed : 
 for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou 
 goest." 
 
 After the service the Holy Communion was admin- 
 istered, and then the men went out, prepared for the 
 order to advance. 
 
 One may say that it is the sense of fear that leads 
 men to serious thought. Perhaps. Yet these are not 
 the men to charge with fear. It ill becomes us to 
 make such a charge against the men who are going 
 forth to make the supreme sacrifice. It is truer per- 
 haps to say that the sense of mystery, the sense of 
 human helplessness, the creation of a new scale of 
 values, has much to do with it. Old things have 
 passed away. The things that once held the heart — 
 money, pleasure, ambition — have vanished away, and 
 the things that abide — faith, hope, and love — these 
 remain. 
 
 Perhaps it is true that the soldier is superstitious. 
 He sees crosses and statues unharmed in the midst 
 of desolation, and he thinks there must be a reason. 
 Certain it is that the sacraments have a strange fasci- 
 nation for the men and have obtained new significance 
 out on the battle front. It is true also that the horror 
 of the great wickedness that has broken out in the 
 world has challenged the thought of the Army. Be- 
 hind the military movements some awful thing has 
 motived men. War is full of agonizing brutality. It 
 is easy for folks in the safe security of their homes 
 five thousand miles from the firing line to glorify 
 
SANS CAMOUFLAGE 137 
 
 war. The soldier who faces the fire, faces neither 
 glamor nor glory. He faces mud and noise, cruelty 
 and confusion. He faces the reversal of Christianity. 
 He faces the deceitfulness and wickedness of men. 
 He comes again to believe in hell because he believes 
 in justice, and he understands now as never before 
 that where there is iniquity and moral evil there can 
 be no peace. He sees a place for the words of Jesus, 
 "Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye 
 escape the damnation of hell ?" 
 
 A recent writer, who ten years ago was a pro- 
 nounced evolutionist in the realm of religion, whose 
 vocabulary was freighted with words that spoke of 
 development, immaturity, progress, imperfection, re- 
 cently said: 
 
 "Sin is not immaturity. There is a difference be- 
 tween a green apple and a worm-eaten apple. Growth 
 will ripen the green apple, but growth will only add 
 to the size and the appetite of the worm. There is 
 a difference between the crudities and carelessness and 
 mischiefs of a boy and the criminality of a Bill Sykes 
 or an Iago. Sin is not good in the making. A process 
 of making has been going on in Germany for the 
 last half century, and never will it restore the Ger- 
 many of Kant and Hegel, of Goethe and Schiller, of 
 Luther and Melanchthon. Sin is positive, aggressive, 
 destructive, and it is to be confronted with weapons 
 that destroy and with a wrath resolute to destroy." 
 
 The only fact that seems to satisfy is the fact of 
 Christ. These men have no theological theory, but 
 in Christ they see evil conquered and purity upon the 
 cross triumphant. In Him they see all that is lovely 
 
138 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 and purest in human life taken by wicked hands and 
 put to death in the most cruel fashion that the world 
 has ever seen. And they have seen him dying, agoniz- 
 ing, yet unafraid, unconquered and unconquerable. 
 
 During the South African war a Boer marksman 
 shot an Irish soldier near the Tugela river. The South 
 African immediately set about to strip the soldier of 
 his clothes. He took off his overcoat, his belt, and 
 his shirt, and then saw, lying next the heart that was 
 still, a cross. He stood for awhile and gazed at it. 
 The great gulf of war yawned between him and that 
 Irish Catholic. It was only for a moment, but that 
 yawning chasm was bridged. He covered the naked 
 body with the overcoat that he had intended to take, 
 and walked away. He was in the presence of reality 
 and was bound by a subtle sympathy that he could 
 not explain. These are days when Christ comes into 
 his own. 
 
 The great note in the teaching of the Church in the 
 past was safety. Personal safety was the goal of 
 much religious effort. It is a true note in the teaching 
 of Christianity. No man can be of service until he, 
 himself, has his feet on the rock, and personal salva- 
 tion is written deep into the teaching of Jesus. It is 
 embedded in the hymnology of the ages. "Jesus, Lover 
 of My Soul," "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me," "Nearer, 
 My God, to Thee," strike true and tender chords. The 
 General who said, "I need no preparation for retreat, 
 I will advance," was beaten. Security belongs to 
 things fundamental, but we may think too much of 
 security. We may allow our religion to find a per- 
 
SANS CAMOUFLAGE 139 
 
 sonal rather than a social goal. These men in the 
 Army are not drawn by a gospel of security. They 
 have thrown security to the wind. They are facing the 
 fire and are prepared for danger and death. 
 
 Personal safety has no charm. The Croix de Guerre 
 comes only when safety and security are abandoned. 
 The great word is service. Negative things have 
 passed away and behold, things have become positive. 
 The restrictions of home and church and comrades 
 have disappeared and men live an independent life. 
 Religion is no longer a matter of Sunday observance, 
 and church-going, and abstinence from card-playing. 
 All the frills and fashions of conventional religion 
 have gone, and the things of the spirit have become 
 of themselves the real and determining things of life. 
 The spirit of Pharisaism, all too intimately related 
 to conventional religion, is abhorred and the things 
 men do determine character. Thus it is that the su- 
 preme words of the Gospel become charged with new 
 meaning. Calvary, Gethsemane, and the Cross are 
 full of revealing truth and interpretative of the agony 
 of the battle-ground. Humanity for its own sake be- 
 comes sacred, and brotherhood is no longer a dream, 
 but a benediction. The motto on the picture of Joan 
 of Arc that hangs in her own little church at Dom- 
 remy, near where many American soldiers are billeted, 
 "Vitam pro fide dedit" is the motto of modern mili- 
 tant Christianity. We too are called upon to give 
 our lives for our faith. 
 
 I stood one day in the city of Verdun, that silent 
 city of the dead, with its shattered walls and broken 
 
140 PORT TO LISTENING POST 
 
 buildings, where more of humanity sleeps beneath its 
 ruins than has been in its streets since the siege ; that 
 city of 20,000 inhabitants, which burned for two 
 weeks, but which defied the might of the Crown 
 Prince and buried him in obscurity. We wandered 
 through its desolate and silent streets, with shrapnel 
 at our feet, the shops showing signs of having been 
 vacated suddenly, the trees shattered and torn by 
 shells. Instinctively we wandered into the cathedral, 
 that had stood on that same spot since the eleventh 
 century. Everything was gone; the roof had been 
 torn open, the windows shattered, the pillars broken 
 by shell and bomb. It was a scene of desolation and 
 of disaster. Its priests had disappeared, and only a 
 soldier in blue kept sentry duty over the sacred ruins. 
 The day before a shell had come crashing through 
 what was left of the roof and had embedded itself in 
 the marble floor. Everything was confusion and deso- 
 lation, and yet one thing remained. The high altar 
 was untouched. The high altar, resting on four spiral 
 porphyry pillars, was still unscathed. 
 
 One does not need to be superstitious to see in that 
 altar of sacrifice, standing in the midst of ruin and 
 desolation unharmed and untouched, a symbol of 
 faith, of imperishable reality, of the things that abide. 
 Amid the ruin, devastation, and destruction, the shat- 
 tering of purposes and plans, the thing that cannot be 
 shaken remains.