Harrisburg telegraph. [volume] (Harrisburg, Pa.) 1879-1948, 1917-11-09
Y. M. c. A. HUTS
HEAR SONGS OF
THE HOMELAND
"Way Down Upon the Suwan-
nee River" to Hum of
German Guns

The American Camp in France,
Nov. S.-Moonlight-"S in
France"
From far away the low rumble of
guns. Over there, beyond those dim
ly silhouetted hills and across valleys
from this spot, invisible iron mouths
are vomiting a deafening Niagara of
death.
Here, however, only that distant
rumble hints of war. Had you moth
ing else to tell you of the origin of
that sound, you might think it the
roar of long train, subdued by dis
tance, the. breaking of waves on a
rocky coast.
Moonlight. and a straight white
road, shining. silver under twin rows
of Lombardy poplars. Behind you
sleeps, or seems to sleep, a tiny viii
lage, tiled or thatched and quiet;
nothing could be more foreign, more
American, more French.
Ahead of you, in a field. few steps
off this road, a black bulk arises; a
big building with a peaked roof. It's
door opens. 1t is amazingly full of
men-men at tables, writing letters.
reading magazines, playing checkers;
Rembrandt men, whose faces are
lighted by the yellow flicker of cam
dies planted on rails along the walls;
men in some sort of uniform, and,
at the far end of the great hut, a
group of them about an older man,
who sings. not to them. but with
them. What is that tune?
It's Way Down Upon the Suwa-
nee RiVer"-iO France.
It's the American Army or bit of
it, and a bit of the American Y. NJ.
c. A. in France.
1t is America in France.
The evening progresses. In quiet
room at the back of the hut Y. NJ.
c. A. worker is teaching French to
n class of American soldiers, or rell-
ing them in their own style of talk,
the history of France and the issues
of this war. In one corner, behind
a counter. another worker is serving
ginger ale and crackers and choco-
late. Tomorrow afternoon, the bull
letin board informs you, there will be
a track meet or a baseball game in
the field outside; but tonight most
of the men are following the admo-
milton of a conspicuous sign that
reads:
L
TER-WRITE IT NOW
A couple of soldiers have rehears-
ed a sketch; they get upon the stage
there at the far end and give it
exceedingly well. A strong man"
from the ranks twists horseshoes in
to bow knots. THE Human Pin
cushion"-who is Private Jones in
military life-thrusts needles into his
cheek and likes it. From some
where "up the line a rusty motorcar
brings a group of Y. NJ. c. A. speak
ersE and. entertainers that hold the
mems attention for an hour more,
and answer their demands for en-
cores almost as long as they are re-
peated. 1t is a pity, you think, that
there are not more entertainers; the
men are so obviously hungry for
them. X x
The hut was full. Now it over
flows. Soldiers hang in at the win
dows. Some soldiers can neither
force an entrance through their COM
rades at the door nor squeeze a head
between the heads that crowd the
window sills.
They have TO go away. 1t is pity
that they have to go away. X X
The songs cease in the hut. Half
past 9 o'clock. That overworked
motorcar limps down the white road,
bearing it's overworked workers to
their distant cots. Leaving trio OF
other overworked workers to clean
up the canteen, take account of stock
and set the hut in order, the SOL
diers must file away to their hunks
in village haylofts, or their beds in
those sheds that are now just visible
in the neighboring fields. Within
eight hours the bugle will call them
to their mornings work, and they
will rise to ito these last prepara-
tions for fighting your battle and
mine, dear sir-the better for that
big hut, for the "Suwanee River"
for the letter home. - Reginald
Wright Kaufman, in The North
American.