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Soldiers, Sinkers and Pie
World War I Memoir
By: Signa Leona Saunders
Captain, The Salvation Army
Read her memoir in its entirety
Note: Please remember that the following memoir is a first person account of a historic event. Some of the language and references may be objectionable to some readers. Understand that this historic document does not necessarily reflect the views of The Salvation Army.
Excerpts from Captain Saunders' memoir:
There was a subdued excitement among the passengers crowding the decks of the S.S. Rochambeau that sunny March afternoon in 1918, for the ship was headed toward France where battles raged, and every passenger on board – K.C., Y.M.C.A., Salvation Army and Red Cross workers, as well as the American and Polish soldiers, had but one goal in mind, to “help win the war.”
A group of seventeen made up the Salvation Army party. I was among them, and now and then had to pinch myself to realize it was no dream, but actually I, Capt. S.L. Saunders, a mere slip of a girl, was on my way to France. Not so many years before, I had resolved, after reading the part women played in the Civil War, that if ever war occurred in my lifetime, I would have a part in it, ministering to the needs of those who must fight. And now, I was headed toward the fulfillment of that purpose.
The 82nd Divisioners surely enjoyed our religious services and often, on evenings after our serving was done, someone would suggest we hold church and sing hymns, like they did at home. We always complied. Often some of the men would rise up and say they believed in God and knew that if they never saw home again, they would meet the ones they loved “in the sweet by and by.” Many of these men were later killed, scores of them wounded and mutilated for life, but we were glad, Turk and I, that we had helped them keep their faith in God.
We had many impressive religious meetings in the “hut among de bushes” but, one held on a rainy Sunday night during the middle of August stands out as the most impressive. The men were on the alert, expecting shortly to go out on raids, and already there was a tenseness in the air, coming events casting their shadows before them.
The hut was jammed as usual, everyone in solemn mood. Long before the service was to begin every seat was taken even the “box seats” (lard cases), occupied by the officers were filled and men were standing wherever they could squeeze in.
Incidentally, while we generally reserved these box seats for the officers (they were usually the last to come in), no one ever accused us of catering to officers.
Don’t believe I shall ever forget that scene, the flickering candlelit tent, the sea of earnest faces lifted up in song, in the songs like “Nearer My God to Thee” and “Where the Roll is Called,” that the folks back home were also singing, and somehow they seemed not so far away then.
I talked for a few minutes on the works of Joshua, “Be strong and of good courage,” and we closed with the old standby, “God Will Take Care of You,” which we sang very fervently.
One night several wounded were brought in, and we girls were busy giving them hot drinks when I noticed a youngster on one of the stretchers shaking as from a chill and obviously trying to say something. I asked the doctor for permission to go to him, and when I bent over him, the message he gave was, “We - - got - - the - - village.”
That one incident will always stand out in my mind as typical of the American soldier’s unselfish spirit in which he served in the war.
Capt. Barnes and I were asked by the hospital staff if we would officiate as chaplains and bury five men. Of course we consented. We rode to the cemetery at Aunsauville in the truck that carried the bodies, and when we got there we found several soldiers digging a large trench. I wondered if it meant that all five would be buried in it. Soon found that such was the case, for when the grave was large enough, the soldiers carried the blanket-wrapped bodies of their comrades and laid them side by side in the common grave. I sang “When the Roll is called,” after which Capt. Barnes read the committal service. I shall never forget that experience.
It was raining as always and mud everywhere but the trip proved most interesting and we were quite excited as we rode over the shell torn road and the part of “no man’s land” around Flirey and later on to territory taken in the St. Mihiel drive. A feeling mere words cannot describe went over us as we rode over the ground our boys had fought on and where many of them lay buried. For a few moments we paused and viewed the desolation around us, the yawning cavities in the fields that should have been ripe for harvest and the trees bare of leaves and blackened, standing like silent sentinels watching those who passed by.
Early during the St. Mihiel drive, we were sent in a rickety ambulance to A—where a field hospital had been set up in the ruins of a chateau. Only those who had no chance of survival were kept there. We did all we could to make there last hours comfortable. By the next day, five had died.
The next morning (11/12) the question in all our minds, “Where do we go from here? How will we adjust to ordinary civilian life? Will America appreciate the sacrifices that have been made now that the world is safe for democracy? Will those for whom this war will never be over, be forgotten.” Ponderous thoughts. No wonder sleep will not come.
