Now it begins to look as though the work of the Y.M.C.A. were nearly over. No more personnel is allowed in Germany, the army of occupation being fully equipped, and if there is nothing to do, one ought to go home. If, after the signing of the Peace, it seems necessary to keep our army over here some time, I shall make an effort to be sent to the Rhine. Wherever our boys are waiting, and getting disgusted, I want to be.
It is likely that a good friend of mine, a Lieutenant of Co. F may come to see you. I asked him to, as he lives near Chicago. He is a fine fellow and has been so kind to me. I think he would enjoy our home. I can see the garden and everything, and sometimes—I wish I were there.
Chaumont, June 11th, 1919.
Again I sit in the garden of the château, but what a world of things I have seen and done since I last wrote you from this spot! I have a sinking feeling, that this is going to be a long letter, and I wonder how I will ever find time to finish it.
The day after my last long letter I left Chaumont with another girl to go to an entraining point just out of Gondrecourt, where we were to serve chocolate to the departing troops. We started in an automobile with all our baggage, a "Y" man being our chauffeur. As usual, orders were vague and mixed, and we landed in several wrong towns, before we found out where we were wanted. This however entailed so much driving over exceptionally lovely country, that we really didn't mind. At length, in the late afternoon we reached our destination, Barisey la Côte, a railhead, and I believe the most desolate spot in France. Picture a freight yard in all its heat and hideousness, and a collection of wooden barracks, no trees, and you will see the place. Big Bay is pretty in comparison. The water was bad, and had to be chlorinated and hauled from afar, the weather was blazing hot, the dust lay inches deep on the roads, ready to rise in a stifling cloud at the passage of any vehicle. Here we found some five hundred men (about a hundred colored), and many hundreds of mules and horses. Part of the 7th Division was there temporarily on its way home. The rest were the railhead force.
The first thing for us to do was to search for a billet. As always, the officers could not be outdone in their courtesy to us women in the A.E.F. and every effort was made to make us comfortable. A little asbestos shack of two rooms was turned over to us, and an orderly assigned to us. I wish you could have seen "Mac, the housekeeper" as we came to call him, the most lovable little Irishman who took the best of care of us. For beds we had two wooden frames with chicken wire stretched over them, and plenty of blankets. As we expected to stay ten days it was worth while making our little home attractive, so with a few scarfs that I had, and flowers, photographs and books, we made a charming living-room which men and officers appreciated to the full. My companion, Miss B., is a jolly girl and we have become great pals. She plays ragtime "to beat the band," which is a good accomplishment over here. Both of us being short and dark, we have been taken for sisters everywhere.
The entraining work at the railhead left us a great deal of spare time, and we decided to open a little "Y". An open shed with a roof was procured and we started in to arrange it. The boys entered into the idea with enthusiasm. One volunteered to wire it for electric lights, others put down a floor, and everybody helped decorate it with flags, and bright chintz which the Y.M.C.A. gave us. A lieutenant lent me a truck, and through a stroke of luck I obtained a piano which was the finishing touch. We soon had a gay, festive pavilion, and how those boys, who were just sick with boredom, flocked there! Again I felt that this work was immeasurably worth while. Miss B. and I worked together pretty well, luckily. We had dances and stunt shows, and singing all the time, and lemonade always on tap, both at the railway station and at our "Y," so you see our hands were full. Most of the men were westerners, and enlisted, not drafted, and I couldn't help compare them with my boys of the 78th. As a class, I believe they are more forceful and more responsive. It is the independent, tall ranch owner or cow puncher, in comparison with the small storekeeper or factory hand. Don't think I am forgetting for a moment my friends in my dear battalion who stood above the average, but they did stand above the average. As a crowd, the western boys sing better, dance better, talk better, and swear louder! But everywhere in the United States is the respect for the American woman the same, and everywhere our soldiers are our devoted, helpful brothers.
Well—to cut this short—I forgot to tell you about the darkies! It was my first experience with them over here. Against the advice of a southern lieutenant, I went into their barracks one day and got to talking with them. "Don't any of you boys play or sing?" I asked. "Yes'm. Ah'm a musician mahself," modestly replied a coal black boy. "Are you? well what do you play?" "Oh, mos' anything, ma'am." "Do you play the guitar?" "Yes'm, we've got a guitar but the strangs is broke." Of course I was able to remedy that, and gave them all the "strangs" they needed, in addition lending them my guitar, which they never failed to return to me in good condition at the specified time. They had a great time, sitting out on piles of lumber, twanging the guitars and singing. You could almost imagine you were down on the old Mississippi. Whenever I passed, some one would call out, "Miss, ain't you gwine to play for us?" And I would take the guitar and sing, while black, attentive faces packed close all around me. "Give us jes one mo', Miss," they would plead when I started to go. My greatest hit was "When Yankee Doodle learns to parley-vous français," and when I would come to "Ulala! Sweet Papa!" they would smack their knees, and giggle with delight. One evening they came down to our "Y" and one clogged, while another played the piano, and another evening they came and sang to us. On the whole the white boys were on good terms with the blacks, though they had one little row while we were there. The whites were playing the blacks at baseball. The game was a comic affair, and was proceeding with the utmost good nature, when one boy thoughtlessly called a darky a "nigger." Great outrage! The colored boys refused to play, the game was called off, and the black team retreated in sulky silence. However, they all made up the next day, and the game was resumed.
Now I must skip over all the little human events that go to make our days, and tell you about our trip to the front. I have seen it, the strip of land on which the world's attention has been focused for so long. I have been to No Man's Land, and the Argonne, and Verdun. For a long time I had no desire to go. Something in me shrank from the thought of hundreds of unimaginative tourists speeding over the ground where men have so recently died by the thousands. It seemed like flaunting our lives in the very faces of those who had laid down theirs that we might live more happily. Also, from all we have heard, and read, and felt, I thought I could picture the war and the front as vividly as if I had been there. And so I could. Strange as it may sound, nothing surprised me up there. I am not filled with any more hatred or horror after seeing it than I was before. It is now a vast desolation. I hope the world is going to be better for it. Perhaps the flowers that are even now covering the raw wounds in the earth are the flowers of hope, ready to sow the seeds of promise. I don't know whether to describe to you just what I have seen or not. I'll try.
We were a party of eight Y.M.C.A. workers, four men and four girls. We travelled in two ramshackle old Fords. Ours had come from a salvage pile, but it still had plenty of life in it, and got over the ground with a terrific amount of noise and jarring. The noise was indeed a Godsend, for it made conversation impossible, and mercifully obliterated even our most brilliant sallies of wit. I was able to retreat behind the motor's unmuffled roaring far into the landscape and into my own thoughts, and there I stayed most of the time.