Chapter C: B. Humphrey, (1)

_Colonel Infantry, U. S. A.,
Commanding._

Official:
PAUL S. BLISS,
_Capt. Inf., U. S. A., Adjutant._

The 805th had three men at the University of London during the educational period, Sergeant Major Marriott, and Sergeants Walter Powers and Leonard Barnett. This was another testimony to the worth of its personnel.

The 806th formed at Camp Funston at about the same time as the 805th, and the 815th and 816th, formed there later, were made up in much the same way. Twelve hundred enlisted men of 158th Depot Brigade made the foundation of the 802nd Pioneer Infantry, formed at Camp Sherman, while other groups from the regular army were distributed through the regiment.

The outstanding characteristic of these regiments was their rapid mobilization and departure for France. Very brief, at best, was the training they received in the American camps. In some instances it was as highly intensive and thorough as time allowed. The great mass of these men had known absolutely nothing of military life six weeks, and, in some cases, three weeks, before taking transport for France. But they went as others had gone, resolute and firm in faith. As they sailed away, their folk knew that they had given the residue of their strong young manhood. The last hope of the colored Americans had been cheerfully placed upon the altar as their gift. It was their last grim insistence on the triumph of the Great Cause for which the race stood so desperately in need.

A wonderful sight were those convoys with their mighty hosts, as they plowed their way across those three thousand miles of periled ocean! More wonderful if we can really realize that for them death was ever near, hiding its piratical and cruel head beneath the waves. Relative to a voyage across at that time we quote from the history of one of the regiments the following:

“At least once daily, and often three times, the bugle sounded ‘Boat
Call’ and thereupon everyone hurried to his assigned place. Fire
drills often accompanied boat drills.

“Each vessel bore a heavy gun astern and howitzers forward for firing
depth bombs. Details were told off to help serve the guns. During the
last four days out officers were posted alternately with enlisted men
on submarine lookout posts, so that there were five officers, and
five enlisted men continually on this duty in addition to the regular
guard.

“Portholes were closed at dusk throughout the entire voyage and no
smoking outside was permitted after dark. Silence on deck after dark
was also prescribed during the last four days. No bugle calls were
permitted during foggy weather.

“Good ships had gone down in the same area and there were times
when there was anxiety. Once a mine was sighted and passed at about
sixty feet. The matter was flashed to the destroyers who went to the
spot and dropped depth bombs. Two days out word was received that a
submarine had been sighted by a destroyer dead ahead. At the same
time the cruiser signalled and the whole convoy literally ‘went by
the left flank.’ From that time on the course was changed every few
minutes.”

So, not only that regiment but others crossed. And some others had far more exciting and hazardous times fighting those German sea monsters. On both sides of the Atlantic there was anxious waiting; and now and then it was useless waiting, for as these brave sons journeyed across, some found their graves in the deep gray fathomless deep. There white crosses and poppies may not be found, but resting in that mysterious sea world, new emblems of honor, beautiful and sparkling, will decorate them for all time.

We were with the soldiers in France, cut off almost entirely from the outer world. One morning the word was flashed through camp that a whole regiment of Pioneer Infantry had arrived. “What are Pioneer Infantries?” everyone asked. Many answers were volunteered but none very satisfactory. This ignorance was not altogether our own fault. We had heard no mention of pioneers in those first days of mobilization before we left the United States. Our “continental editions” of the New York _Herald_, London _Times_, and Chicago _Tribune_ were just about as meagre of information as they were of size. True, friends sent us magazines and papers, but in those days they rarely reached us. So we asked—“What are Pioneer Infantries?”

All were quickly at work preparing to receive the newcomers. An addition of three thousand men meant extra work. Reams of paper and thousands of envelopes had to be prepared for easy distribution, because writing material was the very first demand of the soldier landing on foreign soil. Above all other pressing needs was the need to write the folk back home that, “I got over all right.” Not only were letters hurried home, but the hands of the Y folk were quickly filled with messages to be cabled. Extra gallons of chocolate had to be made and canteen supplies enlarged; special “information bureaus” set up; money made ready for exchange and other details arranged for prompt service.

But as we worked we also wondered about these new soldiers. The word “pioneer” embodied a wealth of courage and daring, so that long before the 807th rushed our hut that September afternoon, we had woven about them all the wonderful dreams of their achievements at the front that it is possible for a woman’s fancy to fashion. And, although they never had all the chance we had dreamed for them, they did not fail us. Wherever an opportunity challenged them, they triumphantly answered it, as attested below:

HEADQUARTERS, 807TH PIONEER INFANTRY,
M. T. C. RECEPTION PARK, 714,
Bourg (Haute Marne), France.
A. P. O. 714.

April 26, 1919.

General Orders No. 2.

1. The commanding officer takes pleasure in publishing to the command
the following letters received from General Headquarters, American
Expeditionary Forces, relative to participations of the 807th Pioneer
Infantry in the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. It is desired that this
order be published to all troops, and that proper recognition of the
same be made on all records pertaining thereto. It is the intention
of the Commanding Officer to present this ribbon when the regiment
has again assembled. Service ribbons as prescribed, will be forwarded
as soon as received.

————————

France, April 19, 1919.
_From:_ The Adjutant General, American 3. 1.
_To:_ Commanding Officer 807th, Pioneer Infantry.
_Subject:_ Ribbons.

1. Herewith is a copy of the order issued at these Headquarters
on the subject of the award of silver bands to be engraved and
placed upon the Pike of Colors of Lance of the standards of the
organizations which have served in the A. E. F.; even if we get here
in France the prescribed silver bands, it would be impossible to have
the engraving done in time to present them to the divisions entitled
to them. For that reason each organization is given a ribbon which
shows which battle it participated in. This ribbon will be retained
until the proper silver band is presented by the War Department.

2. The Commander in Chief directs me to send the ribbons to you, and
to ask you to present them with appropriate ceremonies to the units
for which they are intended. He regrets that this cannot be done by
him in person.

By Command of GENERAL PERSHING.
J. A. JONES.

————————

France, April 19, 1919.

_From:_ Commander-in-Chief, American E. F.
_To:_ Commanding Officer 807th, Pioneer Infantry
_Subject:_ Battle Participation.

1. Following is a list of battle engagements of the 807th Pioneer
Infantry Regiment, during the War with Germany, including
organizations which are entitled to the silver bands awarded under
paragraph 244, Army Regulations. The ribbons furnished herewith are
in lieu of the bands which will be supplied by the Adjutant General
of the Army later.

(1) Meuse-Argonne Offensive, France, October 25 to November 11, 1918.
Organization entitled to silver band: 807th Regiment of Pioneer
Infantry.

By Command of GENERAL PERSHING.

J. A. JONES,
_Adjutant General_.

By Order of COLONEL CARY.

CHARLES W. ROOTH,
_Captain, 807th Pioneer Infantry,
Acting Adjutant_.

Somehow it seemed difficult for the above regiment and others, whom we questioned from time to time, to know just why they had been honored with their name. Many of them had the high hope at first, as one fine soldier expressed it, that they were to be trained into the highest type of combatant troops, who were to clear the way to victory. Their record is abundant proof that they did clear the way to victory, but it was hardly as combatant troops that they won their honors. Although sharing the general hardships of the front, subjected to its shot and shell, they had small chance for real fighting. When the Armistice came several of these regiments had reached the trenches, and with another week of war, their story would have been a very different one.

Most of these regiments as they reached France, were forwarded to the Haute-Marne Training Area where they were given short but strenuous instructions in French warfare. From there they were again sent forward, this time to the aid of the various fighting detachments.

A notable exception to this general disposition of these Pioneer Regiments was the 809th—a sturdy set of lads from the Middle and Northwest. They arrived in France in early October, and almost immediately were ordered to the front. Investigation showed that this regiment had been formed about the first of September, sailed the 21st of the same month, and that most of the men knew very little about handling a rifle. The order was revoked and the regiment kept in the rear, most of them being sent to Nantes, where they remained until the following summer. And yet this regiment had a larger percent of professional men and skilled artisans in their ranks than most of the others. Three of the nine who went to the University of London were from this organization. Howard Drew, the world-champion at a hundred yards, Dismukes, Lyons, Malacher and Charleston of baseball fame were a part of it. Lionel Artis, now Y. M. C. A. Secretary at Indianapolis was one of its fine Regimental Sergeant Majors. An officer admitted to the men that he had been requested to recommend some of them for commissions, but preferred to keep them to build up the regiment.

Sergeants Baylis, Coleman and Freeman. Sergeant Majors Long, Armstead
and Clifford. Sergeants Carr and Johnson.]

The experiences of these Pioneer regiments in France, related in their own unique expressions, would make a volume of much historical value, rich in humor and pathos. Each regiment held a certain pride for outstanding qualities peculiar to itself. Very often we found “silence golden” as we sat in the midst of heated discussions relative to the merits of these various “8s,” as they were often called, because the regiments ranged in number from 801 to 816. But we did learn by personal contact that each organization had its own distinctive fineness and fitness, and all who served these men in France will ever count it one of their greatest privileges as welfare workers.

The first of these regiments to reach France was the 808th, which landed at Brest September 7th, 1918. There were many men in this group of superior intellect and character—Maurice Clifford, a teacher of the High School, Washington, D. C., and son of Honorable and Mrs. William H. Clifford, was one of its regimental sergeant majors; Cornelius Dawson, graduate of Lincoln University, had left his theological course at Philadelphia to join the ranks. Warwick Johnson of Virginia Union University fame was one of them, along with hundreds of others of the same type. These men were called to help the 12th Engineers in the construction of a narrow gauge railway at the front. As they worked, shot and shell rained over them. In their dugouts they were tortured by rats and “cooties.” Small wonder that an officer who had observed it all should have remarked: “We cannot understand their make-up, for under hardest conditions they hold themselves together and are able to raise a song.” It seems after all that only black folk can interpret the “Souls of Black Folk.” We went to look for the “808” at Dombasle where they had their headquarters so long after the war ended. But they had entrained, and there was left only the dreary waste and desolation, that swept unbroken over many a mile, to tell us the terrible isolation they had suffered in France.

One of the men of the “813” said: “We endured all the hardships of the front but missed the thing we wanted most—some real whacks at the enemy.” This was no doubt true, for this regiment was really bombarded from one front to the other until it reached St. Remy a few miles from Metz. Then the order came to fight! It was two o’clock in the morning, and at four they were moving forward. For two days they were under constant fire. This regiment held itself with a justifiable pride. Regimental Sergeant Major W. W. Tyler, fine in physique, intellect and manners, was a fit leader and representative of the men under him. Whether in field maneuvers under Sergeant Major Williams of the 24th Infantry, or in the office with men like Jay Dickinson, one was conscious of the high intelligence of the soldiers of the “813th.” We went one Sunday to visit some of this particular regiment. At that time it had been distributed on the various battlefields to assemble the American dead in cemeteries, and we were visiting the companies at Belleau Wood and Fere-en-Tardenois, near Chateau Thierry. At these places the men gathered in the huts to hear a word from the Y secretaries. Each had received the hearty applause that only soldiers know how to give. But there was one young lad in the party, formerly a sergeant in the regiment, who had been released to the Y. M. C. A. for service. It was when he modestly moved forward to say his word that the men made the hut too small for their outburst. There were yells and cries for “Sergeant Burwell! Burwell!” until, putting his hand to his mouth, he yelled back, “Fellows, give me a chance!” He stood before them with a wonderful light on his face, and drove home plain truths about right living; he told them about those secret places of reward for the hard things they were then doing. The men listened to him and cheered, because they knew that he exemplified in his own life the message he gave them.

The day was closing at Fere-en-Tardenois and we went to sit on a log and eat supper out of a borrowed mess kit. It was then two of the fellows said they wanted to tell us something. This is what they told us. “We think you might be able to tell some of the Y men about our condition here, and they could help change it. We find the French villagers here have been told we are an aggregation of diseased men, sent to dig these graves and bury the dead as a punishment!” It had been a glorious day, full of the fun and joy to be found in the midst of our young manhood, and we had realized all the delightful thrills of being A. W. O. L. (absent without official leave). But now the cloud came as it so often did in France. We looked out upon the war shattered landscape about us, and wondered why the spirits of the thousands of French, who had allowed themselves to be mowed down in that very place rather than surrender the principles of right, did not rise up to curse this awful wrong. With tears in our souls, but with brave eyes, we talked to them. We did tell this case, but the soul that should have been strong to vindicate them, proved but a weakling, and the young Y man who made the attempt to help them, was not only thwarted, but crushed for his effort.

Several of the Pioneer regiments touched foreign soil at Liverpool. Some were held there for service as were some labor battalions. But most of them crossed England to Southampton and landed at La Havre. This was the route of the 802nd, who came largely from West Virginia, Ohio and Pennsylvania. Making long and exhausting hikes, this regiment also reached the First Army where it talked little and worked hard. Says one of the men: “Our regiment was divided about October 1st into three sections. The first battalion was given the task of helping the engineers build a standard gauge railway from Aubreville to a point north, half-way to Varennes—a distance of ten kilometers. The second battalion was to connect up with the first battalion at this point—thence northward five kilometers beyond Varennes. The third battalion was given the task of furnishing rock from the stone quarries for the repair of the highway. All this work was highly essential in order to keep the firing line supplied with ammunition, rations, etc. The conditions in the sector were at all times most trying. The men were subjected to bombardment from enemy long range guns and aerial attacks almost daily. But the railroad was completed in a short time, and supplies were speeding up to the front for the final drive.”

November 18th, seven days after the Armistice was signed, the entire 802nd Pioneer Regiment was highly commended in general orders by the Chief Engineer of the First American Army in which he declared their services indispensable to the final drive. We must look behind this record to the quiet, dignified, but wonderfully alert enlisted men who made it. The ranking Regimental Sergeant Major, J. Emmet Armistead, was not only an experienced army man of spotless record, cultured by hard study and Old World travel, but a high type of Christian soldier. Although still young, he carries the marks of Philippine fighting and is an expert swimmer, horseman, marksman and athlete. But one learned this only after many conversations and gentle probings. This spirit of modesty went down through the regiment. We think of Sergeant Toney of Ohio University, Sergeant Kenneth Pack of Virginia Union University, and many others who made us conscious of the fineness of the regiment.

No two Pioneer regiments were quite so famed as hard workers and hard fighters as the 801st and the 803rd. Both shared the toil and danger of other regiments, but both seemed to have been determined to fight for right treatment, although it meant continuous fighting. At Brest, we saw evidence of the labors of the 801st in the transformation of Pontanezen from a mudhole to the cleanest and most modern of camps. These men came from Indiana and Kentucky, and the regiment was formed at Camp Taylor, largely of the 157th and 159th Depot Brigades. The Y. M. C. A. gained two secretaries from it, Sergeant Majors Eggleson and Watkins, who gave fine service to their former comrades. Regimental Sergeant Major U. S. Donaldson of this organization was among the brightest and most popular of the soldier-students who went to the British Universities.

Of all the Pioneer regiments, we knew the 803rd best—those “terrible” Illinois lads, one thousand of whom came from Chicago. In fact they were _our own_ regiment, for they christened us godmother with water that flowed straight down from the far-famed Alps. It was for some of the men of this regiment that we first cooked sausages and pancakes in the Leave Area; for its band that we made our first ice cream there. It was there that group after group told us of their lonely life at St. Maurice, Vigneulies, and other points near Verdun. Afterward, we were sent to serve them, but, alas, it was too late, as they had entrained. However, we caught up with the whole regiment at Pontanezen, and there, instead of our serving them, they served us. True, we gave them ice cream, lemonade, cookies, “movies” and books. But whatever of beauty and comfort came to the Y hut known as “Soldiers’ Rest” at Camp Pontanezen, was largely due to the energy, time and money invested by the 803rd in its remodeling. From Company M, with its wonderful sergeants from the regular army, always alert to help us, we were supplied the finest “detail” for work about the hut to be found in all France. But the volunteer details were no less fine, and we can never forget Taylor and James who constituted themselves our protectors as well as hut carpenters.

1. Sergeant Sheridan. 2. Sergeant Roach. 3. Sergeant Chapman.
4. Sergeant Jeton. 5. Sergeant Dawnson. 6. Sergeant Gowdy. 7.
Sergeant-Major Hardy. 8. Sergeant-Major H. L. Coverdale with
Sergeants. 9. Sergeant Blackwell.]

We could fill a whole book with the names of men of this regiment who throng our memory. There was Gowdy, Griffin, Williams, Jetton, Sheridan, Harrison and Matthews all soldiers, but gentlemen first; there was Curtis Kennedy, whose young face shone as he talked of his wife, mother and baby back home; there was Sergeant Washington, who knew so well the value of a balanced menu, and gave us our best mess in France, then sailed away, leaving us to our leanest days. But memory clings closest to the one, who in addition to the loneliness and hardship of life at the front, had bitter gall sent him from home to drink. For a time it seemed too much to endure, and he was ready for the plunge of despair. Slowly but surely, we drew that man back from the precipice, and lingered near till he was on sure ground, and the strength of the real soldier had come once again into his veins. What joy to know that for him there is still the grim determination to walk the better way.

One afternoon, in our hut at the port, a whistle sounded and a sharp command followed, “All men of the 804th report to their barracks at once.” What did it matter that the most interesting pictures imaginable were being passed over the screen! The “804th,” with its plenty of brain and plenty of brawn—who had now and then sent an overbearing military police into deep repose—the “804th,” with the isolations and hardships of the front still haunting it, was going home that July day. Oh, the gladness of them for this hard-earned reward! It was so contagious that it filled not only their souls but those of their comrades of other organizations, waiting for the same message.

Some one said that the order went forth, “only handsome men for the 806th.” Certain it was that everywhere they went in France one heard their good looks mentioned. But it in no wise spoiled them for the immense amount of work they did. At the front, at Montrichard, at Orley, and last near Paris, where they helped to build the celebrated Pershing Stadium, they carried themselves with honor. Many of the men of this regiment, too, sought for training and commissions, but were told that they were too badly needed by their regiment to encourage any changes.

The “811th” and “814th” had their regiments split up from the beginning and used at many points—chiefly in the S. O. S. We believe that some companies of the “814th” saw service in England. These men were rushed across the ocean at the last moment, but they did great service in salvaging and reconstruction after the Armistice came. We recall an amusing incident in connection with one company of the “814th.” It had but recently reached our area, and was at mess in one of the huge mess halls, constructed towards the end of the war. We were bravely plunging through the deep mud so common to the camps in France, and wearing high boots, the novelty of which had long since been forgotten. We were startled by a sharp whistle, followed by the camp expression—“Oo-la-la!” that brought men and mess kits to the doors and windows. One exclaimed, “It’s a genuine brown!” while another in most sympathetic voice added, “And it’s got on boots too!” For a moment embarrassment swept over us, but we knew how genuine was the surprise of colored soldiers at first sight of their own women in France, so we laughed back and waved them a welcome to the Y hut. From the “811th,” Sergeant Ulysses Young, and from the “814th,” Sergeant Everett Brewington, were among those who went to King’s College in England.

We had been waiting among the ruins of Verdun a whole week, by order of the Regional Secretary of the Y. M. C. A.; he was trying to convince the colonel in charge of Camp Romagne that women would help to better the conditions in that camp. But the colonel was not easily convinced. He told us afterward, that it was not colored women, but just women that he felt should not be with the soldiers in the camps. “War was stern and men ought to be hard at such times.” He was not alone in this opinion, for not only did colonels feel that way, but many soldiers and welfare workers were of that opinion. However, we finally rode from Verdun to Romagne in a wonderfully uncertain Ford, through thirty-six kilometres of blinding dust that bit and stung for several days. But it was all well worth while, for it gave us the chance to share the life of the 815th and 816th Pioneers, with the labor battalions who were there in the camp, and that of some of the companies of the “813th” who came later.

We reached the camp on Mother’s Day, and as many of the men as could crowd the “hanger,” as the tent auditorium was called, were there. After a year among soldiers, we had become quite accustomed to whistles, calls, applause and shouts; otherwise the noise occasioned by a woman’s advent among the thousands of men, might have overwhelmed us, and made it impossible to reach the rostrum.

The work of these stalwart California lads of the “815th,” and of the “816th,” so many of whom came from the Central West, is told elsewhere in the chapter Reburying of the Dead. Their record, with that of the “813th,” and labor battalions who helped at the task, is the most sacred of all the Pioneer regiments. They were “our boys” at Romagne, and again at Brest! They were the very last of the Pioneers to reach France and the last to reach America again. It was a picture to linger in the memory, as with packs on back, bags in hand and heads erect, we saw these men march at the dawn of the day out of the camp, down the long dusty road, over the city streets to the waiting transports. They were not permitted to look to the right or left, but as they passed slowly by, a lifting of the eyes, a movement of the hand, or in some small way, the women who had served them recognized through tear-dimmed eyes a warm adieu.

Those Pioneer regiments, so quickly mobilized to meet an emergency, were just as quickly demobilized with the return of the men to America. But the strengthening and unifying processes through which they passed as a result of the hard work, hard sacrifices, and in many cases, hard treatment of the war, can never be demobilized. There will be little whining from these men who are even yet Pioneers. But certain of their power of achievement, keen and courageous for truth and justice, they will hold fast to their vision of the future, and with strong, sure hands, build toward that future.

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Ye Queens, who bear the birth-pangs of a world,
To whom the nations in this hour of stress,
For succor look, and for the truth to bless,
Ye great, whose fondled darlings, combed and curled,
Are in the shell-torn, shamble-trenches hurled,
To stay the hellish Hun, who else would press,
The cup of degradation and distress,
To lips of men with freedom’s flag unfurled—
Ye valiant mother-band who gladly gave,
The first fruits of your riven wombs to save,
The world from horrors darker than the grave,
_Ye are the Brave_, who in your Country’s need
Did sow the trenches with your precious seed—
The greatest gift of war, and valor’s noblest deed.

CARRIE W. CLIFFORD.

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Over the Canteen in France
————

Press and pulpit, organizations and individuals were beseeching and demanding in 1918 that the Red Cross add some of our well-trained and experienced nurses to their “overseas” contingent, but no favorable response could be obtained. Meantime, the Paris Headquarters of the Young Men’s Christian Association cabled as follows: “Send six fine colored women at once!” This call came so suddenly that for a while attention was diverted from the Red Cross issue that had been so uppermost in all minds.

Six women! A small number to be sure, but the requirements for eligibility were not so easy to meet and one must not have a close relative in the army. Many questions were asked. “Was there a real need for women over there?” “Could they stand the test?” “Would they not be subjected to real danger?” “Were not gruesome stories being told relative to terrible outrages perpetrated on women who had gone?” To these questions and others there seemed to be but just one reply. It was that if hundreds of other women had answered the call to serve the armies of the Allies, surely among the thousands of colored troops already in France and other thousands who would soon follow there would be some place of service for six colored women. A few leaders were far-visioned enough to see the wisdom of colored women going overseas. Mr. Fred. R. Moore, Editor of the _New York Age_, worked untiringly to help secure the required number, while Dr. W. E. B. Du Bois, Maj. R. R. Moton, and Mr. Emmett Scott strongly endorsed the sending over of colored women.

Almost immediately Mrs. James L. Curtis and Mrs. William A. Hunton, were invited to go to France. Those were the days when sailing dates were kept secret and orders for departures given at the last moment. When the first call to sail came, Mrs. Hunton could not easily be released from the war work she had undertaken for the Young Women’s Christian Association. But the following week, Mrs. Curtis, keenly anxious for the adventure, was permitted to go alone. Meanwhile, Miss Kathryn Johnson had been called from Chicago, and three weeks later sailed with Mrs. Hunton.

For all the period of the war and the dreary winter that followed it, there were just these three colored women with the American Expeditionary Forces in France. Time and time again they were lifted up by rumors that other canteen workers were on the way. Whenever they saw women arriving fresh from America, they would at once inquire if there were any colored women in their party. Always the rumors would prove false and the answer negative. Two hundred thousand colored soldiers and three colored women in France! So it was for many months. But finally the dream of help was realized when in the spring of 1919 sixteen canteen workers reached France. Only sixteen, to be sure, but to the three who had waited and served so long alone, they seemed a mighty host.

What a wonderful spirit these sixteen women brought with them! They had been impatiently waiting, some of them for many months, to answer the call. They knew how their soldiers needed their presence in France so they arrived eagerly ready for that last lap of Y service, the importance and significance of which can hardly be over-estimated. The Armies of the Allies had won the war, but there was a moral conflict for the war-weary men hardly less subtle and deadly in its effects than the conflict just ended. It required a program of compelling interest to hold the soldiers against the reaction of war’s excitement and ghastly experiences, and the new thirst for home and friends. Therefore, the coming at that time of sixteen canteen workers for our soldiers was wonderfully opportune.

But just what of the canteen service for all the months that had preceded their coming? How had just three of us managed to be mothers, sisters and friends to thousands of men?

The first colored woman who reached France had been sent to Saint Sulpice in the great Bordeaux area, and though she was quickly returned to Paris, the few days she had spent in the camp made a bright spot for the men there in that veritable wilderness of hardships. That she made ice cream and other “goodies” for them, and best of all, let them open their hearts to her, was never forgotten by the men of that camp. Reaching Paris, we found her with a group of men secretaries ordered home. It was then that for the first time we questioned the wisdom of our adventure. Surely we had not given up home, friends and work for such an experience! Would blind prejudice follow us even to France where men were dying by the thousands for the principles of truth and justice? There had been no slackening of the impulse to serve, when as a part of a mighty procession, we crossed the periled deep; no lessening of our enthusiasm for war work as we looked for the first time upon war’s dark picture. But somehow this incident, with its revelation of the fact that prejudice could follow us for three thousand miles across the Atlantic to the very heart of the world’s sorrow, tremendously shocked us in those first days. But it was a challenge to a heroic sacrifice, and we realized the significance of the challenge more deeply as the months receded.

Miss Kathryn Johnson was appointed to Brest, but that area, too, seems not to have been keen to the advantage of a colored canteen worker, so that she was returned to Paris. Both Miss Johnson and Mrs. Curtis were then assigned to the advanced sector, but found it impossible, because of the terrible drive, to reach their posts.

Meantime, Mrs. Hunton had been sent to the St. Nazaire area, and it is there that our story of canteen service really begins, because whatever of success came to the colored women in France, was due primarily to the record made by them in this area.

The St. Nazaire area, in the region of the Loire, was more than any other the pioneer section for colored work. There went Franklin O. Nichols, the very first colored welfare worker to reach France, and there he constructed the first Y hut for colored men in France. Soon, he was joined by the Rev. Leroy Ferguson, Mr. John C. Wright and Mr. William Stevenson, each of whom had direction of a Y hut in the area. In due time several secretaries arrived to help these first men.

When Mrs. Hunton reached Saint Nazaire, she was immediately assigned to Y hut 5, Camp One, for canteen service under the direction of Mr. John C. Wright, and to visit other camps of the area. Miss Kathryn Johnson came next and was placed at Camp Lusitania with the Rev. Leroy Ferguson. Then came Mrs. Curtis, who joined Mr. Stevenson at Camp Montoir. It was thus that the first three canteen workers were placed for all the period of the war and many weeks thereafter.

The St. Nazaire area, more than any other in all France at that time, warmly welcomed and gave opportunity to the colored Y secretaries to demonstrate their spirit and ability to serve their own soldiers. Indeed, it seemed rather providentially planned to give colored _women_ a first real chance. There were two reasons for this opportunity given them. First of all the broad, practical Christian spirit of the Divisional Secretary, Mr. W. S. Wallace, and second the attitude of our own Y men in charge of the huts. Mr. Wallace was not only an executive of rare Christian courage, but his attitude and opinions commanded the respect of those under his supervision. He dealt with the colored men and women of his area in the same fine manner and spirit that he dealt with all others. We shall always remember him among those fine spirits of his race that hold our faith for the ultimate triumph of the brotherhood of man.

The second contributing cause for whatever of success the women came to have was in the personnel of the men with whom they worked. For, however fine might be the Divisional Secretary or no matter how far-visioned and energetic the woman herself might be, she could hardly render efficient service unless she had the sympathetic co-operation of her hut secretary.

The writer was most fortunate in doing her first work with Mr. John C. Wright. It was a rare privilege that gave us four months of most enthusiastic service under the direction of this Christian gentleman. He was one of the few men who really desired a woman in his hut, so that in our first four months of service we were able to plan and accomplish something really constructive for the seven thousand permanent colored troops of our camp, and to help the regiments that spent a few weeks with us as they prepared for the front. With him we tried to study and comprehend the needs and desires of the soldiers, “our boys,” as we usually called them, and to meet these needs and desires in the very best way possible.

Over the canteen in France was essentially different from the same thing in the United States where friendships and home ties had not yet been really severed and war was still thousands of miles from the camp. In France, war, with its mystery of pain and suffering, was over all. Everywhere were evidence of its mutilation and destruction of life and home. Everywhere there was exhausting work and deep loneliness. In the most joyous hour in the Y hut we knew that there was a nervousness, a tenseness, a deep undercurrent of seriousness that could be found only in an environment of death and desolation.

Over the canteen in France friendships and confidences ripened quickly because of the loneliness of men—because of the haunting and yearning memories of their women-folk at home. A glass of lemonade or a cup of chocolate offered with a sympathetic touch was usually sufficient to break down all barriers and make way for the usual question, “Where are you from”? This answered, a like question asked and the acquaintance was established. Always there was real happiness if one could from somewhere in the memory resurrect a mutual friend in one of these home towns. Then came quickly talks of family and life in the States. We learned to anticipate that from some pocket in the jacket—usually the one nearest the heart—would be drawn forth a wallet or a much worn envelope. From it photographs would come forth. Sometimes it would be the “best mother,” again the “dearest wife,” and still again the “finest girl” or “cutest kid” that a fellow ever had. The families or the girls would become visualized for us, and after that we would ask about them as if they were old friends.

Over the canteen in France, the woman became a trusted guardian of that home back in America. To her were revealed its joys and sorrows. Because of that same loneliness—that loss of background—the soldier poured out to the canteen worker his deepest and dearest memories and dreams. She must be ever ready to laugh with him, but she must also be ready to go down into heart-breaking valley with her soldier boy when he would get a bad bit of news—a mother, father, sister or even a wife or child might have been taken away; or, worse still, once in a great while the tragedy of faithlessness was made known to him. But by far, the letters from home were cheerful to have come straight from hearts of women tense with longing and anxiety. Oh, the pride of a new father! How well we remember a young “top” sergeant whom we had thought of as a mere boy. He walked up to the canteen one evening with the request that we send a cable home for him. He wrote the following: “Congratulations on birth of Spencer Roberts, Junior, and love to mother.” Saying to us, “No matter about the cost, I want to send it all.” How full of love were his eyes as he showed us the girl-face of that wife, and we could only say “How perfectly wonderful for the boy when he grows up! He will know that his father was in France at the time of his birth—a soldier in the world’s greatest war.”

When we established the first wet canteen in the St. Nazaire area for our own men, we were thinking of the real comfort of it to the men. We deliberately planned to make our chocolate so good that they would really come for it and our lemonade real lemonade, and crullers that would “taste just like home.” But we could not even dream of all that it would mean in cheer, comradeship and good will. It was pathetic to see long lines of men patiently waiting for a cup of chocolate and a cookie—to find many coming from distant camps not alone for the refreshments, but for the good cheer they found with us. It was a picture that would have touched the hearts of the homefolk—these men sitting around on the window-seats or at the tables, hundreds of them—quietly talking and sipping their drink. And the Y woman would leave her post behind the canteen for a little and wander from table to table for a word, or she would drink a cup of chocolate with a little group while they talked of farming, opening a store or returning to college after the war. It was so little and yet it was so much in that everyday life of war—war so terrible—so long.

Over the canteen in France meant not simply the eat and drink of it when rightly interpreted. It meant that we must not rely alone on the “Movies” and entertainments sent from Headquarters to the soldiers—but we must supply games, entertainments of our own and even parties. One party—our first—was only time in France we believe, in which we showed the “yellow streak.” It was to be a beautiful party in spite of the fact that but two women would be present. Two days had been spent in decorating the hut and stringing extra lights. Our hut secretary suggested that we put aside our uniform for an evening gown and lead the grand march, to which we most enthusiastically assented. But we were hardly prepared for the sight that met our eyes as we entered the outer hut. There were men crowded in every space even to the rafters—more men than we had ever seen in any one room. It was no use. We just could not get the courage needed to lead a march, and so we quietly sat down and looked on that night. How we used to wish for our home girls in those days! Oh, if we could have had some of the fine ones we knew at home to help in those little social affairs! As we think of this first party, we recall the last more than a year later in the embarkation camp at Brest. Not seven thousand men this time, but probably three hundred, and nine women to dance with them. We held the watch and there would be a pause in the music at intervals of three minutes. That meant “change partners.” The best part of that evening was the fun of securing a partner without a real rush upon her. Then, too, hearts were lighter by far than at that first party, for the war had ended, and the soldiers were simply waiting for the transports that would take them home.

With the co-operation of our splendid hut secretary, Mr. J. C. Wright, we had fitted out the first reading and reception room for the soldiers in our area. Other rooms had been open to them, but this was open for them and others. It was there that our men loved best to go in the twilight and evening hour. How quickly they learned to feel that it was worth while to look spick and span for such a cozy spot. It was because of this lovely room with its magazines, books, comfortable seats, beautiful plants, flowers, and cheerful fire that many men could endure the months in which “passes” to leave camp could not be secured. “We should worry when we have a place like this,” was a remark often heard in those days as they quietly discussed this special grievance. But this room became best known for its Chat Hour that came to fill it to overflow on Sundays at the twilight hour. Somehow it came to us that this was a lonely time for men. Sunday, just after supper—away from home and no special place to go. So we discussed it with some of the men and began with just informal talks on current topics—apart from the war or army. The interest grew. Men were there from Howard, Union, Hampton, Tuskegee, Morehouse, Atlanta, Clark, and other schools, so we had talks about their institutions and their founders. We had talks on race leaders, on work after the war—music, art, religion and every conceivable subject. We instituted a question box that was generally opened in fear and trembling, for one could never be quite sure of the questions. It might be, “When will you make us some fudge?” or it might be, “Which is the greatest science?” A question like the first we would answer, while one like the second would be respectfully deferred to the hut secretary or chaplain. A cup of tea or chocolate with a wafer would give the social side to the hour. It was so much better than most lyceums and forums we have known here at home, because somehow it was, as most things were over there, so much more full of human warmth. This little Chat Hour started in a simple way at Hut Five, St. Nazaire, remains one of its most precious memories, and was adopted in many other places. When the soldiers, who were for so many months a part of that hut, were sent to Camp Lusitania, they carried the Chat Hour with them, and it was there one of the finest features of that great camp as it continued to be at Hut Five even after many changes had been made.

Over the canteen in France meant much letter writing and the wrapping and sending home little presents that had been approved by the company commanders. At Christmas tide, this involved many hours of work, as it did always at embarkation time. Frequently the Y woman must go shopping for her boys to buy not only the presents sent home, but also the little necessities that the canteen and commissary of the camp did not have.

How can the picture of Christmas in camp ever fade away? The Y. M. C. A. was a most generous Santa Claus in its wonderful trees, decorations and presents. The hut was full of good cheer, but it was also full of memories, and men talked of other Christmastides back home. More than one fellow found it made him just too homesick to look upon the lighted Christmas tree, and yet he wanted it there—wanted that link with his own fireside. He was glad of the lights, of the music and the romping Santa who distributed the presents.

Then came the French school children—several hundreds of them, with their teachers, brought out in army trucks to be the guests of the camp. How their eyes filled with joyful wonder at the big glittering American tree! How they laughed and clapped as the men played, danced, and sang for them! Then they listened in rapt silence as a Red Cross lady told them in French about the American Christmas and its wonderful Santa Claus. With the native grace peculiar to the French child they received the presents handed them by the soldiers, but not trying to conceal their perfect ecstasy over them or their bon-bons. How lovely is that fine child courtesy of the Old World!

Somehow one found time for a great many things in camp, and so between the Christmas tree and canteen, we had prepared a real Christmas dinner for the Y men and the soldiers who helped with the canteen. But the dinner was too much for one of the soldiers, and he carefully put it all aside till later. The memory of the past Christmas was too vivid, when he had just arrived in France, and had only the cold ground for a bed and cold beans and hard tack to eat. Before the beginning of the evening’s activities, the hut was quiet for an hour, and we sat in the firelight’s glow for a moment of personal thought, on that wonderful Christmas day! So far were we from home and friends, yet far keener in human understanding and sympathy than ever before. In so many thousand American homes there could be no Christmas joy that day, only the memory of the dead lying somewhere on the cold bleak Western Front. What could the Christ Child signify at such a time? Perhaps there in the camp one could comprehend better than in America that through mighty travail was being born to the world a New Day in which men would be conscious of their worth, assured of their liberty, and learn that right after all is might.

Over the canteen in France included not only a cozy reading room and the selection of books for the men to read, but it meant also, reading to them or with them in leisure moments. One must help, too, in educational work. Our first visit to Camp Lusitania was spent teaching a class in English. Then came the Y woman to that camp, who gave a greater impetus to study there than had hitherto been known. She would spend hours guiding with her own small, fair hand, those of the men who for the first time were eager with desire to write their own names. It was thus, then, these women worked in the St. Nazaire area—at Camp Lusitania with its emphasis on educational activities; at Camp Montoir, where the excellence of the canteen became far-famed, and at Camp One with its joyous, homelike atmosphere.

After four months, a change came over the camp-life of the area. Mr. Wright returned to America to take part in the great drive for funds. The seven thousand stevedores and labor battalions that we had served with so much joy for four months, were divided between Camps Lusitania and Montoir. We saw with proud but sad heart the 807th march toward the Front. From the constant noise of many feet and voices, we found our hut reduced to an unbearable stillness and isolation. The camp was now to become exclusively an embarkation and debarkation center. For two days we were in danger of a good hard spell of home-sickness and then came the news that there were transports in the harbor—colored soldiers were coming—heaps of them!