The next day several times officers came to the hut and begged the women to leave and go to a place of greater safety, but they decided not to go unless they were ordered away. On June 19th one of them wrote in her diary: “Shells are still flying all about us, but our work is here and we must stay. God will protect us.” Once when things grew quiet for a little while she went to the edge of the village and watched the shells falling on Boucq, where one of her friends was stationed, and declared: “It looks awfully bad, almost as bad as it sounds.” The next morning as the firing gradually died away, Salvation Army people hurried up to Raulecourt from near-by huts to find out how these brave women were, and rejoiced unspeakably that every one was safe and well. That night there was another wonderful meeting with the boys who were going to the front, and after it the weary workers slept soundly the whole night through, quietly and undisturbed, the first time for a week. It was a bright, beautiful Sunday morning, June 23, 1918, when a little party of Salvationists from Raulecourt started down into the trenches. The muddy, dirty, unpleasant trenches! Sometimes with their two feet firmly planted on the duck-board, sometimes in the mud! Such mud! If you got both feet on it at once you were sure you were planted and would soon begin to grow! As soon as they reached the trenches they were told: “Keep your heads down, ladies, the snipers are all around!” It was an intense moment as they crept into the narrow housings where the men had to spend so much time. But it was wonderful to watch the glad light that came into the men’s eyes as they saw the women. “Here’s a real, honest-to-goodness American woman in the trenches!” exclaimed a homesick lad as they came around a turn. “Yes, your mother couldn’t come to-day,” said the motherly Salvationist, smiling a greeting, “so I’ve come in her place.” “All right!” said he, entering into the game. “This is Broadway and that’s Forty-second Street. Sit down.” Of course there was nothing to sit down on in the trenches. But he hunted about till he found a chow can and turned it up for a seat, and they had a pleasant talk. “Just wait,” he said. “I’ll show you a picture of the dearest little girl a fellow ever married and the darlingest little kid ever a man was father to!” He fumbled in his breast pocket right over his heart and brought out two photographs. “I’d give my right arm to see them this minute, but for all that,” he went on, “I wouldn’t leave till we’ve fought this thing through to Berlin and given them a dose of what they gave little Belgium!”