Page 7 - 1919 May - To Dragma

188 TO DRAGMA OF ALPHA OMICRON PI TO DRAGMA OF ALPHA OMICRON PI «»

" O h , well, that's long enough f o r me," w o u l d be the prompt reply. W h a n I fa* * France I T^SSSH
On a bitterly cold, wet day, late in October, I made my rounds
among a thousand sick and wounded men lying in tumbledown theoretical hatred of war, but a adds imensity and
stables, w i t h only d i r t and cobblestones f o r floors. O n long lines sympathy f o r those who warred. I t > tree ,ove
of cots lay this overflow f r o m the crowded hospitals clad i n helmets v U t y to Me. » £ » » f o ^ us tasks.
and overcoats. N o t a complaint met my ears as 1 entered, only a W e miss that emotional urge as we b
chorus of "Say, Red Cross Lady, i f we stay here many days longer Yes! W e must find a substitute f o r war. our everyday
we'll think we're in our dugouts and begin to dig i n ! " Only the
American A r m y could have laughed i n those stables! few**"* ^"mb*rauil % t o
I had expected to find "making the world safe for democracy" a
religion. I found that the religion of war expressed by the ordinary
soldier consisted i n k i l l i n g the other fellow before he k i l l e d you. I
had expected to find hatred for the Huns rampant. I n its place I
f o u n d just the desire to finish a j o b well and get home.
A l l my preconceived ideas of war had been turned topsyturvy.
I had gone overseas as a pacifist, who, nevertheless, faced this war
as a fact. W i t h me went a l l my cut-and-dried pacifist theories,
including a certain indifference—even antagonism—toward the men in
uniform. T o me they typified the organized game of destruction.
But I also took an intense longing to do something f o r suffering
France, that country of my ancestors, that mother of democracy.
Once there, the needs of those thousands of American boys loomed
before my eyes. T h e y were alone i n a strange country which spoke
a strange language; they were often preyed upon by greed and vice.
So, flinging to the winds my purpose to work only f o r refugees and
my conscientious objections to military relief, I plunged into work for
our army.
Day after day my sympathies went out to the soldiers who endured
all things. Side by side with this emotion went rage—rage at that
military machine which added to the sufferings caused by the enemy.
Those I had expected. I know not whether that machine was in
Washington or Chaumont. I only know I watched them die with a
longing on their lips to hear f r o m home. N o letters f o r five, six,
seven months! A t last they came i n bundles, but too late. I only
know I heard men shamefacedly plead like beggars for a few francs.
N o pay had come to them f o r half a year. I only know that men
came to me f r o m the f r o n t w i t h no socks. Yet the penetrating cold
of Northern France was almost unendurable. I only know I watched
hundreds of Americans f r o m German prison camps quartered for
days in barbed wire stockades clad only i n their underclothes,
blankets thrown over their shoulders. Yet somewhere in France were
plenty of uniforms.