The Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Back From Hell', by Samuel Benson This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: 'Back From Hell' Author: Samuel Benson Release Date: May 19, 2015 [EBook #48997] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'BACK FROM HELL' *** Produced by Richard Hulse, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) "BACK FROM HELL" SAMUEL CRANSTON BENSON Who went to the war, a pacifist, but returned a fighting American. "Back From Hell" BY SAMUEL CRANSTON BENSON Illustrated CHICAGO A. C. MCCLURG & CO. 1918 Copyright A. C. McClurg & Co. 1918 Published September, 1918 Copyrighted in Great Britain W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO Dedicated to My Wife CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I A Former Pacifist 1 II Red Tape in Traveling 9 III How I Got into the Service 15 IV A Unit in Its Infancy 20 V The Northwest Front—Mud! 25 VI A Weird Night 30 VII The Red Cross 36 VIII When France Was First "Gassed" 42 IX When Jacques "Went West" 47 X "Trench Nightmare" 51 XI Calm Before a Storm 56 XII If an Ambulance Could Speak 60 XIII A Ticklish Attack 64 XIV The Death of a Comrade 67 XV On an Old Battle Ground 74 XVI The Verdun Attack—Life and Death 79 XVII Barrage, or Curtain Fire 93 XVIII The Ragpicker 106 XIX Camouflage 112 XX The Heroism of the Wounded 116 XXI The Treacherous "German Souvenir" 123 XXII The Nigger's Nose 128 XXIII Getting By the Consuls 132 XXIV A Close Shave 145 XXV Meeting Brand Whitlock 148 XXVI My Maps of Belgium 151 XXVII The "Cat and Mouse" Game 156 XXVIII Shadowed at Liége 159 XXIX Results of "Frightfulness" 163 XXX My Mental Processes 168 XXXI A Night in Louvain 174 XXXII Ruin and Death 178 XXXIII In the Palace of the King 187 XXXIV The Kaiser's Envy 190 XXXV Caught by the Huns and Tried as a Spy 196 XXXVI Threatened with Crucifixion 204 XXXVII My Escape and Return to Good Old France 210 XXXVIII No Man's Land 215 XXXIX Jean and "Frenchie" 223 XL The Psychology of France 228 XLI The Contagious Spirit of Sacrifice 233 XLI The Heritage of Hate 238 XLII "Back From Hell" 243 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Samuel Cranston Benson Frontispiece American Ambulance Headquarters, Neuilly, France 22 Ambulance Ready to Leave for the Front 22 An American Woman Caring for a Little Wounded French Child 38 An American Ambulance Ready for Duty 60 American Ambulances on the Road to the Front 80 Allied Troops Charging Through Barbed-Wire Entanglements 102 A Dressing Station Set Up on Newly Captured Ground 120 A Hurry Call 134 "Jumbo," the Biggest Ambulance on the Western Front 134 The Burning of a French Field Hospital 170 Ambulance Men Working Over a "Gassed" Soldier 225 Destruction of a French Hospital by a German Bomb 238 American Hospital at Neuilly Transferred to General Pershing 246 "Back From Hell" CHAPTER I A FORMER PACIFIST When the old Chicago cut loose from her moorings in an Atlantic port it was a red letter day for me. She was a good sized craft, of the French Line, and was to carry a lot of other Americans, besides myself, from the United States to France. We were all in a spirit of expectancy, mingled perhaps with sadness, for we were going over to see and have a hand in the most stupendous event of history, the Great War. Although many different motives actuated us, our destination was the same, and all of us would soon be within striking distance of the scene of action. Some of those on board were going primarily from a sense of duty and gratitude to the great European Republic, whose men had come over here in '76 to help America kick off the chains which George III had welded on her ankles, and secondarily, because they wanted to kill a few of the Germans whom they right well hated. Others were going, and made no bones about saying so, because they were natural born soldiers of fortune and were inclined to go anywhere that action and excitement were likely to be found. A few were to be mere onlookers who were crossing the sea as students of a great world movement, who, from an economic or social point of view, would tabulate in a cold and matter-of-course way, the facts which they observed and the conclusions to which they came. [Pg 1] [Pg 2] I belonged to neither of these classes. I was an innocent idealist, though soon, alas, to be disillusioned. I had resigned a comfortable pastorate in order to go over and, as I conceived of it, relieve the pain and soothe the fevered brow of those who were in suffering, irrespective of whether they were Allies or Germans, and thus help usher in a world Utopia. I had always taken myself rather too seriously at home, and thought I was a broad-visioned person whose universality of mind elevated me to a position where I could see beyond provincial boundary lines, and overlook such things as race and creed and national ideals, thinking of all men as made in the image of God, and all destined for one great goal which was the Brotherhood of Man, where all would be happy, and each would deal justly and kindly with his neighbor. It is a natural tendency, I suppose, of most ministers to be optimistic about the ultimate outcome of the human race, and I was one of this class. I had buttoned my long frock coat close about my collar and rubbed my hands in that familiar, good-natured way, saying that sometime national prejudices would be wiped out and the people of the various countries would come to see each other's viewpoints, and then their differences would vanish away. I hadn't yet seen the German at his worst. The time would come, I thought, when all would fraternize as God intended that they should and this wicked rivalry and jealousy would cease. It seemed to me that even my fellow-Americans, along with the French and other nations, were too narrow in their views of things, and that, they were equally guilty with the Germans in failing or refusing to understand the minds of other people. The men who had urged intervention in Mexico and intervention in Europe, I took it, were men who were engaged in manufacturing munitions, or who were directly interested in war from a business point of view. They wanted dollars. A part of my philosophy was that God would bring about a settlement of all these conflicts in His own good time, and we need not worry about it. Another part of my philosophy, so it happened, was pacifism. I was a great admirer of William Jennings Bryan, and I thought his peace teaching was—well—great stuff! I had interpreted the life and teaching of Jesus as being unalterably opposed to violence of any kind. No matter what the circumstance, bloodshed could not be justified. "Resist not evil" was His ideal and, therefore, it should be mine also, and as I look at it now, I guess I went even further than He did, in my theories at any rate. For He did use violence occasionally, when it was necessary. "If a man smite thee on one cheek, turn the other also," was my motto, and I did not believe in striking back. Tolstoi, with his doctrine of nonresistance, from whom Mr. Bryan received large influence, as he once told me, was my ideal man, and the only real Christian since Jesus. I had also said there would never be another war; a war of any size. I knew, of course, that there had always been crusades in history, and even the most religious people had killed each other by thousands, and had often made the claim that God had told them to do so, but I considered them to have been misguided fanatics of an outgrown age who may have thought they were doing right, but who were in reality committing murder and breaking God's great law. My father had also been a minister, and he was so meek and peaceful that he held one pastorate for a quarter of a century, a thing which, by the way, I doubt if I shall ever do! He was inclined to be a bit pessimistic and to lament the heartless struggle which takes place all through nature and human life, and he was extremely pacific. I inherited the same traits. My mother also had been a peace-loving woman, but she believed in justice, and I think I inherited from her my aggressive disposition. I was such a pacifist that I was militant in it and sometimes alienated even my admirers by my doctrine. However, after Europe went to war I could see the storm gathering in the United States, and I looked upon it with feelings of fear and foreboding. I was down in the depths. I felt that "over there" they were already, and over here it was likely that we soon would be violating God's commandment, "THOU SHALT NOT KILL." I did not believe in killing. I had lectured with David Starr Jordan and spoken with Mr. Bryan. I hated war. As a minister of the gospel my natural inclination was to preach gentle forgiveness and tender mercy, and how I did preach it! I was for peace at any price. I preached peace in my church and I preached it on the street. I even went so far as to rent halls and denounce the doctrine of military preparedness as a dangerous and vicious propaganda. I declared with all my power that America ought to keep herself out of this war and that she ought to suffer any indignity rather than take up the sword and slay other people. I said that was murder. While not approving of the sinking of the merchant ships, yet I said that those people who traveled on belligerent vessels did so at their own risk and that the United States ought not to bring blood upon her hands because others had done so. I had no antipathy toward the German people. I liked them. I had shown this by studying German in college as my only foreign language. I joined the "Deutscher Verein" as my only fraternity, and when I went abroad to study, it was a German university that I sought. I knew of course that Germany's military system was a despotic one and that her own people were virtually slaves to the government. But above all I cried "Peace for the United States!" So when I resigned my pulpit in Patton, Pa., and told my congregation that I was going to the scene of war in Belgium, they were astonished beyond measure. I hastened to reassure them, however, that the purpose of my going was not to fight, but rather to relieve distress and carry in the wounded. I had felt a call to take up this task, and at this they became somewhat more reconciled. So in a few weeks' time I was on my way. [Pg 3] [Pg 4] [Pg 5] [Pg 6] [Pg 7] When I embarked upon that great ship in New York I was alone. And I want to tell you if you have never gone down the long pier and walked in solitude up the gangplank of a transatlantic liner you cannot imagine the feeling of loneliness I had. Especially strong was this feeling because that ship was to take me to the hell of a world war and I did not know to what else. As we put off and glided down by that old Statue of Liberty, leaving it in the distance, I began to cry, for I didn't know whether I should ever see it again. It seemed as if I had said good-bye to my last friend. Many of the people aboard were foreigners and I suppose I looked a pathetic figure as I stood there. I know I felt like one. That night the lights were doused and we began to realize that things were serious. When great ships sail in darkness there is something wrong. The ensuing voyage lasted ten days and when I was not walking the decks those days I used to lie in my berth and look out the porthole and often wonder what was ahead for me. After a week and a half on the ocean we finally landed on the coast of France. Meanwhile I had made several acquaintances, mainly with French people, and I had begun to think I had learned their language. A rude awakening was in store for me before I had been in France an hour! CHAPTER II RED TAPE IN TRAVELING As we bumped into the dock at Havre I was given my first scare. I was taken in charge by a French soldier who wore a red and blue cap, a huge overcoat with the corners buttoned back, and red trousers with the lower parts stuck in his boots. These things, however, did not have any particular interest for me; not that I was an indifferent onlooker by any means, but the thing I was interested in was on the end of his rifle; the big shining steel bayonet, which to me had a most vicious aspect. It was sixteen inches long but I thought it looked like sixteen feet. Without losing any time this man took me over to the Registration Department, where another man asked me a lot of fool questions, scanned my passport, and finally gave me a permit of some kind or other. I then asked him what time the train went to Paris. "One minute," he said in French. I thought I'd have to hustle, but he was very deliberate. He filled out a printed blank, taking five minutes to do so and then handed it to me, saying in English, "Zis will give you ze permission to inquire what time ze train goes to Parees." From that moment on my stay in Europe, as I now look back upon it, was one continuous performance of asking for, and getting, or being refused, permits to go somewhere or to come somewhere or to remain somewhere. Now time, money, and patience were all limited assets with me, but the European officials did not seem to realize this or else were very inconsiderate. They wasted half my time, extracted at least two-thirds of my money, and absolutely exhausted my patience. At risk of having my name instantly recommended for membership in the Ananias Club, I will defiantly state that I had to have five different kinds of papers on my person to allow me to start for Paris, to get to Paris, to remain in Paris, to be identified in Paris, and to drive an automobile in Paris. If I slipped a cog anywhere I was lost. They say a chain is no stronger than its weakest link, and I had to possess every link in this chain of paper. I remember one fellow who had lost his permit to come to Paris. When he passed his examination for a driver's license, the old fossil in charge would not give it to him. As I understood the matter, the theory was that he could not possibly be in Paris at the time as he could show no paper allowing him to come. And let me say in passing, some of these papers come high. I have figured it all up many times, and as near as I can estimate, the papers, all told, which I had to take out during my European stay, set me back about fifty pounds, five shillings and four pence, or in the neighborhood of two hundred and fifty dollars. It seemed as though every time I turned around some fellow was extending to me a handful of papers and an empty palm. But relieving me of money was not all. The red tape connected with it was what worried me most. Before I could receive the particular permit I wanted, I usually had to take another paper over to another man and swear to a lot of things and get his O. K. upon it. This went hard with me because I'm not used to swearing. I'm a preacher. In my experience the application was a more formidable thing than the permit itself, and then after I finally received the permit I had to take it down to the Prefect of Police and have it registered before evening. If this was neglected my permit was invalidated and the whole performance had to be gone over again next day. After the permit was registered I had to bring back the voucher of registration and deposit it with the man who issued the permit. The reason for all this is that every nation in the war takes it for granted that every foreigner is a spy, until he is proved not to be, and every nation not in the war thinks all visitors are trying to get them to violate their neutrality and thus get them into the war. I will admit, however, that dealing with neutral diplomats is a lot easier than dealing with the belligerents. Then also you have to remember a great many passwords. If you go out of Paris you are given a password, after proving your right to receive the same, and you can't get in again until you give it. If you happen to go to another town or city on the same trip, the same thing happens, only the password is different and all of them change every day. So it is not hard to imagine something of the intricate system which is kept up, and the confusing details which are required in order to get from one place to another and back again. Of course, if you absolutely forget or lose the password, there [Pg 8] [Pg 9] [Pg 10] [Pg 11] [Pg 12] [Pg 13] are other alternatives but they require a tremendous lot of red tape. You can hunt up the proper official, wait until he is at leisure, perhaps two hours, tell him about your unfortunate predicament, present all your papers, and after convincing him that you are entitled to the password you may receive it from him if he is willing to give it to you. I traveled in Europe before the war and it irritated me as it does most Americans, to be compelled incessantly to register my name and address, age, occupation, place of birth, and the same details of my father and mother, place of entering the country and length of time I had been there; but this was nothing compared to the formalities and the irritating requirements of the present time. French officials try to be as accommodating and polite as possible, but if you object to any point, they tell you with a shrug of the shoulders, that they must live up to the regulations and that they must be very careful, as the country is full of spies and peace propagandists. If you travel at all through the country by automobile, you have to come to a halt at every crossroad and every bridge. Patrols with rifles are stationed at these places and the man who tried to run by one of these would be shot down instantly. You are required to produce all your papers, which are scanned by the guards, who, if satisfied, will then let you drive on in peace until you come to the next guarded point. If the guards are not satisfied, you sheepishly turn your car around, go back to Paris, get your papers rectified, or get additional ones and strike out again. You often lose hours of time and, not infrequently, days as well, in getting the required permits. You get angry at first, but it does no good and you may as well quickly learn to keep your temper, for when you think it all over you will realize that when such a vital issue is at stake, every possible precaution must be taken. CHAPTER III HOW I GOT INTO THE SERVICE My first formal call when I got to Paris was upon Ambassador Sharp. This, however, was not until I had been in the city several days. I had become acquainted on the ship with a party of Serbians who had been mining up in Alaska and were now going back to fight the Austrians. They had some difficulty and delay in arranging their passports, so I remained with them until they got away. When at last I called on Mr. Sharp and told him I wanted to go to Belgium, he asked me why I didn't stay and do relief work in France. He informed me that I would not be allowed to go to Belgium anyway, as the German Government had already required the United States to withdraw many of the consuls. He said my work was needed there in France. Of course I agreed with him—under the circumstances! Acting upon his suggestion and with his letter of endorsement I went to Neuilly and applied for work in the now well-known American Ambulance. I was accepted almost immediately and then I carefully removed my frock coat and folded it up. Without delay I received a uniform and equipment and set to work. The outfit was issued to me free, although men with plenty of money had to pay for theirs. I remember having my picture taken in uniform and sending it to my parishioners in the States, who wrote back and told me of the interest and comment it caused when shown at a church social. From the outset we were very busy. I was put on the base or Paris squad in the beginning, as most all of the new men were, temporarily, and the very first night I was sent out with a Swiss Frenchman to a depot at Aubervilliers, which was being used as a receiving hospital. There on the floor of that great building many hundreds of wounded soldiers lay mutilated and suffering. Some had their jaws blown off. Others had eyes or noses gone. I shall never forget that dreary night. There was a cold rain driving and I was soaked to the skin, but there were many human beings who suffered worse than I did for their country's sake. When I saw one man who had been hit by a German dumdum or explosive bullet, I gritted my teeth. We were kept working all night transporting those poor fellows in Ford ambulances from the railroad station to the different hospitals, as the French officers instructed. On each trip we carried three lying-down cases, or if the wounded could sit up we conveyed five. For some time thereafter this was our main work. But after several weeks had passed, the winter began to break and with it the spring offensive opened up. I was with section two of the Ambulance, later called section Y, and a very capable man from the Middle West, was in charge as commander. This section had been stationed at Beauvais, doing local duty mainly, but occasionally working up toward the Soissons Sector and on a line directly south of Ypres, afterward being transferred to the East. The wounded, whom we carried, were little more than bundles of mud and rain-soaked, blood-stained masses of human pulp. Most of them were French soldiers, we being with the French forces, but we did have also quite a number of British Tommies and still more Belgians. I shall always think of those Belgians as such plucky fellows. No matter how badly wounded they were, as a rule when we talked with them, and spoke about getting the "Allemands" or the "Boches" or the "Kaiser" they would double up their fists and jocularly show fight by hitting him an imaginary undercut, or they would draw their open hands across their throats and say, "The Kaiser Kaput!" At first I liked the Belgians best. One night we carried a Belgian soldier who had both legs and both arms fractured, and every time we made a move he must have suffered the tortures of hell, yet never a sound came from him. In fact their stoicism was remarkable; hardly ever was there any groaning or complaining. But as time went on and we became better acquainted with the French disposition, through intimate contact with French individuals, we liked them better. At first, I had not cared much for the French. I am ashamed to say it now, as it was [Pg 14] [Pg 15] [Pg 16] [Pg 17] [Pg 18] my own lack of appreciation, but when my eyes at last were opened, my regard for them became high and lasting. One day after a terrible bombardment near S——, a blessé or wounded soldier, whom we had carried back to the hospital said, "Comrade, I love the Americans." I did not reply at once. He continued, "Do you love the French?" "Yes," I said, "I have come to love them very deeply. At first I did not know about it but now I do." He lay very still and white, and after a moment said, "Mutual understanding is the basis of love," and then he went to sleep. He never woke up. Many a poor mangled poilu who was just about to "go West" spoke in the same strain, and I came to realize that the old love for America which LaFayette had kindled over a century before, still lurked in the heart of France. America threw off the tyrant's yoke in 1776, and France threw off the despot's chains in 1789, and thirteen years is a very small difference in ages between brothers, nationally speaking. Since then both Republics have made a lot of mistakes and rectified many of them, but let it be said both have made marvelous records in the development of democratic government and they are now working and fighting side by side, comrades in the cause of human liberty. CHAPTER IV A UNIT IN ITS INFANCY The story of the American Ambulance Service has been written by abler pens than mine and so I will give but a brief account of it. When the war first began the idea of serving France through ambulance work was conceived by a few large-visioned Americans. The plant of the fine new boys' school called the "Lycée Pasteur" was turned over to these men for the ambulance headquarters. The beginnings had been small, Henry Ford having donated in 1914 ten ambulances with which the movement started. Early in the next year, however, the American Ambulance institution became attached to the French forces which were in active service. The work of the preceding months was quite essential in its way, as its errors no doubt pointed out the path to the later efficiency, and a larger number of ambulances were being accumulated from week to week. The first donation of machines made it possible for the organization at the very beginning to participate in the transport work, and the ever increasing number of cars necessitated the forming of squads in the endeavor to broaden the scope of the service. There were at first five ambulances in each squad and these were loaned to the French forces, but because the squads were so small they were used by the French to supplement the regular government sections which were already in action behind the lines. Their chief work was that of hospital evacuation, which it was soon perceived could be performed more advantageously by the heavier ambulances of the sections which had been working at these hospitals before. But in the early spring a change was made in the organization of the American service and a new man was given charge. Through his influence the French officials gave the American Ambulance Service a trial on the firing line. A section was dispatched to the Vosges which soon gained the recognition of its commanders, who requested that it be doubled in size. When this request was complied with, the section moved to the front in Alsace, in connection with a similar French section. Very soon after another section of the same size was organized and sent to Pont-à-Mousson, connected also, as the former one had been, with a French section. During this time also a squad had been stationed at Dunkirk in northern France. The American Field Service was at last a reality. These three sections now began to make history and demonstrated considerable usefulness to the cause. The Americans in Alsace took over the dressing station on the battle line, and soon found themselves caring for an entire region, which became famous for its baptism of fire. The section at Pont-à-Mousson has an enviable record. When it first went to Pont-à-Mousson the French service which was already stationed there was amalgamated with it. Later on this section made the mountain dressing stations possible, which heretofore had been quite impossible. The section at Dunkirk had been engaged in caring for the wounded from air raids and from bombardments by the Germans almost twenty miles away. This section was now honored by being doubled again and given work to do at several important points along the battle line, and with the French army in Belgium. All the sections now became of acknowledged value and in a remarkably short period their practical possibilities were recognized. Wherever possible the French sections were speedily removed and the whole work given over to the American units. No car could have been chosen for ambulance service which was better fitted for it than the Ford. The mud is the greatest problem around Dunkirk, but it was no barrier to the Ford. The large supply trucks at Pont-à- Mousson were outstripped by the Fords, and the slow and somewhat clumsy mules in Alsace were superseded by them. The drivers were largely college men from Yale, Harvard, Princeton, Columbia, and other universities, who put great action and inspiration into the service. Later on the section from Dunkirk was sent up to the Aisne. The section at Pont-à-Mousson went to Verdun, and that in Alsace was sent over to Pont-à-Mousson. Several other sections were also organized and played a most important part in transporting the wounded of the Allies. [Pg 19] [Pg 20] [Pg 21] [Pg 22] [Pg 23] AMERICAN AMBULANCE HEADQUARTERS, NEUILLY, FRANCE. This magnificent building was its first home. AMBULANCES READY TO LEAVE FOR THE FRONT. From the very first day of mobilization it had been a terrible problem for the French, who needed every last man to fight the enemy, to spare enough to care for those who were wounded in the fighting. This is most important work, as it means the getting of the wounded men into shape as quickly as possible, so they can be put into the fighting line again. The world knows that from the first the man power of the French Republic has been strained to its capacity and the French welcomed with joy the aid which the Americans offered in this direction. It released many of their own men and furnished many cars which otherwise they would have had to supply themselves, diverting them from the most vital points. The taxicab army which Paris sent out in the first days of the war was not equipped for ambulance work, and so from that time on, for almost three years, the men and ambulances from America were utilized and welcomed with enthusiasm. The French will never forget and certainly the Americans will remember with pride the assistance they were able to render in the days when the liberty and existence of the nation hung by a pathetically slender thread. CHAPTER V THE NORTHWEST FRONT—MUD! The section which had been at Dunkirk and in Flanders had some interesting experiences. The larger part of the time the boys were put up in stables and slept on straw or in the ambulances. They had gone out in the early spring and were detailed to work around Dunkirk carrying the blessés from the freight depot to the several hospitals as the French authorities directed. Working in mud under air raids and long range bombardments was not unusual to them. The history of the northwest front is a history of men in mud. From Dunkirk to Verdun and much farther, this ugly nightmare tears the soul. The world has heard of the mud in Flanders, long ere this, and I believe this war has done more to advertise the real estate of that country than anything else could do. I suppose the people of the Western Hemisphere never knew there was so much mud in the world. I know I never did. And Flanders is not the only place that has it either. That entire front is blessed with it extending two hundred miles long and almost two feet deep. If I had unlimited time I would figure up just how much mud there was. We think we have mud in America, Missouri boasts of most of it, and has thus become proverbial. I once read of an old colonel who was riding along on his horse one day in Missouri during the Civil War when he saw an old hat lying in the mud on the side of the road. Strange to say, the hat kept revolving, first one way and then the other. The colonel's curiosity finally got the better of him and he dismounted and went over to where the hat was lying. Giving it a kick he discovered a private's head under it smiling up at him graciously. "Well, my man," said the colonel, "you'll pardon me, but can I do anything to help you? You seem to be in a pretty bad way." "Oh, yes," answered the private, "but as for myself, I'll make out all right, for I can breathe. It's not myself I'm worrying about, but the horse that's under me sure is in a bad way." I thought of this story a thousand times while over there, and I think I told it at least half that number of times. The mud in the spring is so thick that it oppresses one. It gets on your mind as well as on your body. A person who only has an occasional trip may laugh at it, but when one drives through it day and night, and night and day for weeks the humor of it all wears off. It becomes a mighty serious affair. In many places it is thick and sticky like bread dough and piles up on your wheels or feet making it almost impossible to move. The clay, or gumbo, in America cannot compare with it. It is whitish gray in color and even when it is not heavy it is exceedingly disagreeable. It splashes on your clothes and flies in your eyes. It gets into your ears, your nose, and your hair, and not infrequently into your mouth if you talk or laugh too much. It has a resemblance to gray paint and partakes very much of its nature. Once it gets on your clothes it is impossible to get it off and it even sticks to and stains your flesh so that it requires hard scrubbing with soap and hot water to remove it. Yet when it splashes you in this manner it is pleasant—compared to the discouraging effect when it is heavy! One day when I was going to a shop with an empty car for some repairs, I met my old antagonist, French mud. It was the genuine article this time too, the kind that gets a hold and doesn't let go. I was turning out of the road to allow a camion to go by but in my eagerness to avoid it I swerved an inch too far. Little by little I felt the back end of my car sliding off the road so I threw in low speed and opened the gas. The front wheels stayed on the higher ground but the rear wheels seemed to be trying to catch up with them and finally did so, but when they did, they pulled the whole car off into the gutter which was not steep but oh, so muddy. I labored and struggled with the gas and the low speed. I groaned and swore, I stalled my engine and got out to crank it, and when I did I couldn't get in again. I used up ten minutes in getting my feet out of that mud and getting them cleaned up. I tried it again but it was no use, the car would not come, for it was stuck. That was the only explanation there was, it was stuck in French mud. Not having any chains [Pg 24] [Pg 25] [Pg 26] [Pg 27] [Pg 28] I tried to put sticks and boards under the wheels and I succeeded but they went so far under that I could not see what became of them. I finally began pulling a farmer's rail fence to pieces in my attempt to pry out the wheels and get a foundation to start from, but at last I had to walk more than a mile till I found two men at a farmhouse who came down with a heavy team to pull me out. When they arrived at the place where the car was stuck, lo, the fence which I had dismantled belonged to one of the men. He looked at me with a peculiar expression. I thought he was angry and was going to scold me and demand payment for damage to his property. In a couple of seconds, however, we both burst out into a hearty laugh for he appreciated the situation as well as I. With a large log chain looped around the front axle of the car the great horses put their necks into the collar and hauled it out. The men would not accept a cent of pay, one of them saying, "Not a sou, it's for France." CHAPTER VI A WEIRD NIGHT One midnight after a certain engagement "somewhere in France" in which many men fell, I learned of an experience which burned its way into my soul, and I believe will stay there till the Judgment Day. I have read in history of individuals such as the one I am telling of, but never in my life have I had actual knowledge of any but this one, and I hope that I shall hereafter forever be delivered from such. This particular night the firing for some reason had suddenly ceased. A man named Valke was an emergency watcher at a listening post, when the most blood-curdling thing I have ever known occurred. A listening post is a branch off from the main trench toward the enemy or in his general direction, which is dug secretly as you go, the dirt being carried back in bags so as not to disclose its location. These posts must be changed often, as the enemy is apt to discover them, and then look out! Valke was standing in the darkness and seclusion of the post when a shriek rent the air, the sound of which he said he would hear through eternity. It came from a man who was prostrate on the ground. He had noticed the body lying there before, a few yards away, and had assumed that the man was dead. He was a Frenchman, and on account of the darkness could be seen with difficulty. But he was not dead, only unconscious, and something had suddenly revived him. "O God," he cried, "my marriage ring!" and then he moaned and groaned like a lost soul in agony. Immediately another form raised up to full stature and looked quickly about. Valke had to strain his eyes to see him and he trembled with nervousness. He did not know what to do for an instant. The man's head jerked this way and that. He must have expected someone to hear the cries and groans of the other man, and evidently was looking around for watchers or listeners. The Frenchman kept on groaning, and the man, seeming to fear that if any watchers were near, they would immediately let loose upon him, started to run. Valke kept very still in his dark post. Suddenly the fugitive stopped. He turned and ran back to the prostrate Frenchman. Valke saw the gleam of a knife drawn from a sheath. It was in the hand of the apache. In an instant the horrid thing was done—a swift movement of the arm, a flash, and the blade plunged into the body of the helpless soldier! Then silence: silence more terrible than the groans of agony that it stilled. Valke's fists clinched by instinct, the nails cutting into the very flesh of his palms; and then his right hand went to the holster on his hip. It was all too plain: the hideous vulture of the battlefield knew that "dead men tell no tales," and that the wounded sometimes recover and tell things that lead to fearful reprisals on their enemies. More than that: wounded men cry out and groan; but the dead are quiet. The knife had done its work: escape might be surer for the assassin. That's the logic of ghouls. Valke drew his service pistol, but hesitated to fire. To do so might betray his listening post and draw the enemy's shrapnel; it might be fatal to the section. In the second that Valke cast up the chances, he heard whisperings from another listening post. The ghoul had risen and was slinking for cover when the crack of a rifle tore a gap in the stillness. A light flashed up fifty yards ahead. Instinctively, the prowler sought the cover of a bush nearby and waited for the lapse of attention which might let him dash to safety. A sentry on patrol came up, passed, and vanished. That was the apache's chance! He came out of hiding and skulked along the entanglements hoping to find an alleyway to safety. The way led him right in front of Valke's listening post. A flash lamp shot its beam of blinding light full on the assassin's face. "Who goes there?" challenged Valke. No answer. "Who goes there?" ... Silence; not a sound. "Qui Vive?" ... No reply. "Qui Vive?" ... Then Valke pressed the trigger and with a groan the apache crumpled up, dead. "For a minute," said Valke in telling me the story, "the thought of what I had done made me shudder, though it was nothing but a plain matter of army duty. The man had been challenged, well knowing the penalty of war for silence. And yet—I had killed him! It made me feel faint. But when we examined the body it was all right again inside of me. That German held in his hand a bleeding human finger, still at blood heat, and around that finger was a marriage ring! In his [Pg 29] [Pg 30] [Pg 31] [Pg 32] [Pg 33] [Pg 34] pocket he had an emblem pin and a gold watch and chain; and on his own finger a diamond ring—all snatched from the dead or dying bodies of men who had made the supreme sacrifice for France! Who could pity such a vile ghoul as he?" From that hour I believe my transformation began. I thought of my sacred calling, the ministry. My church at home flashed into my mind. What would people think? How would I stand in the eyes of God? I reflected on my former teachings and beliefs. Could I face my friends, to whom I had preached peace and gentleness, now that I had applauded violence and war? Was it right or justifiable? My mind was very much perturbed and I was extremely nervous. A process of moral regeneration of my ideas was going on. This, I now believe, to be as important as a man's spiritual conversion, and step by step this book unfolds the process in my life. I stood at an hour of decision. I faced life. Its issues must be met. Here in the presence of death I had my supreme struggle. Time divided! The roads parted. Eternity was ahead. Where was I? I was in hell! Right then it surrounded, enveloped, engulfed me. The hour was freighted with destiny. Then came a sudden high resolve. "I must take the path of right and duty, wherever it may lead, e'en 'though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Thou art with me.' Duty may require violence and war." My pacifism began to fade away, as I saw visions of mutilated men. Then all went black. CHAPTER VII THE RED CROSS Caring for men, not only those who are wounded, but for those who are sick or in trouble as well, the Red Cross is without a doubt the greatest relief organization in the world today. It is so far-reaching in its scope that it does not stop with the soldiers, but includes also in its ministrations indirect victims of war—the widows, the fatherless, the aged left desolate, the homeless, and the refugees of every age and condition of life. Heretofore some people have had a wrong impression of this great agency, thinking that it ministered merely to unfortunate men on the battle field. This is far from being the case, however. It holds out its hand of hope and help to many other thousands who would languish in hopelessness and despair but for its kindly succor. To be sure in war time the most critical point of all is the battle line. And the most important man is the soldier. He must be kept fit to do his work or all else fails. Therefore naturally enough the Red Cross, or Croix Rouge as it is called in France, focuses its attention mainly on the fighting men. The problem of caring for the wounded in the present conflict is so different and so much more vast than in any previous war that a comparison is well nigh impossible. Back in our Civil War there was no Red Cross organization and the facilities for attending to the needs of the injured and the sick were extremely limited to say the least. Consequently while we did the best we could, hours and days often passed, before a Wounded soldier could be attended to, and many deaths ensued which would be avoided today. In fact the mortality percentage was immensely higher than in the present war. This sounds almost unbelievable in view of the many fearful devices which the Germans have used and the constant reports of awful carnage. But when we base our death estimates upon the actual number of men engaged the face of the situation changes very materially. We must remember that even in time of peace in civil life among twenty million men there will be thousands of deaths each day and the chances of saving a sick or wounded man are far greater today than ever before. The marvelous Red Cross institution has sought out the best physicians and surgeons of every country and the most efficient nurses as aids; and by research investigation and experiments has brought down to the finest point that science has yet attained the matter of saving life. Any person who has had anything whatever to do with this great agency will testify to its marvelous skill and efficiency. Moreover, aside from its merely utilitarian aspect, there goes with the Red Cross Angel in Europe that sentimental sweetness and that delicate touch which is so treasured by the heart of every soldier. It is the beginning, by the greatest Mother in the world of the fulfillment of the prophecy of Jesus, "I was hungry, and ye gave me to eat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me; I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto me; verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these my brethren, even these least, ye did it unto me." In this way real religion is practiced in the trenches. In this way is that new Christianity taking shape in Europe which is to be the religion of the future in America. Copyright, Underwood & Underwood, N. Y. AN AMERICAN WOMAN CARING FOR A LITTLE WOUNDED FRENCH CHILD. Another of the great movements for the uplift and welfare of the soldiers is the Y. M. C. A. It has long been recognized that there are many strong and peculiar temptations in the life of a soldier which do not come to people in the ordinary walks of life. The first of these is the temptation to homesickness. With armies from all over the world concentrated in France, and with millions of boys for the first time in their lives separated from their old associates and environments and set down in the midst of a new atmosphere among people of a foreign tongue and different habits and modes of living, it [Pg 35] [Pg 36] [Pg 37] [Pg 38] [Pg 39] would be strange, indeed, if they did not have a longing for home, old acquaintances, and familiar faces. Companionship and sympathy are the things they need above all else. Confidential relations between themselves and those whom they can call friends is worth everything, and this is exactly what the Y. M. C. A. establishes. It counteracts, if not entirely in large part at any rate, the tendency toward homesickness. In a land which is strange, where there are no acquaintances and no home atmosphere, the Y. M. C. A. secretaries and the Y. M. C. A. huts furnish the only touch of home that the soldier has. Here he comes when tired and beaten and spent with war; here his footsteps turn when his soul longs for an association which money cannot buy. Here he finds exactly what he needs, namely other boys who are lonely too and who are seeking the same satisfaction that he wants. In the hut he first finds the secretary. The man who has charge of the building is there to be used in any way he is needed. He is not there to push religion on to homesick soldiers. Above all things, remember that the secretary is a failure who is continually trying to force his religion down the throats of the men and boys who want good fellowship. After gaining the friendship and respect of a man and his confidence it is not unlikely that the influence of a secretary will exert itself in a religious manner; but even then it will be indirectly, unless and until there is some definite evidence from the man himself that he is interested and wants it. In other words the Y. M. C. A. as such, is not a revival meeting whose object is to impress the weight of men's sins upon them when that weight presses heavily enough anyway; but rather it is a place of human feelings and homelike atmosphere. A boy comes in and finds writing paper for a letter to his mother. In one corner at the top is the Red Triangle, emblem of body, mind, and spirit; and in the other corner are the words: "With the Colors." When the letter is written, stamps can be had in the building and the letter is mailed there. The boys have different kinds of games to play and good books to read so that with the amusement and comradeship they can also get some mental benefit. When a man comes in from the trenches dirty and fatigued and about disgusted, there is nothing else in the whole makeup of the war-organization which will do what this institution does. The Knights of Columbus contribute quite as freely to the comfort of the soldiers, and I do not believe there is a boy on the Western front who would tolerate a word against either of them. It strikes me that the religion of the Red Cross type —a type which includes the Y. M. C. A. and the Knights of Columbus—is the kind which the Master exemplified in His life and the kind which he intended for us. I feel that it is a far truer and higher form of religion than many of the brands that are being peddled about the world today, and I hope when the war is over, that the whole world may adopt it. CHAPTER VIII WHEN FRANCE WAS FIRST "GASSED" At the stations these days we found numbers of poilus who were "done in" by the German explosive bullets, many of them breathing their last. Poor devils, writhing in pain and agony! It was bad enough to have their flesh penetrated by the capsule of lead and steel, but to have added to it the excruciating torture of having the bullet explode or expand after it got inside, was fiendish. But such was the German's idea of "military necessity." They had thrust aside every consideration of humanity, and every ideal of morality, and were employing ruthless and frightful methods to gain their military goal, which as they said "must be attained at all costs." And cost it did. It cost innocent life and untold agony. It was daily costing conscience and character. It was costing Germany that standing among the nations which is so necessary to the future, and she was sacrificing her national honor for transitory dreams of power and wealth. The Germans had employed the most fearful implements that the genius of their fertile brains could devise. Liquid fire which seared the flesh, and electric currents which burned most dreadfully, were among the lighter forms of their torturous warfare. The poison gases capped the climax. One afternoon, at the second battle of Ypres, they let loose this demon of the devil. From a distance of two miles the ambulance men had been watching the engagement, waiting for the signal to come forward to transport the wounded men. The field glasses betrayed every movement on the battle line. Suddenly, and without any...