[Transcriber's note:-Obvious printer's errors have been corrected. -Variable spelling of hyphenated words has been made consistent. -Missing page numbers correspond to blank pages. -Punctuation conventions of the original have been retained. -Inconsistent spelling of place names has been retained. ]

[Illustration: Frontispiece]

 The Great War as I Saw It

[Illustration: Frederick George Scott. ]

 The Great War as I Saw It

 by

 Canon Frederick George Scott, C. M. G. , D. S. O. _Late Senior Chaplain_ _First Canadian Division, C. E. F. _

 Author of "Later Canadian Poems, " and "Hymn of the Empire. "

 F. D. GOODCHILD COMPANY Publishers Toronto

 Copyright, Canada, 1922 by Frederick George Scott

CONTENTS (p. 005)

 PAGECHAPTER I. How I got into the War--July to September, 1914 15

CHAPTER II. The Voyage to England--September 29th to October 18th, 1914 25

CHAPTER III. On Salisbury Plain--October 18th, 1914 to January 1st, 1915 30

CHAPTER IV. Off to France--January to March, 1915 34

CHAPTER V. Before the Storm--March and April, 1915 48

CHAPTER VI. The Second Battle of Ypres--April 22nd, 1915 55

CHAPTER VII. Festubert and Givenchy--May and June, 1915 74

CHAPTER VIII. A Lull in Operations--Ploegsteert, July to December, 1915 93

CHAPTER IX. Our First Christmas in France 118

CHAPTER X. Spring, 1916 122

CHAPTER XI. The Attack on Mount Sorrel--Summer, 1916 128

CHAPTER XII. The Battle of the Somme--Autumn, 1916 134

CHAPTER XIII. Our Home at Camblain l'Abbé--November, 1916 149

CHAPTER XIV. My Search is Rewarded 154

CHAPTER XV. A Time of Preparation--Christmas, 1916 to April, 1917 159

CHAPTER XVI. The Capture of Vimy Ridge--April 9th, 1917 167

CHAPTER XVII. A Month on the Ridge--April and May, 1917 173

CHAPTER XVIII. (p. 006) A Well-earned Rest--May and June, 1917 179

CHAPTER XIX. Paris Leave--June, 1917 186

CHAPTER XX. We take Hill 70--July and August, 1917 192

CHAPTER XXI. Every day Life--August and September, 1917 203

CHAPTER XXII. A Tragedy of War 210

CHAPTER XXIII. Visits to Rome and Paschendaele--Oct. And Nov. , 1917 216

CHAPTER XXIV. Our Last War Christmas 230

CHAPTER XXV. Victory Year Opens--January and February, 1918 234

CHAPTER XXVI. The German Offensive--March, 1918 240

CHAPTER XXVII. In Front of Arras--April, 1918 248

CHAPTER XXVIII. Sports and Pastimes--May and June, 1918 254

CHAPTER XXIX. The Beginning of the End 267

CHAPTER XXX. The Battle of Amiens--August 8th to August 16th, 1918 274

CHAPTER XXXI. We Return to Arras--August, 1918 288

CHAPTER XXXII. The Smashing of the Drocourt-Quéant Line--Sept. 2nd, 1918 292

CHAPTER XXXIII. Preparing for the Final Blow--September, 1918 298

CHAPTER XXXIV. The Crossing of the Canal du Nord--September 27th, 1918 307

CHAPTER XXXV. VICTORY--November 11th, 1918 318

INDEX 321

 TO (p. 007) THE OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE FIRST CANADIAN DIVISION, C. E. F. 

"THE UNBROKEN LINE. "

 We who have trod the borderlands of death, Where courage high walks hand in hand with fear, Shall we not hearken what the Spirit saith, "All ye were brothers there, be brothers here?"

 We who have struggled through the baffling night, Where men were men and every man divine, While round us brave hearts perished for the right By chaliced shell-holes stained with life's rich wine. 

 Let us not lose the exalted love which came From comradeship with danger and the joy Of strong souls kindled into living flame By one supreme desire, one high employ. 

 Let us draw closer in these narrower years, Before us still the eternal visions spread; We who outmastered death and all its fears Are one great army still, living and dead. F. G. S. 

FOREWORD (p. 009)

It is with great pleasure I accede to the request of Canon Scott towrite a foreword to his book. 

I first heard of my friend and comrade after the second battle ofYpres when he accompanied his beloved Canadians to Bethune after theirglorious stand in that poisonous gap--which in my own mind heimmortalised in verse:--

 O England of our fathers, and England of our sons, Above the roar of battling hosts, the thunder of the guns, A mother's voice was calling us, we heard it oversea, The blood which thou didst give us, is the blood we spill for thee. 

Little did I think when I first saw him that he could possibly, at histime of life, bear the rough and tumble of the heaviest fighting inhistory, and come through with buoyancy of spirit younger men enviedand older men recognized as the sign and fruit of self-forgetfulnessand the inspiration and cheering of others. 

Always in the thick of the fighting, bearing almost a charmed life, ignoring any suggestion that he should be posted to a softer job"further back, " he held on to the very end. 

The last time I saw him was in a hospital at Etaples badly wounded, yet cheery as ever--having done his duty nobly. 

All the Canadians in France knew him, and his devotion andfearlessness were known all along the line, and his poems will, I ambold to prophesy, last longer in the ages to come than most of thehistories of the war. 

I feel sure that his book--if anything like himself--will interest andinspire all who read it. 

 LLEWELLYN H. GWYNNE. _Bishop of Khartoum, Deputy Chaplain General to the C. Of E. Chaplains in France. _

PREFACE (p. 011)

It is with a feeling of great hesitation that I send out this accountof my personal experiences in the Great War. As I read it over, I amdismayed at finding how feebly it suggests the bitterness and thegreatness of the sacrifice of our men. As the book is written from anentirely personal point of view, the use of the first personal pronounis of course inevitable, but I trust that the narration of myexperience has been used only as a lens through which the great andglorious deeds of our men may be seen by others. I have refrained, asfar as possible, except where circumstances seemed to demand it, frommentioning the names of officers or the numbers of battalions. 

I cannot let the book go out without thanking, for many acts ofkindness, Lieut. -General Sir Edwin Alderson, K. C. B. , Lieut. -GeneralSir Arthur Currie, G. C. M. G. , K. C. B. , and Major-General Sir ArchibaldMacdonell, K. C. B. , C. M. G. , D. S. O. , who were each in turn Commanders ofthe First Canadian Division. In all the efforts the chaplains made forthe welfare of the Division, they always had the backing of these trueChristian Knights. Their kindness and consideration at all times wereunbounded, and the degree of liberty which they allowed me was aprivilege for which I cannot be too thankful, and which I trust I didnot abuse. 

If, by these faulty and inadequate reminiscences, dug out of memorieswhich have blended together in emotions too deep and indefinable to beexpressed in words, I have reproduced something of the atmosphere inwhich our glorious men played their part in the deliverance of theworld, I shall consider my task not in vain. 

May the ears of Canada never grow deaf to the plea of widows andorphans and our crippled men for care and support. May the eyes ofCanada never be blind to that glorious light which shines upon ouryoung national life from the deeds of those "Who counted not theirlives dear unto themselves, " and may the lips of Canada never be dumbto tell to future generations the tales of heroism which will kindlethe imagination and fire the patriotism of children that are yetunborn. 

 The Great War as I Saw It (p. 013)

CHAPTER I. (p. 015)

HOW I GOT INTO THE WAR. 

_July to September, 1914. _

It happened on this wise. It was on the evening of the 31st of July, 1914, that I went down to a newspaper office in Quebec to stand amidthe crowd and watch the bulletins which were posted up every now andthen, and to hear the news of the war. One after another the reportswere given, and at last there flashed upon the board the words, "General Hughes offers a force of twenty thousand men to England incase war is declared against Germany. " I turned to a friend and said, "That means that I have got to go to the war. " Cold shivers went upand down my spine as I thought of it, and my friend replied, "Ofcourse it does not mean that you should go. You have a parish andduties at home. " I said, "No. I am a Chaplain of the 8th Royal Rifles. I must volunteer, and if I am accepted, I will go. " It was a queersensation, because I had never been to war before and I did not knowhow I should be able to stand the shell fire. I had read in books ofpeople whose minds were keen and brave, but whose hind legs persistedin running away under the sound of guns. Now I knew that an ordinaryofficer on running away under fire would get the sympathy of a largenumber of people, who would say, "The poor fellow has got shellshock, " and they would make allowance for him. But if a chaplain ranaway, about six hundred men would say at once, "We have no more usefor religion. " So it was with very mingled feelings that Icontemplated an expedition to the battle-fields of France, and Itrusted that the difficulties of Europe would be settled without ourintervention. 

However, preparations for war went on. On Sunday, August 2nd, in theafternoon, I telephoned to Militia Headquarters and gave in my name asa volunteer for the Great War. When I went to church that evening andtold the wardens that I was off to France, they were much surprisedand disconcerted. When I was preaching at the service and looked downat the congregation, I had a queer feeling that some mysterious powerwas dragging me into a whirlpool, and the ordinary life around me andthe things that were so dear to me had already begun to fade away. 

On Tuesday, August the Fourth, war was declared, and the (p. 016)Expeditionary Force began to be mobilized in earnest. It is likerecalling a horrible dream when I look back to those days ofapprehension and dread. The world seemed suddenly to have gone mad. All civilization appeared to be tottering. The Japanese PrimeMinister, on the night war was declared, said, "This is the end ofEurope. " In a sense his words were true. Already we see power shiftedfrom nations in Europe to that great Empire which is in its youth, whose home is in Europe, but whose dominions are scattered over thewide world, and also to that new Empire of America, which came in tothe war at the end with such determination and high resolve. Thedestinies of mankind are now in the hands of the English-speakingnations and France. 

In those hot August days, a camp at Valcartier was prepared in alovely valley surrounded by the old granite hills of the Laurentians, the oldest range of mountains in the world. The Canadian units beganto collect, and the lines of white tents were laid out. On Saturday, August 22nd, at seven in the morning, the detachment of volunteersfrom Quebec marched off from the drill-shed to entrain for Valcartier. Our friends came to see us off and the band played "The Girl I LeftBehind Me, " in the traditional manner. On our arrival at Valcartier wemarched over to the ground assigned to us, and the men set to work toput up the tents. I hope I am casting no slur upon the 8th RoyalRifles of Quebec, when I say that I think we were all pretty green inthe matter of field experience. The South African veterans amongst us, both officers and men, saved the situation. But I know that thecooking arrangements rather "fell down", and I think a little breadand cheese, very late at night, was all we had to eat. We were luckyto get that. Little did we know then of the field kitchens, with theirpipes smoking and dinners cooking, which later on used to follow upthe battalions as they moved. 

The camp at Valcartier was really a wonderful place. Rapidly the roadswere laid out, the tents were run up, and from west and east and northand south men poured in. There was activity everywhere. Water was laidon, and the men got the privilege of taking shower-baths, beside thedusty roads. Bands played; pipers retired to the woods and practisedunearthly music calculated to fire the breast of the Scotsman with alust for blood. We had rifle practice on the marvellous ranges. We hadsham battles in which the men engaged so intensely that on one (p. 017)occasion, when the enemy met, one over-eager soldier belaboured hisopponent with the butt end of his rifle as though he were a realGerman, and the poor victim, who had not been taught to say "Kamarad", suffered grievous wounds and had to be taken away in an ambulance. Though many gales and tempests had blown round those ancientmountains, nothing had ever equalled the latent power in the hearts ofthe stalwart young Canadians who had come so swiftly and eagerly atthe call of the Empire. It is astonishing how the war spirit gripsone. In Valcartier began that splendid comradeship which spread out toall the divisions of the Canadian Corps, and which binds those whowent to the great adventure in a brotherhood stronger than has everbeen known before. 

Valcartier was to me a weird experience. The tents were cold. Theground was very hard. I got it into my mind that a chaplain shouldlive the same life as the private soldier, and should avoid allluxuries. So I tried to sleep at night under my blanket, making alittle hole in the ground for my thigh bone to rest in. After lyingawake for some nights under these conditions, I found that theprivates, especially the old soldiers, had learnt the art of makingthemselves comfortable and were hunting for straw for beds. I saw thewisdom of this and got a Wolesley sleeping bag, which I afterwardslost when my billet was shelled at Ypres. Under this new arrangement Iwas able to get a little rest. A kind friend in Quebec provided fiftyoil stoves for the use of the Quebec contingent and so we became quitecomfortable. 

The dominating spirit of the camp was General Hughes, who rode aboutwith his aides-de-camp in great splendour like Napoleon. To me itseemed that his personality and his despotic rule hung like a darkshadow over the camp. He was especially interesting and terrible to uschaplains, because rumour had it that he did not believe in chaplains, and no one could find out whether he was going to take us or not. Thechaplains in consequence were very polite when inadvertently theyfound themselves in his august presence. I was clad in a private'suniform, which was handed to me out of a box in the drill-shed thenight before the 8th Royal Rifles left Quebec, and I was mostpunctilious in the matter of saluting General Hughes whenever wechanced to meet. 

The day after we arrived at the camp was a Sunday. The weather lookeddark and showery, but we were to hold our first church parade, (p. 018)and, as I was the senior chaplain in rank, I was ordered to take itover. We assembled about three thousand strong, on a little rise inthe ground, and here the men were formed in a hollow square. Rain wasthreatening, but perhaps might have held off had it not been for theaction of one of the members of my congregation, who in the rear rankswas overheard by my son to utter the prayer--"O Lord, have mercy inthis hour, and send us now a gentle shower. " The prayer of the youngsaint was answered immediately, the rain came down in torrents, thechurch parade was called off, and I went back to my tent to get dry. 

Day after day passed and more men poured in. They were a splendid lot, full of life, energy and keen delight in the great enterprise. Visitors from the city thronged the camp in the afternoons andevenings. A cinema was opened, but was brought to a fiery end by themen, who said that the old man in charge of it never changed hisfilms. 

One of the most gruesome experiences I had was taking the funeral of ayoung fellow who had committed suicide. I shall never forget thedismal service which was held, for some reason or other, at teno'clock at night. Rain was falling, and we marched off into the woodsby the light of two smoky lanterns to the place selected as a militarycemetery. To add to the weirdness of the scene two pipers played adirge. In the dim light of the lanterns, with the dropping rain overhead and the dripping trees around us, we laid the poor boy to rest. The whole scene made a lasting impression on those who were present. 

Meanwhile the camp extended and improvements were made, and manychanges occurred in the disposition of the units. At one time theQuebec men were joined with a Montreal unit, then they were taken andjoined with a New Brunswick detachment and formed into a battalion. Ofcourse we grew more military, and I had assigned to me a batman whom Ishall call Stephenson. I selected him because of his piety--he was atheological student from Ontario. I found afterwards that it is unwiseto select batmen for their piety. Stephenson was a failure as abatman. When some duty had been neglected by him and I was on thepoint of giving vent to that spirit of turbulent anger, which I soonfound was one of the natural and necessary equipments of an officer, he would say, "Would you like me to recite Browning's 'Prospice'?"What could the enraged Saul do on such occasions but forgive, throwdown the javelin and listen to the music of the harping David? (p. 019)Stephenson was with me till I left Salisbury Plain for France. Henearly exterminated me once by setting a stone water-bottle to heat onmy stove without unscrewing the stopper. I arrived in my tent quitelate and seeing the thing on the stove quickly unscrewed it. The steamblew out with terrific force and filled the tent. A moment or two moreand the bottle would have burst with disastrous consequences. When Itold Stephenson of the enormity of his offence and that he might havebeen the cause of my death, and would have sent me to the gravecovered with dishonour for having been killed by the bursting of a hotwater-bottle--an unworthy end for one about to enter the greatest warthe world has ever known--he only smiled faintly and asked me if Ishould like to hear him recite a poem. 

News from overseas continued to be bad. Day after day brought ustidings of the German advance. The martial spirits amongst us werealways afraid to hear that the war would be over before we got toEngland. I, but did not tell the people so, was afraid it wouldn't. Imust confess I did not see in those days how a British force composedof men from farms, factories, offices and universities could gettogether in time to meet and overthrow the trained legions of Germany. It was certainly a period of anxious thought and deep foreboding, butI felt that I belonged to a race that has never been conquered. Aboveall, right and, therefore, God was on our side. 

The scenery around Valcartier is very beautiful. It was a joy now andthen to get a horse and ride away from the camp to where the JacquesCartier river comes down from the mountains, and to dream of the olddays when the world was at peace and we could enjoy the lovelyprospects of nature, without the anxious care that now gnawed at ourhearts. The place had been a favorite haunt of mine in the days goneby, when I used to take a book of poems and spend the whole day besidethe river, reading and dozing and listening to the myriad small voicesof the woods. 

Still, the centre of interest now was the camp, with its turmoil andbustle and indefinite longing to be up and doing. The officercommanding my battalion had brought his own chaplain with him, and itwas plainly evident that I was not wanted. This made it, I mustconfess, somewhat embarrassing. My tent, which was at the corner ofthe front line, was furnished only with my bed-roll and a box or two, and was not a particularly cheerful home. I used to feel rather (p. 020)lonely at times. Now and then I would go to Quebec for the day. On oneoccasion, when I had been feeling particularly seedy, I returned tocamp at eleven o'clock at night. It was cold and rainy. I made my wayfrom the station to my tent. In doing so I had to pass a HighlandBattalion from Vancouver. When I came to their lines, to my dismay Iwas halted by a sentry with a fixed bayonet, who shouted in thedarkness, "Who goes there?" I gave the answer, but instead of beingsatisfied with my reply, the wretched youth stood unmoved, with hisbayonet about six inches from my body, causing me a most unpleasantsensation. He said I should have to come to the guardroom and beidentified. In the meantime, another sentry appeared, also with afixed bayonet, and said that I had to be identified. Little did Ithink that the whole thing was a game of the young rascals, and thatthey were beguiling the tedious moments of the sentry-go by pulling achaplain's leg. They confessed it to me months afterwards in France. However, I was unsuspecting and had come submissive into the greatwar. I said that if they would remove their bayonets from propinquityto my person--because the sight of them was causing me a fresh attackof the pains that had racked me all day--I would go with them to theguardroom. At this they said, "Well, Sir, we'll let you pass. We'lltake your word and say no more about it. " So off I went to my drippingcanvas home, hoping that the war would be brought to a speedytermination. 

Every night I used to do what I called "parish visiting. " I would goround among the tents, and sitting on the ground have a talk with themen. Very interesting and charming these talks were. I was muchimpressed with the miscellaneous interests and life histories of themen who had been so quickly drawn together. All were fast being shakendown into their places, and I think the great lessons of unselfishnessand the duty of pulling together were being stamped upon the livesthat had hitherto been more or less at loose ends. I used to sit inthe tents talking long after lights were out, not wishing to break thediscussion of some interesting life problem. This frequently entailedupon me great difficulty in finding my way back to my tent, for theevenings were closing in rapidly and it was hard to thread one's wayamong the various ropes and pegs which kept the tents in position. Onone occasion when going down the lines, I tripped over a rope. Up tothat moment the tent had been in perfect silence, but, as though I hadfired a magazine of high explosives, a torrent of profanity burst (p. 021)forth from the inhabitants at my misadventure. Of course the meninside did not know to whom they were talking, but I stood there withmy blood curdling, wondering how far I was personally responsible forthe language poured forth, and terrified lest anyone should look andfind out who had disturbed their slumbers. I stole off into thedarkness as quickly as I could, more than ever longing for a speedytermination of the great war, and resolving to be more careful infuture about tripping over tent ropes. 

We had church parades regularly now on Sundays and early celebrationsof the Holy Communion for the various units. Several weeks had gone byand as yet we had no definite information from General Hughes as towhich or how many chaplains would be accepted. It was very annoying. Some of us could not make satisfactory arrangements for our parishes, until there was a certainty in the matter. The question came to me asto whether I ought to go, now that the Quebec men had been merged intoa battalion of which I was not to be the chaplain. One evening as Iwas going to town, I put the matter before my friend Colonel, nowGeneral, Turner. It was a lovely night. The moon was shining, andstretching far off into the valley were the rows of white tents withthe dark mountains enclosing them around. We stood outside thefarmhouse used as headquarters, which overlooked the camp. When Iasked the Colonel whether, now that I was separated from my men, Iought to leave my parish and go, he said to me, "Look at those linesof tents and think of the men in them. How many of those men will evercome back? The best expert opinion reckons that this war will last atleast two years. The wastage of human life in war is tremendous. Thebattalions have to be filled and refilled again and again. Don'tdecide in a hurry, but think over what I have told you. " On the nextevening when I returned from Quebec, I went to the Colonel and said, "I have thought the matter over and I am going. "

The time was now drawing near for our departure and at last word wassent round that General Hughes wished to meet all the chaplains on theverandah of his bungalow. The time set was the cheerful hour of fivea. M. I lay awake all night with a loud ticking alarm clock beside me, till about half an hour before the wretched thing was to go off. Withgreat expedition I rose and shaved and making myself as smart aspossible in the private's uniform, hurried off to the General's camphome. There the other chaplains were assembled, about twenty-five (p. 022)or thirty in all. We all felt very sleepy and very chilly as we waitedwith expectancy the utterance which was going to seal our fate. TheGeneral soon appeared in all the magnificence and power of hisposition. We rose and saluted. When he metaphorically told us to"stand easy", we all sat down. I do not know what the feelings of theothers were, but I had an impression that we were rather an awkwardsquad, neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. The General gave us a heart toheart talk. He told us he was going to send us with "the boys. " Fromhis manner I inferred that he looked upon us a kind of auxiliary andquite dispensable sanitary section. I gathered that he did not want usto be very exacting as to the performance of religious duties by themen. Rather we were to go in and out amongst them, make friends ofthem and cheer them on their way. Above all we were to remember thatbecause a man said "Damn", it did not mean necessarily that he wasgoing to hell. At the conclusion of the address, we were allowed toask questions, and one of our number unadvisedly asked if he would beallowed to carry a revolver. "No, " said Sam with great firmness, "takea bottle of castor oil. " We didn't dare to be amused at the incidentin the presence of the Chief, but we had a good laugh over it when wegot back to our tents. 

Two Sundays before we left, the most remarkable church parade in thehistory of the division was held, at which fully fifteen thousand menwere present. The Senior Chaplain asked me to preach. A large platformhad been erected, on which the chaplains stood, and on the platformalso were two signallers, whose duty it was to signal to thebattalions and bands the numbers of the hymns. On the chairs in frontof the platform were seated the Duke and Duchess of Connaught, thePrincess Patricia, Sir Robert Borden, and other notables. Beyond themwere gathered the men in battalions. At one side were the massedbands. It was a wonderful sight. The sun was shining. Autumn tintscoloured the maple trees on the sides of the ancient mountains. Herewas Canada quickening into national life and girding on the sword totake her place among the independent nations of the world. It had beenmy privilege, fifteen years before, to preach at the farewell servicein Quebec Cathedral for the Canadian Contingent going to the SouthAfrican war. It seemed to me then that never again should I have suchan experience. Yet on that occasion there were only a thousand menpresent, and here were fifteen times that number. At that time (p. 023)the war was with a small and half-civilized nation in Africa, now thewar was with the foremost nations of Europe. On that occasion I usedthe second personal pronoun "you", now I was privileged to use thefirst personal pronoun "we". Almost to the last I did not know whattext to choose and trusted to the inspiration of the moment what tosay. My mind was confused with the vastness of the outlook. At lastthe words came to me which are the very foundation stone of humanendeavour and human progress, "He that loseth his life for My sakeshall find it. " I do not know exactly what I said, and I do notsuppose it mattered much, for it was hard to make oneself heard. I wascontent if the words of the text alone were audible. We sang thatgreat hymn, "O God our help in ages past, " which came into suchprominence as an imperial anthem during the war. As we sang thewords--

 "Before the hills in order stood, Or earth received her frame"--

I looked at the everlasting mountains around us, where the sound ofour worship died away, and thought how they had watched and waited forthis day to come, and how, in the ages that were to dawn upon Canadianlife and expansion, they would stand as monuments of the consecrationof Canada to the service of mankind. 

Things began to move rapidly now. People from town told us thatalready a fleet of liners was waiting in the harbour, ready to carryoverseas the thirty-three thousand men of the Canadian contingent. 

At last the eventful day of our departure arrived. On September 28th, with several other units, the 14th Battalion, to which I had beenattached, marched off to the entraining point. I took one last look atthe great camp which had now become a place of such absorbing interestand I wondered if I should ever see again that huge amphitheatre withits encompassing mountain witnesses. The men were in high spirits andgood humour prevailed. 

We saw the three companies of Engineers moving off, each followed bythose mysterious pontoons which followed them wherever they went andsuggested the bridging of the Rhine and our advance to Berlin. Someonecalled out, "What are those boats?" and a voice replied, "That's theCanadian Navy. " We had a pleasant trip in the train to Quebec, enlivened by jokes and songs. On our arrival at the docks, we weretaken to the custom-house wharf and marched on board the fine (p. 024)Cunard liner "Andania", which now rests, her troubles over, at thebottom of the Irish Sea. On the vessel, besides half of the 14thBattalion, there was the 16th (Canadian Scottish) Battalion, chieflyfrom Vancouver, and the Signal Company. Thus we had a ship full tooverflowing of some of the noblest young fellows to whom the world hasgiven birth. So ended our war experience in Valcartier Camp. 

Nearly five years passed before I saw that sacred spot again. It wasin August 1919. The war was ended, peace had been signed, and thegreat force of brother knights had been dispersed. Little crosses bythe highways and byways of France and Belgium now marked theresting-place of thousands of those whose eager hearts took flameamong these autumn hills. As I motored past the deserted camp aftersunset, my heart thrilled with strange memories and the sense of anabiding presence of something weird and ghostly. Here were the oldroads, there were the vacant hutments. Here were the worn paths acrossthe fields where the men had gone. The evening breeze whisperedfitfully across the untrodden grass and one by one the strongmountains, as though fixing themselves more firmly in iron resolve, cast off the radiant hues of evening and stood out black and grimagainst the starlit sky. 

CHAPTER II. (p. 025)

THE VOYAGE TO ENGLAND. 

_September 29th to October 18th, 1914. _

The "Andania" moved out to mid-stream and anchored off Cape Diamond. The harbour was full of liners, crowded with men in khaki. It was agreat sensation to feel oneself at last merged into the great armylife and no longer free to come and go. I looked at the City and sawthe familiar outline of the Terrace and Château Frontenac and, overall, the Citadel, one of my favourite haunts in times past. A greatgulf separated us now from the life we had known. We began to realizethat the individual was submerged in the great flood of corporatelife, and the words of the text came to me, "He that loseth his lifefor My sake shall find it. "

The evening was spent in settling down to our new quarters in whatwas, especially after the camp at Valcartier, a luxurious home. Dinnerat night became the regimental mess, and the saloon with its sumptuousfurnishings made a fine setting for the nightly gathering of officers. We lay stationary all that night and on the next evening, Sept. The29th, at six o'clock we weighed anchor and went at slow speed down thestream. Several other vessels had preceded us, the orders to movebeing sent by wireless. We passed the Terrace where cheer after cheerwent up from the black line of spectators crowded against the railing. Our men climbed up into the rigging and their cheers went forth to theland that they were leaving. It was a glorious evening. The sun hadset and the great golden light, fast deepening into crimson, burntbehind the northern hills and lit up the windows of the houses on thecliffs of Levis opposite. We moved down past the Custom House. We sawthe St. Charles Valley and the Beauport shore, but ever our eyesturned to the grim outline of Cape Diamond and the city set upon thehill. Beside me on the upper deck stood a young officer. We weretalking together and wondering if we should ever see that rock again. He never did. He and his only brother were killed in the war. Wereached the end of the Island of Orleans, and looking back saw adeeper crimson flood the sky, till the purple mists of evening hidQuebec from our view. 

We had a lovely sail down the St. Lawrence in superb weather and (p. 026)three days later entered the great harbour of Gaspé Basin. Here thegreen arms of the hills encompassed us, as though Canada werereluctant to let us go. Gaspé Basin has historical memories forCanada, for it was there that Wolfe assembled his fleet on his voyageto the capture of Quebec. We lay at anchor all day, and at night themoon came up and flooded the great water with light, against whichstood out the black outline of thirty ships, so full of eager andvigorous life. About midnight I went on deck to contemplate the scene. The night was calm and still. The vessels lay dark and silent with alllights screened. The effect was one of lonely grandeur. What was itgoing to mean to us? What did fate hold in store? Among those hills, the outline of which I could now but faintly see, were the lakes andsalmon rivers in the heart of the great forests which make ourCanadian wild life so fascinating. We were being torn from that lifeand sent headlong into the seething militarism of a decadent Europeanfeudalism. I was leaning on the rail looking at the track ofmoonlight, when a young lad came up to me and said, "Excuse me, Sir, but may I talk to you for a while? It is such a weird sight that ithas got on my nerves. " He was a young boy of seventeen who had comefrom Vancouver. Many times afterwards I met him in France and Belgium, when big things were being done in the war, and we talked togetherover that night in Gaspé Basin and the strange thoughts that crowdedupon us then. He was not the only one in that great fleet oftransports who felt the significance of the enterprise. 

On Saturday afternoon we resumed our journey and steamed out of thenarrows. Outside the bay the ships formed into a column of three abreast, making a line nine miles in length. Several cruisers, and later abattleship and battle cruiser, mounted guard over the expedition. OffCape Race, the steamship "Florizel" joined us, bringing the Newfoundlandtroops. Our family party was now complete. 

It was indeed a family party. On every ship we had friends. It seemedas if Canada herself were steaming across the ocean. Day after day, inperfect weather, keeping our relative positions in absolute order, wesped over the deep. There was none of the usual sense of lonelinesswhich characterizes the ocean voyage. We looked at the line of vesselsand we felt that one spirit and one determination quickened the wholefleet into individual life. 

On board the "Andania" the spirit of the men was excellent. There (p. 027)was physical drill daily to keep them fit. There was the gymnasium forthe officers. We had boxing matches for all, and sword dances also forthe Highlanders. In the early morning at five-thirty, the pipers usedto play reveille down the passages. Not being a Scotsman, the musicalways woke me up. At such moments I considered it my duty to try tounderstand the music of the pipes. But in the early hours of themorning I made what I thought were discoveries. First I found out thatall pipe melodies have the same bass. Secondly I found out that allpipe melodies have the same treble. On one occasion the pipers leftthe security of the Highlanders' quarters and invaded the precincts ofthe 14th Battalion, who retaliated by turning the hose on them. Agenuine battle between the contending factions was only averted by thediplomacy of the O. C. 

I had made friends with the wireless operators on board the ship, andevery night I used to go up to their cabin on the upper deck and theywould give me reports of the news which had been flashed out to theleading cruiser. They told me of the continued German successes and ofthe fall of Antwerp. The news was not calculated to act as a soothingnightcap before going to bed. I was sworn to secrecy and so I did notlet the men know what was happening at the front. I used to look roundat the bright faces of the young officers in the saloon and think ofall that those young fellows might have to endure before the world wassaved. It gave everyone on board a special sacredness in my eyes, andone felt strangely inadequate and unworthy to be with them. 

The men lived below decks and some of them were packed in prettytightly. Had the weather been rough there would have been a good dealof suffering. During the voyage our supply of flour gave out, but aswe had a lot of wheat on board, the men were set to grind it in acoffee mill. More than fifty per cent of the men, I found, weremembers of the Church of England, and so I determined to have acelebration of Holy Communion, for all who cared to attend, at fiveo'clock every morning. I always had a certain number present, and verydelightful were these services at that early hour. Outside on deck wecould hear the tramp and orders of those engaged in physical drill, and inside the saloon where I had arranged the altar there knelt asmall gathering of young fellows from various parts of Canada, whowere pleased to find that the old Church was going with them on (p. 028)their strange pilgrimage. The well-known hymn--

 "Eternal Father strong to save, Whose arm hath bound the restless wave"

had never appealed to me much in the past, but it took on a newmeaning at our Sunday church parade, for we all felt that we were arather vulnerable body in any determined attack that might be madeupon us by the German navy. Now and then vessels would be sighted onthe horizon and there was always much excitement and speculation as towhat they might be. We could see the cruisers making off in thedirection of the strangers and taking a survey of the ocean at longrange. 

One day a man on the "Royal George" fell overboard, and a boat wasinstantly lowered to pick him up. The whole fleet came to astandstill and all our glasses were turned towards the scene ofrescue. Often in our battles when we saw the hideous slaughter ofhuman beings, I have thought of the care for the individual life whichstopped that great fleet in order to save one man. 

Our destination, of course, was not known to us. Some thought we mightgo directly to France, others that we should land in England. When atlast, skirting the south coast of Ireland, we got into the EnglishChannel, we felt more than ever the reality of our adventure. I believewe were destined for Southampton; but rumour had it that a Germansubmarine was waiting for us in the Channel, so we turned into theharbour of Plymouth. It was night when we arrived. A low cloud andmist hung over the dark choppy waves of the Channel. From the forts atPlymouth and from vessels in the harbour, long searchlights moved likethe fingers of a great ghostly hand that longed to clutch at something. We saw the small patrol boats darting about in all directions and wefelt with a secret thrill that we had got into that part of the worldwhich was at war. We arrived at Plymouth on the evening of October14th, our voyage having lasted more than a fortnight. Surely noexpedition, ancient or modern, save that perhaps which Columbus ledtowards the undiscovered continent of his dreams, was ever fraughtwith greater significance to the world at large. We are still tooclose to the event to be able to measure its true import. Its realmeaning was that the American continent with all its huge resources, its potential value in the ages to come, had entered upon the sphereof world politics, and ultimately would hold in its hands the sceptreof world dominion. Even the British thought that we had come (p. 029)merely to assist the Mother Country in her difficulties. Those whowere at the helm in Canada, however, knew that we were not fightingfor the security of the Mother Country only, but for the security ofCanadian nationalism itself. Whatever the ages hold in store for us inthis great and rich Dominion which stretches from sea to sea and fromthe river unto the world's end, depended upon our coming out victorsin the great European struggle. 

CHAPTER III. (p. 030)

ON SALISBURY PLAIN. 

_October 18th, 1914, to January 1st, 1915. _

On Sunday the 18th, our men entrained and travelled to Patney, andfrom thence marched to Westdown South, Salisbury Plain. There tentshad been prepared and we settled down to life in our new English home. At first the situation was very pleasant. Around us on all sidesspread the lines of tents. The weather was delightful. A ride over themysterious plain was something never to be forgotten. The littlevillages around were lovely and quaint. The old town of Salisbury, with its wonderful Cathedral and memories of old England, threw theglamour of romance and chivalry over the new soldiers in the newcrusade. But winter drew on, and such a winter it was. The rainsdescended, the floods came and the storms beat upon our tents, and thetents which were old and thin allowed a fine sprinkling of moisture tofall upon our faces. The green sward was soon trampled into deep andclinging mud. There was nothing for the men to do. Ammunition wasshort, there was little rifle practice. The weather was so bad that aroute march meant a lot of wet soldiers with nowhere to dry theirclothes upon their return. In some places the mud went over my longrubber boots. The gales of heaven swept over the plain unimpeded. Tents were blown down. On one particularly gloomy night, I met achaplain friend of mine in the big Y. M. C. A. Marquee. I said to him, "For goodness sake let us do something for the men. Let us have asing-song. " He agreed, and we stood in the middle of the marquee withour backs to the pole and began to sing a hymn. I do not know what itwas. I started the air and was going on so beautifully that the menwere beginning to be attracted and were coming around us. Suddenly myfriend struck in with a high tenor note. Hardly had the sound goneforth when, like the fall of the walls of Jericho at the sound ofJoshua's trumpets, a mighty gale struck the building, and with aripping sound the whole thing collapsed. In the rain and darkness werushed to the assistance of the attendants and extinguished the lamps, which had been upset, while the men made their way to the counters andput the cigarettes and other dainties into their pockets, lest theyshould get wet. On another occasion, the Paymaster's tent blew (p. 031)away as he was paying off the battalion. Five shilling notes flewover the plain like white birds over the sea. The men quickly chasedthem and gathered them up, and on finding them stained with mudthought it unnecessary to return them. On another night the hugemarquee where Harrod's ran the mess for a large number of officers, blew down just as we were going to dinner, and we had to forage in thevarious canteens for tinned salmon and packages of biscuits. 

Still, in spite of all, the spirits of our men never failed. One nightwhen a heavy rain had turned every hollow into a lake, and every gullyinto a rushing cataract, I went down to some tents on a lower levelthan my own. I waded through water nearly a foot deep and came to atent from which I saw a faint light emerging. I looked inside andthere with their backs to the pole stood some stalwart youngCanadians. On an island in the tent, was a pile of blankets, on whichburnt a solitary candle. "Hello, boys, how are you getting on?" "Fine, Sir, fine, " was their ready response. "Well, boys, keep that spiritup, " I said, "and we'll win the war. "

At first we had no "wet" canteen where beer could be procured. Theinns in the villages around became sources of great attraction to themen, and the publicans did their best to make what they could out ofthe well-paid Canadian troops. The maintenance of discipline undersuch circumstances was difficult. We were a civilian army, and our menhad come over to do a gigantic task. Everyone knew that, when the hourfor performance came, they would be ready, but till that hour camethey were intolerant of restraint. 

The English people did not understand us, and many of our mencertainly gave them good reason to be doubtful. Rumour had it at onetime that we were going to be taken out of the mud and quartered inExeter. Then the rumour was that the Exeter people said, "If theCanadians are sent here, we'll all leave the town. " I did not mind, Itold the men I would make my billet in the Bishop's Palace. 

The C. O. Of one of the battalions was tempted to do what David didwith such disastrous results, namely number the people. He called theroll of his battalion and found that four hundred and fifty men wereabsent without leave. But as I have said, we all knew that when themoment for big things came, every man would be at his post and woulddo his bit. 

Just before Christmas the 3rd Brigade were moved into huts at LarkHill. They were certainly an improvement upon the tents, but they (p. 032)were draughty and leaky. From my window I could see, on the fewoccasions when the weather permitted it, the weird and ancient circlesof Stonehenge. 

The calm repose of those huge stones, which had watched unmoved thepassing of human epochs, brought peace to the mind. They called tomemory the lines;--

 "Our little systems have their day, They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of Thee, And Thou, O Lord, art more than they. "

In order to give Christmas its religious significance, I askedpermission of the Rector of Amesbury to use his church for a midnightEucharist on Christmas Eve. He gladly gave his consent and notice ofthe service was sent round to the units of the Brigade. In the thickfog the men gathered and marched down the road to the village, wherethe church windows threw a soft light into the mist that hung over theancient burial ground. The church inside was bright and beautiful. Theold arches and pillars and the little side chapels told of days goneby, when the worship of the holy nuns, who had their convent there, rose up to God day by day. The altar was vested in white and thecandles shone out bright and fair. The organist had kindly consentedto play the Christmas hymns, in which the men joined heartily. It wasa service never to be forgotten, and as I told the men, in the shortaddress I gave them, never before perhaps, in the history of thatvenerable fane, had it witnessed a more striking assembly. From adistance of nearly seven thousand miles some of them had come, andthis was to be our last Christmas before we entered the life and deathstruggle of the nations. Row after row of men knelt to receive theBread of Life, and it was a rare privilege to administer it to them. The fog was heavier on our return and some of us had great difficultyin finding our lines. 

It seemed sometimes as if we had been forgotten by the War Office, butthis was not the case. We had visits from the King, Lord Roberts andother high officials. All these were impressed with the physique andhigh spirits of our men. 

The conditions under which we lived were certainly atrocious, and anoutbreak of meningitis cast a gloom over the camp. It was met bravelyand skilfully by our medical men, of whose self-sacrifice and devotionno praise is too high. The same is true of their conduct all throughthe war. 

Our life on the Plain was certainly a puzzle to us. Why were we (p. 033)kept there? When were we going to leave? Were we not wanted in France?These were the questions we asked one another. I met an Imperialofficer one day, who had just returned from the front. I asked himwhen we were going to train for the trenches. "Why" he said, "whatbetter training could you have than you are getting here? If you canstand the life here, you can stand the life in France. " I think he wasright. That strange experience was just what we needed to inure us tohardship, and it left a stamp of resolution and efficiency on theFirst Division which it never lost. 

CHAPTER IV. (p. 034)

OFF TO FRANCE. 

_January To March, 1915. _

Towards the end of January, rumors became more frequent that ourdeparture was close at hand, and we could see signs of the comingmovement in many quarters. The disposition of the chaplains was stilla matter of uncertainty. At last we were informed that only fivechaplains were to proceed with the troops to France. This was theoriginal number which the War Office had told us to bring from Canada. The news fell like a thunderbolt upon us, and we at once determined toget the order changed. The Senior Roman Catholic Chaplain and myself, by permission of the General, made a special journey to the WarOffice. The Chaplain-General received us, if not coldly, at leastausterely. We told him that we had come from Canada to be with the menand did not want to leave them. He replied by saying that theCanadians had been ordered by Lord Kitchener to bring only fivechaplains with them, and they had brought thirty-one. He said, lookingat me, "That is not military discipline; we must obey orders. " Iexplained to him that since the Canadian Government was paying thechaplains the people thought it did not matter how many we had. Eventhis did not seem to convince him. "Besides", he said, "they tell methat of all the troops in England the Canadians are the mostdisorderly and undisciplined, and they have got thirty-one chaplains. ""But", I replied, "you ought to see what they would have been like, ifwe had brought only five. " We succeeded in our mission in so far thathe promised to speak to Lord Kitchener that afternoon and see if thewild Canadians could not take more chaplains with them to France thanwere allotted to British Divisions. The result was that eleven of ourchaplains were to be sent. 

Early in February we were told that our Division was to go in a few days. In spite of the mud and discomfort we had taken root in SalisburyPlain. I remember looking with affection one night at the Cathedralbathed in moonlight, and at the quaint streets of the dear old town, over which hung the shadow of war. Could it be possible that Englandwas about to be crushed under the heel of a foreign tyrant? If (p. 035)such were to be her fate, death on the battlefield would be easy to bear. What Briton could endure to live under the yoke or by the permission ofa vulgar German autocrat?

On entering the mess one evening I was horrified to read in the ordersthat Canon Scott was to report immediately for duty to No. 2 GeneralHospital. It was a great blow to be torn from the men of the fightingforces. I at once began to think out a plan of campaign. I went overto the G. O. C. Of my brigade, and told him that I was to report to No. 2 General Hospital. I said, with perfect truth, that I did not knowwhere No. 2 General Hospital was, but I had determined to begin thehunt for it in France. I asked him if he would take me across with theHeadquarters Staff, so that I might begin my search at the front. Hehad a twinkle in his eye as he told me that if I could get on boardthe transport, he would make no objection. I was delighted with theprospect of going over with the men. 

When the time came to pack up, I was overwhelmed by the number of thingsthat I had accumulated during the winter. I disposed of a lot ofuseless camp furniture, such as folding tables and collapsible chairs, and my faithful friend the oil stove. With a well-filled Wolseleykit-bag and a number of haversacks bursting with their contents, I wasready for the journey. On February 11th, on a lovely afternoon, Istarted off with the Headquarters Staff. We arrived at Avonmouth andmade our way to the docks. It was delightful to think that I was goingwith the men. I had no batman and no real standing with the unit withwhich I was travelling. However, I did not let this worry me. I got afriend to carry my kit-bag, and then covering myself with haversacks, till I looked, as the men said, like a Christmas tree, I made my wayto the ship with a broad grin of satisfaction on my face. As I went upthe gangway so attired and looking exceedingly pleased with myself, myappearance excited the suspicion of the officer in command of the ship, who was watching the troops come on board. Mistaking the cause of mygood spirits, he called a captain to him and said, "There is an officercoming on board who is drunk; go and ask him who he is. " The captainaccordingly came over and greeting me pleasantly said, "How do you do, Sir?" "Very well, thank you, " I replied, smiling all the more. I wasafraid he had come up to send me back. Having been a teetotaler fortwenty-two years, I knew nothing of the horrible suspicion under (p. 036)which I lay at the moment. The captain then said, "Who are you, Sir?"and I, thinking of my happy escape from army red tape, answered quiteinnocently, with a still broader grin, "I'm No. 2, General Hospital. "This, of course confirmed the captain's worst suspicions. He went backto the O. C. Of the ship. "Who does he say he is?" said the Colonel. "He says he is No. 2 General Hospital, " the Captain replied. "Let himcome on board" said the Colonel. He thought I was safer on board theship than left behind in that condition on the wharf. With greatdelight I found all dangers had been passed and I was actually aboutto sail for France. 

The boat which took us and the 3rd Artillery Brigade, was a small vesselcalled "The City of Chester. " We were horribly crowded, so my bed hadto be made on the table in the saloon. A doctor lay on the sofa at theside and several young officers slept on the floor. We had not been outmany hours before a terrific gale blew up from the West, and we had topoint our bow towards Canada. I told the men there was some satisfactionin that. We were exceedingly uncomfortable. My bed one night slid offthe table on to the sleeping doctor and nearly crushed him. I squeezedout some wonderfully religious expressions from him in his state ofpartial unconsciousness. I replaced myself on the table, and then slidoff on to the chairs on the other side. I finally found a happy andsafe haven on the floor. On some of the other transports they faredeven worse. My son, with a lot of other privates, was lying on thefloor of the lowest deck in his boat, when a voice shouted down thegangway, "Lookout boys, there's a horse coming down. " They clearedaway just in time for a horse to land safely in the hold, havingperformed one of those miraculous feats which horses so often dowithout damage to themselves. 

On the 15th of February we arrived off the west coast of France anddisembarked at St. Nazaire. Our life now took on fresh interest. Everything about us was new and strange. As a Quebecer I felt quite athome in a French town. A good sleep in a comfortable hotel was a greatrefreshment after the voyage. In the afternoon of the following day weentrained for the front. I spread out my Wolesley sleeping bag on thestraw in a box car in which there were several other officers. Ourprogress was slow, but it was a great thing to feel that we were (p. 037)travelling through France, that country of romance and chivalry. Ourjourney took more than two days, and we arrived at Hazebrouck one weekafter leaving Salisbury Plain. The town has since been badly wrecked, but then it was undamaged. The Brigadier lent me a horse and I rodewith his staff over to Caestre where the brigade was to be billeted. In the same town were the 15th and 16th Battalions and the 3rd FieldAmbulance. I had a room that night in the Château, a rather ramblingmodern house. The next morning I went out to find a billet for myself. I called on the Mayor and Mayoress, a nice old couple who not only gaveme a comfortable room in their house, but insisted upon my acceptingit free of charge. They also gave me breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. I was delighted to be so well housed and was going on my way rejoicingwhen I met an officer who told me that the Brigade Major wanted to seeme in a hurry. I went over to his office and was addressed by him in avery military manner. He wanted to know why I was there and asked whatunit I was attached to. I told him No. 2 General Hospital. He said, "Where is it?" "I don't know", I replied, "I came over to France tolook for it. " He said, "It is at Lavington on Salisbury Plain, " andadded, "You will have to report to General Alderson and get someattachment till the hospital comes over. " His manner was so cold andbusinesslike that it was quite unnerving and I began to realize morethan ever that I was in the Army. Accordingly that afternoon I walkedover to the General's Headquarters, at Strazeele, some five milesaway, and he attached me to the Brigade until my unit should come toFrance. I never knew when it did come to France, for I never asked. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof" was my motto. I held onto my job at the front. But the threat which the Brigadier held overme, that if I went into the trenches or anywhere out of his immediateken I should be sent back to No. 2 General Hospital, was somethingwhich weighed upon my spirits very heavily at times, and caused me toacquire great adroitness in the art of dodging. In fact, I made up mymind that three things had to be avoided if I wished to live throughthe campaign--sentries, cesspools, and generals. They were all sourcesof special danger, as everyone who has been at the front can testify. Over and over again on my rambles in the dark, nothing has saved mefrom being stuck by a sentry but the white gleam of my clerical (p. 038)collar, which on this account I had frequently thought of paintingwith luminous paint. One night I stepped into a cesspool and had to siton a chair while my batman pumped water over me almost as ill-savouredas the pool itself. On another occasion, when, against orders, I wasgoing into the trenches in Ploegsteert, I saw the General and hisstaff coming down the road. Quick as thought, I cantered my horse intoan orchard behind a farm house, where there was a battery of Imperials. The men were surprised, not to say alarmed, at the sudden appearanceof a chaplain in their midst. When I told them, however, that I wasdodging a general, they received me with the utmost kindness andsympathy. They had often done the same themselves, and offered me somelight refreshments. 

On the following Sunday we had our first church parade in the warzone. We were delighted during the service to hear in the distance thesound of guns and shells. As the war went on we preferred churchparades when we could not hear guns and shells. 

After a brief stay in Caestre the whole brigade marched off toArmentieres. Near Flêtre, the Army Commander, General Smith-Dorrien, stood by the roadside and took the salute as we passed. I went withthe 15th Battalion, and, as I told the men, being a Canon, marchedwith the machine gun section. We went by the delightful old town ofBailleul. The fields were green. The hedges were beginning to showsigns of spring life. The little villages were quaint and picturesque, but the pavé road was rough and tiring. Bailleul made a delightfulbreak in the journey. The old Spanish town hall, with its tower, thefine old church and spire and the houses around the Grande Place, willalways live in one's memory. The place is all a ruin now, but then itformed a pleasant home and meeting place for friends from many parts. We skirted the borders of Belgium and arrived at Armentieres in theafternoon. The place had been shelled and was partly deserted, but wasstill a populous town. I made my home with the Brigade transport in alarge school. In the courtyard our horses and mules were picketed. Ihad never heard mules bray before and I had a good sample next morningof what they can do, for with the buildings around them the sound hadan added force. The streets of Armentieres were well laid out and someof the private residences were very fine. It is astonishing how ourcamp life at Salisbury had made us love cities. Armentieres has (p. 039)since been destroyed and its church ruined. Many of us have pleasantmemories of the town, and the cemetery there is the resting place ofnumbers of brave Canadians. 

I ran across an imperial Chaplain there, whom I had met in England. Hetold me he had a sad duty to perform that night. It was to prepare fordeath three men who were to be shot at daybreak. He felt it verykeenly, and I afterwards found from experience how bitter the dutywas. 

We were brought to Armentieres in order to be put into the trencheswith some of the British units for instruction. On Wednesday evening, February the 24th, the men were marched off to the trenches for thefirst time and I went with a company of the 15th Battalion, who wereto be attached to the Durham Light Infantry. I was warned to keepmyself in the background as it was said that the chaplains were notallowed in the front line. The trenches were at Houplines to the eastof Armentieres. We marched down the streets till we came to the edgeof the town and there a guide met us and we went in single file acrossthe field. We could see the German flare-lights and could hear thecrack of rifles. It was intensely interesting, and the mystery of thewar seemed to clear as we came nearer to the scene of action. The menwent down into the narrow trench and I followed. I was welcomed by avery nice young captain whom I never heard of again till I saw thecross that marked his grave in the Salient. The trenches in those dayswere not what they afterwards became. Double rows of sandbags builtlike a wall were considered an adequate protection. I do not thinkthere was any real parados. The dugouts were on a level with thetrench and were roofed with pieces of corrugated iron covered with twolayers of sandbags. They were a strange contrast to the dugouts thirtyfeet deep, lined with wood, which we afterwards made for our trenchhomes. 

I was immensely pleased at having at last got into the front line. Even if I were sent out I had at least seen the trenches. The captainbrought me to his tiny dugout and told me that he and I could squeezein there together for the night. He then asked me if I should like tosee the trench, and took me with him on his rounds. By this time itwas dark and rainy and very muddy. As we were going along the trench atall officer, followed by another met us and exchanged a word with thecaptain. They then came up to me and the first one peered at me in (p. 040)the darkness and said in abrupt military fashion, "Who are you?"I thought my last hour had come, or at least I was going to be sentback. I told him I was a chaplain with the Canadians. "Did you comeover with the men?" "Yes", I said. "Capital", he replied, "Won't youcome and have lunch with me tomorrow?" "Where do you live?" I said. The other officer came up to my rescue at this moment and said, "TheGeneral's Headquarters are in such and such a place in Armentieres, ""Good Heavens", I whispered in a low tone to the officer, "Is he ageneral?" "Yes" he said. "I hope my deportment was all that it oughtto have been in the presence of a general, " I replied. "It wasexcellent, Padré, " he said, with a laugh. So I arranged to go and haveluncheon with him two days afterwards, for I was to spend forty-eighthours in the trenches. The first officer turned out to be GeneralCongreve, V. C. , a most gallant man. He told me at luncheon that if hecould press a button and blow the whole German nation into the air hewould do it. I felt a little bit shocked then, because I did not knowthe Germans as I afterwards did. I spent nearly four years at thefront hunting for that button. 

The captain and I had very little room to move about in his dugout. Iwas very much impressed with the unostentatious way in which he said, "If you want to say your prayers, Padré, you can kneel over in thatcorner first, because there is only room for one at a time. I will saymine afterwards"--and he did. He was a Roman Catholic, and had livedin India, and was a very fine type of man. When I read the words twoyears afterwards on a cross in a cemetery near Poperinghe, "Of yourcharity pray for the soul of Major Harter, M. C. , " I did it gladly anddevoutly. 

I had brought with me in a small pyx, the Blessed Sacrament, and thenext morning I gave Communion to a number of the men. One youngofficer, a boy of eighteen, who had just left school to come to thefront, asked me to have the service in his dugout. The men came inthree or four at a time and knelt on the muddy floor. Every now andthen we could hear the crack of a bullet overhead striking thesandbags. The officer was afterwards killed, and the great promise ofhis life was not fulfilled in this world. 

There was a great deal of rifle fire in the trenches in those days. The captain told me the Canadians were adepts in getting rid of (p. 041)their ammunition and kept firing all night long. Further down theline were the "Queen's Own Westminsters. " They were a splendid body ofyoung men and received us very kindly. On my way over to them the nextmorning, I found in a lonely part of a trench a man who had taken offhis shirt and was examining the seams of it with interest. I knew hewas hunting for one of those insects which afterwards played no smallpart in the general discomfort of the Great War, and I thought itwould be a good opportunity to learn privately what they looked like. So I took a magnifying glass out of my pocket and said, "Well, my boy, let me have a look for I too am interested in botany. " He pointed to aseam in his shirt and said, "There, Sir, there is one. " I was justgoing to examine it under the glass when, crack! a bullet hit thesandbags near-by, and he told me the trench was enfiladed. I said, "Mydear boy, I think I will postpone this scientific research until weget to safer quarters, for if I am knocked out, the first question mycongregation will ask will be, "What was our beloved pastor doing whenhe was hit?" If they hear that I was hunting in a man's shirt for oneof these insects, they will not think it a worthy ending to my life. "He grinned, put on his shirt, and moved down the trench. 

That afternoon a good many shells passed over our heads and of coursethe novelty of the thing made it most interesting. After a warexperience of nearly four years, one is almost ashamed to look backupon those early days which were like war in a nursery. The hideousthing was then only in its infancy. Poison gas, liquid fire, trenchmortars, hand grenades, machine guns, (except a very few) and tankswere then unknown. The human mind had not then made, as it afterwarddid, the sole object of its energy the destruction of human life. Yetwith a deepening knowledge of the instruments of death has come, Itrust, a more revolting sense of the horrors and futility of war. Theromance and chivalry of the profession of arms has gone forever. Letus hope that in the years to come the human mind will bend all itsenergies to right the wrongs and avert the contentions that result inbloodshed. 

On the following Sunday, we had a church parade in the square inArmentieres. Two or three men watched the sky with field glasses lestan enemy plane should come up. We had now finished our instruction intrench warfare and were going to take over part of the front line. (p. 042)We were marched off one afternoon to the village of Bac St. Maur, where we rested for the night. I had dinner with the officers of the15th Battalion, and went out afterwards to a big factory at the end ofthe straggling brick village to see my son, whose battalion wasquartered there. On returning I found the night was very dark, andevery door and window in the long rows of houses was tightly closed. No lights were allowed in the town. Once more my faculty for losing myway asserted itself, and I could not tell which was the house where Ihad dined. It was to be my billet for the night. The whole place wassilent, and I wandered up and down the long street. I met a fewsoldiers and when I asked if they could tell me where I had had dinnerthey naturally began to eye me with suspicion. At the same time it wasno laughing matter. I had had a long walk in the afternoon and had theprospect of another on the following day. I was separated from mykit-bag and my safety razor, which always, at the front, constitutedmy home, and the night was beginning to get cold. Besides it was moreor less damaging to one's character as a chaplain to be foundwandering aimlessly about the streets at night asking where you haddined. My habits were not as well known to the men then as they wereafter a few years of war. In despair I went down the road behind thevillage, and there to my joy I saw a friendly light emerging from thedoor of a coach house. I went up to it and entered and found to myrelief the guard of the 16th Battalion. They had a big fire in thechimney-place, and were smoking and making tea. It was then about oneo'clock, and they were both surprised and amused at my plight, butgave me a very glad welcome and offered me a bed and blankets on thefloor. I was just going to accept them when I asked if the blanketswere "crummy". The men burst out laughing. "You bet your life theyare, Sir, " they cried. "Well, boys, " I said, "I think that I prefer tospend the night walking about the village and trying to compose apoem. " Once more I made my way down the dark street, examining closelyevery door and window. At last I found a crack of light which camefrom one of the houses. I knocked at the door and it was opened by anofficer from Quebec, who had been engaged with some others in a quietgame of cards. He was amused at my homeless condition and kindly tookme in and gave me a comfortable bed in his own room. On the next (p. 043)morning of course I was "ragged" tremendously on my disappearance duringthe night. 

The next day we marched off to the village of Sailly-sur-Lys, whichwas to become our rear headquarters during our occupation of thetrenches. The little place had been damaged by shells, but everyavailable house was occupied. Our battalion moved up the country roadand was dispersed among the farm houses and barns in theneighbourhood. 

I made my home with some officers in a small and dirty farm house. Thenovelty of the situation, however, gave it a certain charm for thetime. We were crowded into two or three little rooms and lay on pilesof straw. We were short of rations, but each officer contributedsomething from his private store. I had a few articles of tinned foodwith me and they proved to be of use. From that moment I determinednever to be without a tin of bully beef in my haversack, and I formedthe bully beef habit in the trenches which lasted till the end andalways amused the men. The general cesspool and manure heap of thefarm was, as usual, in the midst of the buildings, and wasparticularly unsavoury. A cow waded through it and the family hensfattened on it. Opposite our window in one of the buildings dwelt anenormous sow with a large litter of young ones. When any of the ladiesof the family went to throw refuse on the manure heap, the old sow, driven by the pangs of hunger, would stand on her hind legs and pokeher huge face out over the half door of her prison appealing in piglanguage for some of the discarded dainties. Often nothing would stopher squeals but a smart slap on her fat cheeks by the lady's tenderhand. In the hayloft of the barn the men were quartered. Their candlesmade the place an exceedingly dangerous abode. There was only onesmall hole down which they could escape in case of fire. It is awonder we did not have more fires in our billets than we did. 

The trenches assigned to our Brigade were to the right of Fleurbaix. They were poorly constructed, but as the time went on were greatlyimproved by the labours of our men. The Brigadier assigned to me formy personal use a tiny mud-plastered cottage with thatched roof and alittle garden in front. It was in the Rue du Bois, a road which ranparallel with the trenches about 800 yards behind them. I was veryproud to have a home all to myself, and chalked on the door the word"Chaplain". In one room two piles of straw not only gave me a bed (p. 044)for myself but enabled me to give hospitality to any officer whoneeded a billet. Another room I fitted up as a chapel. An old boxcovered with the silk Union Jack and white cloth and adorned with twocandles and cross served as an altar. There were no chairs to be had, but the plain white walls were not unsuited to the purpose to whichthe room was dedicated. 

In this chapel I held several services. It was a fine sight to see agroup of tall and stalwart young Highlanders present. Their headsalmost reached to the low ceiling, and when they sang, the littlebuilding trembled with the sound. 

Every night when there were any men to be buried, I used to receivenotice from the front line, and after dark I would set out preceded bymy batman, Murdoch MacDonald, a proper young Highlander, carrying arifle with fixed bayonet on his shoulder. It made one feel very proudto go off down the dark road so attended. When we got to the place ofburial I would hold a short service over the open graves in which thebodies were laid to rest. Our casualties were light then, but in thosedays we had not become accustomed to the loss of comrades and so wefelt the toll of death very bitterly. 

It made a great difference to me to have a house of my own. PreviouslyI had found it most difficult to get any place in which to lay myhead. On one occasion, I had obtained permission from a kind-heartedfarmer's wife to rent one corner of the kitchen in her two-roomedhouse. It was on a Saturday night and when the family had retired totheir room I spread my sleeping bag in the corner and went to bed. Igot up when the family had gone to Mass in the morning. All throughthe day the kitchen was crowded, and I saw that if I went to bed thatnight I should not have the opportunity of getting up again until thefamily went to Mass on the following Sunday. So I paid the woman fivefrancs for my lodging and started out in pursuit of another. I managedto find a room in another little farmhouse, somewhat larger andcleaner. My room was a small one and had an earth floor. The ceilingwas so low that I could touch the beams with my head when I stood onmy toes. But in it were two enormous double beds, a table and a chair. What more could one want? A large cupboard full of straw furnished abillet for Murdoch and he was allowed to do my simple cooking on thefamily stove. 

Small as my billet was, I was able on one occasion to take in and (p. 045)house three officers of the Leicesters, who arrived one night inpreparation for the battle of Neuve Chapelle. I also stowed away asergeant in the cupboard with Murdoch. My three guests were veryhungry and very tired and enjoyed a good sleep in the ponderous beds. I saw a photo of one of the lads afterwards in the Roll of Honour pageof the "Graphic, " and I remembered the delightful talk I had had withhim during his visit. 

At that time we were all very much interested in a large fifteen-inchhowitzer, which had been placed behind a farmhouse, fast crumblinginto ruins. It was distant two fields from my abode. To our simpleminds, it seemed that the war would soon come to an end when theGermans heard that such weapons were being turned against them. Wewere informed too, that three other guns of the same make and calibrewere being brought to France. The gun was the invention of a retiredadmiral who lived in a farmhouse nearby and who, when it was loaded, fired it off by pressing an electric button. The officer in charge ofthe gun was very pleasant and several times took me in his car tointeresting places. I went with him to Laventie on the day of thebattle of Neuve Chapelle, and saw for the first time the effects of anattack and the wounded being brought back in ambulances. 

There was one large barn not far off full of beautiful yellow strawwhich held several hundred men. I had a service in it one night. Theatmosphere was smoky and mysterious, and the hundreds of littlecandles propped up on mess-tins over the straw, looked like a specialillumination. A large heap of straw at the end of the barn served as aplatform, and in lieu of an organ I had a mandolin player to start thehymns. The service went very well, the men joining in heartily. 

The night before the battle of Neuve Chapelle, I went over to see thecaptain in charge of the big gun, and he showed me the orders for thenext day, issued by the British General. He told me that at seveno'clock it would be "Hell let loose", all down the line. Next morningI woke up before seven, and blocked up my ears so that I should not bedeafened by the noise of artillery. But for some reason or other theplans had been changed and I was quite disappointed that the Germansdid not get the hammering it was intended to give them. We were on theleft of the British line during the battle of Neuve Chapelle, andwere not really in the fight. The British suffered very heavily (p. 046)and did not meet with the success which they had hoped for. 

My son was wounded in this engagement and was sent out with the lossof an eye. On returning from seeing him put into a hospital train atMerville, I was held up for some hours in the darkness by the BritishCavalry streaming past in a long line. I was delighted to see them forI thought we had broken through. On the next day to our greatdisappointment we saw them going back again. 

Near Canadian Headquarters at Sailly there was a large steam laundrywhich was used as a bath for our men. It was a godsend to them, forthe scarcity of water made cleanliness difficult. The laundry duringbath hours was a curious spectacle. Scores of large cauldrons ofsteaming water covered the floor. In each sat a man with only his headand shoulders showing, looking as if he were being boiled to death. Inthe mists of the heated atmosphere and in the dim light of candles, one was reminded of Doré's illustrations of Dante's Inferno. In one ofthem he represents a certain type of sinner as being tormented foreverin boiling water. 

We had now finished our time in this part of the line and the Divisionwas ordered back for a rest. The General was troubled about mytransportation as I had no horse, but I quoted my favourite text, "TheLord will provide. " It made him quite angry when I quoted the text, and he told me that we were engaged in a big war and could not takethings so casually. When, however, he had seen me on various occasionspicked up by stray motor cars and lorries and get to our destinationbefore he did, he began to think there was more in the text than hehad imagined. I was accused of helping Providence unduly by basesubterfuges such as standing in the middle of a road and compellingthe motor to stop until I got in. I considered that my being able tostop the car was really a part of the providing. In fact I found that, if one only had courage to stand long enough in the middle of the roadwithout moving, almost any car, were it that of a private or a general, would come to a standstill. It was only a natural thing, when the carhad stopped, to go to the occupants and say, "I know the Lord has sentyou for the purpose of giving me a lift. " It was quite a naturalconsequence of this for me to be taken in. One day at Estaires I triedto commandeer a fine car standing in the square, but desisted when Iwas informed by the driver that it was the private property of the (p. 047)Prince of Wales. I am sure that if the Prince had been there to hear thetext, he would have driven me anywhere I wanted to go. 

On the present occasion, I had not gone far down the road before a carpicked me up and took me on my way--an incident which I narrated tothe General afterwards with intense satisfaction. 

CHAPTER V. (p. 048)

BEFORE THE STORM. 

_March to April, 1915. _

Our rest-time at Estaires at the end of March was a delightful periodof good fellowship. The beautiful early spring was beginning to assertits power over nature. The grass was green. The trees and hedgerowswere full of sap and the buds ready to burst into new life. As onewalked down the roads in the bright sunshine, and smelt the freshwinds bearing the scent of springtime, an exquisite feeling of delightfilled the soul. Birds were singing in the sky, and it was pitiful tothink that any other thoughts but those of rapture at the joy ofliving should ever cross the mind. 

A sergeant found me a comfortable billet in a house near the Church. Adear old man and his two venerable daughters were the only occupants. Like all the French people we met, their little home was to them asource of endless joy. Everything was bright and clean, and they tookgreat pleasure in showing off its beauties. There was a large roomwith glass roof and sides, like a conservatory. On the wall was thefresco of a landscape, drawn by some strolling artist, which gave myhosts infinite delight. There was a river flowing out of some verygreen woods, with a brilliant blue sky overhead. We used to sit onchairs opposite and discuss the woodland scene, and I must say itbrought back memories to me of many a Canadian brook and the charminghome life of Canadian woods, from which, as it seemed then, we werelikely to be cut off forever. 

The Bishop of London paid a visit to our men, and addressed them fromthe steps of the Town Hall in the Grande Place. The officers and menwere charmed with his personality. 

It was a joy to me that we were to spend Easter at such a convenientplace. On Good Friday afternoon we had a voluntary service in front ofthe Town Hall. It seemed very fitting that these men who had come inthe spirit of self-sacrifice, should be invited to contemplate, for atleast an hour, the great world sacrifice of Calvary. A table wasbrought out from an estaminet nearby and placed in front of the steps. I mounted on this and so was able to address the crowd which soon (p. 049)assembled there. We sang some of the Good Friday hymns, "When I surveythe wondrous Cross", and "Jesu, Lover of my Soul. " There must havebeen several hundred present. I remember specially the faces ofseveral who were themselves called upon within a few weeks to make thesupreme sacrifice. Like almost all other religious services at thefront, this one had to struggle with the exigencies of war. A streamof lorries at the side of the Grande Place and the noisy motor cyclesof despatch riders made an accompaniment to the address which renderedboth speaking and hearing difficult. 

Easter Day rose bright and clear. I had a hall situated down a narrowlane, which had been used as a cinema. There was a platform at one endand facing it, rows of benches. On the platform I arranged the altar, with the silk Union Jack as a frontal and with cross and lightedcandles for ornaments. It looked bright and church-like amid thesordid surroundings. We had several celebrations of the HolyCommunion, the first being at six a. M. A large number of officers andmen came to perform their Easter duties. A strange solemnityprevailed. It was the first Easter spent away from home; it was thelast Easter that most of those gallant young souls spent on earth. Theother chaplains had equally large attendances. We sang the Easter hymnat each service, and the music more than anything else carried us backto the days that were. 

But our stay in Estaires was only for a time, and soon orders camethat we were to move. On April 7th, a bright and lovely spring morning, the whole Division began its fateful journey to Ypres and marched offto Cassel, about thirty miles behind the Salient. The men were in goodspirits, and by this time were becoming accustomed to the pavé roads. We passed through Caestre, where I saw my old friends, the Mayor andMayoress. That afternoon I was taken by two British officers to thelittle hotel in Cassel for luncheon. The extensive view over thecountry from the windows reminded me of dear old Quebec. After luncheonmy friends motored me to Ypres. The city at that time had not beenheavily shelled, except the Cloth Hall and Cathedral. The shops aroundthe square were still carrying on their business and people there wereselling post-cards and other small articles. We went into theCathedral, which had been badly damaged. The roof was more or lessintact and the altar and pulpit in their places. I saw what an (p. 050)impressive place it must have been. The Cloth Hall had been burnt, butthe beautiful stone façade was still undamaged. A fire engine andhorses were quartered under the central tower. There was a quiet airof light and beauty in the quaint old buildings that suggested themediaeval prosperity of the city. Behind the better class of housesthere were the usual gardens, laid out with taste, and often containingfountains and rustic bridges. The French and the Belgians delighted instriving to make a landscape garden in the small area at theircommand. 

I shall always be thankful that I had the opportunity of paying thisvisit to Ypres while it still retained vestiges of its former beauty. Dark and hideous dreams of drives on ambulances in the midnight hourshaunt me now when the name of Ypres is mentioned. I hear the rattle oflorries and motorcycles and the tramp of horses on the cobblestones. The grim ruins on either side of the road stand out hard and sombre inthe dim light of the starry sky. There is the passing of innumerablemen and the danger of the traffic-crowded streets. But Ypres, as I sawit then, was full of beauty touched with the sadness of the comingruin. 

In the afternoon, I motored back to our brigade on the outskirts ofCassel. After dinner I started off to find my new billet. As usual Ilost my way. I went off down the country roads. The farms were silentand dark. There was no one to tell me where my battalion was. I musthave gone a long distance in the many detours I made. The country wasstill a place of mystery to me, and "The little owls that hoot andcall" seemed to be the voice of the night itself. The roads werewinding and lonely and the air was full of the pleasant odours of thespring fields. It was getting very late and I despaired of finding aroof under which to spend the night. I determined to walk back to thenearest village. As I had marched with the men that day all the wayfrom Estaires, a distance of about twenty miles, I was quitereasonably tired and anxious to get a bed. I got back to the main roadwhich leads to St. Sylvestre. On approaching the little village I washalted by a British sentry who was mounting guard over a line of ArmyService Corps lorries. I went on and encountered more sentries till Istood in the town itself and made my difficulty known to a soldier whowas passing. I asked him if he knew where I could get a lodging (p. 051)for the night. He told me that some officers had their headquarters inthe Curé's house, and that if I were to knock at the door, veryprobably I could find a room in which to stay. I went to the housewhich was pointed out to me and knocked. There was a light in a windowupstairs so I knew that my knocking would be heard. Presently a voicecalled out from the hollow passage and asked me to open the door andcome in. I did so, and in the dim light saw at the end of the hall awhite figure which was barely distinguishable and which I took to bethe individual who had spoken to me. Consequently I addressed myconversation to it. The shadowy form asked me what I wanted and Iexplained that I had lost my way and asked where the headquarters ofmy battalion were. The being replied that it did not know but invitedme to come in and spend the night. At that moment somebody from theupstairs region came with an electric torch, and the light lit up theempty hall. To my surprise I found that I had been addressing myconversation to the life-sized statue of some saint which was standingon a pedestal at the foot of the stairs. I rather mystified my host bysaying that I had been talking to the image in the hall. However, inspite of this, he asked me to come upstairs where he would give me abed. By this time several of the British officers who occupied theupper flat had become interested in the arrival of the midnightvisitor, and were looking over the bannisters. I can remember feelingthat my only chance of receiving hospitality depended on my presentinga respectable appearance. I was on my best behaviour. It was greatlyto my confusion, therefore, as I walked upstairs under the inspectionof those of the upper flat, that I stumbled on the narrow steps. Inorder to reassure my would-be friends, I called out, "Don't bealarmed, I am a chaplain and a teetotaller". They burst out laughingand on my arrival at the top greeted me very heartily. I was takeninto a long bedroom where there were five beds in a row, one of whichwas assigned to me. Not only was I given a bed, but one of theirservants went and brought me a hot-cross bun and a glass of milk. Inreturn for such wholehearted and magnificent hospitality, I sat on theedge of the bed and recited poems to my hosts, who at that hour of themorning were not averse to anything which might be conducive to sleep. On the next day I was made an honorary member of their mess. I shouldlike to bear testimony here to the extraordinary cordiality and (p. 052)kind hospitality which was always shown to us by British officers. 

Later on in the day, I found the 13th Battalion just a few milesoutside Cassel at a place called Terdeghem. It was a quaint littlevillage with an interesting church. I got a billet in a farmhouse. Itwas a curious building of brick and stood on the road where a littlegate opened into a delightful garden, full of old-fashioned flowers. My room was reached by a flight of steps from the kitchen and was verycomfortable. I disliked, however, the heavy fluffy bed. MurdochMacDonald used to sleep in the kitchen. 

There were some charming walks around Terdeghem. One which I liked totake led to a very old and picturesque chateau, surrounded by a moat. I was immensely impressed with the rows of high trees on which therooks built their noisy cities. Sometimes a double line of these trees, like an avenue, would stretch across a field. Often, as I have walkedhome in the dark after parish visiting, I have stood between the longrows of trees and listened to the wind sighing through their barebranches and looked up at the stars that "were tangled in them". Thenthe dread mystery of war and fate and destruction would come over me. It was a relief to think how comfortable and unconcerned the rookswere in their nests with their children about them in bed. They hadwings too wherewith to fly away and be at rest. 

Cassel was used at that time by the French Army, so we were excludedfrom it unless we had a special permit. It was a delightful old town, and from its commanding position on a rock has been used as a fortressmore or less since the days of Julius Caesar. The Grand Place isdelightful and quaint. From it, through various archways, one looksdown upon the rich verdure of the fields that stretch far off into thedistance. 

We had a parade of our four battalions one day, when GeneralSmith-Dorrien came to inspect us. The place chosen was a green slopenot far from the entrance to the town. The General reviewed the men, and then gave a talk to the officers. As far as I can recollect, hewas most sanguine about the speedy termination of the war. He told usthat all we had to do was to keep worrying the Germans, and that thefinal crushing stroke would be given on the east by the Russians. Healso told us that to us was assigned the place of honour on the extremeleft of the British line next to the French Colonial troops. I (p. 053)overheard an irreverent officer near me say, "Damn the place of honour", and I thought of Sam Hughes and his warning about not objecting toswearing. The General, whom I had met before, asked me to walk withhim up to his car and then said, "I have had reports about theCanadian Artillery, and I am delighted at their efficiency. I havealso heard the best accounts of the Infantry, but do you think, in theevent of a sudden onslaught by the Germans, that the Canadians willhold their ground? They are untried troops. " I told him that I wassure that one thing the Canadians would do would be to hold on. Beforea fortnight had passed, in the awful struggle near Langemarcke, theCanadians proved their ability to hold their ground. 

Shortly after the General's visit we were ordered to move, and by someoversight on Murdoch MacDonald's part, my kit was not ready in time tobe taken by the Brigade transport. In consequence, to my dismay, I sawthe men march off from Terdeghem to parts unknown, and found myselfseated on my kit by the wayside with no apparent hope of following. Iadministered a rebuke to Murdoch as sternly as was consistent with theposition of a chaplain, and then asked him to see if he could find anysort of vehicle at all to carry my stuff off in the direction towardswhich the battalion had marched. I must say I felt very lonely and a"bit out of it", as I sat by the wayside wondering if I had lost theBrigade for good. In the meantime, Murdoch scoured the village for ahorse and carriage. Suddenly, to my surprise, a despatch rider on amotorcycle came down the road and stopped and asked me if I knew whereCanon Scott was. I said, "I'm the man", and he handed me a letter. Itturned out to be one from General Smith-Dorrien, asking me to allowhim to send a poem which I had written, called "On the Rue du Bois" to"The Times. " It was such a kind friendly letter that at once itdispelled my sense of loneliness, and when Murdoch arrived and told methat there was not a horse in the place at my disposal, I replied thatI did not mind so much now since I had the British General for a friend. I left Murdoch to guard my goods and chattels and went off myself downthe road to the old Château and farmhouse. There I was lucky enough toobtain a cart with three wheels. It was an extremely long and heavilybuilt vehicle and looked as if it dated from the 17th century. Thehorse that was put into it looked as if it had been born about thesame period. The old man who held the solitary rein and sat over (p. 054)the third wheel under the bow looked to be of almost equal antiquity. It must have been about thirty feet from the tip of the old horse'snose to the end of the cart. However I was glad to get any means oftransportation at all, so I followed the thing to the road where mykit was waiting, Murdoch MacDonald put all my worldly possessions onthe equipage. They seemed to occupy very little room in the hugestructure. Murdoch, shouldering his rifle, followed it, and I, ratherashamed of the grotesque appearance of my caravan, marched on asquickly as I could in front, hoping to escape the ridicule which Iknew would be heaped upon me by all ranks of my beloved brigade. A manwe met told us that the battalion had gone to Steenvoorde, so thitherwe made our way. On our arrival I was taken to the Château and kindlytreated by the laird and his family, who allowed me to spread out mybed-roll on the dining room floor. 

On the following morning an Imperial officer very kindly took me andmy kit to Ypres. There at the end of Yser Canal, I found a pleasantbillet in a large house belonging to a Mr. Vandervyver, who, with hismother, gave me a kind reception and a most comfortably furnishedroom. Later on, the units of our brigade arrived and I marched up withthe 14th Battalion to the village of Wieltje. Over it, though we knewit not, hung the gloom of impending tragedy. Around it now clustermemories of the bitter price in blood and anguish which we were sooncalled upon to pay for the overthrow of tyranny. It was a lovelyspring evening when we arrived, and the men were able to sit down onthe green grass and have their supper before going into the trenchesby St. Julien. I walked back down that memorable road which two yearslater I travelled for the last time on my return from Paschendaele. The great sunset lit the sky with beautiful colours. The rows of treesalong that fateful way were ready to burst into new life. The air wasfresh and invigorating. To the south, lay the hill which is known tothe world as Hill 60, afterwards the scene of such bitter fighting. Before me in the distance, soft and mellow in the evening light, rosethe towers and spires of Ypres--Ypres! the very name sends a strangethrill through the heart. For all time, the word will stand as asymbol for brutal assaults and ruthless destruction on the one handand heroic resolve and dogged resistance on the other. On any grimmonument raised to the Demon of War, the sole word "YPRES" would be asufficient and fitting inscription. 

CHAPTER VI. (p. 055)

THE SECOND BATTLE OF YPRES. 

_April 22nd, 1915. _

Behind my house at Ypres there was an old-fashioned garden which wasattended to very carefully by my landlady. A summerhouse gave a fineview of the waters of the Yser Canal, which was there quite wide. Itwas nice to see again a good-sized body of water, for the littlestreams often dignified by the name of rivers did not satisfy theCanadian ideas as to what rivers should be. A battalion was quarteredin a large brick building several stories high on the east side of thecanal. There was consequently much stir of life at that point, andfrom my summerhouse on the wall I could talk to the men passing by. Mybillet was filled with a lot of heavy furniture which was prized veryhighly by its owners. Madame told me that she had buried twelvevaluable clocks in the garden in case of a German advance. She alsotold me that her grandfather had seen from the windows the Britishgoing to the battle of Waterloo. She had both a piano and a harmonium, and took great pleasure in playing some of the hymns in our Canadianhymn book. I was so comfortable that I hoped our residence at Ypresmight be of long duration. At night, however, desultory shells fellinto the city. We could hear them ripping along with a sound like atrolley on a track, and then there would be a fearful crash. One nightwhen returning from Brigade Headquarters near Wieltje, I saw amagnificent display of fireworks to the South. I afterwards heard thatit was the night the British attacked Hill 60. 

On Sunday, the 18th of April, I had a service for the 15th Battalionin one of the stories of the brick building beside the canal. Something told me that big things were going to happen. I had afeeling that we were resting on the top of a volcano. At the end ofthe service I prepared for any sudden call to ministration on thebattlefield by reserving the Blessed Sacrament. 

On Monday some men had narrow escapes when a house was shelled and onthe following day I went to the centre of the town with two officersto see the house which had been hit. They appeared to be in a hurry toget to the Square, so I went up one of the side streets to look (p. 056)at the damaged house. In a cellar near by I found an old woman makinglace. Her hunchback son was sitting beside her. While I was making afew purchases, we heard the ripping sound of an approaching shell. Itgrew louder, till at last a terrific crash told us that the monsterhad fallen not far off. At that moment a number of people crowded intoan adjoining cellar, where they fell on their knees and began to say alitany. I stood at the door looking at them. It was a pitiful sight. There were one or two old men and some women, and some little childrenand a young girl who was in hysterics. They seemed so helpless, sodefenceless against the rain of shells. 

I went off down the street towards the Square where the last shell hadfallen, and there on the corner I saw a large house absolutely crushedin. It had formerly been a club, for there were billiard tables in theupper room. The front wall had crashed down upon the pavement, and fromthe debris some men were digging out the body of an officer who hadbeen standing there when the shell fell. His was the first terriblymangled body that I had ever seen. He was laid face downwards on astretcher and borne away. At that moment a soldier came up and told methat one of the officers with whom I had entered the town about halfan hour ago had been killed, and his body had been taken to a Britishambulance in the city. I walked across the Square, and there I saw thestretcher-bearers carrying off some civilians who had been hit bysplinters of the shell. In the hospital were many dead bodies andwounded men for there had been over one hundred casualties in the citythat day. We had hardly arrived when once again we heard the rippingsound which had such a sinister meaning. Then followed a terrificexplosion. The final and dreadful bombardment of Ypres had begun. Atintervals of ten minutes the huge seventeen-inch shells fell, soundingthe death knell of the beautiful old town. 

On the next morning, the brother-in-law of the officer who had beenkilled called on me and asked me to go and see the Town Major andsecure a piece of ground which might be used for the Canadian Cemetery. The Town Major gave us permission to mark off a plot in the newBritish cemetery. It was in an open field near the jail, known by thename of the Plain d'Amour, and by it was a branch canal. Our Headquartersordered the Engineers to mark off the place, and that night we laid thebody to rest. 

The following morning was Thursday, the memorable 22nd of April. (p. 057)The day was bright and beautiful. After burying another man in theCanadian lot, I went off to have lunch and write some letters in mybillet. In the afternoon one of the 16th Battalion came in and askedme to have a celebration of the Holy Communion on the following morning, as some of the men would like to attend. I asked him to stay to teaand amuse himself till I had finished my letters. While I was writingI heard the ripping sound of an approaching shell, quickly followed bya tremendous crash. Some building quite close by had evidently beenstruck. I put on my cap and went out, when the landlady followed meand said, "I hope you are not going into the town. " "I am just goingto see where the shell has struck", I replied, "and will come backimmediately. " I never saw her again. As I went up the street I saw theshell had hit a large building which had been used as a hospital. Thesmoke from the shell was still rolling up into the clear sky. Thinkingmy services might be needed in helping to remove the patients, I startedoff in the direction of the building. There I was joined by astretcher-bearer and we went through the gate into the large gardenwhere we saw the still smoking hole in the ground which the shell hadmade. I remember that, as I looked into it, I had the same sort ofeerie feeling which I had experienced when looking down the crater ofVesuvius. There was something uncanny about the arrival of shells outof the clear sky. They seemed to be things supernatural. The holesmade by the seventeen inch shells with which Ypres was assailed weremonstrous in size. The engineers had measured one in a field; it wasno less than thirty-nine feet across and fifteen feet deep. Thestretcher-bearer who was with me said as he looked at this one, "Youcould put three ambulances into it. " We had not contemplated the scenevery long before once again there was the ripping sound and a hugeexplosion, and we found ourselves lying on the ground. Whether we hadthrown ourselves down or had been blown down I could not make out. Wegot up and the man went back to his ambulance and I went into thebuilding to see if I could help in getting out the wounded. The placeI entered was a large chapel and had been used as a ward. There wererows of neat beds on each side, but not a living soul was to be seen. It seemed so ghostly and mysterious that I called out, "Is anyone here?"There was no reply. I went down to the end of the chapel and from (p. 058)thence into a courtyard, where a Belgian told me that a number ofpeople were in a cellar at the other end of a glass passage. I walkeddown the passage to go to the cellar, when once again there was theominous ripping sound and a shell burst and all the glass was blownabout my ears. An old man in a dazed condition came from the cellar atthe end of the passage and told me that all the people had gone. I washelping him across the courtyard towards a gateway when a man came infrom the street and took the old fellow on his back and carried himoff. By the gateway was a room used as a guardroom. There I found asentry with three or four Imperials. One of the lads had lost hisnerve and was lying under a wooden bench. I tried to cheer them bytelling them it was very unlikely that any more shells would come inour direction. I remembered reading in one of Marryatt's books that anofficer in the Navy declared he had saved his life by always stickinghis head into the hole in the ship which a cannon ball had made, as itwas a million chances to one against another cannon ball striking thatparticular place. Still, at regular intervals, we heard the rippingsound and the huge explosion of a shell. Later on, two members of the14th Battalion came in, and a woman and a little boy carrying milk. Wedid our best to restore the lady's courage and hoped that thebombardment would soon cease. 

It was about seven p. M. , when all of a sudden, we heard the roar oftransports and the shouting of people in the street, and I went out tosee what was the matter. To my horror I saw a battery of artillerygalloping into the town. Civilians were rushing down the pavements oneach side of the road, and had even filled the limbers. I called outto one of the drivers and asked him what it meant. "It is a generalretreat", he shouted. "The Germans are on our heels. " "Where are theinfantry?" I called out. "They have all gone. " That was one of themost awful moments in my life. I said to myself, "Has old England lostthe War after all?" My mouth became suddenly dry as though filled withashes. A young fellow on horseback stopped and, dismounting, verygallantly said, "Here, Sir, take my horse. " "No thank you, " I said, but I was grateful to him all the same for his self-sacrifice. Ireturned to the guardroom and told the sentries what had happened. Thelady and the young boy disappeared and the men and I debated as towhat we should do. The words, "The Germans are on our heels", (p. 059)were still ringing in my ears. I did not quite know what they signified. Whether they meant in military language that the Germans were ten milesaway or were really round the next corner, I did not know, but I tookthe precaution of looking up the street before entering the gateway. Ontalking the matter over, the men and I thought it might be the part ofdiscretion to make our way down past the Railway Station to theVlamertinghe road, as none of us wanted to be taken prisoners. Wetherefore went down some side streets and crossed the bridge on theroad that leads to Vlamertinghe. There I found an ammunition columnhurrying out of the town, and the man riding one of the horses on alimber invited me to mount the other, which was saddled. It is solong, however, since I left the circus ring that I cannot mount agalloping horse unless I put my foot into the stirrup. So after two orthree ineffectual attempts at a running mount, I climbed up into thelimber and asked the driver if it was a general retreat. "No", hesaid, "I don't think so, only the Germans are close at hand and wewere ordered to put the ammunition column further off. " "Well", Isaid, "If it isn't a general retreat, I must go back to my lines or Ishall be shot for desertion. " I got off the limber and out of thecrowd of people, and was making my way back, when I saw a car with astaff officer in it coming up in the direction of the City. I stoppedthe car and asked the officer if he would give me a ride back toYpres. When I got in, I said to him quite innocently, "Is this ageneral retreat?" His nerves were evidently on edge, and he turned onme fiercely, saying, "Padré, never use such a word out here. That wordmust never be mentioned at the front. " I replied, in excuse, that Ihad been told it was a retreat by a battery that was coming back fromthe front. "Padré, " he continued, "that word must never be used. " I amnot sure that he did not enforce his commands by some strongtheological terms. "Padré, that word must never be used out here. ""Well, " I said, "this is the first war I have ever been at, and if Ican arrange matters it is the last, but I promise you I will never useit again. " Not the least flicker of a smile passed over his face. Ofcourse, as time went on and I advanced in military knowledge, I cameto know the way in which my question ought to have been phrased. Instead of saying, "Is this a general retreat?", I ought to have said, "Are we straightening the line?" or "Are we pinching the Salient?" Wewent on till we came to a general who was standing by the road (p. 060)waiting to "straighten the line". I got out of the car and asked himwhere I should go. He seemed to be in a great hurry and said gruffly, "You had better go back to your lines. " I did not know where theywere, but I determined to go in their direction. The general got intothe car which turned round and made off towards Vlamertinghe, and I, after a long and envious look in his direction, continued my return toYpres. 

People were still pouring out of the City. I recrossed the bridge, andmaking my way towards the cemetery, met two men of one of ourbattalions who were going back. I handed them each a card with myaddress on it and asked them, in case of my being taken prisoner, towrite and tell my family that I was in good health and that my kit wasat Mr. Vandervyver's on the Quai. The short cut to my billet led pastthe quiet cemetery where our two comrades had been laid to rest. Itseemed so peaceful that I could not help envying them that their racewas won. 

It was dark now, but a bright moon was shining and lit up the watersof the branch canal as I walked along the bank towards my home. Thesound of firing at the front was continuous and showed that a greatbattle was raging. I went by the house where the C. O. Of the 16thBattalion had had his headquarters as I passed that afternoon. It wasnow quite deserted and the windows in it and in the houses round thesquare were all shattered. Not a living thing could I see. I walkedacross to my billet and found the shutters of the house closed. On thetable where my letters were, a smoky oil lamp was burning. Not a humanbeing was there. I never felt so lonely in my life, and those words, "The Germans are on our heels", still kept ringing in my ears. I tookthe lamp and went upstairs to my room. I was determined that theGermans should not get possession of the photographs of my family. Iput them in my pocket, and over my shoulder the pair of glasses whichthe Bishop and clergy of Quebec had given me on my departure. I alsohung round my neck the pyx containing the Blessed Sacrament, then Iwent out on the street, not knowing what way to take. To my infinitedelight, some men came marching up in the moonlight from the end ofthe canal. I recognized them as the 16th Battalion, Canadian Scottish, and I called out, "Where are you going, boys?" The reply came glad andcheerful. "We are going to reinforce the line, Sir, the Germans havebroken through. " "That's all right, boys", I said, "play the game. Iwill go with you. " Never before was I more glad to meet human (p. 061)beings. The splendid battalion marched up through the streets towardsSt. Jean. The men wore their overcoats and full kits. I passed up anddown the battalion talking to officers and men. As I was marchingbeside them, a sergeant called out to me, "Where are we going, Sir?""That depends upon the lives you have led. " A roar of laughter went upfrom the men. If I had known how near the truth my words were, Iprobably would not have said them. When we got to St. Jean, a sergeanttold me that the 14th Battalion was holding the line. The news wasreceived gladly, and the men were eager to go forward and share theglory of their comrades. Later on, as I was marching in front of thebattalion a man of the 15th met us. He was in a state of greatexcitement, and said, "The men are poisoned, Sir, the Germans haveturned on gas and our men are dying. " I said to him very sternly, "Now, my boy, not another word about that here. " "But it's true, Sir. ""Well, that may be, but these men have got to go there all the same, and the gas may have gone before they arrive, so promise me notanother word about the poison. " He gave me his promise and when I methim a month afterwards in Bailleul he told me he had never said a wordabout the gas to any of the men that night. 

We passed through Weiltje where all was stir and commotion, and thedressing stations were already full, and then we deployed into thefields on a rise in the ground near St. Julien. By this time, our menhad become aware of the gas, because, although the German attack hadbeen made a good many hours before, the poisonous fumes still clungabout the fields and made us cough. Our men were halted along thefield and sat down waiting for orders. The crack of thousands ofrifles and the savage roar of artillery were incessant, and the Germanflare-lights round the salient appeared to encircle us. There was ahurried consultation of officers and then the orders were given to thedifferent companies. An officer who was killed that night came downand told us that the Germans were in the wood which we could seebefore us at some distance in the moonlight, and that a house fromwhich we saw gleams of light was held by German machine guns. The menwere told that they had to take the wood at the point of the bayonetand were not to fire, as the 10th Battalion would be in front of them. I passed down the line and told them that they had a chance to do abigger thing for Canada that night than had ever been done before. (p. 062)"It's a great day for Canada, boys. " I said. The words afterwardsbecame a watchword, for the men said that whenever I told them that, it meant that half of them were going to be killed. The battalion roseand fixed bayonets and stood ready for the command to charge. It was athrilling moment, for we were in the midst of one of the decisivebattles of the war. A shrapnel burst just as the men moved off and aman dropped in the rear rank. I went over to him and found he wasbleeding in the neck. I bound him up and then taking his kit, which hewas loath to lose, was helping him to walk towards the dressingstation when I saw what I thought were sandbags in the moonlight. Icalled out, "Is anybody there?" A voice replied, "Yes, Sir, there is adying man here. " I went over and there I found two stretcher-bearersbeside a young fellow called Duffy, who was unconscious. He had beenstruck by a piece of shrapnel in the head and his brain was protruding. Duffy was a well-known athlete and had won the Marathon race. We triedto lift him, but with his equipment on he was too heavy, so I sent offthe wounded man to Wieltje with one of the stretcher-bearers who wasto return with a bearer party. The other one and I watched by Duffy. It was an awful and wonderful time. Our field batteries never slackenedtheir fire and the wood echoed back the crackling sound of the guns. The flare lights all round gave a lurid background to the scene. Atthe foot of the long slope, down which the brave lads had gone to theattack, I saw the black outline of the trees. Over all fell the softlight of the moon. A great storm of emotion swept through me and Iprayed for our men in their awful charge, for I knew that the Angel ofDeath was passing down our lines that night. When the bearer partyarrived, we lifted Duffy on to the stretcher, and the men handed metheir rifles and we moved off. I hung the rifles on my shoulder, and Ithought if one of them goes off and blows my brains out, there will bea little paragraph in the Canadian papers, "Canon Scott accidentallykilled by the discharge of a rifle, " and my friends will say, "What afool he was to fuss about rifles, why didn't he stick to his own job?"However, they were Ross rifles and had probably jammed. There weremany wounded being carried or making their way towards Wieltje. Theroad was under shell fire all the way. When we got to the dressingstation which was a small red-brick estaminet, we were confronted by ahorrible sight. On the pavement before it were rows and rows of (p. 063)stretcher cases, and inside the place, which was dimly lighted bycandles and lamps, I found the doctor and his staff working away likeTrojans. The operating room was a veritable shambles. The doctor hadhis shirt sleeves rolled up and his hands and arms were covered withblood. 

The wounded were brought in from outside and laid on the table, wherethe doctor attended to them. Some ghastly sights were disclosed whenthe stretcher-bearers ripped off the blood-stained clothes and laidbare the hideous wounds. At the end of the room, an old woman, with aface like the witch of Endor, apparently quite unmoved by anythingthat was happening, was grinding coffee in a mill and making a blackconcoction which she sold to the men. It was no doubt a good thing forthem to get a little stimulant. In another room the floor was coveredwith wounded waiting to be evacuated. There were many Turcos present. Some of them were suffering terribly from the effects of the gas. Fresh cases were being brought down the road every moment, and laidout on the cold pavement till they could be attended to. 

About two in the morning a despatch rider arrived and meeting me atthe door asked if I could speak French. He said, "Tell the Turcos andevery one else who can walk to clear off to Ypres as soon as they can;the Germans are close at hand. " Indeed it sounded so, because the riflefire was very close. I went into the room and delivered my message, inFrench and English, to the wounded men. Immediately there was a generalstampede of all who could possibly drag themselves towards the city. It was indeed a piteous procession which passed out of the door. Turcos with heads bandaged, or arms bound up or one leg limping, andour own men equally disabled, helped one another down that terribleroad towards the City. Soon all the people who could walk had gone. But there in the room, and along the pavement outside, lay helplessmen. I went to the M. O. And asked him what we were to do with thestretcher cases. "Well" he said, "I suppose we shall have to leavethem because all the ambulances have gone. " "How can we desert them?"I said. The Medical Officer was of course bound by orders to go backwith his men but I myself felt quite free in the matter, so I said, "Iwill stay and be made prisoner. " "Well, " he said, "so will I. PossiblyI shall get into trouble for it, but I cannot leave them to the enemywithout any one to look after them. " So we made a compact that we wouldboth stay behind and be made prisoners. I went over to another FieldAmbulance, where a former curate of mine was chaplain. They had (p. 064)luckily been able to evacuate their wounded and were all going off. Itold him that I should probably be made a prisoner that night, butasked him to cable home and tell my family that I was in good healthand that the Germans treated chaplains, when they took them prisoners, very kindly. Then I made my way back. There was a tremendous noise ofguns now at the front. It was a horrible thought that our men were upthere bearing the brunt of German fury and hatred. Their faces passedthrough my mind as individuals were recalled. The men whom I knew sowell, young, strong and full of hope and life, men from whom Canadahad so much to expect, men whose lives were so precious to dear onesfar away, were now up in that poisoned atmosphere and under thehideous hail of bullets and shells. The thought almost drove achaplain to madness. One felt so powerless and longed to be up anddoing. Not once or twice in the Great War, have I longed to be acombatant officer with enemy scalps to my credit. Our men had beenabsolutely guiltless of war ambitions. It was not their fault thatthey were over here. That the Kaiser's insatiable, mad lust for powershould be able to launch destruction upon Canadian hearts and homeswas intolerable. I looked down the Ypres road, and there, to myhorror, saw the lovely City lit up with flames. The smoke rolled upinto the moonlit sky, and behind the dull glow of the fires I saw theCloth Hall tower stand out in bold defiance. There was nothing for usto do then and for nearly four years more but keep our heads cool, setour teeth and deepen our resolve. 

The dressing station had received more stretcher cases, and still morewere coming in. The Medical Officer and his staff were working mostheroically. I told him I had given instructions about cabling homeshould I be taken prisoner, and then I suddenly remembered that I hada scathing poem on the Kaiser in my pocket. I had written it in thequiet beauties of Beaupré, below Quebec, when the war first began. When I wrote it, I was told that if I were ever taken prisoner inGermany with that poem in my pocket, I should be shot or hanged. Atthat time, the German front line seemed so far off that it was likesaying, "If you get to the moon the man there will eat you up. " Butthe changes and chances of war had suddenly brought me face to facewith the fact that I had resolved to be taken prisoner, and from whatI heard and saw the event was not unlikely. So I said to the M. O. "Ihave just remembered that I have got in my pocket a printed copy (p. 065)of a very terrible poem which I wrote about the Kaiser. Of course youknow I don't mind being shot or hanged by the Germans, but, if I am, who will write the poems of the War?" The M. O. Laughed and thinking itunwise on general principles to wave a red rag in front of a mad bull, advised me to tear up my verses. I did so with great reluctance, butthe precaution was unnecessary as the Germans never got through afterall. 

All along those terrible fields of death the battle raged. YoungCanadians, new to war, but old in the inheritance of the blood ofBritish freedom, were holding the line. The dressing station was soonfull again, and, later on, a despatch rider came from the 3rd InfantryBrigade Headquarters in Shell-Trap Farm to tell us that more help wasneeded there. One of the M. O. 's assistants and a sergeant started offand I followed. We went down the road and then turned to the right upto the moated farmhouse where the Brigade was. As we went forwardtowards the battle front, the night air was sharp and bracing. Gun-flashes lit up the horizon, but above us the moon and stars lookedquietly down. Wonderful deeds of heroism were being done by our menalong those shell-ploughed fields, under that placid sky. What theyendured, no living tongue can tell. Their Maker alone knows what theysuffered and how they died. The eloquent tribute which history willgive to their fame is that, in spite of the enemy's immense superiorityin numbers, and his brutal launching of poisonous gas, he did not getthrough. 

In a ditch by the wayside, a battalion was waiting to follow up thecharge. Every man among the Canadians was "on the job" that night. Wecrossed the field to the farmhouse which we found filled to overflowing. Ambulances were waiting there to carry the wounded back to Ypres. Isaw many friends carried in, and men were lying on the pavementoutside. Bullets were cracking against the outer brick walls. OneHighlander mounted guard over a wounded German prisoner. He hadcaptured him and was filled with the hunter's pride in his game. "Igot him myself, Sir, and I was just going to run him through with mybayonet when he told me he had five children. As I have five childrenmyself, I could not kill him. So I brought him out here. " I lookeddown at the big prostrate German who was watching us with interestlargely rooted in fear. "Funf kinder?" (five children) "Ja, ja. " Iwasn't going to be beaten by a German, so I told him I had seven (p. 066)children and his face fell. I found out afterwards that a great manyGermans, when they were captured, said they had five children. TheGermans I think used to be put through a sort of catechism before theywent into action, in case they should be taken prisoners. For example, they always told us they were sure we were going to win the war. Theyalways said they were glad to be taken prisoners. When they weremarried men, they said they had five children and so appealed to ourpity. People do not realize even yet how very thorough the Germanswere in everything that they thought was going to bring them themastership of the world. When a German soldier saw the game was up, hesurrendered at once and thus was preserved to fight for his country inthe next war. 

In the stable of the farm, I found many seriously wounded men lying onthe straw, and I took down messages which they were sending to theirrelatives at home. On the other side of the wall, we could hear thebullets striking. As I had the Blessed Sacrament with me I was able togive communion to a number of the wounded. By this time the grey ofapproaching day began to silver the eastern sky. It was indeed acomfort to feel that the great clockwork of the universe went on justas if nothing was happening. Over and over again in the war theapproach of dawn has put new life into one. It was such a tremendousand glorious thing to think that the world rolled on through space andturned on its axis, whatever turmoil foolish people were making uponits surface. 

With the dawn came the orders to clear the wounded. The ambulanceswere sent off and one of the doctors told me to come with him, as theGeneral had commanded the place to be cleared of all but the necessarymilitary staff. It was about four in the morning when we started. There was a momentary quieting down in the firing as we crossed thebridge over the moat, but shells were still crashing in the fields, and through the air we heard every now and then the whistling ofbullets. We kept our heads low and were hurrying on when we encountereda signaller with two horses, which he had to take back to the mainroad. One of these he offered to me. I had not been wanting to mounthigher in the air, but I did not like the fellow to think I had got"cold feet. " So I accepted it graciously, but annoyed him very much byinsisting upon lengthening the stirrups before I mounted. He gotimpatient at what he considered an unnecessary delay, but I told him Iwould not ride with my knees up to my chin for all the Germans (p. 067)in the world. When I was mounted, we started off at a good gallopacross the fields to the Ypres road. It was an exciting ride, and Imust confess, looking back upon it, a thoroughly enjoyable one, reminding me of old stories of battles and the Indian escapes of myboyhood's novels. When we arrived at the main road, I had to deliverup my horse to its owner, and then I decided to walk to Ypres, as byso doing I could speak to the many Imperial men that were marching upto reinforce the line. I refused many kind offers of lifts on lorriesand waggons. The British battalions were coming up and I was sorry forthem. The young fellows looked so tired and hungry. They had been inFrance, I think, only twenty-four hours. At any rate, they had had along march, and, as it turned out, were going up, most of them, totheir death, I took great pleasure in hailing them cheerfully andtelling them that it was all right, as the Canadians had held theline, and that the Germans were not going to get through. One sergeantsaid, "You put a lot of braces in my tunic when you talk like that, Sir. " Nothing is more wonderful than the way in which men under tenseanxiety will respond to the slightest note of cheer. This was the caseall through the war. The slightest word or suggestion would often turna man from a feeling of powerless dejection into one of defiantdetermination. These young Britishers whom I met that morning were asplendid type of men. Later on the machine-gun fire over the fieldsmowed them down in pitiful and ruthless destruction. As I journeyedtowards Ypres I saw smoke rolling up from various parts of the cityand down the road, in the air, I saw the flashes of bursting shrapnel. I passed St. Jean and made my way to my house by the canal. 

The shutters were still shut and the door was open. I entered andfound in the dining room that the lamp was still burning on the table. It was now about seven o'clock and Mr. Vandervyver had returned andwas upstairs arranging his toilet. I went out into the garden andcalled one of the sentries to tell Murdoch MacDonald to come to me. While I was talking to the sentry, an officer came by and warned me toget away from that corner because the Germans were likely to shell itas it was the only road in the neighbourhood for the passage of troopsto and from the front. When Murdoch arrived, I told him I wanted tohave breakfast, for I had had nothing to eat since luncheon the daybefore and had done a lot of walking. He looked surprised and (p. 068)said, "Fancy having breakfast when the town is being shelled. " "Well, "I said, "don't you know we always read in the papers, when a man ishanged, that before he went out to the gallows he ate a heartybreakfast? There must be some philosophy in it. At any rate, you mightas well die on a full stomach as an empty one. " So Murdoch began toget breakfast ready in the kitchen, where Mr. Vandervyver's maid wasalready preparing a meal for her master. I shaved and had a good cleanup and was sitting in the dining room arranging the many letters andmessages which I had received from men who asked me to write to theirrelatives. Breakfast had just been set on the table when I heard theloudest bang I have ever heard in my life. A seventeen inch shell hadfallen in the corner of the garden where the sentry had been standing. The windows of the house were blown in, the ceiling came down and sootfrom the chimneys was scattered over everything. I suddenly foundmyself, still in a sitting posture, some feet beyond the chair inwhich I had been resting. Mr. Vandervyver ran downstairs and out intothe street with his toilet so disarranged that he looked as if he weregoing to take a swim. Murdoch MacDonald disappeared and I did not seehim again for several days. A poor old woman in the street had beenhit in the head and was being taken off by a neighbour and a man waslying in the road with a broken leg. All my papers were unfortunatelylost in the debris of the ceiling. I went upstairs and got a few moreof my remaining treasures and came back to the dining room. There Iscraped away the dust and found two boiled eggs. I got some biscuitsfrom the sideboard and went and filled my water-bottle with tea in thedamaged kitchen. I was just starting out of the door when anothershell hit the building on the opposite side of the street. It had beenused as a billet by some of our men. The sentry I had been talking tohad disappeared and all they could find of him were his boots with hisfeet in them. In the building opposite, we found a Highlander badlywounded and I got stretcher-bearers to come and carry him off to the2nd Field Ambulance in the Square nearby. Their headquarters had beenmoved to Vlamertinghe and they were evacuating that morning. Thecivilians now had got out of the town. All sorts of carts andwheelbarrows had been called into requisition. There were still somewounded men in the dressing station and a sergeant was in charge. Imanaged to commandeer a motor ambulance and stow them in it. Shellswere falling fast in that part of the town. It was perfectly (p. 069)impossible to linger any longer. A certain old inhabitant, however, would not leave. He said he would trust to the good God and stay inthe cellar of his house till the war was over. Poor man, if he did notchange his mind, his body must be in the cellar still, for the lasttime I saw the place, which henceforth was known as "Hell Fire Corner, "there was not one stone left upon another. Only a little brick wallremained to show where the garden and house of my landlord had been. Icollected the men of the Ambulance and started off with them toVlamertinghe. On the way we added to our numbers men who had eitherlost their units or were being sent back from the line. 

As we passed through the Grande Place, which now wore a very much moredilapidated appearance than it had three days before, we found asoldier on the pavement completely intoxicated. He was quite unconsciousand could not walk. There was nothing to do but to make him ascomfortable as possible till he should awake next day to the horrorsof the real world. We carried him into a room of a house and laid himon a heap of straw. I undid the collar of his shirt so that he mighthave full scope for extra blood pressure and left him to his fate. Iheard afterwards that the house was struck and that he was wounded andtaken away to a place of safety. When we got down to the bridge on theVlamertinghe road, an Imperial Signal Officer met me in greatdistress. His men had been putting up telegraph wires on the otherside of the canal and a shell had fallen and killed thirteen of them. He asked our men to carry the bodies back over the bridge and lay themside by side in an outhouse. The men did so, and the row of mutilated, twisted and bleeding forms was pitiful to see. The officer was verygrateful to us, but the bodies were probably never buried because thatpart of the city was soon a ruin. We went on down the road towardsVlamertinghe, past the big asylum, so long known as a dressingstation, with its wonderful and commodious cellars. It had been hitand the upstairs part was no longer used. 

The people along the road were leaving their homes as fast as theycould. One little procession will always stand out in my mind. Infront one small boy of about six years old was pulling a toy cart inwhich two younger children were packed. Behind followed the motherwith a large bundle on her back. Then came the father with a stillbigger one. There they were trudging along, leaving their home (p. 070)behind with its happy memories, to go forth as penniless refugees, compelled to live on the charity of others. It was through no fault oftheir own, but only through the monstrous greed and ambition of adespot crazed with feudal dreams of a by-gone age. As I looked at thatlittle procession, and at many other similar ones, the words of theGospel kept ringing in my ears, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto oneof the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. " Thesewords I felt sounded the doom of the Kaiser. Many and many a time whenthe war from our point of view has been going badly, and men would askme, "How about the war, Sir?" or, "Are we winning the war, Sir?" Iwould reply, "Boys, unless the devil has got into heaven we are goingto win. If he has, the German Emperor will have a good friend there. But he hasn't, and any nation which tramples on the rights andliberties of humanity, glories in it, makes it a matter of nationalboasting, and casts medals to commemorate the sinking of unprotectedships--any nation which does that is bound to lose the war, no matterhow badly things may look at the present time. " It was nothing butthat unflinching faith in the power of right which kept our men sosteadfast. Right is after all only another name for the will of God. Men who knew no theology, who professed no creed, who even pretendedto great indifference about the venture of eternity, were unalterablyfixed in their faith in the power of right. It gives one a greatopportunity of building the higher edifice of religion when onediscovers the rock foundation in a man's convictions. 

When we reached Vlamertinghe we found that a school house had beentaken over by the 2nd Field Ambulance. 

There was a terrible shortage of stretchers and blankets, as most ofthe equipment had been lost at Ypres. All that day and night thefurious battle raged, and many fresh British battalions passed up toreinforce the line. As soon as it was dark, the wounded began to comein, and by midnight the school-house was filled to overflowing. Themen were lying out in rows on the cold stone floor with nothing underthem. Ambulances were coming and going as hour after hour passed by. Iwent among the sufferers, many of whom I knew. The sergeant would cometo me and tell me where the worst cases were. He whispered to me once, "There is a dying man over here. " We trod softly between the prostrateforms till we came to one poor fellow who looked up with white faceunder the candle light. I saw he was dying. He belonged to one of (p. 071)the British battalions that I had passed on the road. I asked him ifhe would like to receive the Holy Communion. He was pleased when Itold him I could give it to him. He had been a chorister in England, and he felt so far from the ministrations of his church now. He madehis confession and I pronounced the absolution. Then I gave him theBlessed Sacrament. Like many severely wounded men, he was not sufferingmuch, but was dying of shock. We were now compelled to use the churchand it also soon became a scene of suffering. The building to-day is aruin, but then it had been untouched by shells and was large andimpressive. We had only a few candles with which to light it. Thewounded were laid out, some on the floor, some on chairs, and some satup waiting for the convoys of ambulances that were to take them to theBase. It was a strange scene. In the distance we heard the roar of thebattle, and here, in the dim light of the hollow-sounding aisles, wereshadowy figures huddled up on chairs or lying on the floor. Once thesilence was broken by a loud voice shouting out with startlingsuddenness, "O God! stop it. " I went over to the man. He was a Britishsergeant. He would not speak, but I think in his terrible suffering hemeant the exclamation as a kind of prayer. I thought it might help themen to have a talk with them, so I told them what great things werebeing done that night and what a noble part they had played in holdingback the German advance and how all the world would honour them inafter times. Then I said, "Boys, let us have a prayer for our comradesup in that roar of battle at the front. When I say the Lord's Prayerjoin in with me, but not too loudly as we don't want to disturb thosewho are trying to sleep. " I had a short service and they all joined inthe Lord's Prayer. It was most impressive in that large, dim church, to hear the voices, not loudly, but quite distinctly, repeating thewords from different parts of the building, for some of the men hadgone over to corners where they might be by themselves. After theLord's Prayer I pronounced the Benediction, and then I said, "Boys, the Curé won't mind your smoking in the church tonight, so I am goingto pass round some cigarettes. " Luckily I had a box of five hundredwhich had been sent to me by post. These I handed round and lit them. Voices from different parts would say, "May I have one, Sir?" It wasreally delightful to feel that a moment's comfort could be given (p. 072)to men in their condition. A man arrived that night with both his eyesgone, and even he asked for a cigarette. I had to put the cigaretteinto his mouth and light it for him. "It's so dark, Sir, " he said, "Ican't see. " I was not going to tell him he would never see again, so Isaid, "Your head is all bandaged up. Of course you can't. " He was oneof the first to be taken off in the ambulance, and I do not knowwhether he is alive or dead. Our Canadians still held on with grimdetermination, and they deserved the tribute which Marshal Foch haspaid them of saving the day at Ypres. 

When they came out of the line, and I was living once again amongthem, going from battalion to battalion, it was most amusing to hearthem tell of all their adventures during the great attack. The Englishnewspapers reached us and they were loud in their praise of "thegallant Canadians. " The King, General Joffre, and Sir Robert Borden, sent messages to our troops. One man said, amid the laughter of hiscomrades, "All I can remember, Sir, was that I was in a blooming oldfunk for about three days and three nights and now I am told I am ahero. Isn't that fine?" Certainly they deserved all the praise theygot. In a battle there is always the mixture of the serious and thecomic. One Turco, more gallant than his fellows, refused to leave theline and joined the 16th Battalion. He fought so well that they decidedto reward him by turning him into a Highlander. He consented to donthe kilt, but would not give up his trousers as they concealed hisblack legs. 

The Second Battle of Ypres was the making of what grew to be theCanadian Corps. Up to that time, Canadians were looked upon, andlooked upon themselves, merely as troops that might be expected tohold the line and do useful spade work, but from then onward the menfelt they could rise to any emergency, and the army knew they could bedepended upon. The pace then set was followed by the other divisionsand, at the end, the Corps did not disappoint the expectations ofGeneral Foch. What higher praise could be desired?

My billet in Vlamertinghe was in a neat little cottage owned by an oldmaid, who took great pride in making everything shine. The paymasterof one of our battalions and I had a cheerful home there when the poorold lady fled. Her home however did not long survive her absence, for, some days after she left, it was levelled by a shell. The church (p. 073)too was struck and ruined. Beside it is the military cemetery withinwhich lie the mortal remains of many gallant men, amongst them the twoGrenfells, one of whom got the V. C. There I buried poor Duffy and manymore. The other chaplains laid to rest men under their care. 

One picture always comes to my mind when I think of Vlamertinghe. Inthe road near the church was a Crucifix. The figure was life size andhung on a cross planted upon a rocky mound. One night when the sun hadset and a great red glow burnt along the horizon, I saw the large blackcross silhouetted against the crimson sky, and before it knelt an agedwoman with grey hair falling from beneath the kerchief that was tiedabout her head. It was dangerous at all times to stay at that place, yet she knelt there silently in prayer. She seemed to be theembodiment of the old life and quiet contented religious hope whichmust have been the spirit of Vlamertinghe in the past. The village wasan absolute ruin a few days later, and even the Sisters had to fleefrom their convent. The Crucifix, however, stood for a long time afterthe place was destroyed, but I never passed by without thinking of thepoor old woman who knelt at its foot in the evening light and laid herburden of cares upon the heart of Eternal Pity. 

CHAPTER VII. (p. 074)

FESTUBERT AND GIVENCHY. 

_May and June, 1915. _

When our men came out of the line, the 2nd Field Ambulance was orderedback for rest and reorganization to a village called Ouderdom, threemiles to the Southwest, and their O. C. Invited me to follow them. Itwas late in the evening when I started to walk. The light was fadingand, as I had no map, I was not certain where Ouderdom was. I went downthe road, delighting in the sweet smells of nature. It was with a senseof unusual freedom that I walked along with all my worldly possessionsin my haversack. I thought how convenient it was to lose one's kit. Now I could lie down beside any haystack and feel quite at home. Theevening air grew chillier and I thought I had better get some roofover my head for the night. I asked various men that I met whereOuderdom was. None of them knew. I was forced once again to take mysolitary journey into the great unknown. It was therefore with muchsatisfaction that, when quite dark, I came upon some wooden huts andsaw a number of men round a little fire in a field. I went up to oneof the huts and found in it a very kind and courteous middle-agedlieutenant, who was in charge of a detachment of Indian troops. Whenhe heard I was looking for the Field Ambulance and going towardsOuderdom, he told me it was much too late to continue my journey thatnight. "You stay with me in my hut, Padré, " he said, "and in themorning I will give you a horse to take you to your men. " He told methat he had been living by himself and was only too delighted to havea companion to talk to. He treated me as bounteously as circumstanceswould permit, and after a good dinner, he gave me a blanket and strawbed on the floor of his hut. It was very pleasant to come out of thedarkness and loneliness of the road and find such a kind host, andsuch good hospitality. We discussed many things that night, and thenext day I was shown over the camp. Later on, the Lieutenant sent meon horseback to Ouderdom. There I found the Ambulance encamped in apleasant field beside a large pond, which afforded us the luxury of abath. I shall never forget those two restful days I spent at Ouderdom. I blamed the blankets, however, for causing an irritation of the (p. 075)skin, which lasted till I was able to have another wash and change. 

Pleasant as my life was with the Ambulance, I felt I ought to go backand join my Brigade. I got a ride to the transport at Brielen, andthere, under a waggon cover, had a very happy home. Near us anImperial battery fired almost incessantly all night long. While lyingawake one night thinking of the men that had gone, and wondering whatthose ardent spirits were now doing, the lines came to me which wereafterwards published in "The Times":

 "REQUIESCANT"

 In lonely watches night by night, Great visions burst upon my sight, For down the stretches of the sky The hosts of dead go marching by. 

 Strange ghostly banners o'er them float, Strange bugles sound an awful note, And all their faces and their eyes Are lit with starlight from the skies. 

 The anguish and the pain have passed, And peace hath come to them at last. But in the stern looks linger still The iron purpose and the will. 

 Dear Christ, who reign'st above the flood Of human tears and human blood, A weary road these men have trod, O house them in the home of God. 

The Quartermaster of the 3rd Brigade furnished me with a change ofunderwear, for which I was most grateful. I felt quite proud of havingsome extra clothes again. The battalions were moved at last out of thearea and we were ordered off to rest. Our first stop was nearVlamertinghe. We reached it in the afternoon, and, chilly though itwas, I determined to have a bath. Murdoch MacDonald got a bucket ofwater from a green and slimy pond and put it on the other side of ahedge, and there I retired to have a wash and change. I was just inthe midst of the process when, to my confusion, the Germans began toshell the adjoining field, and splinters of shell fell in the hedgebehind me. The transport men on the other side called out to me (p. 076)to run and take cover with them under the waggons. "I can't, boys", I replied, "I have got no clothes on. " They roared with laughter at myplight. Though clothes are not at all an impregnable armour, somehowor other you feel safer when you are dressed. There was nothing for itbut to complete my ablutions, which I did so effectually in the coldspring air that I got a chill. That night I was racked with pains as Irode on the horse which the M. O. Lent me, on our march to Bailleul. 

We arrived in the quaint old town about two in the morning, and I mademy way in the dark to the hotel in the Square. I was refused admissionon the reasonable plea that every bed was already occupied. I was justturning away, wondering where I could go, for I was hardly able tostand up, when an officer came out and said I might go up to a room onthe top storey and get into his bed as he would need it no more. Itwas quite delightful, not only to find a bed, but one which had beenso nicely and wholesomely warmed. I spent a most uncomfortable night, and in the morning I wondered if my batman would find out where I wasand come and look after me. About ten o'clock I heard a knock at thedoor and called out "Come in. " To my astonishment, a very smart staffofficer, with a brass hat and red badges, made his way into my room, and startled me by saying, "I am the Deputy-Judge-Advocate-General. ""Oh", I said, "I was hoping you were my batman. " He laughed at thatand told me his business. There had been a report that one of ourHighlanders had been crucified on the door of a barn. The Roman CatholicChaplain of the 3rd Brigade and myself had tried to trace the story toits origin. We found that the nearest we could get to it was, thatsomeone had told somebody else about it. One day I managed to discovera Canadian soldier who said he had seen the crucifixion himself. I atonce took some paper out of my pocket and a New Testament and toldhim, "I want you to make that statement on oath and put your signatureto it. " He said, "It is not necessary. " But he had been talking somuch about the matter to the men around him that he could not escape. I had kept his sworn testimony in my pocket and it was to obtain thisthat the Deputy-Judge-Advocate-General had called upon me. I gave itto him and told him that in spite of the oath, I thought the man wasnot telling the truth. Weeks afterwards I got a letter from theDeputy-Judge telling me he had found the man, who, when confronted (p. 077)by a staff officer, weakened, and said he was mistaken in swearingthat he had seen the crucifixion he had only been told about it bysomeone else. We have no right to charge the Germans with the crime. They have done so many things equally bad, that we do not need tobring charges against them of which we are not quite sure. 

The Brigade was quartered in the little village of Steenje. It was apretty place, and it was delightful to be back in the peaceful countryagain. May was bringing out the spring flowers and the trees worefresh green leaves. There was something about the exhilarating life wewere leading which made one extremely sensitive to the beauties ofnature. I have never cared much for flowers, except in a general way. But now I noticed a great change. A wild flower growing in a ditch bythe wayside seemed to me to be almost a living thing, and spoke in itsmute way of its life of peace and contentment, and mocked, by its veryhumility, the world of men which was so full of noise and death. Colour too made a most powerful appeal to the heart. The gleam ofsunlight on the moss that covered an old thatched roof gave one athrill of gladness. The world of nature putting on its fresh springdress had its message to hearts that were lonely and anxious, and itwas a message of calm courage and hope. In Julian Grenfell's beautifulpoem "Into Battle, " he notes this message of the field and trees. Everything in nature spoke to the fighting man and gave him its ownword of cheer. 

Of course all the men did not show they were conscious of these emotionalsuggestions, but I think they felt them nevertheless. The green fieldsand shining waters around Steenje had a very soothing effect upon mindsthat had passed through the bitterest ordeal in their life'sexperience. I remember one morning having a service of Holy Communionin the open air. Everything was wonderful and beautiful. The goldensunlight was streaming across the earth in full radiance. The treeswere fresh and green, and hedges marked out the field with walls ofliving beauty. The grass in the meadow was soft and velvety, and, justbehind the spot where I had placed the altar, a silver stream wanderedslowly by. When one adds to such a scene, the faces of a group ofearnest, well-made and heroic young men, it is easily understood thatthe beauty of the service was complete. When it was over, I remindedthem of the twenty-third Psalm, "He maketh me to lie down in green (p. 078)pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. " There too was the tableprepared before us in the presence of our enemies. 

At Steenje, as no billet had been provided for me, the Engineers tookme in and treated me right royally. Not only did they give me a pileof straw for a bed in the dormitory upstairs, but they also made me anhonorary member of their mess. Of the work of the "Sappers", in theGreat War, one cannot speak too highly. Brave and efficient, they werealways working and co-operating enthusiastically with the infantry. Every week now that passed was deepening that sense of comradeshipwhich bound our force together. The mean people, the men who thoughtonly of themselves, were either being weeded out or taught that therewas no place for selfishness in the army. One great lesson wasimpressed upon me in the war, and that is, how wonderfully theofficial repression of wrong thoughts and jealousies tends to theirabolition. A man who lets his wild fancies free, and gives rein to hisanger and selfishness, is going to become the victim of his own mind. If people at home could only be prevented, as men were in the war, from saying all the bitter and angry things they feel, and fromcriticising the actions of their neighbours, a different temper ofthought would prevail. The comradeship men experienced in the GreatWar was due to the fact that everyone knew comradeship was essentialto our happiness and success. It would be well if all over Canada menrealized that the same is true of our happiness and success in timesof peace. What might we not accomplish if our national and industriallife were full of mutual sympathy and love!

Our rest at Steenje was not of long duration. Further South anotherattack was to be made and so one evening, going in the directionwhither our troops were ordered, I was motored to the little villageof Robecq. There I managed to get a comfortable billet for myself inthe house of a carpenter. My bedroom was a tiny compartment whichlooked out on the backyard. It was quite delightful to lie in a realbed again and as I was enjoying the luxury late in the morning Iwatched the carpenter making a baby's coffin. Robecq then was a verycharming place. The canal, on which was a hospital barge, gave the menan opportunity for a swim, and the spring air and the sunshine putthem in high spirits. 

It was at Robecq, that I had my first sight of General Haig. I wasstanding in the Square one afternoon when I saw the men on the (p. 079)opposite side spring suddenly to attention. I felt that somethingwas going to happen. To my astonishment, I saw a man ride up carryinga flag on a lance. He was followed by several other mounted men. Itwas so like a pageant that I said to myself, "Hello, here comes Joanof Arc. " Then a general appeared with his brilliant staff. The Generaladvanced and we all saluted, but he, spying my chaplain's collar, rodeover to me and shook hands and asked if I had come over with theCanadians. I told him I had. Then he said, "I am so glad you have allcome into my Army. " I did not know who he was or what army we were in, or in fact what the phrase meant, but I thought it was wise to say nicethings to a general, so I told him we were all very glad too. He seemedgratified and rode off in all the pomp and circumstance of war. I heardafterwards that he was General Haig, who at that time commanded the FirstArmy. He had from the start, the respect of all in the BritishExpeditionary Force. 

A sudden call "to stand to", however, reminded us that the war was notyet won. The Brigadier told me that we had to move the next morning atfive. Then he asked me how I was going and I quoted my favourite text, "The Lord will provide. " My breakfast at 3. 30 next morning consistedof a tin of green peas without bread or other adulterations and a cupof coffee. At five a. M. I started to walk, but it was not long before Iwas overtaken by the car of an artillery officer, and carried, in greatglory, past the General and his staff, whose horses we nearly pushedinto the ditch on the narrow road. The Brigadier waved his hand andcongratulated me upon the way in which Providence was looking after me. That afternoon our brigade was settled in reserve trenches atLacouture. There were a number of Ghurka regiments in the neighbourhood, as well as some Guards battalions. I had a service for the bomb-throwersin a little orchard that evening, and I found a billet with theofficers of the unit in a particularly small and dirty house by thewayside. 

Some of us lay on the floor and I made my bed on three chairs--a styleof bed which I said I would patent on my return to Canada. The chairs, with the middle one facing in the opposite direction to prevent onerolling off, were placed at certain distances where the body neededspecial support, and made a very comfortable resting place, free fromthose inhabitants which infested the ordinary places of repose. Ofcourse we did not sleep much, and somebody, amid roars of laughter (p. 080)called for breakfast about two-thirty a. M. The cook who was sleepingin the same room got up and prepared bacon and coffee, and we hadquite an enjoyable meal, which did not prevent our having a later oneabout nine a. M. , after which, I beguiled the time by reading aloudLeacock's "Arcadian Adventures with the Idle Rich. " Later in the day, I marched off with our men who were going into the trenches, for thebattle of Festubert. We passed the place called Indian Village andwent to the trenches just beyond. 

We met a bearer-party bringing out a young German prisoner who wasbadly wounded. I went over to him and offered him a cigarette. This hedeclined, but asked for some water, putting out his dry tongue to showhow parched it was. I called to some of our men to know if they couldspare him a drink. Several gladly ran across and offered theirwater-bottles. They were always kind to wounded prisoners. "If thineenemy thirst give him drink. " Just before the men went into thetrenches, I shook hands with one or two and then, as they passed up, half the battalion shook hands with me. I was glad they did, but atthe same time I felt then that it was not wise for a chaplain to doanything which looked as if he were taking matters too seriously. Itwas the duty of everyone to forget private feelings in the oneabsorbing desire to kill off the enemy. I saw the different battalionsgoing up and was returning towards headquarters when whom should Imeet but the dreaded Brigadier coming up the road with his staff. Itwas impossible to dodge him; I could see already that he was makingtowards me. When he came up to me, he asked me what I was doing there, and ordered me back to Headquarters on pain of a speedy return to No. 2 General Hospital. "If you come east of my Headquarters, " he said, "you will be sent back absolutely certainly. " That night I took myrevenge by sleeping in his deserted bed, and found it verycomfortable. 

Our Brigade Headquarters were at Le Touret in a large farm surroundedby a moat. We were quite happy, but on the next day, which I spent incensoring the letters of the 13th Battalion, I was told that the 2ndBrigade were coming to occupy the billet and that I had to get out andforage for myself. At half past six in the evening I saw from my windowthe giant form of General Currie followed by his staff, riding acrossthe bridge over the moat. He looked very imposing, but I knew it meantthat the bed I had slept in was no longer mine. I called my friend (p. 081)Murdoch MacDonald and I got him to pack my haversack. "Murdoch", Isaid, "once more we have to face the big, black world alone, but--'theLord will provide'". The sun had set, the air was cool and scentedrichly with the fermented manure spread upon the land. Many units werescattered through the fields. We went from one place to another, butalas there was no billet for us. It was tiring work, and both Murdochand I were getting very hungry and also very grumpy. The prospect ofsleeping under the stars in the chilly night was not pleasant. I amashamed to say my faith began to waver, and I said to Murdoch MacDonald, "Murdoch, my friend, the Lord is a long time providing for ustonight. " We made our way back to the main road and there I saw anImperial Officer who was acting as a point man and directing traffic. I told him my difficulty and implored him, as it was now getting ontowards eleven p. M. , to tell me where I could get a lodging for thenight. He thought for a while and then said, "I think you may find abed for yourself and your man in the prison. " The words had an ominoussound, but I remembered how often people at home found refuge for thenight in the police station. He told me to go down the road to thethird farmhouse, where I should find the quarters of some Highlandofficers and men. The farm was called the prison, because it was theplace in which captured Germans were to be held until they were sentdown the line. Followed by Murdoch, I made my way again down the busyroad now crowded with transports, troops and ambulances. It was hardto dodge them in the mud and dark. I found the farmhouse, passed thesentry, and was admitted to the presence of two young officers of theGlasgow Highlanders. I told them who I was and how I had been biddenby the patrol officer to seek refuge with them. They received me mostcordially and told me they had a spare heap of straw in the room. Theynot only said they would arrange for me for the night, but they calledtheir servant and told him to get me some supper. They said I lookedworn out. A good dish of ham and eggs and a cup of strong tea at thattime were most refreshing and when I had finished eating, seeing acopy of the Oxford Book of Verse on the table, I began to read it tothem, and finally, and quite naturally, found myself later on, aboutone a. M. , reciting my own poems. It was most interesting meetinganother set of men. The barn, which was kept as a prison for Germanswas large and commodious. As we took only five or six prisoners (p. 082)at that time, it was more than sufficient for the purpose. The officerstold me that the reason why so few prisoners turned up was that theCanadians got tired of their charges before they arrived at theprison, and only handed over a few as souvenirs. I really think theScotsmen believed it. The Glasgow men moved away and were succeeded bya company of Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders. The tables were nowturned, for as I had kept on inhabiting the large room with the threeheaps of straw in it, the two officers who came "to take over" askedmy permission to make their billet in the prison. 

In the meantime, the fighting in the trenches was very fierce. I spentmy days in parish visiting and my nights at the various dressingstations. The batteries of artillery were all round us in the fieldsand orchards, and there was great concentration of British andCanadian guns. In spite of the brigadier's orders, I often went eastof Headquarters. One lovely Sunday evening I had a late service formen of the 16th Battalion in an orchard. They were going off laterinto No Man's Land on a working party. The service, which was avoluntary one, had therefore an underlying pathos in it. Shells werefalling in the fields on both sides of us. The great red sunset glowedin the west and the trees overhead cast an artistic gray green lightupon the scene. The men were facing the sunset, and I told them asusual that there lay Canada. The last hymn was "Abide with Me", andthe words, "Hold Thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes", werepeculiarly touching in view of the fact that the working party was tostart as soon as the service was ended. At Festubert our CavalryBrigade, now deprived of their horses, joined us, and I remember onemorning seeing Colonel, now General, Macdonell, coming out of the lineat the head of his men. They were few in number and were very tired, for they had had a hard time and had lost many of their comrades. TheColonel, however, told them to whistle and keep step to the tune, which they were doing with a gallantry which showed that, in spite ofthe loss of their horses, the spirit of the old squadron was stillundaunted. 

Our batteries round Le Touret were very heavily and systematicallyshelled, and of course rumour had it that there were spies in theneighbourhood. The French Police were searching for Germans in Britishuniforms, and everyone felt that some of the inhabitants might behousing emissaries from the German lines. Some said lights were (p. 083)seen flashing from farmhouses; others averred that the French peasantssignalled to the enemy by the way they ploughed their fields and bythe colour of the horses used. In Belgium we were told that thearrangement of the arms of windmills gave away the location of ourtroops. At any rate everyone had a bad attack of spy-fever, and I didnot escape it. One night about half past ten I was going down a darkroad to get my letters from the post office, when an officer on abicycle came up to me and, dismounting, asked me where a certainBritish Artillery Brigade was. I was not concerned with the number ofthe brigade, but I was horrified to hear the officer pronounce his"rs" in the back of his throat. Of course, when we are not at war withGermany, a man may pronounce his "rs" however he pleases, but when weare at war with the great guttural hordes of Teutons it is different. The moment I heard the sepulchral "r" I said, "This man is a German". He told me he had come from the Indian Army and had a message for theartillery brigade. I took him by subtlety, thinking all was fair inwar, and I asked him to come with me. I made for the billet of oursignallers and told the sentry that the officer wanted a Britishbrigade. At the same time I whispered to the man to call out theguard, because I thought the stranger was a spy. 

The sentry went into the house, and in a few seconds eager Canadianswith fixed bayonets came out of the building and surrounded theunfortunate officer. Canadians were always ready for a bit of sport. When I saw my man surrounded, I asked him for his pass. He appearedvery much confused and said he had none, but had come from the IndianArmy. What made us all the more suspicious was the fact that hedisplayed a squared map as an evidence of his official character. Itold him that anybody could get a squared map. "Do you take me for aspy?" he said. I replied gently that we did, and that he would have tocome to Headquarters and be identified. He had an ugly lookingrevolver in his belt, but he submitted very tamely to his temporaryarrest. I was taking him off to our Headquarters, where strangeofficers were often brought for purposes of identification, when ayoung Highland Captain of diminutive stature, but unbounded dignity, appeared on the scene with four patrol men. He told me that as he waspatrolling the roads for the capture of spies, he would take over thecustody of my victim. The Canadians were loath to lose their prey. Sowe all followed down the road. After going a short distance, thesignallers had to return to their quarters, much to my regret, (p. 084)for it seemed to me that the safety of the whole British Army dependedon our capturing the spy, and I knew I could depend upon the Canadians. However I made up my mind that I would follow to the bitter end. 

The Highlander put the officer between us and, followed by the fourpatrol men, we went off down a lonely road. The moon had now risen. After walking about half a mile we came to a large barn, outside ofwhich stood a sentry. It was the billet of a battalion of Highlanders. I told the man privately, that we had arrested the officer undersuspicion of his being a spy, and if the sentry on duty should see himcoming back along the road, he was to detain him and have himidentified. As we walked along, a number of men who had been concealedin the ditches on each side of the road rose up and followed us. Theywere men of the patrol commanded by the young Highlander on the otherside of our prisoner. It was a delightfully weird experience. Therewas the long quiet moonlit road and the desolate fields all around us. While I was talking to one of the men, the patrol officer, unknown tome, allowed the spy to go off on his wheel, and to my astonishmentwhen I turned I saw him going off down the road as hard as he could. Iasked the officer why he had let him go. He said he thought it was allright and the man would be looked after. Saying this, he called hispatrol about him and marched back again. The thing made me very angry. It seemed to me that the whole war might depend on our capturing thespy. At least, I owed it to the British Army to do my best to becertain the man was all right before I let him go. So I continued tofollow him by myself down the road. The next farm I came to was abouta mile off. There I was halted by a sentry, and on telling my businessI was shown into a large barn, where the sergeant-major of a Scottishbattalion got out of the straw and came to talk to me. He told me thatan officer riding a wheel had passed sometime before, asking his wayto a certain artillery brigade. I told the sergeant-major mysuspicions and while we were talking, to our astonishment, the sentryannounced that the officer, accompanied by a Black Watch despatchrider, had turned up again, having heard that the brigade he wantedwas in the other direction. 

The sergeant and I went out and challenged him and said that he had tocome to the colonel and be identified. The colonel was in the backroom of a little cottage on the other side of the road. I made my waythrough the garden and entered the house. The colonel, an oldish (p. 085)man, was sitting at a table. In front of him was an empty glass and anempty whisky bottle. It struck me from a superficial glance that thecolonel was the only full thing in the room. He seemed surprised athaving so late a visitor. I told him my suspicions. "Show the man in, Padré, " he said, and I did. 

The spy seemed worried and excited and his "rs" were more gutturalthan ever. The old Colonel, who had himself been in India, at once putthe suspect through his facings in Hindustani. Then the Colonel cameout to me, and taking me aside said, "It's all right, Padré, he cantalk Hindustani. I never met a German who could do that. " Though stillnot quite satisfied, I said "Good night, " and went out into the gardento return home. Immediately the young despatch rider came up to me andsaid, "Who are you, who are stopping a British officer in theperformance of his duty? I arrest you. You must come in to the Coloneland be identified. " This was a turning of the tables with a vengeance, and as I had recently laid stress on its being the duty of everyofficer to prove his identity whenever called upon, I had nothing todo but to go back into the presence of the Colonel and be questioned. I noticed this time that a full bottle of whiskey and another tumblerhad been provided for the entertainment of the Indian Officer. Thedespatch rider saluted the Colonel and said, "I have brought in thisofficer, Sir, to be identified. He says he is a Canadian chaplain butI should like to make sure on the point. " I stood there feeling ratherdisconcerted. The Colonel called to his adjutant who was sleeping in abed in the next room. He came out in a not very agreeable frame ofmind and began to ask me who I was. I immediately told my name, showedmy identification disc and engraved silver cigarette case and somecablegrams that I had just received from home. The Colonel looked upwith bleary eyes and said, "Shall I put him in the guardroom?" butthe adjutant had been convinced by my papers that I was innocent andhe said, "I think we can let him go, Sir. " It was a great relief tome, because guard-rooms were not very clean. I was just making my wayfrom the garden when out came the young despatch rider. I bore him nomalice for his patriotic zeal. I felt that his heart was in the rightplace, so I said to him, "You have taken the part of this unknownofficer, and now that you are sure I am all right, may I ask you whatyou know about him?" "I don't know anything", he said, "only that Imet him and he asked me the way to the Brigade, and as I was going (p. 086)there myself I told him I would act as his guide. " "Well", I said, "weare told that there are spies in the neighbourhood reporting thelocation of our batteries to the Germans, so we ought to be verycareful how we give these locations away. " "I tell you what, Sir, " hereplied, "I'll go and examine his wheel and see what the make is; Iknow a good deal about the wheels used in the army. " We went over tothe wheel and by the aid of my flashlight he examined it thoroughlyand then said, "This is not an English wheel, I have never seen onelike it before. This wheel was never in use in our army. " The despatchrider now got an attack of spy-fever. It was decided that he shouldride on to the Brigade Headquarters and find out if an Indian officerwas expected there. He promised to come back as soon as possible andmeet me in the road. We trusted that the bottle of whiskey in theColonel's billet would cause sufficient delay for this to beaccomplished. The night was cool and beautiful and the sense of anadventure added charm to the situation. I had not gone far down theroad when to my horror I heard a wheel coming behind me, and turning, I saw my spy coming towards me as fast as he could. I was not ofcourse going to let him get past. The added information as to thecharacter of the wheel gave me even greater determination to see thateverything was done to protect the army from the machinations of aGerman spy. 

I stood in the road and stopped the wheel. The poor man had todismount and walk beside me. I wished to delay him long enough for thedespatch rider to return with his message from the Brigade. Ourconversation was a trifle forced, and I remember thinking that if myfriend was really a British officer he would not have submitted quiteso tamely to the interference of a Padré. Then I looked at therevolver in his belt, and I thought that, if, on the other hand, hewas a German spy he would probably use his weapon in that lonely roadand get rid of the man who was impeding his movements. We went on tillwe came to the sentry whom I had warned at first. At once, we werechallenged, "Halt, who are you?" and the suspected spy replied "IndianArmy. " But the sentry was not satisfied, and to my delight he said, "You will both have to come in and be identified". We were taken intothe guardroom and told that we should have to stay there for thenight. My friend got very restless and said it was too bad to be heldup like this. I looked anxiously down the road to see if there wereany signs of the returning despatch rider. The sentries were (p. 087)obdurate and said they wouldn't let us go till we could be identifiedin the morning. Then the officer requested that he might be sent tothe Brigade under escort. The sergeant asked me if that would meetwith my approval. I said, "Certainly", and so, turning out threemembers of the guard with fixed bayonets, they marched us off towardsthe Brigade. The spy had a man with a fixed bayonet on each side ofhim: they gave me only one. I felt that this was a slight upon mymanhood, and asked why they did not put a soldier on each side of metoo, as I was as good a man as the other. It was a queer procession inthe moonlight. At last we came to the orchard in which stood thebillet of the General commanding the Artillery Brigade. I was delightedto find that some Canadian Batteries were there, and told the men whatmy mission was. They instantly, as true Canadians, became fired withinterest and spy-fever. When we got to the house I asked to see theGeneral. He was asleep in a little room off the kitchen. I was shownin, and he lit a candle and proceeded to get up. I had never seen ageneral in bed before, so was much interested in discovering what helooked like and how he was dressed. I found that a general in war timegoes to bed in his underclothes, like an ordinary private. The Generalgot up and went outside and put the spy through a series of questions, but he did so in a very sleepy voice, and with a perfunctory mannerwhich seemed to me to indicate that he was more concerned aboutgetting back to bed than he was in saving the army from danger. Hetold the officer that it was too late then to carry on the businessfor which he had come, but that he would see about it in the morning. The spy with a guttural voice then said, "I suppose I may go, Sir?"and the General said, "Certainly. " Quickly as possible, fearing afurther arrest, the stranger went out, took his wheel, and sped downthe road. When I went into the garden, I found a number of men fromone of our ambulances. They had turned up with stolen rifles and werewaiting with the keenest delight to join in "Canon Scott's spy hunt. "Imagine therefore, their disappointment when the officer came out afree man, answered the sentry's challenge on the road, and disappearedin the distance. 

On the following day, the French military police came to my billet andasked for particulars about the Indian officer. They told MurdochMacDonald that they were on the lookout for a German spy who was (p. 088)reported to be going about through our lines dressed in a Britishuniform. He had been seen at an observation post, and was makingenquiries which aroused suspicions. This of course made me more sorrythan ever that I had allowed the spy to get through my fingers. Likethe man the French police were after, the officer was fair, had alight moustache and was of good size and heavily built. 

My adventures with my friend did not end there. When we had left Festubertand got to the neighbourhood of Bethune, I took two young privates oneday to have lunch with me in a French hotel near the Square. We were justbeginning our meal when to my astonishment the suspected spy, accompaniedby a French interpreter, sat down at an opposite table. He looked towardsme but made no sign of recognition--a circumstance which I regarded asbeing decidedly suspicious. I naturally did not look for any demonstrationof affection from him, but I thought he might have shown, if he werean honest man, that he remembered one who had caused him so muchinconvenience. Once more the call of duty came to my soul. I felt thatthis man had dodged the British authorities and was now giving hisinformation to a French interpreter to transmit it at the earliestpossible moment to the Germans. I told my young friends to carry on asif nothing had happened, and excusing myself, said I would come backin a few minutes. I went out and inquired my way to the Town Major'soffice. There, I stated the object of my journey and asked for twopolicemen to come back with me and mount guard till I identified asuspicious looking officer. I then returned and finished my lunch. When the officer and the interpreter at the conclusion of their mealwent out into the passage, I followed them and asked for theiridentification. The officer made no attempt to disguise or check histemper. He said that there must be an end to this sort of work. Butthe arrival of the two policemen in the passage showed that he had todo what I asked him. This he did, and the interpreter also, and thepolice took their names and addresses. Then I let my friends go, andheard them depart into the street hurling denunciations and threats ofvengeance upon my devoted and loyal head. 

It was about a week or ten days afterwards that I was called into ourown Brigadier's office. He held a bundle of letters in his hand stampedwith all sorts of official seals. The gist of it all was that the G. O. C. Of the Indian Division in France had reported to General Alderson theextraordinary and eccentric conduct of a Canadian Chaplain, who (p. 089)persisted in arresting a certain British officer whenever they happenedto meet. He wound up with this cutting comment, "The conduct of thischaplain seems to fit him rather for a lunatic asylum than for thetheatre of a great war. " Of course explanations were sent back. It wasexplained to the General that reports had reached us of the presencein our lines of a German spy in British uniform, who from the descriptiongiven, resembled the Indian officer in all particulars. 

It is needless to say that every one was immensely amused at "theCanon's spy story, " and I mentally resolved that I would be morecareful in the future about being carried away by my suspicions. Itold people however that I would rather run the risk of being laughedat over making a mistake than to let one real spy escape. 

Festubert made a heavy toll upon our numbers, and we were not sorrywhen we were ordered out of the line and found ourselves quartered inthe neighbourhood of Bethune. Bethune at that time was a delightfulplace. It was full of people. The shops were well provided witharticles for sale, and a restaurant in the quaint Grande Place, withits Spanish tower and Spanish houses, was the common meeting ground offriends. The gardens behind private residences brought back memoriesof pre-war days. The church was a beautiful one, built in the 16thcentury. The colours of the windows were especially rich. It wasalways delightful to enter it and think how it had stood the shock andturmoil of the centuries. 

One day when I was there the organ was being played most beautifully. Sitting next to me in a pew, was a Canadian Highlander clad in a verydirty uniform. He told me that a friend of his had been killed besidehim drenching him in blood. The Highlander was the grandson of aBritish Prime Minister. We listened to the music till the recital wasover, and then I went up to the gallery and made myself known to theorganist. He was a delicate young fellow, quite blind, and was in astate of nervous excitement over his recent efforts. I made a bargainwith him to give us a recital on the following evening. At the timeappointed, therefore, I brought some of our men with me. The youngorganist met us at the church and I led him over to a monastery inwhich a British ambulance was making its headquarters. There, in thechapel, the blind man poured out his soul in the strains of a mostbeautiful instrument. We sat entranced in the evening light. Hetransported us into another world. We forgot the shells, the mud, (p. 090)the darkness, the wounded men, the lonely graves, and the hideous factof war. We wandered free and unanxious down the avenues of thought andemotion which were opened up before us by the genius of him whose eyeswere shut to this world. It was with deep regret that, when the concertwas over, we heard him close the keyboard. Three years later theorganist was killed by a shell while he was sitting at his post in thechurch he loved so well and had never seen. 

When we were at Bethune a very important event in my military careertook place. In answer to repeated requests, Headquarters procured me ahorse. I am told that the one sent to me came by mistake and was notthat which they intended me to have. The one I was to have, I heard, was the traditional padré's horse, heavy, slow, unemotional, and withknees ready at all times to sink in prayer. The animal sent to me, however, was a high-spirited chestnut thoroughbred, very pretty, verylively and neck-reined. It had once belonged to an Indian general, andwas partly Arab. Poor Dandy was my constant companion to the end. After the Armistice, to prevent his being sold to the Belgian army, hewas mercifully shot, by the orders of our A. D. V. S. Dandy certainly wasa beauty, and his lively disposition made him interesting to ride. Iwas able now to do much more parish visiting, and I was rather amusedat the way in which my mount was inspected by the different grooms inour units. I had to stand the fire of much criticism. Evil andcovetous eyes were set upon Dandy. I was told he was "gone" in theknees. I was told he had a hump on the back--he had what is known asthe "Jumper's bump. " Men tickled his back and, because he wriggled, told me he was "gone" in the kidneys. I was told he was no properhorse for a padré, but that a fair exchange was always open to me. Iwas offered many an old transport hack for Dandy, and once was evenasked if I would change him for a pair of mules. I took all thecriticisms under consideration, and then when they were repeated Itold the men that really I loved to ride a horse with a hump on itsback. It was so biblical, just like riding a camel. As for badkidneys, both Dandy and I were teetotallers and we could arrestdisease by our temperance habits. The weakness of knees too was noobjection in my eyes. In fact, I had so long, as a parson, sat overweak-kneed congregations that I felt quite at home sitting on aweak-kneed horse. 

Poor dear old Dandy, many were the rides we had together. Many (p. 091)were the jumps we took. Many were the ditches we tumbled into. Manywere the unseen barbed wires and overhanging telephone wires which webroke, you with your chest and I with my nose and forehead. Many werethe risks we ran in front of batteries in action which neither of ushad observed till we found ourselves deafened with a hideous explosionand wrapped in flame. I loved you dearly, Dandy, and I wish I couldpull down your soft face towards mine once again, and talk of thetimes when you took me down Hill 63 and along Hyde Park corner atPloegsteert. Had I not been wounded and sent back to England at theend of the war, I would have brought you home with me to show to myfamily--a friend that not merely uncomplainingly but cheerfully, withprancing feet and arching neck and well groomed skin, bore me safelythrough dangers and darkness, on crowded roads and untracked fields. What dances we have had together, Dandy, when I have got the bands toplay a waltz and you have gone through the twists and turns of aperformance in which you took an evident delight! I used to tell themen that Dandy and I always came home together. Sometimes I was on hisback and sometimes he was on mine, but we always came home together. 

A few days later my establishment was increased by the purchase of awell-bred little white fox-terrier. He rejoiced in the name of Philoand became my inseparable companion. The men called him my curate. Dandy, Philo and I made a family party which was bound together by veryclose ties of affection. Though none of us could speak the language ofthe others, yet the sympathy of each enabled us to understand andappreciate one another's opinions. I always knew what Dandy thoughtand what he would do. I always knew too what Philo was thinking about. Philo had a great horror of shells. I put this down to the fact thathe was born at Beuvry, a place which had been long under shell-fire. When he heard a shell coming in his direction, Philo used to go to thedoor of the dugout and listen for the explosion, and then come back tome in a state of whining terror. He could not even stand the sound ofour own guns. It made him run round and round barking and howlingfuriously. 

It was while we were out in rest at Bethune that I was told I could goon a week's leave to London. I was glad of this, not only for thechange of scene, but for the sake of getting new clothes. I awoke (p. 092)in the early morning and listened to the French guns pounding awaywearily near Souchez. At noon I started with a staff officer in amotor for Boulogne. It was a lovely day, and as we sped down the roadthrough little white unspoilt villages and saw peaceful fields onceagain, it seemed as if I were waking from a hideous dream. Thatevening we pulled in to Victoria Station, and heard the Westminsterchimes ringing out half past eight. 

CHAPTER VIII. (p. 093)

PLOEGSTEERT--A LULL IN OPERATIONS. 

_July to December, 1915. _

Leave in London during the war never appealed to me. I always feltlike a fish out of water. When I went to concerts and theatres, allthe time amid the artistic gaiety of the scene I kept thinking of themen in the trenches, their lonely vigils, their dangerous workingparties, and the cold rain and mud in which their lives were passed. And I thought too of the wonderful patrol kept up on the dark seas, byheroic and suffering men who guarded the life and liberty of Britain. The gaiety seemed to be a hollow mockery. I was not sorry thereforewhen my week's leave was over and I went back to the line. A staffofficer whom I met on the leave boat informed me that the Division hadchanged its trenches, and my Brigade had left Bethune. We had a mostwonderful run in the staff car from Boulogne, and in two hours arrivedat the Brigade Headquarters at Steenje, near Bailleul. There, with myhaversacks, I was left by the staff car at midnight and had to find alodging place. The only light I saw was in the upper windows of theCuré's house, the rest of the village was in complete darkness. Iknocked on the door and, after a few minutes, the head and shouldersof a man in pyjamas looked out from the window and asked me who I wasand what I wanted. On my giving my name and requesting admission, hevery kindly came down and let me in and gave me a bed on the floor. Ona mattress beside me was a young officer of the Alberta Dragoons, onlynineteen years of age. He afterwards joined the Flying Corps and methis death by jumping out of his machine at an altitude of six thousandfeet, when it was hit and burst into flames. The Alberta Dragoonslater on became the Canadian Light Horse, and were Corps Troops. Atthat time, they were part of the 1st Division and were a magnificentbody. The practical elimination of cavalry in modern warfare has takenall the romance and chivalry out of fighting. It is just as wellhowever for the world that the old feudal conception of war has passedaway. The army will be looked upon in the future as a class of citizenswho are performing the necessary and unpleasant task of policing theworld, in order that the rational occupations of human life may (p. 094)be carried on without interruption. 

Brigade Headquarters now moved to a large farm behind the trenches atPloegsteert. I bid farewell to my friends of the Alberta Dragoons andfound a billet at La Crêche. From thence I moved to Romarin and mademy home in a very dirty little French farmhouse. The Roman Catholicchaplain and I had each a heap of straw in an outhouse which was akind of general workroom. At one end stood a large churn, which wasoperated, when necessary, by a trained dog, which was kept at othertimes in a cage. The churn was the breeding place of innumerableblue-bottles, who in spite of its savoury attractions annoyed us verymuch by alighting on our food and on our faces. I used to say to myfriend, the chaplain, when at night we had retired to our straw bedsand were reading by the light of candles stuck on bully beef tins, that the lion and the lamb were lying down together. We could neveragree as to which of the animals each of us represented. At the headof my heap of straw there was an entrance to the cellar. The ladies ofthe family, who were shod in wooden shoes, used to clatter round ourslumbers in the early morning getting provisions from below. Lifeunder such conditions was peculiarly unpleasant. It was quite impossibletoo to have a bath. I announced to the family one day that I was goingto take one. Murdoch MacDonald provided some kind of large tub whichhe filled with dishes of steaming water. Instead however of the factthat I was about to have a bath acting as a deterrent to the visits ofthe ladies, the announcement seemed to have the opposite effect. Sogreat were the activities of the family in the cellar and round thechurn that I had to abandon the idea of bathing altogether. I determinedtherefore to get a tent of my own and plant it in the field. I wroteto England and got a most wonderful little house. It was a smallportable tent. When it was set up it covered a piece of ground sixfeet four inches square. The pole, made in two parts like a fishingrod, was four feet six inches high. The tent itself was brown, andmade like a pyramid. One side had to be buttoned up when I hadretired. It looked very small as a place for human habitation. On oneside of the pole was my Wolseley sleeping bag, on the other a box inwhich to put my clothes, and on which stood a lantern. When Philo andI retired for the night we were really very comfortable, but we weremuch annoyed by earwigs and the inquisitiveness of the cows, who (p. 095)never could quite satisfy themselves as to what we were. Many is thetime we have been awakened out of sleep in the morning by the sniffingsand sighings of a cow, who poked round my tent until I thought she hadthe intention of swallowing us up after the manner in which the cowdisposed of Tom Thumb. At such times I would turn Philo loose upon theintruder. Philo used to suffer at night from the cold, and would wakeme up by insisting upon burrowing his way down into my tightly lacedvalise. There he would sleep till he got so hot that he woke me upagain burrowing his way out. It would not be long before once againthe cold of the tent drove him to seek refuge in my bed. I hardly everhad a night's complete rest. Once I rolled over on him, and, as he wasa very fiery tempered little dog, he got very displeased and began tosnap and bark in a most unpleasant manner. As the sleeping bag wastightly laced it was difficult to extract him. Philo waged a kind ofsubmarine warfare there until grasping his snout, I pulled him out andrefused all his further appeals for readmission. 

My little tent gave me great comfort and a sense of independence. Icould go where I pleased and camp in the lines of the battalions whenthey came out of the trenches. This enabled me to get into closertouch with the men. One young western fellow said that my encampmentconsisted of a caboose, my tent, a cayouse, which was Dandy, and apapoose, which was my little dog, friend Philo. Now that I had acomfortable billet of my own I determined that Romarin was too farfrom the men, so I removed my settlement up to the Neuve Eglise roadand planted it near some trees in the field just below the row of hutscalled Bulford Camp. At this time, Murdoch MacDonald went to thetransport lines, and his place was taken by my friend Private Ross, ofthe 16th Battalion, the Canadian Scottish. He stayed with me to theend. We were very comfortable in the field. Ross made himself abivouac of rubber sheets. Dandy was picketed not far off and, underthe trees, my little brown pyramid tent was erected, with a rude benchoutside for a toilet table, and a large tin pail for a bath-tub. Whenthe battalions came out of the line and inhabited Bulford Camp and thehuts of Court-o-Pyp, I used to arrange a Communion Service for the menevery morning. At Bulford Camp the early morning services werespecially delightful. Not far off, was the men's washing place, alarge ditch full of muddy water into which the men took headers. (p. 096)Beside it were long rows of benches, in front of which the operationof shaving was carried on. The box I used as an altar was placed underthe green trees, and covered with the dear old flag, which now hangsin the chancel of my church in Quebec. On top was a white altar cloth, two candles and a small crucifix. At these services only about ten ora dozen men attended, but it was inspiring to minister to them. I usedto hear from time to time that so and so had been killed, and I knewhe had made his last Communion at one of such services. It was anevidence of the changed attitude towards religion that the men ingeneral did not count it strange that soldiers should thus come toHoly Communion in public. No one was ever laughed at or teased fordoing so. 

Neuve Eglise, at the top of the road, had been badly wrecked by Germanshells. I went up there one night with an officer friend of mine, tosee the scene of desolation. We were halted by some of our cyclistswho were patrolling the road. Whenever they stopped me at night andasked who I was I always said, "German spy", and they would reply, "Pass, German spy, all's well. " My friend and I went down the streetof the broken and deserted village, which, from its position on thehill, was an easy mark for shell fire. Not a living thing was stirringexcept a big black cat which ran across our path. The moonlight madestrange shadows in the roofless houses. Against the west wall of thechurch stood a large crucifix still undamaged. The roof had gone, andthe moonlight flooded the ruins through the broken Gothic windows. Tothe left, ploughed up with shells, were the tombs of the civiliancemetery, and the whole place was ghostly and uncanny. 

Near the huts, on the hill at Bulford Camp was a hollow in the groundwhich made a natural amphitheatre. Here at night concerts were given. All the audience packed together very closely sat on the ground. Before us, at the end of the hollow, the performers would appear, andoverhead the calm stars looked down. I always went to theseentertainments well provided with Players' cigarettes. A neat trickwas played upon me one night. I passed my silver cigarette case roundto the men and told them that all I wanted back was the case. In alittle while it was passed back to me. I looked into it to see if acigarette had been left for my use, when, to my astonishment, I foundthat the case had been filled with De Reszke's, my favourite brand. Ithanked my unknown benefactor for his graceful generosity. 

The field behind the huts at Court-o-Pyp was another of my (p. 097)favourite camping grounds. It was on the Neuve Eglise side of thecamp, and beyond us was some barbed wire. About two o'clock one nightI was aroused by an excited conversation which was being carried onbetween my friend Ross in his bivouac, and a soldier who had beendining late and had lost his way. The young fellow had got it into hishead that he had wandered into the German lines, and Ross had greatdifficulty in convincing him that he was quite safe. He was just goingoff with mind appeased when he caught sight of my pyramid tent on arise in the ground. "What's that?" he cried in terror, evidentlypointing towards my little house. "That's the Rev. Major Canon Scott'sbillet" said Ross with great dignity from under his rubber sheets, andthe man went off in fear of his identity becoming known. He afterwardsbecame an officer and a very gallant one too, and finally lost a legin the service of his country. But many is the time I have chaffed himabout the night he thought he had wandered into the German lines. 

One day when I had ridden up to Court-o-Pyp I found that a canteen hadjust been opened there, and being urged to make a purchase for goodluck I bought a large bottle of tomato catsup, which I put into mysaddle bag. I noticed that the action was under the observation of thebattalion, which had just returned from the trenches and was about tobe dismissed. I mounted my horse and went over to the C. O. And askedif I might say a word to the men before he dismissed them. He told methe men were tired, but I promised not to keep them long. He calledout, "Men, Canon Scott wants to say a word to you before you aredismissed, " and they stood to attention. "All I wanted to say to you, Boys, was this; that was a bottle of tomato catsup which I put in mysaddle bag, and not, as you thought, a bottle of whiskey. " A roar oflaughter went up from all ranks. 

It was about this time that our Brigadier was recalled to England totake over the command of a Division. We were all sincerely sorry tolose him from the 3rd Brigade. He was ever a good and true friend, andtook a deep interest in his men. But the immediate effect of hisdeparture, as far as I was concerned, was to remove out of my life thehideous spectre of No. 2 General Hospital, and to give me absoluteliberty in wandering through the trenches. In fact, as I told himsometime afterwards, I was beginning a little poem, the first line ofwhich was "I never knew what freedom meant until he went away. "

One day, General Seely invited me to go and stay with him at his (p. 098)Headquarters in Westhof Farm where I had a most delightful time. Not only was the General a most entertaining host, but his staff werevery charming. At dinner, we avoided war topics and shop, and talkedabout things political and literary. The mess was in the farm buildingand our sleeping quarters were on an island in the moat. My stay herebrought me into contact with the Canadian Cavalry Brigade, and a finelot of men they were. 

But a change in my fortunes was awaiting me. The Senior Chaplain ofthe Division had gone back to England, and General Alderson sent forme one day to go to Nieppe. There he told me he wished me to be SeniorChaplain. I was not altogether pleased at the appointment, because itmeant that I should be taken away from my beloved 3rd Brigade. I toldthe General so, but he assured me I should not have to stay all thetime at Headquarters, and could go with the 3rd Brigade as much as Ipleased. 

This unexpected promotion, after what I had gone through, opened up alife of almost dazzling splendour. I now had to go and live in thevillage of Nieppe on the Bailleul-Armentieres road. Here were ourHeadquarters. General Alderson had his house in the Square. Anotherbuilding was occupied by our officers, and a theatre was at mydisposal for Church Services and entertainments. The town was also theHeadquarters of a British Division, so we had plenty of men to lookafter. I got an upper room in a house owned by an old lady. The frontroom downstairs was my office, and I had a man as a clerk. Round mybedroom window grew a grape vine, and at night when the moon wasshining, I could sit on my window-sill, listen to the sound of shells, watch the flare lights behind Armentieres and eat the grapes whichhung down in large clusters. Poor Nieppe has shared the fate of NeuveEglise and Bailleul and is now a ruin. Everyone was exceedingly kind, and I soon found that the added liberty which came to me from having adefinite position really increased my chances of getting amongst themen. By leaving my clerk to do the work of Senior Chaplain, I could gooff and be lost at the front for a day and a night without ever beingmissed. I knew that each brigade must now have an equal share of myinterest and I was very careful never to show any preference. Achaplain had at all times to be very careful to avoid anything thatsavoured of favouritism. I was now also formally inducted into themembership of that august body known as "C" mess, where the heads (p. 099)of non-combatant departments met for dining and wining. Somebodyasked me one day what "C" mess was. I told him it was a lot ofwithered old boughs on the great tree of the Canadian ExpeditionaryForce--a description which was naturally much resented by the othermembers. I had no difficulty now in arranging for my billets, as thatwas always done for me by our Camp Commandant. 

Life in Nieppe was very delightful and the presence of the BritishDivision gave it an added charm. We had very pleasant services in theHall, and every Sunday evening I had a choral Evensong. So many of themen who attended had been choristers in England or Canada that theresponses were sung in harmony by the entire congregation. On weekdays we had smoking concerts and entertainments of various kinds. Isometimes had to take duty with the British units. On one occasion, Iwas invited to hold a service for his men by a very staunch churchman, a Colonel in the Army Service Corps. He told me, before the service, that his unit had to move on the following day, and also that he wasaccustomed to choose and read the lesson himself. I was delighted tofind a layman so full of zeal. But in the midst of the service I wasrather distressed at his choice of the lesson. It was hard enough toget the interest of the men as it was, but the Colonel made it moredifficult by choosing a long chapter from Deuteronomy narrating thewanderings of the children of Israel in the desert. Of course the C. O. And I knew that the A. S. C. Was to move on the following day, but thecongregation was not aware of the fact, and they must have beenpuzzled by the application of the chapter to the religious needs ofthe men at the front. However the reader was delighted with his choiceof subject, and at tea afterwards told me how singularly appropriatethe lesson was on this particular occasion. I thought it was wiser tomake no comment, but I wondered what spiritual fruit was gathered bythe mind of the ordinary British Tommy from a long account of Israel'spitching their tents and perpetually moving to places withextraordinary names. 

We had several meetings of chaplains, and I paid a visit to the DeputyChaplain General, Bishop Gwynne, at his headquarters in St. Omer. Hewas exceedingly kind and full of human interest in the men. The wholeconception of the position of an army chaplain was undergoing a greatand beneficial change. The rules which hitherto had fenced off thechaplains, as being officers, from easy intercourse with the men (p. 100)were being relaxed. Chaplains were being looked upon more as parishpriests to their battalions. They could be visited freely by the men, and could also have meals with the men when they saw fit. I amconvinced that it is a mistake to lay stress upon the chaplain'soffice as a military one. The chaplain is not a soldier, and has nomen, as a doctor has, under his command. His office being a spiritualone ought to be quite outside military rank. To both officers and men, he holds a unique position, enabling him to become the friend andcompanion of all. Bishop Gwynne upheld the spiritual side of thechaplain's work, and by establishing conferences and religiousretreats for the chaplains, endeavoured to keep up the sacredstandards which army life tended so much to drag down. 

The Cathedral at St. Omer is a very beautiful one, and it was mostrestful to sit in it and meditate, looking down the long aisles andarches that had stood so many centuries the political changes ofEurope. One morning when the sun was flooding the building and castingthe colours of the windows in rich patterns on the floor, I sat underthe gallery at the west end and read Shelley's great elegy. I rememberthose wonderful last lines and I thought how, like an unshatteredtemple, the great works of literature survive the tempests of nationalstrife. My mind was carried far away, beyond the anxieties and sorrowsof the present, "To where the soul of Adonais like a star Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are. "

In the square was a large building which had been used originally asheadquarters for the Intelligence Department. Later on, this buildingwas taken by the Bishop and used as the Chaplains' Rest-Home. There isan amusing story told of a despatch rider who came to the place with amessage for its original occupants, but when he inquired for theIntelligence Department the orderly answered, "This is the Chaplains'Rest Home, there is no Intelligence here. " At St. Omer also was theoffice of the Principal Chaplain who had under his charge all theNon-Conformist Chaplains at the front. The very best relations existedbetween the various religious bodies, and it was the endeavour of allthe chaplains to see that every man got the religious privileges ofhis own faith. 

We arrived in the Ploegsteert area at a good time for the digging andrepairing of the trenches. The clay in Belgium in fine weather (p. 101)is easily worked; consequently a most elaborate and well made systemof trenches was established in front of Messines. The brown sides ofthe trenches became dry and hard in the sun, and the bath-mats alongthem made walking easy. The trenches were named, "Currie Avenue, ""McHarg Avenue, " "Seely Avenue, " and so forth. The men had theircookers and primus stoves, and occupied their spare time in the lineby cooking all sorts of dainty dishes. Near the trenches on the otherside of Hill 63 were several ruined farm houses, known as "Le PerduFarm, " "Ration Farm, " and one, around which hovered a peculiarlyunsavoury atmosphere, as "Stinking Farm. " Hill 63 was a hill which ranimmediately behind our trench area and was covered at its right endwith a delightful wood. Here were "Grand Moncque Farm, " "Petit MoncqueFarm, " "Kort Dreuve Farm" and the "Piggeries. " All these farms wereused as billets by the battalions who were in reserve. In PloegsteertWood, "Woodcote Farm, " and "Red Lodge, " were also used for the samepurpose. The wood in those days was a very pleasant place to wanderthrough. Anything that reminded us of the free life of nature acted asa tonic to the nerves, and the little paths among the trees whichwhispered overhead in the summer breezes made one imagine that one waswandering through the forests in Canada. In the wood were severalcemeteries kept by different units, very neatly laid out and carefullyfenced in. I met an officer one day who told me he was going up to thetrenches one evening past a cemetery in the wood, when he heard thesound of someone sobbing. He looked into the place and there saw ayoung boy lying beside a newly made grave. He went in and spoke to himand the boy seemed confused that he had been discovered in his sorrow. "It's the grave of my brother, Sir, " he said, "He was buried here thisafternoon and now I have got to go back to the line without him. " Thelad dried his eyes, shouldered his rifle and went through the woodlandpath up to the trenches. No one would know again the inner sorrow thathad darkened his life. The farms behind the wood made really verypleasant homes for awhile. They have all now been levelled to theground, but at the time I speak of they were in good condition and hadmany large and commodious buildings. At Kort Dreuve there was a verygood private chapel, which the proprietor gave me the use of for myCommunion Services. It was quite nice to have a little Gothic chapelwith fine altar, and the men who attended always enjoyed the (p. 102)services there. Round the farm was a large moat full of good sizedgold-fish, which the men used to catch surreptitiously and fry fortheir meals. "The Piggeries" was a large building in which the King ofthe Belgians had kept a fine breed of pigs. It was very long andfurnished inside with two rows of styes built solidly of concrete. These were full of straw, and in them the men slept. 

I was visiting one of the battalions there one evening, when I heardthat they had been ordered to go back to the trenches before Sunday. Itold some of the men that I thought that, as they would be in thetrenches on Sunday, it would be a good idea if we had a voluntaryservice that evening. They seemed pleased, so I collected quite alarge congregation at one end of the Piggeries, and was leading up tothe service by a little overture in the shape of a talk about the waroutlook, when I became aware that there was a fight going on at theother end of the low building, and that some of the men on theoutskirts of the congregation were beginning to get restive. I knewthat a voluntary service could not stand up against the rivalry of afight, so I thought I had better take the bull by the horns. I said, "Boys, I think there is a fight going on at the ether end of thePiggeries, and perhaps it would be well to postpone the service and goand see the fight, and then return and carry on. " The men were muchrelieved and, amid great laughter, my congregation broke loose and ranto the other end of the building, followed by myself. The fight wassoon settled by the intervention of a sergeant, and then I said, "Now, Boys, let us go back to the other end and have the service. " I thoughtthe change of location might have a good effect upon their minds andsouls. So back we went again to the other end of the building andthere had a really enthusiastic and devout service. When it was over, I told the men that nothing helped so much to make a service brightand hearty as the inclusion of a fight, and that when I returned toCanada, if at any time my congregation was listless or sleepy, I wouldarrange a fight on the other side of the street to which we couldadjourn and from which we should return with renewed spiritualfervour. I have met many men at different times who look back uponthat service with pleasure. 

We had a feeling that Ploegsteert was to be our home for a good longtime, so we settled down to our life there. We had visits from Sir SamHughes and Sir Robert Borden, and also Lord Kitchener. I was notpresent when the latter inspected the men, but I asked one who (p. 103)was there what it was like. "Oh Sir, " he replied, "we stood toattention, and Kitchener passed down the lines very quietly andcoldly. He merely looked at us with his steely grey eyes and said tohimself, "I wonder how many of these men will be in hell next week. "General Hughes' inspection of one of the battalions near PloegsteertWood was interrupted by shells and the men were hastily dismissed. 

A visit to the trenches was now a delightful expedition. All the wayfrom Nieppe to Hill 63 one came upon the headquarters of some unit. Ata large farm called "Lampernise Farm" all the transports of the 3rdBrigade were quartered. I used to have services for them in the openon a Sunday evening. It was very difficult at first to collect acongregation, so I adopted the plan of getting two or three men whocould sing, and then going over with them to an open place in thefield, and starting some well known hymn. One by one others would comeup and hymn-books were distributed. By the time the service wasfinished, we generally had quite a good congregation, but it took acertain amount of courage and faith to start the service. One feltvery much like a little band of Salvationists in a city square. 

In spite of having a horse to ride, it was sometimes difficult tocover the ground between the services on Sunday. One afternoon, when Ihad been to the Cavalry Brigade at Petit Moncque Farm, I had a greatscramble to get back in time to the transport lines. In a bag hangingover the front of my saddle, I had five hundred hymn books. Havingtaken a wrong turn in the road I lost some time which it was necessaryto make up, and, in my efforts to make haste, the string of the bagbroke and hymn books fluttered out and fell along the road. Dandy tookalarm, misunderstanding the nature of the fluttering white things, andstarted to gallop. With two haversacks on my back it was difficult tohold on to the bag of hymn books and at the same time to prevent theirloss. The more the hymn books fluttered out, the harder Dandy bolted, and the harder Dandy bolted, the more the hymn books fluttered out. Atlast I passed a soldier in the road and asked him to come to myassistance. I managed to rein in the horse, and the man collected asmany of the hymn books as were not spoilt by the mud. Knowing how hardit was and how long it took to get hymn books from the Base, it waswith regret that I left any behind. But then I reflected that it mightbe really a scattering of the seed by the wayside. Some poor lone (p. 104)soldier who had been wandering from the paths of rectitude might pickup the hymns by chance and be converted. Indulging in such selfconsolation I arrived just in time for the service. 

Services were never things you could be quite sure of until they cameoff. Often I have gone to bed on Saturday night feeling thateverything had been done in the way of arranging for the followingday. Battalions had been notified, adjutants had put the hours ofservice in orders, and places for the gatherings had been carefullylocated. Then on the following day, to my intense disgust, I wouldfind that all my plans had been frustrated. Some general had taken itinto his head to order an inspection, or some paymaster had been askedto come down and pay off the men. The Paymaster's Parade, in the eyesof the men, took precedence of everything else. A Church Service wasnowhere in comparison. More often than I can recollect, all myarrangements for services have been upset by a sudden order for themen to go to a bathing parade. Every time this happened, the Adjutantwould smile and tell me, as if I had never heard it before, that"cleanliness was next to godliness. " A chaplain therefore had histrials, but in spite of them it was the policy of wisdom not to showresentment and to hold one's tongue. I used to look at the Adjutant, and merely remark quietly, in the words of the Psalmist, "I held mytongue with bit and bridle, while the ungodly was in my sight. "

People at Headquarters soon got accustomed to my absence and nevergave me a thought. I used to take comfort in remembering Poo Bah'ssong in the Mikado, "He never will be missed, he never will be missed. "Sometimes when I have started off from home in the morning my sergeantand Ross have asked me when I was going to return. I told them that ifthey would go down on their knees and pray for illumination on thesubject, they might find out, but that I had not the slightest ideamyself. A visit to the trenches was most fascinating. I used to takePhilo with me. He found much amusement in hunting for rats, and wouldoften wander off into No Man's Land and come back covered with theblood of his victims. One night I had missed him for some time, andwas whistling for him, when a sentry told me that a white dog had been"captured" by one of the men with the thought that it was a Germanpolice dog, and he had carried it off to company headquarters undersentence of death. I hurried up the trench and was just in time (p. 105)to save poor little Philo from a court martial. There had been awarning in orders that day against the admission of dogs from theGerman lines. 

The men were always glad of a visit, and I used to distribute littlebronze crucifixes as I went along. I had them sent to me from London, and have given away hundreds of them. I told the men that if anyoneasked them why they were at the war, that little cross with the patientfigure of self-sacrifice upon it, would be the answer. The widow of anofficer who was killed at Albert told me the cross which I gave herhusband was taken from his dead body, and she now had it, and wouldwear it to her dying day. I was much surprised and touched to see thevalue which the men set upon these tokens of their faith. I told themto try to never think, say or do anything which would make them wantto take off the cross from their necks. 

The dugouts in which the officers made their homes were quitecomfortable, and very merry parties we have had in the little earthhouses which were then on the surface of the ground. One night whensome new officers had arrived to take over the line, one of thecompanies gave them a dinner, consisting of five or six courses, verynicely cooked. We were never far however, from the presence of thedark Angel, and our host on that occasion was killed the next night. Our casualties at this time were not heavy, although every day therewere some men wounded or killed. The shells occasionally made directhits upon the trenches. I came upon a place once which was terriblymessed about, and two men were sitting by roaring with laughter. Theysaid their dinner was all prepared in their dugout, and they had goneoff to get some wood for the fire, when a shell landed and knockedtheir home into ruins. They were preparing to dig for their kit and somuch of their dinner as would still be eatable. As they took the wholematter as a joke, I joined with them in the laugh. One day as I wasgoing up the line, a young sapper was carried out on a sittingstretcher. He was hit through the chest, and all the way along thebath mats was the trail of the poor boy's blood. He was only nineteenyears of age, and had done splendid work and won the admiration of allthe men in his company. I had a short prayer with him, and then sawhim carried off to the dressing station, where not long after he died. The sergeant who was with him was exceedingly kind, and looked afterthe boy like a father. As the war went on, the men were being (p. 106)united more and more closely in the bonds of a common sympathy and atender helpfulness. To the enemy, until he was captured, they wereflint and iron; to one another they were friends and brothers. 

It always took a long time to pass down the trenches. There were somany men I knew and I could not pass them without a shortconversation. Time, in the line had really no meaning, except in thematter of "standing to" or "changing guard". On fine days, the lifewas not unpleasant. I remember, however, on one dark rainy night, being in a trench in front of Wulverghem. The enemy trenches were atthat point only thirty-five yards away. I was squeezed into a littlemuddy dugout with an officer, when the corporal came and asked for atot of rum for his men. They had been lying out on patrol duty in themud and rain in front of our trench for two hours. 

Dandy was still the envy of our men in the transport lines, and oneday I nearly lost him. I rode up to Hill 63. Just behind it was anorchard, and in it there were two batteries of British Artillery, which were attached to our Division. I was going up to the trenchesthat afternoon, so I gave the horse some oats and tied him to a treenear the officers' billet. I then went up over the hill down to RationFarm, and from thence into the line. It was quite late in theafternoon, but walking through the trenches was easy when it was notraining. I was returning about 10 o'clock, when the second in commandof the 16th Battalion asked me to wait for him and we would come outtogether over the open. It must have been about midnight when Istarted with the Major, and another officer. The night was dark and itwas rather a scramble, but the German flare lights would go up now andthen and show us our course. Suddenly a machine gun opened up, and wehad to lie on our faces listening to the swish of the flying bulletsjust overhead. I turned to the officer next to me and asked him howlong he had been at the front. He said he had only arrived thatafternoon at four o' clock. I told him it wasn't always like this, andwe laughed over the curious life to which he had been so recentlyintroduced. We finally made our way to Ration Farm and as I had a longride before me, I determined to go back. I was very hungry, as I hadhad nothing to eat since luncheon. I went into a cellar at Ration Farmand there found one of the men reading by the light of a candlesupported on tins of bully-beef. I asked him for one of these and hegladly gave it to me. As I started up the hill on the long (p. 107)straight road with trees on either side, I tried to open the tin withthe key, but as usual it broke and left only a little crack throughwhich with my penknife I extracted strings of beef. I could not use myflashlight, as the hill was in sight of the enemy, so I had to contentmyself with what nourishment I was able to obtain. Half way up thehill I noticed a tall figure standing by one of the trees. I thoughthe might be a spy but I accosted him and found he was one of theStrathcona Horse who had a working party in the trenches that night. Itold him my difficulty, and he got his knife and very kindly took offthe top of the tin. By this time a drizzling rain was falling and thenight was decidedly uncomfortable. I went over the hill and down tothe orchard, and made my way to the tree to which poor old Dandy hadbeen tied so many hours before. There, I found the tree just where Ihad left it--it was of no use to me, as, like the barren fig tree, ithad no fruit upon it, but to my horror the horse, which was sonecessary, had disappeared. I scoured the orchard in vain looking formy faithful friend, and then I went over to the Artillery officers'house and told them my trouble. We all decided that it was too late tosearch any longer, I was provided with a mackintosh, and determined tomake my way over to Petit Moncque Farm where the 3rd Infantry BrigadeHeadquarters were. It was a long walk and the roads were sloppy. Thepath I took led through a field of Indian corn. This, though not ripeand not cooked, would remind me of Canada, so with my search-light Ihunted for two or three of the hardest ears, and then, fortified withthese, made my way over towards the farm. 

From past experience, I knew that a sentry was stationed somewhere inthe road. The sudden challenge of a sentry in the dark always gave mea fright, so I determined this time to be on the watch and keep fromgetting a surprise. However when I arrived at the place where the manusually stood, no one challenged me. I thought that perhaps on accountof the night being rainy and uncomfortable he had retired to the guardroom, and I walked along with a free mind. I was just near the largegateway, however, when a most stentorian voice shouted out, "Halt, whogoes there?" and at the same instant in the darkness I saw the suddenflash of a bayonet flourished in my direction. Not expecting such anevent, I could not for the moment think of what I ought to say, but Icalled out in equally stentorian tones, "For heaven's sake, my boy, don't make such a row; its only Canon Scott and I have lost my (p. 108)horse. " A burst of laughter greeted my announcement, and the mantold me that, seeing somebody with a flashlight at that time of thenight wandering through the fields, and searching for something, hehad become convinced that a German spy was at work cutting thetelephone wires that led back to the guns, so he had got near theguard room where he could obtain assistance, and awaited my approachin the darkness. It was a great relief to get to headquarters, and theofficer on duty kindly lent me his comfortable sleeping bag. The nextmorning I made my way back to Nieppe, and telegraphed to the variousunits, searching for Dandy. Later on, in the afternoon, he was broughtin by a man of the Strathcona Horse. His story was that theintelligent animal had untied himself from the tree and followed theworking party home from the orchard. It is most likely that he hadpreceded them. Luckily for me, their quartermaster had recognized himin the Strathcona lines, and, being an honest man, had sent him back. The incident taught me a great and useful lesson, and in future I wasvery careful to see that my horse was safely guarded whenever I had toleave him. 

Our signallers had been active in setting up a wireless telegraph in afield near Headquarters and were able to get the various communiquéswhich were sent out during the night by the different nations. Theinformation was passed round Headquarters every morning on typewrittensheets and made most interesting reading. We were able to anticipatethe news detailed to us in the papers. Later on, however, someone inauthority put an end to this and we were deprived of our DailyChronicle. 

About this time we heard that the 2nd Division was coming to France, and that the two Divisions, which would be joined by a third, were tobe formed into the Canadian Corps. This meant a very radical change inthe status of the old 1st Division. Up to this time we were "theCanadians"; now we were only to be one among several divisions. General Alderson was to take command of the Corps, and the questionwhich was daily asked among the officers at headquarters was, "Are yougoing to the Corps?" It was a sundering of ties amongst our friends, and we felt sorry that our society would be broken up. One of thestaff officers asked me to write a poem on his departure. I did so. Itbegan--

 "He left the war And went to the Corps, Our hearts were sore, (p. 109) We could say no more. "

My friend was not at all pleased at the implication contained in thefirst two lines. 

Bailleul was made Corps Headquarters, whither General Alderson moved. His place at the division was taken by General Currie, who afterwardscommanded the Corps and led it to victory. The old town now became agreat Canadian centre. The General had comfortable quarters in a largehouse, which was nicely furnished, and had an air of opulence aboutit. The Grande Place was full of activity, and in the streets one metmany friends. The hotel offered an opportunity for afternoon tea and atolerable dinner. Besides this, there was the officers' tea room, keptby some damsels who provided cakes and served tea on little tables, like a restaurant in London. Here we could be sure of meeting many ofour friends and very pleasant such gatherings were. In a large hall aconcert took place every evening. We had a very special one attendedby several generals with their staffs. The proceeds were given to theCanadian "Prisoners of War Fund". The concerts were most enjoyable andthe real, artistic ability of some of the performers, both Canadianand British, was remarkable. It was always pleasant to live in theneighbourhood of a town, and the moment the men came out of thetrenches they wanted to clean up and go into Bailleul. After aresidence in the muddy and shaky little shacks in and behind the frontlines, to enter a real house and sit on a real chair with a table infront of you was a great luxury. 

There were several well-equipped hospitals in Bailleul. One largeBritish one had a nice chapel set aside for our use. In it one day wehad a Confirmation service which was very impressive, a number ofcandidates being present. 

While Headquarters were at Nieppe the British attack upon Loos was totake place, and it was arranged that the Canadians, in order to keepthe Germans busy in the North, were to make an attack. I happened tobe visiting "the Piggeries" in the afternoon previous. The 1stBattalion was in the line. I heard the Colonel read out to theofficers the orders for the attack. We were not told that the wholething was what our soldiers call "a fake". As he read the orders forthe next morning, they sounded serious, and I was invited to bepresent, which of course I gladly consented to. The guns were to openfire at 4 a. M. I had been away from Headquarters for some time so (p. 110)I determined to ride back and return later. At three o'clock a. M. Myservant woke me up and I had a cup of coffee, and started off on Dandyto go up to "the Piggeries". I took a tin of bully-beef with me, andso was prepared for any eventuality. It was just before dawn and themorning air was fresh and delightful. Dandy had had a good feed ofoats and was full of life. He seemed to enjoy the sport as much as Idid. We rode up the well known roads, and round their curious curvespast the small white farm houses, till we came into the neighbourhoodof our batteries. All of a sudden these opened fire. It was a splendidsound. Of all the music I have ever heard in my life, none comes nearthe glorious organ sound of a barrage. I look back with the greatestpleasure to that early morning ride through the twilight lit up by gunflashes from batteries scattered along our whole front. One greatdread I always had, and that was the dread of being killed by our ownartillery. On this occasion, I had to ride down roads that lookedperilously near batteries in action. When I got to a corner near "thePiggeries", I was just stopped in time from what might have been myfinish. There was a concealed battery among the trees by the wayside, and I, not knowing it was there, was about to ride by unconcernedly, when a gunner came out from the bushes and stopped me just in time, telling me that in half a minute the battery was going to open up. Dandy and I waited till the guns had fired and then went on. Along ourfront line there was much stir and commotion. Bundles of lighted strawmaking a hideous smoke were poked over the trenches, and the wholenight previous, all the limbers available had been driven up and downthe roads, making as much noise as possible. The Germans wereconvinced we were preparing for an attack on a big scale, and that theyellow smoke which they saw coming towards them was some new form offrightfulness. Of course they returned our fire, but our men knew bythis time that the whole affair was only a pretence. Far off to theSouth, however, there was a real battle raging, and the cemeterieswhich we afterwards saw at Loos bore testimony to the bitter strugglewhich the British forces endured. 

The village of Ploegsteert behind the wood was very much damaged. Likethe other villages at the front, it must at one time have been quite aprosperous place. The church, before it was ruined, was well built andcapacious. There was a building on the main street which a (p. 111)British chaplain had used as a clubhouse, and handed over to me whenhis division moved south. It was well stocked with all things necessaryto make the men comfortable. It had a kitchen, reading rooms, andupstairs a chapel. Two or three shells, however, had made their wayinto it, and the holes were covered with canvas. The Mayor's house wason the other side of the street, and he had a young girl there as aservant, who kept the keys of the club. The chaplain who moved awaytold me that this girl, when the town was being heavily shelled oneday, saved the lives of some men who were lying wounded in the house, by carrying them on her back over to a place of safety in a farmhouse. It was a deed that merited recognition, because she had to pass downthe road which was then under heavy shell fire. I brought her casebefore the notice of the military authorities, and General Seely wasasked to take the matter up and make an application to the King for areward for the girl's bravery. There was a doubt as to what awardcould be given to her. We got the sworn testimony of the Mayor andother eye-witnesses, and the document was finally laid before theKing. It was decided that she should receive the bronze medal of theOrder of St. John of Jerusalem. Later on General Alderson sent for meand took me to the Mayor's house in Romarin, where we had the ceremonyof conferring the medal. It was quite touching in its simplicity. Thegirl, who had a fine open face, was on the verge of giving way totears. The Mayor and some other of the chief inhabitants were arrayedin their best clothes, and a Highland regiment lent us their pipers. One of the citizens presented the heroine with a large bouquet offlowers. General Alderson made a nice speech, which was translated tothe townsfolk, and then he presented the medal. We were invited intothe house, and the girl's health was proposed and drunk by the Generalin a glass of Romarin Champagne. We heard afterwards that the countrypeople were much impressed by the way the British Army had recognizedthe gallantry of a poor Belgian maidservant. 

One day a German aeroplane was brought down behind our lines, nearRation Farm. Of its two occupants one was killed. On the aeroplane wasfound a Colt machine-gun, which had been taken by the Germans from the14th Battalion several months before, in the Second Battle of Ypres. It now came back to the brigade which had lost it. I buried the airmannear Ration Farm, in a grave, which the men did up neatly and overwhich they erected a cross with his name upon it. 

Although our Headquarters were at Nieppe, the village was really (p. 112)in the British Area, and so we were informed towards the end ofNovember that we had been ordered to move to St. Jans Cappel. OnMonday, November 22nd I started off by car via Bailleul to my newbillet. Although I had left Nieppe and its pleasant society with greatregret, I was quite pleased with my new home. It was a small housebelonging to a widow, on the road that led from St. Jans Cappel up toMount Kemmel. The house itself was brick and well built. Thelandlady's rooms were on one side of the passage, and mine were on theother. A large garret overhead gave a billet for Ross and my sergeantclerk. In the yard there was a stable for the horse. So the wholefamily was quite comfortably housed, and Ross undertook to do mycooking. The room which I used as my office in the front of the househad two large windows in it, and a neat tiled floor. The furniture wasample. At the back, up some steps, was my bedroom, and the window fromit opened upon the yard. A former occupant of the house, a MajorMurray, of King Edward's Horse, had left a series of maps on the wall, on which pins were stuck with a bit of red cord passing through them, to show the position of our front line. These maps deeply impressedvisitors with my military exactness. In that little office I havereceived many guests of all ranks. I always said that the chaplain'shouse was like a church, and all men met there on equal terms. Sometimes it was rather difficult however, to convince them that thiswas the case. On one occasion two privates and I had just finishedluncheon, and were having a delightful smoke, when a certain generalwas announced, and the men seized with panic, fled up the steps to mybedroom and bolting through my window hurried back to their lines. 

The landlady was quite well to do, and was a woman well thought of inthe village. She both paid calls upon her neighbours and receivedcallers in her rooms. Sometimes I used to be invited in to join thesesocial gatherings and frequently she would bring me in a nice bowl ofsoup for dinner. Philo, too, made himself quite at home, and carefullyinspected all visitors on their admission to the mansion. In front ofthe house, there was a pleasant view of the valley through which theroad passed up towards Mont des Cats. Our Headquarters were down inthe village in a large building which was part of the convent. GeneralCurrie and his staff lived in a charming chateau in pleasant grounds, on the hillside. The chateau, although a modern one, was reputed (p. 113)to be haunted, which gave it a more or less romantic interest in theeyes of our men, though as far as I could hear no apparitions disturbedthe slumbers of the G. S. O. Or the A. A. & Q. M. G. 

The road past my house, which was a favourite walk of mine, went overthe hill, and at the top a large windmill in a field commanded a fineview of the country for several miles. My garden was very pleasant, and in it was a summer house at the end of a moss-grown walk. Oneplant which gave me great delight was a large bush of rosemary. Thesmell of it always carried my mind back to peaceful times. It was likethe odour of the middle ages, with that elusive suggestion of incensewhich reminded me of Gothic fanes and picturesque processions. Manyelm trees fringed the fields, and made a welcome shade along the sidesof the road. A little stream ran through the village and added itstouch of beauty to the landscape. We were only a mile and a half fromBailleul, so we could easily get up to the town either for a concertor for dinner at the hotel. The Camp Commandant allotted me the schoolhouse, which I fitted up as a chapel. It was very small, and notparticularly clean, but it served its purpose very well. 

My only objection to St. Jans Cappel was that it was situated such along way from our men, for we still held the same front line nearPloegsteert. It was now a ride of twelve miles to Hill 63 whither Ifrequently had to go to take burial services, the round trip making ajourney of nearly twenty-four miles. The Bailleul road, which was mybest route, was a pavé road, and was hard on a horse. I did not wantpoor willing Dandy to suffer from overwork, so I begged the loan ofanother mount from Headquarters. It was a young horse, but big andheavily built, and had no life in it. I was trotting down the roadwith him one day when he tumbled down, and I injured my knee, causingme to be laid up with water on the knee for about six weeks. The menused to chaff me about falling off my horse, but I told them that Icould sit on a horse as long as he stood up, but I could not sit onthe air when the horse lay down. I was very much afraid that theA. D. M. S. Would send me off to a hospital, but I got private treatmentfrom a doctor friend, who was acting A. D. C. To General Currie. Luckilyfor me, things were pretty quiet at the front at that time, and mybeing confined to the house did not really make much difference. I hada supper in my billet one night for a number of Bishop's College (p. 114)men. Of those who attended, the majority have since made the supremesacrifice, but it was an evening which brought back many pleasantmemories of our Alma Mater. 

The roads round St. Jans Cappel were very pretty, and I had many apleasant ride in our staff cars, which I, as Senior Chaplain, waspermitted to use. It was always a great delight to me to pick up menon the road and give them a ride. I used to pile them in and give themas good a joy ride as the chauffeur, acting under orders, would allow. One day, in a heavy snowstorm, I picked up two nuns, whose garmentswere blowing about in the blizzard in a hopeless condition. Thesisters were glad of the chance of a ride to Bailleul, whither theywere going on foot through the snow. It was against orders to driveladies in our staff cars, but I thought the circumstances of the caseand the evident respectability of my guests would be a sufficientexcuse for a breach of the rule. The sisters chatted in French verypleasantly, and I took them to their convent headquarters in Bailleul. I could see, as I passed through the village, how amused our men wereat my use of the car. When I arrived at the convent door at Bailleul, the good ladies alighted and then asked me to give them my blessing. How could I refuse, or enter upon a discussion of the validity ofAnglican Orders? The nuns with their hands crossed on their bosomsleaned forward, and I stood up and blessed them from the car, anddeparted leaving them both grateful and gratified. 

The village of St. Jans Cappel had been captured by the Germans intheir advance in 1914, and we heard some unpleasant tales of therudeness of the German officers who took up their quarters in theconvent and compelled the nuns to wait upon them at the table. In1918, when the Germans made their big push round Mont Kemmel, St. JansCappel, along with Bailleul and Meteren, was captured once more by theenemy, and the village is now in ruins and its inhabitants scattered. 

I do not look back with much pleasure to the cold rides which I alwaysused to have on my return from the line. In frosty weather the pavéroads were very slippery, and I had to walk Dandy most of the distance, while I got colder and colder, and beguiled the time by composingpoems or limericks on places at the front. Arriving at my billet inthe small hours of the morning, I would find my friend Ross not alwaysin the best of humors at being kept up so late. The ride back fromWulverghem or Dranoutre, owing to the narrowness of the road and (p. 115)the amount of transport and lorries upon it, was rather dangerous. Itwas a matter of ten miles to come back from Wulverghem, and the roadswere very dark. One night in particular I had a narrow escape. I hadmounted Dandy at the back of a farmhouse, but for some reason or otherI seemed to have lost control over him and he was unusually lively. Luckily for me a man offered to lead him out into the road, and justbefore he let him go discovered that the bit was not in his mouth. 

The Alberta Dragoons had billets in a side road that led to Bailleul. It was a quiet and peaceful neighbourhood, and they had good barns fortheir horses. In the fields they had splendid opportunities for trainingand exercise. I often took service for them. One Sunday afternoon I hadbeen speaking of the necessity of purifying the commercial life ofCanada on our return, and I said something uncomplimentary about landspeculators. I was told afterwards that I had caused much amusement inall ranks, for every man in the troop from the officers downwards, orupwards, was a land speculator, and had town lots to sell in the West. In conversations with privates and non-coms. , I often found they hadleft good positions in Canada and not infrequently were men of means. I have given mud-splashed soldiers a ride in the car, and they havetalked about their own cars at home. It was quite pathetic to see howmuch men thought of some little courtesy or act of kindness. A youngfellow was brought in on a stretcher to the Red Château dressingstation one Sunday afternoon at Courcelette. He was terribly woundedand gave me his father's address in Canada so that I might write tohim. He was carried away and I heard afterwards he died. Some monthslater I had a letter from his father, a Presbyterian minister inOntario, thanking me for writing and telling me how pleased his sonhad been by my giving him a ride one day in a Headquarters car. Imention this so that people will realize how much the men had given upwhen they considered such a trifling thing worth mentioning. 

The position of a chaplain as the war went on became very differentfrom what it had been at the beginning. The experience through whichthe army had passed had showed to the military authorities that therewas something more subtle, more supernatural behind the life of themen, than one might gather from the King's Regulations. Our chaplainshad done splendid work, and I think I may say that, with one or twoexceptions, they were idolized by their units. I could tell of one (p. 116)of our chaplains who lived continually at the advanced dressing stationin great hardship and discomfort, sharing the danger and privation ofhis men. The curious thing about a chaplain's popularity was that themen never praised a chaplain whom they knew without adding "It is apity that all chaplains are not like him". On one occasion when I wasgoing through the Division, I was told by the men of one unit thattheir chaplain was a prince, and it was a pity that all chaplains werenot like him. I went to another unit, and there again I was told thattheir chaplain was a prince, and it was a pity that all chaplains werenot like him. It seems to be a deeply rooted principle in a soldier'smind to beware of praising religion overmuch. But it amused me in ageneral survey to find that ignorance of the work of other chaplainsled to their condemnation. I fancy the same spirit still manifestsitself in the British Army and in Canada. I find officers and meneager enough to praise those who were their own chaplains but alwaysadding to it a condemnation of those who were not. An officer said tome one day that the war had enabled chaplains to get to know men. Itold him that the war also had enabled men to get to know chaplains. Large numbers of men in ordinary life are very seldom brought intocontact with religion. They have the crude notion of it which theycarried away as unfledged boys from Sunday School, and a sort offormal bowing acquaintance through the conventions of later life. Inthe war, when their minds and affections were put to a severe strain, it was a revelation to them to find that there were principles andrelationships of divine origin which enabled the ordinary human willeasily to surmount difficulties moral and physical, and which gave aquiet strength that nothing merely earthly could supply. Certainly thewar gave chaplains a splendid opportunity of bearing witness to thepower of Christ. A great deal has been written about the religion ofthe men at the front. Some have spoken of it in terms of exaggeratedoptimism, as though by the miracle of the war men had become beings ofangelic outlook and temper. Others have taken a despairing attitude, and thought that religion has lost its real power over the world. Thetruth is, I think, that there was a revelation to most men, in a broadway, of a mysterious soul life within, and of a huge responsibility toan infinite and eternal Being above. There was a revelation also, wideand deep, to many individual men, of the living force and example ofHim who is both God and Brother-man. Where the associations of (p. 117)church and home had been clean and helpful, men under the batteringsof war felt consciously the power of religion. In the life at thefront, no doubt there was much evil thinking, evil talking and evildoing, but there was, underlying all this, the splendid manifestationin human nature of that image of God in which man was made. As onelooks back upon it, the surface things of that life have drifted away, and the great things that one remembers are the self-sacrifice, theliving comradeship, and the unquestioning faith in the eternal rightnessof right and duty which characterized those who were striving to thedeath for the salvation of the world. This glorious vision of thenobility of human nature sustained the chaplain through manydiscouragements and difficulties. I have often sat on my horse onrainy nights near Hill 63, and watched the battalions going up to theline. With wet rubber sheets hanging over their huge packs and withrifles on their shoulders, the men marched up through the mud and coldand darkness, to face wounds and death. At such times, the sordid lifehas been transfigured before me. The hill was no longer Hill 63, butit was the hill of Calvary. The burden laid upon the men was no longerthe heavy soldier's pack, but it was the cross of Christ, and, as theweary tramp of the men splashed in the mud, I said to myself "Each onehas fulfilled the law of life, and has taken up his cross and isfollowing Christ. "

I told the men this one day on church parade; and a corporal sometimeafterwards said that, when next their battalion was moving up into theline, a young fellow beside him was swearing very hard over the amountof stuff he had to carry. My friend went over to him and said, "Don'tyou know that Canon Scott told us that this really isn't a pack, butit's the Cross of Christ?" The lad stopped swearing at once, and tookup his burden without a word. 

CHAPTER IX. (p. 118)

OUR FIRST CHRISTMAS IN FRANCE. 

The 25th of December 1915, was to be our first Christmas in France, and as the day approached there was much speculation among our men asto which Battalions would be in the line. At last orders came out thatthe 13th and 16th Battalions would relieve the 14th and 15th onChristmas Eve. I determined, therefore, to spend my Christmas with theformer two. Our trenches at that time were in front of Ploegsteert. The 16th was on the right and the 13th on the left. Taking my bag withcommunion vessels and as many hymn books as I could carry, and with ahaversack over my shoulder containing requisities for the night, I wasmotored over on Christmas Eve to the 3rd Brigade Headquarters at PetitMoncque Farm. The day was rainy and so was not calculated to improvethe spirits and temper of the men who were going to spend their firstChristmas in the line. At dusk I walked up the road to Hill 63, andthen down on the other side to Le Plus Douve Farm. It was not a cheerfulChristmas Eve. The roads were flooded with water, and the transportsthat were waiting for the relief were continually getting tangled upwith one another in the darkness. To make matters worse, I was met bya Sergeant who told me he had some men to be buried, and a burialparty was waiting on the side of the road. We went into the fieldwhich was used as a cemetery and there we laid the bodies to rest. 

The Germans had dammed the river Douve, and it had flooded some of thefields and old Battalion Headquarters. It was hard to find one's wayin the dark, and I should never have done so without assistance. Themen had acquired the power of seeing in the dark, like cats. 

A Battalion was coming out and the men were wet and muddy. I stood bythe bridge watching them pass and, thinking it was the right andconventional thing to do, wished them all a Merry Christmas. Myintentions were of the best, but I was afterwards told that it soundedto the men like the voice of one mocking them in their misery. However, as it turned out, the wish was fulfilled on the next day. 

As soon as I could cross the bridge, I made my way to the trencheswhich the 16th Battalion were taking over. They were at a higher (p. 119)level and were not in a bad condition. Further up the line there was abarn known as St. Quentin's Farm, which for some reason or other, although it was in sight of the enemy, had not been demolished and wasused as a billet. I determined therefore to have a service of HolyCommunion at midnight, when the men would all have come into the lineand settled down. About eleven o'clock I got things ready. The officersand men had been notified of the service and began to assemble. Thebarn was a fair size and had dark red brick walls. The roof was lowand supported by big rafters. The floor was covered with yellow strawabout two feet in depth. The men proceeded to search for a box which Icould use as an altar. All they could get were three large empty biscuittins. These we covered with my Union Jack and white linen cloth. A rowof candles was stuck against the wall, which I was careful to see wereprevented from setting fire to the straw. The dull red tint of thebrick walls, the clean yellow straw, and the bright radiance of ourglorious Union Jack made a splendid combination of colour. It wouldhave been a fitting setting for a tableau of the Nativity. 

The Highlanders assembled in two rows and I handed out hymn books. There were many candles in the building so the men were able to read. It was wonderful to hear in such a place and on such an occasion, thebeautiful old hymns, "While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night, ""Hark the Herald Angels Sing, " and "O Come All Ye Faithful. " The mensang them lustily and many and varied were the memories of pastChristmases that welled up in their thoughts at that time. 

I had a comfortable bunk in one of the dugouts that night, and was upnext morning early to spend the day among the men in the line. I wasdelighted to find that the weather had changed and a most glorious daywas lighting up the face of nature. The sky overhead was blue and onlya few drifting clouds told of the rain that had gone. The sun was beatingdown warm and strong, as if anxious to make up for his past neglect. The men, of course, were in high spirits, and the glad handshake andthe words "A Merry Christmas" had got back their old-time meaning. 

The Colonel had given orders to the men not to fire on the enemy thatday unless they fired on us. The Germans had evidently come to thesame resolution. Early in the morning some of them had come over (p. 120)to our wire and left two bottles of beer behind as a peace offering. The men were allowed to go back to their trenches unmolested, but thetwo bottles of beer quite naturally and without any difficulty continuedtheir journey to our lines. When I got up to the front trench, I foundour boys standing on the parapet and looking over at the enemy. Iclimbed up, and there, to my astonishment, I saw the Germans movingabout in their trenches apparently quite indifferent to the fact thatwe were gazing at them. One man was sawing wood. Between us and themlay that mass of wire and iron posts which is known as the mysterious"No Man's Land. " Further down the hill we saw the trenches of the 13thBattalion, where apparently intermittent "Straffing" was still goingon. Where we were, however, there was nothing to disturb our Christmaspeace and joy. I actually got out into "No Mans Land" and wandereddown it. Many Christmas parcels had arrived and the men were makingmerry with their friends, and enjoying the soft spring-like air, andthe warm sunshine. When I got down to the 13th Battalion however, Ifound that I had to take cover, as the German snipers and guns wereactive. I did not have any service for that Battalion then, as I wasgoing to them on the following Sunday, but at evening I held anothermidnight service for those of the 16th who were on duty the nightbefore. 

The only place available was the billet of the Machine Gun Officer inthe second trench. It was the cellar of a ruined building and theentrance was down some broken steps. One of the sergeants had cleanedup the place and a shelf on the wall illuminated by candles wasconverted into an altar, and the dear old flag, the symbol of liberty, equality and fraternity, was once again my altar cloth. The MachineGun Officer, owing to our close proximity to the enemy, was a littledoubtful as to the wisdom of our singing hymns, but finally allowed usto do so. The tiny room and the passage outside were crowded withstalwart young soldiers, whose voices sang out the old hymns as thoughthe Germans were miles away. Our quarters were so cramped that the menhad difficulty in squeezing into the room for communion and could notkneel down. The service was rich and beautiful in the heartfeltdevotion of men to whom, in their great need, religion was a real andvital thing. Not long after midnight, once again the pounding of theold war was resumed, and as I went to bed in the dugout that night, Ifelt from what a sublime height the world had dropped. We had two (p. 121)more war Christmases in France, but I always look back upon that firstone as something unique in its beauty and simplicity. 

When I stood on the parapet that day looking over at the Germans intheir trenches, and thought how two great nations were held back for atime in their fierce struggle for supremacy, by their devotion to alittle Child born in a stable in Bethlehem two thousand years before, I felt that there was still promise of a regenerated world. The Angelshad not sung in vain their wonderful hymn "Glory to God in the Highestand on Earth Peace, Good Will towards men. "

CHAPTER X. (p. 122)

SPRING, 1916. 

At the end of March our Division was ordered back to the Salient, andso Headquarters left St. Jans Cappel. It was with great regret that Ibid good-by to the little place which had been such a pleasant homefor several months. The tide of war since then has no doubt swept awaymany of the pastoral charms of the scenery, but the green fields andthe hillsides will be reclothed in beauty as time goes on. We stoppedfor a few days at Flêtre, and while there I made the acquaintance ofthe Australians, and visited the battalions which were billeted in theneighbourhood. 

It was always delightful to have the Division out in rest. As long asthe men were in the line one could not be completely happy. But whenthey came out and one went amongst them, there was nothing toovercloud the pleasure of our intercourse. One day I rode over to abattalion and found a lot of men sitting round the cookhouse. We had along talk about the war, and they asked me to recite my war limericks. I spent the evening with the O. C. Of a battery and the night, on myreturn, was very dark. One of the battalions had been paid off thatafternoon, and the men, who as usual had been celebrating the event inan estaminet, were in boisterous spirits. It was so hard to make myway through the crowd that Dandy got nervous and unmanageable. A youngfellow who recognized me in the dark came up and asked me if I shouldlike him to lead the horse down the road. I gratefully accepted hisoffer. He walked beside me till we came to a bridge, and then he toldme that he had been very much interested in religion since he came tothe war, and was rather troubled over the fact that he had never beenbaptised. He said he had listened to my limericks that day, and whilehe was listening had determined to speak to me about his baptism. Iarranged to prepare him, and, before the battalion started north, Ibaptised him in the C. O. 's. Room in a farmhouse. The Adjutant acted ashis godfather. I do not know where the lad is now, or how he fared inthe war, but someday I hope I shall hear from him again. It was oftenvery difficult, owing to the numbers of men one was meeting, and themany changes that were continually taking place, to keep track of thelives of individuals. The revelations of the religious experiences (p. 123)and the needs of the human soul, which came over and over again fromconversations with men, were always of the greatest help to a chaplain, and made him feel that, in spite of many discouragements and muchindifference, there was always some soul asking for spiritual help. 

The Headquarters of our Division were now at a place called Hooggraaf. It consisted of a few small houses and a large school kept by nuns. Huts were run up for the officers and, at a little distance down theroad, a home was built for "C" mess. At one side were some Armstrongcanvas huts, one of which was mine. It was a pleasant place, and beingback from the road was free from dust. Green fields, rich in grain, spread in all directions. It was at Hooggraaf that the Engineers builtme a church, and a big sign over the door proclaimed it to be "St. George's Church. " It was first used on Easter Day, which in 1916 fellon the Festival of St. George, and we had very hearty services. 

Poperinghe, only two miles away, became our city of refuge. Many ofour units had their headquarters there, and the streets were filledwith our friends. We had many pleasant gatherings there in an estaminetwhich became a meeting place for officers. The Guards Division, amongother troops, were stationed in Poperinghe, so there was much varietyof life and interest in the town. "Talbot House, " for the men, and thenew Officer's Club, presided over by Neville Talbot, were centres ofinterest. The gardens at the back made very pleasant places for anafter-dinner smoke. There were very good entertainments in a theatreevery evening, where "The Follies, " a theatrical company of Imperialsoldiers, used to perform. Poperinghe was even at that time damaged byshells, but since then it has suffered more severely. The gracefulspire, which stood up over the plain with its outline against the sky, has luckily been preserved. We had some very good rest billets for themen in the area around Hooggraaf. They consisted of collections oflarge wooden huts situated in different places, and called by specialnames. "Scottish Lines, " "Connaught Lines, " and "Patricia Lines, " wereprobably the most comfortable. In fact, all along the various roadswhich ran through our area different units made their homes. 

Our military prison was in a barn about a mile from Headquarters. Iused to go there for service every Monday afternoon at six o'clock. Bythat time, the men had come back from work. They slept on shelves, (p. 124)one over another. The barn was poorly lighted, and got dark early inthe afternoon. The first time I took service there, I was particularlyanxious that everything should be done as nicely as possible, so thatthe men would not think they had come under the ban of the church. Most of their offences were military ones. The men therefore were notcriminals in the ordinary sense of the term. I brought my surplice, scarf and hymn books, and I told the men that I wanted them to sing. They lay on the shelves with only their heads and shoulders visible. Itold them that I wanted the service to be hearty, and asked them tochoose the first hymn. A voice from one of the shelves said--

 "Here we suffer grief and pain. "

A roar of laughter went up from the prisoners, in which I joinedheartily. 

At the front, we held Hill 60 and the trenches to the south of it. Ina railway embankment, a series of dugouts furnished the Brigade thatwas in the line with comfortable billets. The Brigadier's abode had afireplace in it. One of the dugouts was used as a morgue, in whichbodies were kept till they could be buried. A man told me that onenight when he had come down from the line very late, he found a dugoutfull of men wrapped in their blankets, every one apparently asleep. Without more ado, he crawled in amongst them and slept soundly tillmorning. When he awoke, he found to his horror that he had slept allnight among the dead men in the morgue. There was a cemetery atRailway Dugouts, which was carefully laid out. Beyond this there wasanother line of sandbag homes on one side of a large pond called"Zillebeke Lake. " They were used by other divisions. 

From Railway Dugouts, by paths and then by communication trenches, onemade one's way up to Hill 60 and the other parts of the front line, where the remains of a railway crossed the hill. Our dugouts were onthe east side of it, and the line itself was called "Lover's Lane". The brick arch of a bridge which crossed the line was part of ourfront. 

One day I was asked by a British chaplain, who was ordered south, toaccompany him on a trip he was making to his brother's grave at Hooge. He wished to mark it by a cross. As the place was in full view of theGermans, we had to visit it before dawn. I met my friend at 2. 30 a. M. In the large dugout under the Ramparts at Ypres. We started off withtwo runners, but one managed most conveniently to lose us and (p. 125)returned home. The other accompanied us all the way. It was a weirdexpedition. The night was partly cloudy, and faint moonlight struggledthrough the mist which shrouded us. The runner went first, and thePadré, who was a tall man, followed, carrying the cross on hisshoulder. I brought up the rear. In the dim light, my friend lookedlike some allegorical figure from "Pilgrim's Progress". Occasionallywe heard the hammering of a machine-gun, and we would lie down tillthe danger was past. We skirted the grim borders of Sanctuary Wood, and made our way to Hooge. There my friend got out his map to find, ifpossible, the place where he had buried his brother. He sat down in alarge shell hole, and turned his flashlight upon the paper. It wasdifficult to find the location, because the place had recently beenthe scene of a hard struggle. The guide and I looked over the groundand we found a line of graves marked by broken crosses. The night wasfast passing and in the grey of the eastern sky the stars were goingout one by one. At last my friend found the spot he was looking forand there he set up the cross, and had a short memorial service forthe dead. On our return, we passed once more by Sanctuary Wood, and inthe daylight looked into the place torn and battered by shells andreeking with the odours of unburied bodies. 

We parted at Zillebeke Bund, and I made my way to Railway Dugouts. Itwas a lovely morning and the air was so fresh that although I had beenwalking all night I did not feel tired. The 3rd Battalion was holdingthe line just behind a piece of ground which was called the "Bean andPollock. " It was supposed that the Germans had mined the place andthat an explosion might be expected at any minute. One company hadbuilt a rustic arbour, which they used as their mess-room. The brightsun shone through the green boughs overhead. There was intermittentshelling, but nothing to cause us any worry. I stayed till late in theafternoon, when I made my way towards the rear of Hill 60. There Ifound the 14th Battalion which was in reserve. They told me that the16th Battalion in the line was going to blow up a mine that night, andoffered to give me a dugout if I would stay for the festivities. Igladly accepted, and just before midnight made my way to a dugout thathad just been completed. I was told that there was a bed in it with awire mattress. When I got into the dugout, I lit a candle, and foundto my astonishment that the place was full of men lying on the (p. 126)bed and the floor. They offered to get out but I told them not tothink of it. So we lit another candle, and had a very pleasant timeuntil the mine went up. We heard a fearful explosion, and the groundrocked as it does in an earthquake. It was not long before the Germansretaliated, and we heard the shells falling round us. At daybreak Iwent up to the line to see the result of the explosion. A large craterhad been made in No Man's Land, but for some reason or other the sideof our trench had been blown back upon our own men and there were manycasualties. 

I stayed in the trenches all afternoon, and on my way back went to anartillery observation post on a hill which was crowned by the ruins ofan old mill. The place was called Verbranden Molen. Here I found a youngartillery officer on duty. The day was so clear that we were able tospread out a map before us on the ground and with our glasses look upevery point named on the sheet. We looked far over to the North and sawthe ruins of Wieltje. Ypres lay to the left, and we could see Zillebeke, Sanctuary Wood, High Wood, Square Wood, and Hooge. The light reflectedfrom our glasses must have been seen by some German sniper, for suddenlywe heard the crack of bullets in the hedge behind us and we hastilywithdrew to the dugout. As I walked back down the road I came to one ofthe posts of the motor-machine-gunners who were there on guard. They werejust having tea outside and kindly invited me to join them. We had adelightful conversation on poetry and literature, but were prepared tobeat a hasty retreat into the dugout in case the Germans took toshelling the road, which they did every evening. 

Railway Dugouts was always a pleasant place to visit, there were somany men there. As one passed up and down the wooden walk which ranthe length of the embankment there were many opportunities of meetingone's friends. On the other side of it, however, which was exposed tothe German shells, the men frequently had a hard time in getting up tothe line. 

There were several interesting chateaus in the neighbourhood. Thatnearest to the front was called Bedford House, and stood in what musthave been once very beautiful grounds. The upper part of the house wasin ruins, but the cellars were deep and capacious and formed a goodbillet for the officers and men. At one side there was a dressingstation and in the garden were some huts protected by piles of sandbags. 

A chateau that was well-known in the Salient lay a little to the (p. 127)west of Bedford House. It was called Swan Château, from the factthat a large white swan lived on the artificial lake in the grounds. Inever saw the swan myself, but the men said it had been wounded in thewing and had lost an eye. It was long an object of interest to manybattalions that at different times were housed in the chateau. One daythe swan disappeared. It was rumoured that a hungry Canadian battalionhad killed it for food. On the other hand, it was said that it hadbeen taken to some place of safety to prevent its being killed. Therewas something very poetical in the idea of this beautiful bird livingon through the scene of desolation, like the spirit of the world thathad passed away. It brought back memories of the life that had gone, and the splendour of an age which had left Ypres forever. 

CHAPTER XI. (p. 128)

THE ATTACK ON MOUNT SORREL. 

_Summer, 1916. _

Easter Day, 1916, fell on the 23rd of April, and a great manyinteresting facts were connected with it. The 23rd of April is St. George's Day. It is also the anniversary of Shakespeare's birth and ofhis death, and also of the 2nd Battle of Ypres. The day was a gloriousone. The air was sweet and fresh, the grass was the brightest green, hedgerows and trees were in leaf, and everybody was in high spirits. After services in St. George's church I rode over to Poperinghe andattended a memorial service which the 1st Brigade were holding in theCinema. General Mercer, who himself was killed not long afterwards, was one of the speakers. The building was crowded with men, and theservice was very solemn. 

Life at this time was very pleasant, except for the fact that we neverknew what might happen when we were in the Salient. We always feltthat it was a death-trap, and that the Germans would never give uptrying to capture Ypres. I was kept busy riding about, visiting thedifferent units. Round about Hooggraaf the spring roads were veryattractive, and the numerous short cuts through the fields and underthe overhanging trees reminded one of country life at home. 

One day Dandy bolted as I was mounting him, and I fell on some bathmats breaking a bone in my hand and cutting my face in several places. This necessitated my being sent up to the British C. C. S. At Mont desCats. Mont des Cats was a picturesque hill which overlooked the FlandersPlain, and could be seen from all parts of the Salient. On the topthere was a Trappist monastery. The buildings were modern and covereda large extent of ground. They were solidly built of brick and stoneand the chapel was a beautiful building with a high vaulted roof. Fromthe top of the hill, a magnificent view of the country could beobtained, to the North as far as the sea, and to the East as far asour trenches, where we could see the shells bursting. 

Mont des Cats hospital was a most delightful temporary home. There wasa large ward full of young officers, who were more or less ill (p. 129)or damaged. In another part of the building were wards for the men. From the O. C. Downwards everyone in the C. C. S. Was the soul of kindness, and the beautiful buildings with their pleasant grounds gave a peculiarcharm to the life. My room was not far from the chapel, and everynight at two a. M. I could hear the old monks chanting their offices. Most of the monks had been conscripted and were fighting in the Frencharmy; only a few of the older ones remained. But by day and night atstated intervals the volume of their prayer and praise rose up abovethe noise of war, just as it had risen through the centuries of thepast. There were beautiful gardens which the monks tended carefully, and also many grape vines on the walls. We used to watch the silentold men doing their daily work and making signs to one another insteadof speaking. In the evening I would make my way up the spiral staircaseto the west-end gallery, which looked down upon the chapel. The redaltar lamp cast a dim light in the sacred building, and every now andthen in the stillness I could hear, like the roar of a distant sea, the sound of shells falling at the front. The mysterious silence ofthe lofty building, with the far off reverberations of war thrillingit now and then, was a solace to the soul. 

A smaller chapel in the monastery, with a well-appointed altar, wasallotted by the monks to the chaplain for his services. While I was atMont des Cats we heard of the death of Lord Kitchener. The news cameto the Army with the force of a stunning blow; but thank God, theBritish character is hardened and strengthened by adversity, and whilewe all felt his loss keenly and looked forward to the future withanxiety, the determination to go on to victory was made stronger bythe catastrophe. As the chaplain of the hospital was away at the time, I held a memorial service in the large refectory. Following upon thedeath of Lord Kitchener came another disaster. The Germans in thebeginning of June launched a fierce attack upon the 3rd Division, causing many casualties and capturing many prisoners. General Mercerwas killed, and a brigadier was wounded and taken prisoner. To makematters worse, we heard of the battle of Jutland, the first report ofwhich was certainly disconcerting. We gathered from it that our navyhad suffered a great reverse. The death of Lord Kitchener, the navalreverse, and the fierce attack on our front, following one another insuch a short space of time, called for great steadiness of nerve andcoolness of head. I felt that the hospital was no place for me (p. 130)when Canadians were meeting reverses at the front, especially as theFirst Division was ordered to recapture the lost trenches. I telephonedto my good friend, Colonel Brutenell, the C. O. Of the Motor Machine-GunBrigade, and asked him to send me a side-car to take me forward. Hehad always in the past shown me much kindness in supplying me withmeans of locomotion. Colonel Brutenell was an old country Frenchmanwith the most courteous manners. When I first discovered that he wasthe possessor of side-cars, I used to obtain them by going over to himand saying, "Colonel, if you will give me a side-car I will recite youone of my poems. " He was too polite at first to decline to enter intothe bargain, but, as time went on, I found that the price I offeredbegan to lose its value, and sometimes the side-cars were notforthcoming. It then became necessary to change my plan of campaign, so I hit upon another device. I used to walk into the orderly room andsay in a raucous voice, "Colonel, if you _don't_ give me a side-car Iwill recite one of my poems. " I found that in the long run this wasthe most effectual method. On the present occasion, therefore, theside-car was sent to me, and I made my way to Wippenhoek and fromthence up to the dressing station at Vlamertinghe. Here our woundedwere pouring in. Once again Canada was reddening the soil of theSalient with her best blood. It was indeed an anxious time. Thatevening, however, a telegram was received by the O. C. Of the Ambulancesaying that the British fleet had sunk twenty or thirty Germanvessels, and implying that what we had thought was a naval reverse wasreally a magnificent naval victory. I do not know who sent thetelegram, or on what foundation in fact it was based. I think thatsomebody in authority considered it would be well to cheer up our menwith a piece of good news. At any rate all who were at the dressingstation believed it, and I determined to carry a copy of the telegramwith me up to the men in the line. I started off on one of theambulances for Railway Dugouts. Those ambulance journeys through thetown of Ypres after midnight were things to be remembered. The desolateruins of the city stood up black and grim. The road was crowded with men, lorries, ambulances, transports and motorcycles. Every now and then thescene of desolation would be lit up by gun flashes. Occasionally thecrash of a shell would shake the already sorely smitten city. I cannever cease to admire the pluck of those ambulance drivers, who nightafter night, backwards and forwards, threaded their way in the (p. 131)darkness through the ghost-haunted streets. One night when the enemy'sguns were particularly active, I was being driven by a young boy onlyeighteen years of age. Sitting beside him on the front seat, I toldhim how much I admired his nerve and coolness. He turned to me quitesimply and said that he was not afraid. He just put himself in God'shands and didn't worry. When he came afterwards to Headquarters anddrove our side-car he never minded where he went or how far towardsthe front he took it. I do not know where he is in Canada, but I knowthat Canada will be the better for having such a boy as one of hercitizens. 

When I arrived at Railway Dugouts, I found that there was great activityon all sides, but my message about our naval victory had a moststimulating effect and I had the courage to wake up no less than threegenerals to tell them the good news. They said they didn't care howoften they were awakened for news like that. I then got a runner, andwas making my way up to the men in the front line when the Germans puton an attack. The trench that I was in became very hot, and, as I hadmy arm in a sling and could not walk very comfortably or do much inthe way of dodging, the runner and I thought it would be wiser toreturn, especially as we could not expect the men, then so fullyoccupied, to listen to our message of cheer. We made our way back asbest we could to Railway Dugouts, and telephoned the news to thevarious battalion headquarters. The telegram was never confirmed, andI was accused of having made it up myself. It certainly had awholesome effect upon our men at a critical and anxious moment. 

We had a hard time in retaking the lost ground. Gallant were the chargeswhich were made in broad daylight in the face of heavy machine-gunfire. In preparation for the attack, our men had to lie under thecover of broken hedges for twenty-four hours, living only on the ironrations which they carried with them. I went up one morning when oneof our battalions had just come out after a hard fight. The men werein a shallow trench, ankle deep in mud and water. As they had lostvery heavily, the Colonel put me in charge of a burial party. Weburied a number of bodies but were stopped at last at the entrance ofArmagh Wood, which the Germans were at the time heavily shelling, andwe had to postpone the performance of our sad duty till things werequieter. 

Still in spite of reverses, the spirits of our men never declined. (p. 132)They were full of rebound, and quickly recovered themselves. As onelooks back to that period of our experience, all sorts of pictures, bright and sombre, crowd the mind--the Square at Poperinghe in theevening, the Guards' fife and drum bands playing tattoo in the oldtown while hundreds of men looked on; the dark station of Poperinghein the evening, and the battalions being sent up to the front inrailway trucks; the old mill at Vlamertinghe with the reception roomfor the wounded, and the white tables on which the bleeding forms werelaid; the dark streets of Ypres, rank with the poisonous odours ofshell gas; the rickety horse-ambulances bearing their living freightover the shell broken roads from Bedford House and Railway Dugouts;the walking wounded, with bandaged arms and heads, making their wayslowly and painfully down the dangerous foot-paths; all these picturesflash before the mind's eye, each with its own appeal, as one looksback upon those awful days. The end was not in sight then. The war, wewere told, was going to be a war of attrition. It was to be a case of"dogged does it. " Under the wheels of the car of the great Juggernautour men had to throw themselves, till the progress of the car wasstayed. How peaceful were the little cemeteries where lay thosewarriors who had entered into rest. But how stern was the voice fromthe sleeping dead to carry on undismayed. 

The Canadian Corps seemed to have taken root in the Salient, and, after the severe fighting had ended, things went on as if we were tohave a long residence round Ypres. In looking over the notes in mydiary for June and July, I see a great many records of visits todifferent units. How well one remembers the keen active life whichmade that region a second Canada. There was the small town of Abeele, where our Corps Headquarters were, and where our new commander, General Byng, had his house. Not far away, up the road, was thegrenade school where the troops were instructed in the gentle art ofbomb-throwing. We had our divisional rest-camp in a pleasant spot, where our men were sent to recuperate. The following is a typicalSunday's work at this time:--Celebration of Holy Communion at St. George's Church at eight a. M. , Parade Service for the Division at ninefifteen a. M. , followed by a second Celebration of Holy Communion atten a. M. , Parade Service followed by Holy Communion for a Battalion atConnaught lines at eleven a. M. , service for the divisional rest-campat three p. M. , service at the Grenade School at four p. M. , service (p. 133)outside St. George's Church for the Divisional Train six-thirty p. M. , service for the 3rd Field Ambulance and convalescent camp ateight-forty-five p. M. On week-days too, we had to arrange manyservices for units which had come out of the line. It was really alife full of activity and interest. It filled one with a thrill ofdelight to be able to get round among the men in the trenches, wherethe familiar scenery of Sanctuary Wood, Armagh Wood, Maple Copse andthe Ravine will always remain impressed upon one's memory. Often whenI have returned to my hut at night, I have stood outside in thedarkness, looking over the fields towards the front, and as I saw theGerman flares going up, I said to myself, "Those are the foot-lightsof the stage on which the world's greatest drama is being enacted. "One seemed to be taking part, however humbly, in the making of humanhistory. But it was a grievous thing to think of the toll of life thatthe war forced upon us and the suffering that it involved. The bravepatient hearts of those at home were continually in our thoughts, andwe always felt that the hardest burden was laid upon them. They had noexcitement; they knew not the comradeship and the exaltation offeeling which came to those who were in the thick of things at thefront. They had to go on day by day bearing their burden of anxiety, quietly and patiently in faith and courage. To them our men werealways ready to give the palm of the victors. 

CHAPTER XII. (p. 134)

THE BATTLE OF THE SOMME. 

_Autumn, 1916. _

It always happened that just when we were beginning to feel settled ina place, orders came for us to move. At the end of July we heard ofthe attack at the Somme. Rumours began to circulate that we were to goSouth, and signs of the approaching pilgrimage began to manifestthemselves. On August 10th all my superfluous baggage was sent back toEngland, and on the following day I bid good-bye to my comfortablelittle hut at Hooggraaf and started to ride to our new DivisionalHeadquarters which were to be for the time near St. Omer. After anearly breakfast with my friend General Thacker, I started off on Dandyfor the long ride. I passed through Abeele and Steenvoorde, where Ipaid my respects at the Château, overtaking many of our units, eitheron the march or in the fields by the wayside, and that night I arrivedat Cassel and put up at the hotel. The town never looked morebeautiful than at sunset on that lovely summer evening. It had aboutit the spell of the old world, and the quiet life which had gone onthrough the centuries in a kind of dream. One did hope that the attackto the South would be the beginning of the end and that peace would berestored to the shattered world. On that day, the King had arrived ona flying visit to the front, and some of his staff were billeted atthe hotel. The following day I visited the Second Army Headquarters inthe Casino Building, and met some of our old friends who had gonethere from the Canadian Corps. In the afternoon I rode off to St. Omer, little Philo running beside me full of life and spirits. It wasa hot and dusty ride. I put up at the Hotel du Commerce, where I metseveral Canadian officers and many airmen. The next day was Sunday soI attended the service in the military church. After it was over, Iwent with a young flying officer into the old cathedral. 

The service had ended and we were alone in the building, but thesunlight flooded it and brought out the richness of contrast in lightand shadow, and the air was still fragrant with the smell of incense. My friend and I were talking, as we sat there, about the effect thewar had had upon religion. Turning to me he said, "The great thing (p. 135)I find when I am in a tight place in the air is to pray to JesusChrist. Many and many a time when I have been in difficulties andthought that I really must be brought down, I have prayed to Him andHe has preserved me. " I looked at the boy as he spoke. He was veryyoung, but had a keen, earnest face, and I thought how often I hadseen fights in the air and how little I had imagined that the humanhearts in those little craft, which looked like tiny flies among theclouds, were praying to God for help and protection. I told him howglad I was to hear his testimony to the power of Christ. When we gotback to the hotel, one of the airmen came up to him and said, "Congratulations, old chap, here's your telegram. " The telegram was anorder for him to join a squadron which held what the airmen consideredto be, from it's exceeding danger, the post of honour at the Sommefront. I often wonder if the boy came through the fierce ordeal alive. 

It was pleasant to meet Bishop Gwynne and his staff once again. Therewas always something spiritually bracing in visiting the Headquartersof our Chaplain Service at St. Omer. On the Monday I rode off to ourDivisional Headquarters, which were in a fine old chateau at Tilques. I had a pleasant billet in a comfortable house at the entrance to thetown, and the different units of the Division were encamped in thequaint villages round about. After their experience in the Salient, the men were glad to have a little peace and rest; although they knewthey were on their journey to bigger and harder things. The countryaround St. Omer was so fresh and beautiful that the change of scenedid everyone good. The people too were exceedingly kind and whereverwe went we found that the Canadians were extremely popular. There weremany interesting old places near by which brought back memories ofFrench history. However, the day came when we had to move. Fromvarious points the battalions entrained for the South. On Monday, August 28th, I travelled by train with the 3rd Field Company ofEngineers and finally found myself in a billet at Canaples. After twoor three days we settled at a place called Rubempré. Here I had aclean billet beside a very malodorous pond which the village cows usedas their drinking place. The country round us was quite different incharacter from what it had been further north. Wide stretches of openground and rolling hills, with here and there patches of green woods, made up a very pleasant landscape. I rode one day to Amiens andvisited the glorious cathedral which I had not seen since I came (p. 136)there as a boy thirty-three years before. I attended the service ofBenediction that evening at six o'clock. The sunlight was streamingthrough the glorious windows, and the whole place was filled with abeauty that seemed to be not of earth. There was a large congregationpresent and it was made up of a varied lot of people. There were womenin deep mourning, Sisters of Charity and young children. There weresoldiers and old men. But they were all one in their spirit of humbleadoration and intercession. The organ pealed out its noble strainsuntil the whole place was vibrant with devotion. I shall never forgetthe impression that service made upon me. The next time I saw thecathedral, Amiens was deserted of its inhabitants, four shells hadpierced the sacred fane itself, and the long aisles, covered with bitsof broken glass, were desolate and silent. 

From Rubempré we moved to Albert, where we were billeted in a smallhouse on a back street. Our Battle Headquarters were in the Bapaumeroad in trenches and dugouts, on a rise in the ground which was calledTara Hill. By the side of the road was a little cemetery which hadbeen laid out by the British, and was henceforth to be the lastresting place of many Canadians. Our battalions were billeted indifferent places in the damaged town, and in the brick-fields near by. Our chief dressing station was in an old school-house not far from theCathedral. Albert must have been a pleasant town in pre-war days, butnow the people had deserted it and every building had either beenshattered or damaged by shells. From the spire of the Cathedral hungat right angles the beautiful bronze image of the Blessed Virgin, holding up her child above her head for the adoration of the world. Itseemed to me as if there was something appropriate in the strangeposition the statue now occupied, for, as the battalions marched pastthe church, it looked as if they were receiving a parting benedictionfrom the Infant Saviour. 

The character of the war had now completely changed. For months andmonths, we seemed to have reached a deadlock. Now we had brokenthrough and were to push on and on into the enemy's territory. As wepassed over the ground which had already been won from the Germans, wewere amazed at the wonderful dugouts which they had built, and thehuge craters made by the explosion of our mines. The dugouts were deepin the ground, lined with wood and lighted by electric light. Bits ofhandsome furniture, too, had found their way there from the (p. 137)captured villages, which showed that the Germans must have lived ingreat comfort. We were certainly glad of the homes they had made forus, for our division was in the line three times during the battle ofthe Somme, going back to Rubempré and Canaples when we came out forthe necessary rest between the attacks. 

Looking back to those terrible days of fierce fighting, the mind is socrowded with memories and pictures that it is hard to disentanglethem. How well one remembers the trips up the Bapaume road to LaBoisselle and Pozières. The country rolled off into the distance invast billows, and bore marks of the fierce fighting which had occurredhere when the British made their great advance. When one rode out fromour rear headquarters at the end of the town one passed some brickhouses more or less damaged and went on to Tara Hill. There by thewayside was a dressing station. On the hill itself there was the wasteof pale yellow mud, and the piles of white chalk which marked the sideof the trench in which were deep dugouts. There were many wooden huts, too, which were used as offices. The road went on down the slope onthe other side of the hill to La Boisselle, where it forked intotwo--one going to Contalmaison, the other on the left to Pozières andfinally to Bapaume. La Boisselle stood, or rather used to stand, onthe point of ground where the roads parted. When we saw it, it wassimply a mass of broken ground, which showed the ironwork round theformer church, some broken tombstones, and the red dust and bricks ofwhat had been houses. There were still some cellars left in which menfound shelter. A well there was used by the men for some time, untilcases of illness provoked an investigation and a dead German wasdiscovered at the bottom. The whole district was at all times thescene of great activity. Men were marching to or from the line;lorries, limbers, motorcycles, ambulances and staff cars were passingor following one another on the muddy and broken way. Along the roadat various points batteries were concealed, and frequently, by asudden burst of fire, gave one an unpleasant surprise. If one took theturn to the right, which led to Contalmaison, one passed up a gradualrise in the ground and saw the long, dreary waste of landscape whichtold the story, by shell-ploughed roads and blackened woods, of thedeadly presence of war. One of the depressions among the hills wascalled Sausage Valley. In it were many batteries and some (p. 138)cemeteries, and trenches where our brigade headquarters were. At thecorner of a branch road, just above the ruins of Contalmaison, ourengineers put up a little shack, and this was used by our Chaplains'Service as a distributing place for coffee and biscuits. Some men werekept there night and day boiling huge tins of water over a smoky firein the corner. A hundred and twenty-five gallons of coffee were givenaway every twenty-four hours. Good strong coffee it was too, mostbracing in effect. The cups used were cigarette tins, and the troopsgoing up to the trenches or coming back from them, used to stop andhave some coffee and some biscuits to cheer them on their way. Theplace in the road was called Casualty Corner, and was not supposed tobe a very "healthy" resting place, but we did not lose any men infront of the little canteen. The work had been started by the SeniorChaplain of the Australian Division which we had relieved, and hehanded it over to us. 

Under our Chaplains' Service the canteen became a most helpfulinstitution; not only was coffee given away, but many other things, including cigarettes. Many a man has told me that that drink of coffeesaved his life when he was quite used up. 

In Contalmaison itself, there had once been a very fine chateau. It, like the rest of the village, survived only as a heap of bricks andrubbish, but the cellars, which the Germans had used as a dressingstation, were very large and from them branched off deep dugouts linedwith planed boards and lit by electric light. 

The road which turned to the left led down to a waste of weary groundin a wide valley where many different units were stationed in dugoutsand holes in the ground. Towards the Pozières road there was a famouschalk pit. In the hillside were large dugouts, used by battalions whenout of the line. There was also a light railway, and many huts andshacks of various kinds. Pozières looked very much like La Boisselle. Some heaps or rubbish and earth reddened by bricks and brick-dustalone showed where the village had been. At Pozières the Y. M. C. A. Hadanother coffee-stall, where coffee was given away free. Thesecoffee-stalls were a great institution, and in addition to the bracingeffect of the drink provided, the rude shack with its cheery firealways made a pleasant place for rest and conversation. 

After Courcelette was taken by the 2nd Division, our front line laybeyond it past Death Valley on the slope leading down to ReginaTrench, and onward to the villages of Pys and Miraumont. Over all (p. 139)this stretch of country, waste and dreary as it got to be towardsthe end of September, our various fighting units were scattered, andalong that front line, as we pushed the enemy back, our men made thebitter sacrifice of life and limb. It was a time of iron resolve andhard work. There was no opportunity now for amusement and socialgatherings. When one spoke to staff officers, they answered inmonosyllables. When one rode in their cars, one had very fixed anddefinite times at which to start and to return. The army had set itsteeth and was out to battle in grim earnest. It was a time, however, of hope and encouragement. When, as we advanced, we saw what theGerman defences had been, we were filled with admiration for thesplendid British attack in July which had forced the enemy to retreat. If that had been done once it could be done again, and so we pressedon. But the price we had to pay for victory was indeed costly andone's heart ached for the poor men in their awful struggle in thatregion of gloom and death. This was war indeed, and one wondered howlong it was to last. Gradually the sad consciousness came that ouradvance was checked, but still the sacrifice was not in vain, for ourgallant men were using up the forces of the enemy. 

Ghastly were the stories which we heard from time to time. One mantold me that he had counted three hundred bodies hanging on the wirewhich we had failed to cut in preparation for the attack. An officermet me one day and told me how his company had had to hold on in atrench, hour after hour, under terrific bombardment. He was sitting inhis dugout, expecting every moment to be blown up, when a young ladcame in and asked if he might stay with him. The boy was only eighteenyears of age and his nerve had utterly gone. He came into the dugout, and, like a child clinging to his mother clasped the officer with hisarms. The latter could not be angry with the lad. There was nothing todo at that point but to hold on and wait, so, as he said to me, "Ilooked at the boy and thought of his mother, and just leaned down andgave him a kiss. Not long afterwards a shell struck the dugout and theboy was killed, and when we retired I had to leave his body there. "Wonderful deeds were done; some were known and received well meritedrewards, others were noted only by the Recording Angel. A piper wonthe V. C. For his gallantry in marching up and down in front of thewire playing his pipes while the men were struggling through it (p. 140)in their attack upon Regina Trench. He was killed going back tohunt for his pipes which he had left in helping a wounded man to aplace of safety. One cannot write of that awful time unmoved, forthere come up before the mind faces of friends that one will see nomore, faces of men who were strong, brave and even joyous in the midstof that burning fiery furnace, from which their lives passed, we trustinto regions where there shall be no more death, neither sorrow norcrying, and where the sound of war is hushed forever. 

One new feature which was introduced into the war at this time was the"Tank. " A large family of these curious and newly developedinstruments of battle was congregated in a wood on the outskirts ofthe town, and awoke great interest on all sides. At that time we weredoubtful how far they would be able to fulfill the hopes that wereentertained of them. Some of them had already been knocked out nearCourcelette. One lay partly in the ditch by the road. It had been hitby a shell, and the petrol had burst into flames burning up the crewwithin, whose charred bones were taken out when an opportunityoffered, and were reverently buried. The tank was often visited by ourmen, and for that reason the Germans made it a mark for theirshell-fire. It was wise to give it a wide berth. 

Our chaplains were working manfully and took their duties at thedifferent dressing-stations night and day in relays. The maindressing-station was the school-house in Albert which I have alreadydescribed. It was a good sized building and there were several largerooms in it. Many is the night that I have passed there, and I see itnow distinctly in my mind. In the largest room, there were the tablesneatly prepared, white and clean, for the hours of active work whichbegan towards midnight when the ambulances brought back the woundedfrom the front. The orderlies would be lying about taking a rest untiltheir services were needed, and the doctors with their white aprons onwould be sitting in the room or in their mess near by. The windowswere entirely darkened, but in the building was the bright light andthe persistent smell of acetylene gas. Innumerable bandages andvarious instruments were piled neatly on the white covered tables; andin the outer room, which was used as the office, were the record booksand tags with which the wounded were labelled as they were sent off tothe Base. Far off we could hear the noise of the shells, andoccasionally one would fall in the town. When the ambulances (p. 141)arrived everyone would be on the alert. I used to go out and stand inthe darkness, and see the stretchers carried in gently and tenderly bythe bearers, who laid them on the floor of the outer room. Torn andbroken forms, racked with suffering, cold and wet with rain and mud, hidden under muddy blankets, lay there in rows upon the brick floor. Sometimes the heads were entirely covered; sometimes the eyes werebandaged; sometimes the pale faces, crowned with matted, muddy hair, turned restlessly from side to side, and parched lips asked for a sipof water. Then one by one the stretchers with their human burden wouldbe carried to the tables in the dressing room. Long before these casescould be disposed of, other ambulances had arrived, and the floor ofthe outer room once more became covered with stretchers. Now and thenthe sufferers could not repress their groans. One night a man wasbrought in who looked very pale and asked me piteously to get him somewater. I told him I could not do so until the doctor had seen hiswound. I got him taken into the dressing room, and turned away for amoment to look after some fresh arrivals. Then I went back towards thetable whereon the poor fellow was lying. They had uncovered him and, from the look on the faces of the attendants round about, I saw thatsome specially ghastly wound was disclosed. I went over to the table, and there I saw a sight too horrible to be described. A shell hadburst at his feet, and his body from the waist down was shattered. Beyond this awful sight I saw the white face turning from side toside, and the parched lips asking for water. The man, thank God, didnot suffer very acutely, as the shock had been so great, but he wasperfectly conscious. The case was hopeless, so they kindly andtenderly covered him up, and he was carried out into the room setapart for the dying. When he was left alone, I knelt down beside himand talked to him. He was a French Canadian and a Roman Catholic, and, as there happened to be no Roman Catholic Chaplain present at themoment, I got him to repeat the "Lord's Prayer" and the "Hail Mary, "and gave him the benediction. He died about half an hour afterwards. When the sergeant came in to have the body removed to the morgue, hedrew the man's paybook from his pocket, and there we found that forsome offence he had been given a long period of field punishment, andhis pay was cut down to seventy cents a day. For seventy cents a dayhe had come as a voluntary soldier to fight in the great war, and forseventy cents a day he had died this horrible death. I told the (p. 142)sergeant that I felt like dipping that page of the man's paybookin his blood to blot out the memory of the past. The doctor whoattended the case told me that that was the worst sight he had everseen. 

One night a young German was brought in. He was perfectly conscious, but was reported to be seriously wounded. He was laid out on one ofthe tables and when his torn uniform was ripped off, we found he hadbeen hit by shrapnel and had ten or twelve wounds in his body andlimbs. I never saw anyone more brave. He was a beautifully developedman, with very white skin, and on the grey blanket looked like amarble statue, marked here and there by red, bleeding wounds. He nevergave a sign by sound or movement of what he was suffering; but hiswhite face showed the approach of death. He was tended carefully, andthen carried over to a quiet corner in the room. I went over to him, and pointing to my collar said, "Pasteur. " I knelt beside him andstarted the Lord's Prayer in German, which he finished adding someother prayer. I gave him the benediction and made the sign of thecross on his forehead, for the sign of the cross belongs to theuniversal language of men. Then the dying, friendless enemy, who hadmade expiation in his blood for the sins of his guilty nation, drewhis hand from under the blanket and taking mine said, "Thank you. "They carried him off to an ambulance, but I was told he would probablydie long before he got to his destination. 

On the 26th of September I spent the night in a dressing station inthe sunken road near Courcelette. I had walked from Pozières down tothe railway track, where in the dark I met a company of the CanadianCyclist Corps, who were being used as stretcher bearers. We went insingle file along the railway and then across the fields which werebeing shelled. At last we came to the dressing station. Beside theentrance, was a little shelter covered with corrugated iron, and therewere laid a number of wounded, while some were lying on stretchers inthe open road. Among these were several German prisoners and thebodies of dead men. The dressing station had once been the dugout ofan enemy battery and its openings, therefore, were on the side of theroad facing the Germans, who knew its location exactly. When I wentdown into it I found it crowded with men who were being tended by thedoctor and his staff. It had three openings to the road. One of themhad had a direct hit that night, and mid the debris which blocked itwere the fragments of a human body. The Germans gave the place no (p. 143)rest, and all along the road shells were falling, and bits wouldclatter upon the corrugated iron which roofed the shelter by thewayside. There was no room in the dugout for any but those who werebeing actually treated by the doctor, so the wounded had to wait upabove till they could be borne off by the bearer parties. It was atrying experience for them, and it was hard to make them forget thedanger they were in. I found a young officer lying in the road, whowas badly hit in the leg. I had prayers with him and at his request Igave him the Holy Communion. On the stretcher next to him, lay thebody of a dead man wrapped in a blanket. After I had finished theservice, the officer asked for some water. I went down and got him amouthful very strongly flavoured with petrol from the tin in which itwas carried. He took it gladly, but, just as I had finished giving himthe drink, a shell burst and there was a loud crack by his side. "Oh, "he cried, "they have got my other leg. " I took my electric torch, and, allowing only a small streak of light to shine through my fingers, Imade an examination of the stretcher, and there I found against it ashattered rum jar which had just been hit by a large piece of shell. The thing had saved him from another wound, and I told him that heowed his salvation to a rum jar. He was quite relieved to find thathis good leg had not been hit. I got the bearer party to take him offas soon as possible down the long path across the fields which led tothe light railway, where he could be put on a truck. Once while I wastalking to the men in the shelter, a shell burst by the side of theroad and ignited a pile of German ammunition. At once there wereexplosions, a weird red light lit up the whole place, and volumes ofred smoke rolled off into the starlit sky. To my surprise, from aditch on the other side of the road, a company of Highlanders emergedand ran further away from the danger of the exploding shells. It wasone of the most theatrical sights I have ever seen. With the luridlight and the broken road in the foreground, and the hurrying figurescarrying their rifles, it was just like a scene on the stage. 

The stars were always a great comfort to me. Above the gun-flashes orthe bursting of shells and shrapnel, they would stand out calm andclear, twinkling just as merrily as I have seen them do on many apleasant sleigh-drive in Canada. I had seen Orion for the first timethat year, rising over the broken Cathedral at Albert. I always (p. 144)felt when he arrived for his winter visit to the sky, that he came asan old friend, and was waiting like us for the wretched war to end. Onthat September night, when the hours were beginning to draw towardsdawn, it gave me great pleasure to see him hanging in the East, whileSirius with undiminished courage merrily twinkled above the smoke-fringedhorizon and told us of the eternal quietness of space. 

With dawn the enemy's artillery became less active and we sent off thewounded. Those who could walk were compelled to follow the bearerparties. One man, who was not badly hit, had lost his nerve andrefused to leave. The doctor had to tell him sharply that he need notexpect to be carried, as there were too many serious cases to beattended to. I went over to him and offered him my arm. At first herefused to come, and then I explained to him that he was in greatdanger and the thing to do was to get back as quickly as possible, ifhe did not wish to be wounded again. At last I got him going at a slowpace, and I was afraid I should have to drag him along. Suddenly ashell landed near us, and his movements were filled with alacrity. Itwas a great relief to me. After a little while he found he could walkquite well and whenever a whiz-bang came near us his limbs seemed toget additional strength. I took him down to a place were a battalionwas camped, and there I had to stop and bury some men in a shell hole. While I was taking the service however, my companion persuaded somemen to carry him, and I suppose finally reached a place of safety. 

There was a large dressing station in the cellars of the Red Châteauin Courcelette, whither I made my way on a Sunday morning inSeptember. The fighting at the time was very heavy and I met manyambulances bringing out the wounded. I passed Pozières and turned downthe sunken road towards Courcelette. 

Beside the road was a dugout and shelter, where the wounded, who werecarried in on stretchers from Courcelette, were kept until they couldbe shipped off in the ambulances. A doctor and some men were in chargeof the post. The bearers, many of whom were German prisoners, werebringing out the wounded over the fields and laying them by theroadside. I went with some of the bearers past "Dead Man's Trench, "where were many German bodies. Every now and then we came upon atrench where men were in reserve, and we saw also many machine gunemplacements, for the rise in the ground gave the gun a fine sweep forits activity. The whole neighbourhood, however, was decidedly (p. 145)unhealthy, and it was risky work for the men to go over the open. Whenwe got to the ruins of Courcelette, we turned down a path which skirtedthe old cemetery and what remained of the church. Several shells fellnear us, and one of the men got a bit nervous, so I repeated to him theverse of the psalm:

 "A thousand shall fall beside thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee. "

We had hardly arrived at the heaps of rubbish which surrounded theentrance to the dressing station, beside which lay the blackened bodyof a dead man, when a shell burst, and one of the bits broke the legof the young fellow I was talking to. "What's the matter with yourtext now, Canon?" he said. "The text is all right, old man, you haveonly got a good Blighty and are lucky to get it, " I replied. Thecellars below had been used as a dressing station by the enemy beforeCourcelette was taken and consisted of several large rooms, which werenow being used by our two divisions in the line. Beyond the room usedfor operations, there was one dark cellar fitted up with two longshelves, whereon lay scores of stretcher bearers and cyclists, and atthe end of that, down some steps, there was another, in which morebearers awaited their call. Only two candles lit up the darkness. Asthere must have been between three and four hundred men in the RedChâteau, the air was not particularly fresh. Our choice lay, however, between foul air within and enemy shells without, for the Germans weremaking direct hits upon the debris overhead. Naturally we preferredthe foul air. It showed how one had grown accustomed to the gruesomesights of war, that I was able to eat my meals in a place where ragssaturated in human blood were lying on the floor in front of me. Twoyears before it would have been impossible. The stretcher bearers weredoing noble work. When each case had been attended to, they werecalled out of the back cellar and entrusted with their burden, whichthey had to carry for more than a mile over those dangerous fields tothe ambulances waiting in the sunken road. Again and again a bearerwould be brought back on a stretcher himself, having been woundedwhile on the errand of mercy. Once a party, on their return, told methat one of their number had disappeared, blown to atoms by a shell. 

About four o'clock, though time had little meaning to us, because theonly light we had was from the candles and acetylene lamps, I went (p. 146)into the cellar where the bearers lay, and, reminding them that it wasSunday, asked if they would not like to have a service. One of themhanded me a candle, so we had prayers and a reading, and sang "NearerMy God to Thee, " and some other hymns. When the service was over, Iasked those who would like to make their Communion to come to thelower cellar at the end, where there was more room. We appropriatedone of the corners and there I had seven or eight communicants. Morethan a year afterwards, in London, I met a young soldier in theUnderground Railway, and he told me that he had made his communion onthat day, and that when he was lying on the ground wounded at midnight, the shells falling round him, he thought what a comfort it was to knowthat he had received the Sacrament. I did not leave the Red Châteautill late the following afternoon, when I went back with a ration-party. 

The most unpleasant things at Albert were the air raids, which occurredevery fine night. One moonlight night I lay on my bed, which was inthe top storey of our house, and listened to some German planesdropping bombs upon the town. The machines were flying low and tryingto get the roads. Crash would follow crash with great regularity. Theycame nearer and nearer, and I was just waiting for the house to bestruck when, to my great relief, the planes went off in anotherdirection. Next day a sentry told me that he had heard a hundred bombsburst, and, as far as he knew, not one of them had done any damage, all having fallen among the ruined houses and gardens of the town. 

I had been asked to look up the grave of a young officer of a Scottishbattalion, who had been killed in the July advance. I rode over toMametz and saw all that historic fighting ground. The village was aheap of ruins, but from out of a cellar came a smartly-dressed lieutenant, who told me that he had the great privilege and honour of being theTown Major of Mametz. We laughed as we surveyed his very smelly andunattractive little kingdom. I found the grave, and near it wereseveral crosses over the last resting places of some of our CanadianDragoons, who had been in the great advance. All that region was oneof waste and lonely country-side, blown bare by the tempest of war. 

It was during our last visit to Albert that the 4th Division arrivedto take over the line from us. I had the great joy, therefore, ofhaving my second son near me for six days. His battalion, the (p. 147)87th, was camped on a piece of high ground to the right of "Tara Hill, "and from my window I could see the officers and men walking about intheir lines. It was a great privilege to have his battalion so nearme, for I had many friends among all ranks. 

The Sunday before I left I had service for them and a celebration ofthe Holy Communion, after which one of the sergeants came and wasbaptized. Our Divisional Headquarters left Albert for good on October17th. We made our way to our abode at Canaples. We only stayed theretwo days and then went on to Bernaville and Frohen Le Grand, spendinga night in each place, and on Sunday arrived at the Château of LeCauroy, which we were afterwards to make our headquarters in the lastyear of the war. I was billetted in a filthy little room in a sort offarm building and passed one of the most dreary days I have everknown. It was rainy and cold, and every one was tired and ill-humoured. I had a strange feeling of gloom about me which I could not shake off, so I went over to the Curé's house at the end of the avenue and askedhim if I might come in and sit beside the fire in his kitchen. He wasvery kind, and it was quite nice to have someone to talk to who wasnot in the war. We were able to understand each other pretty well, andhe gave me an insight into the feelings of the French. On the nextmorning, the weather had cleared and the A. D. M. S. Motored me to ournew halting place at Roellencourt, where I was given a billet in theCuré's house. He was a dear old man and received me very kindly, andgave me a comfortable room overlooking his garden. Downstairs his agedand invalid mother sat in her chair, tended kindly by her son anddaughter. Roellencourt was a pleasant place on the St. Pol Road, andquite a number of our men were billeted there. I went to St. Pol tolunch at the hotel and spent the day buying some souvenirs. On myreturn in the afternoon I made my way to the Curé's house, where Ifound my room neatly arranged for me. Suddenly I heard a knock at thedoor, and there stood the old man with a letter in his hand. I thoughthe looked somewhat strange. He handed me the letter, and then takingmy hand, he said to me in French, "My brother, have courage, it isvery sad. " At once the truth flashed upon me and I said, "My son isdead. " He shook my hand, and said again, "Have courage, my brother. " Iwent downstairs later on and found his old mother sitting in her chairwith the tears streaming down her cheeks. I shall never cease to begrateful to those kind, simple people for their sympathy at that (p. 148)time. The next morning the General sent me in his car to Albert, andColonel Ironside took me up to the chalk-pit where the 87th wereresting. They had suffered very heavy losses, and I heard the accountof my son's death. On the morning of October 21st, he was leading hiscompany and another to the attack on Regina Trench. They had advanced, as the barrage lifted, and he was kneeling in a shell hole looking athis watch waiting for the moment to charge again, when a machine gunopened fire and he was hit in the head and killed instantly. As hestill kept kneeling looking at his watch, no one knew that anythinghad happened. The barrage lifted again behind the German trench; stillhe gave no sign. The Germans stood up and turned their machine-guns onour men. Then the officer next in command went over to see what hadhappened, and, finding my son dead, gave the order to advance. Suffering heavy casualties, the men charged with determination andtook the trench, completely routing the enemy. When the battalion wasrelieved the dead had to be left unburied, but several men volunteeredto go and get my son's body. This I would not hear of, for thefighting was still severe, and I did not believe in living men riskingtheir lives to bring out the dead. I looked far over into the murkydistance, where I saw long ridges of brown land, now wet with adrizzling rain, and thought how gloriously consecrated was that soil, and how worthy to be the last resting place of those who had died fortheir country. Resolving to come back later on when things werequieter, and make my final search, I bid good-bye to the officers andmen of the battalion and was motored back to my Headquarters. 

In the little church of Roellencourt hangs a crucifix which I gave theCuré in memory of my son. It is near the chancel-arch in the placewhich the old man chose for it. Some day I hope I may re-visit my kindfriends at the Presbytère and talk over the sad events of the past inthe light of the peace that has come through victory. 

CHAPTER XIII. (p. 149)

OUR HOME AT CAMBLAIN L'ABBÉ. 

_November and December, 1916. _

From Roellencourt we moved up to our new headquarters in the Châteauat Camblain l'Abbé, which, after we left it in December, was long thehome of the Canadian Corps. I had an Armstrong hut under the trees inthe garden, and after it was lined with green canvas, and divided intotwo by green canvas curtains, it was quite artistic and verycomfortable. Opposite the Château we had a large French hut which wasarranged as a cinema. The band of the 3rd Battalion was stationed intown and gave us a concert every evening, also playing at our serviceson Sundays. After the concert was over I used to announce a "rumissue" at half-past nine in the building. The men knew what it meant, and a good number would stay behind. Then I would give them a talk ontemperance, astronomy, literature or any subject about which I thoughtmy audience knew less than I. We generally finished up by singing somewell-known evening hymn. Very pleasant were the entertainments we hadin that old cinema. One night, before a battalion was going up to theline, I proposed we should have a dance. The band furnished the music, and the men had one of the most enjoyable evenings they had ever had. Camblain l'Abbé was not a large place, so we were cramped for room, and a Nissen hut had to be built for "C" mess. 

My little friend Philo had been stolen on our march, so his place wastaken now by a brindle bull terrier which had been born in Albert. Icalled her "Alberta" and as time went on she became a well-knownfigure in the First Division. She often accompanied me on my walks tothe trenches, and one day was out in No Man's Land when a minnenwerferburst. Alberta did not wait for the bits to come down, but made onedive into the trench, to the amusement of the men, who said she knewthe use of the trenches. She was my constant companion till heruntimely end in 1918. 

The country round about Camblain l'Abbé was very peaceful and pretty, and the road to the left from the Château gave one a fine view of thetowers of Mont St. Eloi, which were not then damaged by shells. Thetwo towers and the front wall of the old abbey were a striking (p. 150)object against the horizon, and could be seen for miles around. Theymade a beautiful picture in the distance when seen at sunset from thetrenches beyond Arras. Those two towers must stand out in the foregroundof all the memories which Canadians have of that region which was solong their war-home. As far as I could learn, Mont St. Eloi had beenthe site of an old monastery which had been destroyed in the FrenchRevolution, the towers and the walls of the church alone surviving. The farms of the monastery had passed to secular ownership, but wererich and well cultivated. A spiral stone staircase led up to anobservation post at the top of one of the towers. The place was visiblefrom the German lines, and till we had taken Vimy Ridge no one wasallowed to climb the tower unless on duty. 

Our trenches now were extremely quiet, and were a pleasant contrast tothose we had left on the Somme. The whole Corps had only a fewcasualties each day. The spirits of the men, who had been under aheavy strain, were now completely restored. Our Corps Headquarters atthis time were at the beautiful Château of Ranchicourt, where theywere very comfortably settled, the country round about being hilly, richly wooded and well watered. We had church parades in the cinema, and I often wished that the people at home could have heard thesinging of the men when we had some favourite hymn which the bandaccompanied. Every morning I had a celebration of the Holy Communionthere, and sometimes had a good congregation. One night I was talkingto some men in a cookhouse on the opposite side of the village and Iannounced the service. When I was leaving, one of the men followed meand asked me if I would speak to his officer for him and get him sentback to some quiet job. He told me that he had once had an attack ofnervous prostration, caused by the shock of his father's sudden death, and that he could not stand life in the trenches. He seemed very muchupset, and I felt that perhaps it would be wise to get him out of theline, but I could not avoid a sense of disappointment in the midst ofmy pity. He told me that he had been confirmed, but had never made hisCommunion and was coming to my service the next morning. I promised Iwould speak to his officer and went off. 

The next morning, the man was at the service, and after the othersleft, waited to speak to me. I thought he wanted to remind me of mypromise. But, instead of that, he came up and said to me, "I don't (p. 151)want you to speak to my officer, Sir, God has given me strength tocarry on. I have determined to do so and go over the top with theothers. " I was delighted to see the change in him. It meant everythingto him and was one of the turning points in his life. Whatever thefuture had in store, it was the man's victory over himself, and I gavehim a glad handshake and told him how proud I was of him. Monthsafterwards, after the taking of Vimy Ridge, I was passing down thelines of his battalion, which was in tents near the La Targette road, when the young fellow came running up to me, his face radiant withsmiles, and told me he had been through all the fighting and had goneover the top with the boys, and that it wasn't half so bad as he hadthought. In the spring of 1919, I was going into the Beaver Hut in theStrand one day, when a young fellow came up to me and thanked me forwhat I had done for him in the war. I did not recognize him and askedhim what I had done for him, and he told me he was the man who hadbeen at that service in Camblain l'Abbé and had been through all thefighting ever since and had come out without a scratch. I met similarinstances in which the human will, by the help of God, was able tomaster itself and come out victorious. Once at Bracquemont a man cameto my billet and asked me to get him taken out of his battalion, andsent to some work behind the lines. He told me his mother and sistersknew his nerves were weak and had always taken special care of him. Hesaid that up to this time God had been very good to him in answeringhis prayer that he might not have to go over the parapet. I asked himwhat right he had to pray such a prayer. He was really asking God tomake another man do what he would not do himself. The prayer wasselfish and wrong, and he could not expect God to answer it. The rightprayer to pray was that, if he was called to go over the parapet Godwould give him strength to do his duty. He seemed quite surprised atthe new light which was thus thrown upon the performance of what heconsidered his religious duties. Then I told him that he had thechance of his life to make himself a man. If in the past he had beenmore or less a weakling, he could now, by the help of God, rise up inthe strength of his manhood and become a hero. His mother and sistersno doubt had loved him and taken care of him in the past, but theywould love him far more if he did his duty now, "For", I said, "Allwomen love a brave man. " I told him to take as his text, "I can do allthings through Christ which strengtheneth me, " and I made him (p. 152)repeat it after me several times. I saw that the young fellow waspulling himself together, and he shook hands with me and told me hewould go up to the line and take his chance with the rest--and he did. Later on, he was invalided to the Base with some organic disease. I donot know where he is now, but he conquered; and like many anothersoldier in the great crusade will be the better for all eternity forhis self-mastery. 

On the road which led to Ranchicourt there was an interesting oldchateau at a place called Ohlain, which is mentioned by Dumas in "TheThree Musketeers. " The chateau is surrounded by a large moat, and wasbuilt in medieval times. It has a very fine tower, and some other oldbuildings surrounding a little courtyard with a garden. The place isentered by a drawbridge which in olden days used to be raised upagainst the massive gateway by chains. One night I had service in thecourtyard at sunset, with the 16th Battalion. One could hardly imaginea more picturesque setting for a war service in dear old France. Atone point, however, we were disturbed by the arrival of three men whohad been dining in an estaminet in the village, and comingunexpectedly upon a church service were a little too hearty in theirreligious fervour. They had to be guided to some quiet spot where theymight work it off in solitude. Incidents of that kind during voluntaryservices were always a little embarrassing, for officers and men felt, as well as myself, that under the softening influences of religion wecould not be over-hard on the transgressions of frail mortality. Nothing but the direst necessity would compel us at such times toresort to the process of military discipline. 

Near Camblain l'Abbé, our ambulances were set up on an elevation ofthe ground where two roads crossed. The place rejoiced in the name of"The Four Winds", and anyone who has resided there for any length oftime feels that the title is an appropriate one. At times the windwould sweep over the place, and, when rain was mingled with the gale, it was rather an unpleasant corner. But the ambulances werecomfortable, and the patients were well looked after. Near by is thelittle cemetery, where the bodies of many Canadians lie in peace. 

Our life at Camblain l'Abbé, after the hard fighting at the Somme, wasreally very pleasant, and the battalions were filled up with newdrafts from the Base. We felt that as the winter was approaching (p. 153)there would probably be no hard fighting for some months. Specialpains were taken to provide concert parties in the differentbattalions, so that the men might have amusement in the evening. Itwas wonderful what talent was discovered in the various units. As Ilook back upon some of those entertainments at the front I think Inever enjoyed anything more. Not only were the performers clever andresourceful, but the audience was one that it was thrilling to sitamongst. In the cinema the stage was well appointed and lighted withelectric lights; the costumes of the men, especially those who tookthe part of ladies, were good and well made. The music, vocal andinstrumental, was all that could be desired. But the audience, composed of hundreds of strong, keen, young men who had endured hardthings, and perhaps, in a few hours after the show, would be onceagain facing death in the front trenches, was a sight never to beforgotten. Could any performer ask for a more sympathetic hearing? Nota joke was lost upon the men, not a gesture was unobserved; and whensome song with a well-known chorus was started, through the murkyatmosphere of cigarette smoke would rise a volume of harmony whichwould fairly shake the building. I have often stood at the back andlistened to a splendid burst of song, which to me had an added charmfrom the deep unconscious pathos of it all. Some of those men thatwere joining in the rollicking ragtime tune were dying men. Some ofthe eyes kindling with laughter at the broad farce of the play, withina few hours would be gazing upon the mysteries behind the screen ofmortal life. The pathetic chorus of "A Long, Long Trail" always movedme, and I wondered how many of those brave young hearts in the crowdedhall, now on "the long, long trail, " would ever see again the land oftheir dreams. I took good care not to let the men know that I was evermoved by such sentimentalism. We were out to fight the Germans, and onthat one object we had to concentrate all our thoughts to theobliteration of private emotions. 

CHAPTER XIV. (p. 154)

MY SEARCH IS REWARDED. 

We had now reached the middle of November, and the 4th Division wasexpected to come north very soon. My only chance of finding my son'sbody lay in my making a journey to Albert before his battalion movedaway. I woke up one morning and determined that I would start thatday. I told Ross to get my trench clothes and long boots ready, for Iwas going to Albert. At luncheon my friends asked me how I proposed totravel, for Albert was nearly fifty miles away. I told them that theLord would provide, and sallied off down the road with my knapsack, thoroughly confident that I should be able to achieve my purpose. Anambulance picked me up and took me to the Four Winds cross-roads, andthen a lorry carried me to Aubigny. I went to the field canteen to getsome cigarettes, and while there I met a Canadian Engineer officerwhom I knew. We talked about many things, and as we were leaving Itold him that I was going forth in faith as I hoped to get to Albertthat evening. I said, "You know my motto is 'The Lord will provide'. "As we walked along we came to a turn in the road, where we saw at alittle distance a side-car with a driver all ready. I said to myfriend, "It is just the thing I want. I think I will go to the ownerof that car and say to him that the Lord has provided it for me. " Heburst out laughing and said, "I am the owner of that car, and you mayhave it. " I thanked him and started off. It was a long ride, and atthe end a very wet and muddy one, but I got to Tara Hill that eveningand had dinner at General Thacker's Headquarters. I told the officersthere of the purpose of my visit, that I was going up to the frontline the next morning, and asked if they would telephone to one of thebatteries and tell the O. C. That I should arrive some time in themiddle of the night. The Brigade Major of course tried to dissuade me, but I told him that I was going in any case, that he was notresponsible for my actions, but that if he liked to make thing easierfor me he could. He quite understood the point, and telephoned to the11th Battery. I then went back to the reserve headquarters of the 4thDivision in the town, and prepared myself for the journey. When I hadto make an early start in the morning, I always shaved the night (p. 155)before, because I thought that, of all the officers, the chaplainshould look the freshest and cleanest. I was in the middle of theprocess of shaving, and some staff officers were making chocolate forour supper, when a German plane came over and dropped a huge bomb inthe garden. It was about one a. M. , and we could not help laughing atthe surprise the Germans would have felt if they could have seen ouroccupation going on quite undisturbed by their attempt to murder us. 

About half-past one, I started up the street which led to the Bapaumeroad. The moon was shining, and I could see every object distinctly. Near our old Headquarters I got a lift in a lorry, which took mealmost to Pozières. There I got out and proceeded on my way alone. Ientered the Y. M. C. A. Hut and had a good strong cup of coffee, andstarted off afresh. That lonely region in the moonlight with theruined village to one side and the fields stretching far away oneither hand gave me an eerie feeling. I came upon four dead horseswhich had been killed that evening. To add to the strangeness of thesituation, there was a strong scent of tear-gas in the air, which mademy eyes water. Not a living soul could I see in the long white road. 

Suddenly I heard behind me the sound of a troop of horses. I turnedand saw coming towards me one of the strangest sights I have everseen, and one which fitted in well with the ghostly character of thesurroundings. It was a troop of mounted men carrying ammunition. Theywore their gas masks, and as they came nearer, and I could see themmore distinctly in the moonlight, the long masks with their two bigglass eye-pieces gave the men a horse-like appearance. They lookedlike horses upon horses, and did not seem to be like human beings atall. I was quite glad when they had passed. I walked on till I came towhat was known as Centre Way. It was a path, sometimes with bath-matson it, which led across the fields down to the battery positions inthe valley. Huge shell holes, half filled with water, pitted thefields in every direction, and on the slippery wood I had greatdifficulty to keep from sliding into those which were skirted by thepath. Far off beyond Courcellette I saw the German flare-lights andthe bursting of shells. It was a scene of vast desolation, weirdbeyond description. I had some difficulty when I got into the trenchat the end of Centre Way, in finding the 11th Battery. The ground hadbeen ploughed by shells and the trenches were heavy with soft andclinging mud. At last I met a sentry who told me where the O. C. 's (p. 156)dugout was. It was then about half-past three in the morning, but Iwent down the steps, and there, having been kindly welcomed, was givena blanket on the floor. I started at 6 a. M. With a young sergeant forDeath Valley, where I was to get a runner to take me to Regina Trench. The sergeant was a splendid young fellow from Montreal who had won theD. C. M. , and was most highly thought of in the battery. He wasafterwards killed on Vimy Ridge, where I buried him in the cemeterynear Thélus. I had been warned that we were going to make abombardment of the enemy's lines that morning, and that I ought to beout of the way before that began. I left the sergeant nearCourcellette and made my way over to the Brigade Headquarters whichwere in a dugout in Death Valley. There with the permission of hisO. C. , a runner volunteered to come with me. He brought a spade, and westarted down the trench to the front line. When I got into ReginaTrench, I found that it was impossible to pass along it, as one sankdown so deeply into the heavy mud. I had brought a little sketch withme of the trenches, which showed the shell hole where it was supposedthat the body had been buried. The previous night a cross had beenplaced there by a corporal of the battalion before it left the frontline. No one I spoke to, however, could tell me the exact map locationof the place where it stood. I looked over the trenches, and on allsides spread a waste of brown mud, made more desolate by the morningmist which clung over everything. I was determined, however, not to bebaffled in my search, and told the runner who was with me that, if Istayed there six months, I was not going to leave till I had foundthat grave. We walked back along the communication trench and turnedinto one on the right, peering over the top every now and then to seeif we could recognize anything corresponding to the marks on our map. Suddenly the runner, who was looking over the top, pointed far away toa lonely white cross that stood at a point where the ground slopeddown through the mist towards Regina Trench. At once we climbed out ofthe trench and made our way over the slippery ground and past the deepshell holes to where the white cross stood out in the solitude. Wepassed many bodies which were still unburied, and here and there werebits of accoutrement which had been lost during the advance. When wecame up to the cross I read my son's name upon it, and knew that I hadreached the object I had in view. As the corporal who had placed (p. 157)the cross there had not been quite sure that it was actually on theplace of burial, I got the runner to dig the ground in front of it. Hedid so, but we discovered nothing but a large piece of a shell. Then Igot him to try in another place, and still we could find nothing. Itried once again, and after he had dug a little while he came uponsomething white. It was my son's left hand, with his signet ring uponit. They had removed his identification disc, revolver andpocket-book, so the signet ring was the only thing which could haveled to his identification. It was really quite miraculous that weshould have made the discovery. The mist was lifting now, and the sunto the East was beginning to light up the ground. We heard the crackof bullets, for the Germans were sniping us. I made the runner go downinto a shell hole, while I read the burial service, and then took offthe ring. I looked over the ground where the charge had been made. There lay Regina Trench, and far beyond it, standing out against themorning light, I saw the villages of Pys and Miraumont which were ourobjective. It was a strange scene of desolation, for the Novemberrains had made the battle fields a dreary, sodden waste. How many ofour brave men had laid down their lives as the purchase price of thatconsecrated soil! Through the centuries to come it must always remainsacred to the hearts of Canadians. We made a small mound where thebody lay, and then by quick dashes from shell hole to shell hole wegot back at last to the communication trench, and I was indeedthankful to feel that my mission had been successful. I have receivedletters since I returned to Canada from the kind young fellow, whoaccompanied me on the journey, and I shall never cease to be gratefulto him. I left him at his headquarters in Death Valley, and made myway past Courcellette towards the road. As the trench was very muddy, I got out of it, and was walking along the top when I came acrosssomething red on the ground. It was a piece of a man's lung with thewindpipe attached. I suppose some poor lad had had a direct hit from ashell and his body had been blown to pieces. The Germans were shellingthe road, so with some men I met we made a detour through the fieldsand joined it further on, and finally got to the chalk-pit where the87th Battalion was waiting to go in again to the final attack. I wasdelighted to see my friends once more, and they were thankful that Ihad been able to find the grave. Not many days afterwards, some ofthose whom I then met were called themselves to make the supreme (p. 158)sacrifice. I spent that night at the Rear Headquarters of the 4thDivision, and they kindly sent me back the next day to Camblain l'Abbéin one of their cars. 

On November 24th I received a telegram saying that a working party ofone of the battalions of the 4th Division had brought my son's bodyback, and so on the following day I motored once again to Albert andlaid my dear boy to rest in the little cemetery on Tara Hill, which heand I had seen when he was encamped near it, and in which now were thebodies of some of his friends whom I had met on my last visit. I wasthankful to have been able to have him buried in a place which isknown and can be visited, but I would say to the many parents whosesons lie now in unknown graves, that, after all, the grave seems to bea small and minor thing in view of the glorious victory and triumphantlife which is all that really matters. If I had not been successful inmy quest, I should not have vexed my soul with anxious thought as towhat had become of that which is merely the earthly house of theimmortal spirit which goes forth into the eternal. Let those whosedear ones lie in unrecorded graves remember that the strong, gladspirits--like Valiant for Truth in "Pilgrim's Progress"--have passedthrough the turbulent waters of the river of death, and "all thetrumpets have sounded for them on the other side. "

In June of the following year, when the Germans had retired after ourvictory at Vimy Ridge, I paid one more visit to Regina Trench. Theearly summer had clothed the waste land in fresh and living green. Larks were singing gaily in the sunny sky. No sound of shell or gundisturbed the whisper of the breeze as it passed over thesweet-smelling fields. Even the trenches were filling up and MotherNature was trying to hide the cruel wounds which the war had made uponher loving breast. One could hardly recall the visions of gloom anddarkness which had once shrouded that scene of battle. In the healingprocess of time all mortal agonies, thank God, will be finallyobliterated. 

CHAPTER XV. (p. 159)

A TIME OF PREPARATION. 

_Christmas, 1916, to April, 1917. _

It was certain now that all serious fighting was at an end till nextspring, so everyone settled down to his work with a sense of reliefand tried to make the best of things. A few days after my return fromAlbert I went to England. 

On my return to France, I heard with some regret that our DivisionalHeadquarters were going to move, and that the Corps would makeCamblain l'Abbé their headquarters. On December 20th we moved back tothe town of Bruay, where we were to stay till after the New Year. Bruay in comparison with Camblain l'Abbé is a large and thriving town, all the inhabitants being more or less connected with the mines in theneighbourhood. Our Headquarters were in the administration building ofthe Mining Company, in a square, and I had a billet in a street nearby. There was a good theatre in the place, which our 1st DivisionalConcert party took over, and where I had services on Sunday. In andaround the town were several of the battalions; the rest of thedivision were in the villages near by. Bruay had not been shelled, andthe mines were being worked as in pre-war days. It was a comfort tohave the men out of the line once again, and the roads round aboutwere very pleasant, the country being hilly and unspoilt. Bethune waswithin easy reach, and a visit to the quaint town made a pleasantafternoon's ride. 

Rumours were abroad that with the opening of Spring we were to beginan offensive, and it was generally believed that towards the close ofthe next year we might hope for the end of hostilities. Our men werebeing trained, when weather permitted, in open warfare, and the timeof so-called rest was really a period of constant activity. The chiefhotel in the place became an officers' club, and very pleasant werethe reunions we had there. I was glad we were going to spend Christmasout of the line, and determined to take advantage of the theatre as aplace for Christmas services. The 8th and 14th Battalions werequartered in the town, besides some smaller units, so we had a goodmany men to draw upon for a congregation. On Christmas Eve, athalf-past eleven, I had a celebration of the Holy Communion. We (p. 160)had a splendid band to play the Christmas hymns, and a large numberof men attended. The stage was made to look as much as possible like achancel, and the service was very hearty. Many made their communion. Ialso had a watch-night service on New Year's Eve. The theatre wasalmost filled with men--there were rows of them even in the gallery. It was an inspiring sight, and we all felt we were beginning a yearthat was to decide the destinies of the Empire. I told the men thatsomewhere in the pages of the book which we were opening that nightlay hidden the tremendous secret of our success or failure. At tenminutes to twelve we sat in silence, while the band played Chopin'sFuneral March. It was almost too moving, for once again the visioncame before us of the terrible battle-fields of the Somme and thefaces that had gone. Then we all rose, and there was a brief momentfor silent prayer. At midnight the buglers of the 14th Battalionsounded the Last Post, and at the close the band struck up the hymn "OGod our help in ages past. " A mighty chorus of voices joined in thewell-known strains. After the Benediction, I went down to the door andshook hands with as many of the men as I could and wished them a happyNew Year. No one who was at that service will ever forget it. As wefound out, the trail before us was longer than we had expected, andthe next New Year's Eve found many of us, though, alas, not all, inthat theatre once more, still awaiting the issue of the conflict. 

In January, I paid a flying visit to the Canadian Cavalry Headquartersat Tully near Abbeville, and saw many old friends. On my return, I hada curious experience which throws a light upon railway travelling atthe Front. A friend had motored me to Abbeville that afternoon, justin time to catch a leave-train full of men returning from England. Ionly wanted to go as far as St. Pol, about thirty miles off, where Ihoped to get a car for Bruay. I got into a carriage with fourofficers, one of whom was a chaplain who had just been decorated withthe D. S. O. I had crossed the Channel with him once before, so was gladto renew our acquaintance. The train left Abbeville about fouro'clock. We found ourselves in a second-class compartment. The windowswere broken, the floor was dirty, and there was no lamp to lighten ourdarkness. By pulling down the curtains we tried to keep out the coldwind, but the draught was very unpleasant, and we had to trust to theaccumulated warmth of our bodies to keep from freezing. 

Instead of going directly to St. Pol, for some reason or other, (p. 161)the train started off to the South. We travelled on and on at asnail's pace, and had frequent and lengthy stops. When the light diedaway, we should have been in complete darkness if one of the officershad not brought a candle with him. Hour after hour passed by and webegan to get hungry. Somebody had some sandwiches and a piece of cake, and this was shared by all the company. It served to stimulate ratherthan soothe the appetite. About midnight to our astonishment we foundwe had got to Canaples, where I had stayed when we were going to theSomme. Someone said there had been a railway accident and we had totravel by branch lines. In spite of the cold, we tried to sleep. I satbetween my parson friend, who was inclined to be stout, and anotherofficer who was remarkably angular. When I leaned upon my corpulentfriend, his frequent fits of coughing made my head bounce as though itwere resting on an air-cushion. When I got tired of this and leanedagainst my angular friend on the other side, the jolting of thecarriage scraped my ear against his ribs. I spent the night by leaningfirst on one companion, and then on the other. The morning found usstill travelling, and finally at half-past ten the train drew up oncemore at our starting point in Abbeville station. Having been eighteenhours without food or drink or the opportunity of a shave, I thoughtit was about time to retire, and told my companions that life was tooshort to spend it in railway journeys of that description. So, with afeeling of superiority and independence which made the others greenwith envy, I bid them good-bye. I never heard any more of my friends, but, although the war has long since ended, I have a sort of dimimpression in my mind that they are still travelling round and roundand coming back to Abbeville again. I went over to the officers' cluband had a good wash and luncheon, and there meeting a very niceengineer officer, I asked him if he could tell me where I could findany lorries going North. I told him my railway experience, and it somoved him that he very kindly sent me off in his own car to St. Pol, where I was picked up by one of our staff cars and taken home in timefor dinner. Railway journeys in France were not things to rememberwith pleasure, and if they were bad for the officers, what must theyhave been for the poor men in the crowded third-class carriages?

At the end of January, our pleasant life at Bruay came to an end, andwe moved off to Barlin which was to be our headquarters for a (p. 162)month and a half. It was while we were there that I had an attack oftrench-fever, which, like being "crummy, " is really part of a completewar experience. Barlin was not a bad place of residence. There weremany men within easy reach, and I had an upper room in the Town Hallfor use as a chapel. The presence of a well equipped British hospitalalso gave one opportunities of seeing our wounded men. We had come toknow by this time that the first task which lay before us in theopening of spring was the taking of Vimy Ridge, and our life becamefilled with fresh zest and interest in view of the coming attack. 

On the 15th of March our Division moved up to a place called Ecoivres, where we were billeted in the old Château. The Count who owned theChâteau kept some rooms downstairs for himself, but we occupied allthe rest of the building. In the hall upstairs we had a large model ofVimy Ridge, which all the officers and men of the battalions visitedin turn, in order to study the character of the land over which theyhad to charge. In the garden were numerous huts, and in a largebuilding in a street to the right of the Château was a billet whichheld a great number of men. It was almost entirely filled up withtiers upon tiers of wooden shelves, on which the men made their beds. They were reached by wooden stairs. Nearly fifteen hundred men werecrowded into the building. On the ground floor beside the door, therewas a high platform which commanded a view of the whole interior. Onthis, one of the bands lived and gave us music in the evening. Everynight after dinner, I used to go to the cinema, as we called theplace, and have either a service or a talk with the men on generalsubjects. At such times outsiders would crowd in, and we have had veryhearty singing when the band struck up a hymn. I always tried to havesome piece of good news to announce, and would get the latest reportsfrom the signallers to read aloud. The men were in splendid spirits, and we were all buoyed up with the hope that we were going to end thewar. I used to speak about the war outlook, and would tell the menthat there were only two issues before us: Victory or Slavery. When Iasked them one night "Which shall it be, Boys?" a loud shout of"Victory!" went up. 

News was not always plentiful, and it was a little hard at times tofind anything particularly interesting to say, and so, one night Idetermined to make a variation. I told the men that on the nextevening, if they would bring in questions to me on any subject whichhad been troubling them, I should be very glad to try to give an (p. 163)answer. I thought that an entertainment of that kind might be bothattractive and helpful. On the next evening, therefore, I ascended theplatform as usual and found the place crowded with men. I had myacetylene lamp with me to furnish light for reading any questions thatmight be sent up. I called the meeting to order, and then asked if anymen had any questions to ask. To my great delight, someone at the backheld an envelope above the crowd, and it was passed up to me. I toreit open, and, holding my lamp in one hand, without first looking overthe letter, I read it aloud to the men, who were hushed in the silenceof anticipation. I give it just as it was written:--

 "Somewhere in France, 3/4/17. Dear Sir:--

 I am going to ask you a question which has been a load to my little bit of mental capacity for a period of months. Often have I woke up in the old dugout, my hair standing straight up and one eye looking straight into the eyeball of the other, trying to obtain an answer to this burning question. I have kept my weary vigil over the parapet at night, with my rifle in one hand and a couple of bombs in the other, and two or three in each pocket, and still I am pondering over this burning question. I will now ask you the question. When do you think this God dam war will be over, eh?"

I never was so completely taken aback in all my life. A roar oflaughter burst from the men, in which I joined heartily. From thetiers of bunks and every part of the building, cheers went up, and wehad one of the pleasantest evenings in that old cinema that we hadever experienced. I do not know who the man was who sent the letter, or whether he is alive now. If he is, I wish he would write to me. Iwant to thank him for giving us all a good, hearty laugh at that timeof preparation and anxiety. I keep the letter among my most treasuredwar souvenirs. 

The winter rains had not improved the roads, but still day and night, through mud and water, a constant stream of vehicles of all descriptionspassed up towards the front carrying ammunition. Ammunition waseverywhere. At certain places it was stacked along the roads. Thestrain upon the horses was very great, and numbers of them died, (p. 164)and their bodies lay by the wayside for many days, no one having time tobury them. 

It was perfectly impossible to get any place in which to holdCommunion services, so, with the permission of the family who ownedit, I made use of a little Gothic shrine near the church, which stoodover a family vault. It was a miniature chapel, and had an altar init. The glass in the coloured windows had been broken, but we replacedit by canvas. I hung upon the wall outside the board which I used as asign, with the words "St. George's Church" upon it. In this littlebuilding every morning at eight o'clock I had a celebration of HolyCommunion, and I always had some men attending. 

Our trenches were tolerably quiet, and lay beyond the Arras-BethuneRoad. At a place called Maison Blanche there was a large cavern whichwas used as a billet for one of the battalions in reserve. Somestrange stories were told about the fighting that had taken place init between the French and the Germans at the beginning of the war. Iwent down into it one evening when the 16th Battalion was there. Itwas a most picturesque place. The walls and roof were white chalk andthe place was cut up by passages and openings which led into othercaves. The atmosphere was smoky, and a multitude of candles lit up thestrange abode. The men were cooking in their mess tins, some wereplaying cards, and some were examining the seams of their shirts. Itold them I was going to have a service at one end of the cavern and Iproceeded thither with a good number following. Some of the cardplayers seemed too interested in their game to care to attend, and soI called out to the men in a loud voice not to make too much noise, lest they should disturb the gamblers. One of the men who was playingcards responded "If you will wait till we have finished this hand, Sir, we will all come too. " I made the announcement therefor that wewould not begin till the players were ready. The result of this wasthat in a very little while all the men came and joined in theservice. 

The possession of the Ridge gave the Germans a great advantage, becauseit commanded a view of a very large piece of country and several mainroads. Further up the road from Maison Blanche there was a placecalled Arriane Dump, where the Engineers had stored material inpreparation for our attack. A long plank road connected it with theAnzin-St. Eloi road. On a dark and rainy night that wooden track (p. 165)was an unpleasant place for a walk. Lorries, wagons, limbers, transports, horses and men crowded it, and the traffic every now and then wouldget blocked. No flashlights could be used, and it was hard to escapebeing run over. Yet to step off the boards meant to sink almost toyour knees in mud. The language that one heard at such times in thedarkness was not quite fit for ears polite. It is well that the horseswere not able to understand the uncomplimentary speeches that wereaddressed to them. 

There was a tremendous concentration of artillery in the back area. The town of Anzin, on the bank of the river Scarpe, was filled withheavy batteries. To ride through it was to run the risk of manyunpleasant surprises from the sudden firing of big guns by thewayside. Once, I was approaching an apparently harmless hole in abrick wall, when all of a sudden Dandy and I found ourselves envelopedin flame and almost stunned by a huge report. As we bounded past thehole, I saw a large gun moving up and down under the force of itsrecoil, and with smoke still curling out of its mouth. 

The siege battery in which my third son was a gunner had now arrivedand taken up its position in a field behind Anzin, where a 15-inchhowitzer sent forth its deadly missives to the Germans every fifteenminutes and in return drew their fire. One day a shell burst in a hutused by some Railway Troops. A large number of them were wounded andeleven killed, whom I buried in a row on the hillside. 

On the 4th of April, we received news that America had declared war uponGermany. I thanked God in my heart that at last the English-speakingworld had been drawn together, and I knew that the effect upon theGermans would be disastrous. I rode out that afternoon to give thegood news to our men. I met a British Battalion coming out of theline, looking very tired and hungry. They were resting by theroadside, and I passed along and cheered them by telling them that theUnited States had now come in definitely as one of our Allies, andthat I thought the effect would be the shortening of the war. America's decision could not have come at a better time. The year wasopening out before us, and the initiative was coming into our handsThe prospect was bright and our men were keen for the encounter. 

April 6th was Good Friday. It was impossible to have service at (p. 166)Ecoivres, as everyone was so busy, so I rode over to Anzin and hadservice for the 7th Siege Battery in an empty Nissen hut. Most of themen of the battery were present, and I had forty communicants. Theplace was lit by candles which every now and then were extinguished bythe firing of the fifteen-inch gun nearby. Easter Day was originallyintended to be the day for our attack, but it had been postponed tillMonday. We could not do much in the way of observing the great feast. Every room and shed in the town was filled, and men were lying outunder rubber sheets in the fields. I had two celebrations of the HolyCommunion in the Y. M. C. A. Hut, the floor of which was covered withsleeping men. I managed to clear a little space on the stage for thealtar. Of course, not many attended, but at one of the services was anofficer who had won the V. C. And the D. S. O. And had a foreignDecoration as well. In the afternoon I visited and gave an address toone of the battalions moving up the line. I also had a service in thecinema that evening. 

It was a time of mingled anxiety and exhilaration. What did the nexttwenty-four hours hold in store for us? Was it to be a true Easter forthe world, and a resurrection to a new and better life? If deathawaited us, what nobler passage could there be to Eternity than such adeath in such a cause? Never was the spirit of comradeship higher inthe Canadian Corps. Never was there a greater sense of unity. The tasklaid upon us was a tremendous one, but in the heart of each man, fromprivate to general, was the determination that it should be performed. On that Easter night, the battalions took their places in the line. The men at the guns, which had hitherto been concealed and keptsilent, were ready to open fire at zero hour, and all along that frontthe eager heart of Canada waited impatiently for the dawn. 

CHAPTER XVI. (p. 167)

THE CAPTURE OF VIMY RIDGE. 

_April 9th, 1917. _

My alarm clock went off at four a. M. On the great day of April 9th, which will always shine brightly in the annals of the war. I got upand ate the breakfast which I had prepared the night before, andtaking with me my tin of bully-beef, I started off to see the openingbarrage. It was quite dark when I emerged from the door of the Châteauand passed the sentry at the gate. I went through the village ofEcoivres, past the Crucifix by the cemetery, and then turning to theright went on to a path which led up to Bray Hill on the St. Eloiroad. I found some men of one of our battalions bent on the sameenterprise. We got into the field and climbed the hill, and there onthe top of it waited for the attack to begin. The sky was overcast, but towards the east the grey light of approaching dawn was beginningto appear. It was a thrilling moment. Human lives were at stake. Thehonour of our country was at stake. The fate of civilization was atstake. 

Far over the dark fields, I looked towards the German lines, and, nowand then, in the distance I saw a flare-light appear for a moment andthen die away. Now and again, along our nine-mile front, I saw theflash of a gun and heard the distant report of a shell. It looked asif the war had gone to sleep, but we knew that all along the line ourtrenches were bristling with energy and filled with men animated withone resolve, with one fierce determination. It is no wonder that tothose who have been in the war and passed through such moments, ordinary life and literature seem very tame. The thrill of such amoment is worth years of peace-time existence. To the watcher of aspectacle so awful and sublime, even human companionship struck ajarring note. I went over to a place by myself where I could not hearthe other men talking, and there I waited. I watched the luminoushands of my watch get nearer and nearer to the fateful moment, for thebarrage was to open at five-thirty. At five-fifteen the sky wasgetting lighter and already one could make out objects distinctly inthe fields below. The long hand of my watch was at five-twenty-five. The fields, the roads, and the hedges were beginning to show thedifference of colour in the early light. Five-twenty-seven! In (p. 168)three minutes the rain of death was to begin. In the awful silencearound it seemed as if Nature were holding her breath in expectationof the staggering moment. Five-twenty-nine! God help our men!Five-thirty! With crisp sharp reports the iron throats of a batterynearby crashed forth their message of death to the Germans, and fromthree thousand guns at that moment the tempest of death swept throughthe air. It was a wonderful sound. The flashes of guns in alldirections made lightnings in the dawn. The swish of shells throughthe air was continuous, and far over on the German trenches I saw thebursts of flame and smoke in a long continuous line, and, above thesmoke, the white, red and green lights, which were the S. O. S. Signalsfrom the terrified enemy. In an instant his artillery replied, andagainst the morning clouds the bursting shrapnel flashed. Now and thenour shells would hit a German ammunition dump, and, for a moment, adull red light behind the clouds of smoke, added to the grandeur ofthe scene. I knelt on the ground and prayed to the God of Battles toguard our noble men in that awful line of death and destruction, andto give them victory, and I am not ashamed to confess that it was withthe greatest difficulty I kept back my tears. There was so much humansuffering and sorrow, there were such tremendous issues involved inthat fierce attack, there was such splendour of human character beingmanifested now in that "far flung line, " where smoke and flame mockedthe calm of the morning sky, that the watcher felt he was gazing uponeternal things. 

When it got thoroughly light I determined to go on up the road to the3rd Artillery Brigade which was to press on after the infantry. Ifound both officers and men very keen and preparing to advance. Forweeks at night, they had been making bridges over the trenches, sothat the guns could be moved forward rapidly on the day of the attack. I had breakfast with the O. C. Of one of the batteries, a young fellowonly twenty-three years of age who had left McGill to enter the war. He was afterwards killed in front of Arras. After breakfast I went onup the line till I came to the 3rd Artillery Brigade Headquarters, andthere asked for the latest reports of progress. They were feelinganxious because the advancing battalions had given no signal for sometime, and it was thought that they might have been held up. Someone, however looked at his watch and then at the schedule time of attack, and found that at that particular moment the men were to rest for (p. 169)ten minutes before pressing on. The instant the time for advance came, rockets were sent up to show that our men were still going ahead. Iwent up the road to Neuville St. Vaast, where there was an aid post, and there I saw the wounded coming in, some walking, with bandagedarms and heads, and some being brought in on stretchers. They were allin high spirits and said that the attack had been a great success. Ofcourse, the walking wounded were the first to appear, the more seriouscases came afterwards, but still there was the note of triumph in allthe accounts of the fighting which I heard. I moved on to a track nearMaison Blanche, and then followed up the men. The ridge by this timewas secured and our front line was still pressing forward on the heelsof the retreating Germans. It was a glorious moment. The attack whichwe had looked forward to and prepared for so long had been successful. The Germans had been taken by surprise and the important strategicpoint which guarded the rich coal fields of Northern France was in ourpossession. 

The sight of the German trenches was something never to be forgotten. They had been strongly held and had been fortified with an immensemaze of wire. But now they were ploughed and shattered by enormousshell holes. The wire was twisted and torn and the whole of thatregion looked as if a volcanic upheaval had broken the crust of theearth. Hundreds of men were now walking over the open in alldirections. German prisoners were being hurried back in scores. Wounded men, stretcher-bearers and men following up the advance wereseen on all sides, and on the ground lay the bodies of friends andfoes who had passed to the Great Beyond. I met a British staff officercoming back from the front, who told me he belonged to ArmyHeadquarters. He asked me if I was a Canadian, and when I replied thatI was, he said, "I congratulate you upon it. " I reminded him thatBritish artillery were also engaged in the attack and should share inthe glory. "That may be", he said, "but, never since the world beganhave men made a charge with finer spirit. It was a magnificentachievement. "

Our burial parties were hard at work collecting the bodies of thosewho had fallen, and the chaplains were with them. I met some of thebattalions, who, having done their part in the fighting, were comingback. Many of them had suffered heavily and the mingled feelings (p. 170)of loss and gain chastened their exaltation and tempered their sorrow. I made my way over to the ruins of the village of Thélus on our left, and there I had my lunch in a shell hole with some men, who werelaughing over an incident of the attack. So sudden had been ouradvance that a German artillery officer who had a comfortable dugoutin Thélus, had to run away before he was dressed. Two of our men hadgone down into the dugout and there they found the water in thewash-basin still warm and many things scattered about in confusion. They took possession of everything that might be of use including someGerman war maps, and were just trying to get a very fine telephonewhen two other of our men hearing voices in the dugout and thinkingthe enemy might still be there, threw down a smoke bomb which set fireto the place. The invaders had to relinquish their pursuit of thetelephone and beat a hasty retreat. Smoke was still rising from thedugout when I saw it and continued to do so for a day or two. 

Our signallers were following up the infantry and laying wires overthe open. Everyone was in high spirits. By this time the retreatingGermans had got well beyond the crest of the Ridge and across thevalley. It was about six o'clock in the evening when I reached ourfinal objective, which was just below the edge of the hill. There ourmen were digging themselves in. It was no pleasant task, because thewind was cold and it was beginning to snow. The prospect of spending anight there was not an attractive one, and every man was anxious tomake the best home for himself he could in the ground. It waswonderful to look over the valley. I saw the villages of Willerval, Arleux and Bailleul-sur-Berthouit. They looked so peaceful in thegreen plain which had not been disturbed as yet by shells. The churchspires stood up undamaged like those of some quiet hamlet in England. I thought, "If we could only follow up our advance and keep theGermans on the move, " but the day was at an end and the snow wasgetting heavier. I saw far off in the valley, numbers of little greyfigures who seemed to be gradually gathering together, and I heard anofficer say he thought the Germans were preparing for a counter-attack. Our men, however, paid little attention to them. The pressing questionof the moment was how to get a comfortable and advantageous positionfor the night. Canadians never showed up better than at such times. They were so quiet and determined and bore their hardships with aspirit of good nature which rested on something sounder and more (p. 171)fundamental than even pleasure in achieving victory. About half-pastsix, when I started back, I met our Intelligence Officer, V. C. , D. S. O. , coming up to look over the line. He was a man who did much butsaid little and generally looked very solemn. I went up to him andsaid, "Major, far be it from me, as a man of peace and a man of God, to say anything suggestive of slaughter, but, if I were a combatantofficer, I would drop some shrapnel in that valley in front of ourlines. " Just the faint flicker of a smile passed over his countenanceand he replied, "We are shelling the valley. " "No, " I said, "Ourshells are going over the valley into the villages beyond, and theGermans in the plain are getting ready for a counter-attack. I couldsee them with my naked eyes. " "Well. " he replied, "I will go andlook. "

Later on when I was down in a German dugout which had been turned intothe headquarters of our advanced artillery brigade, and was eating thehalf tin of cold baked beans which my friend, the C. O. Had failed toconsume, I had the satisfaction of hearing the message come through onthe wires, that our artillery had to concentrate its fire on thevalley, as the Germans were preparing for a counter-attack. When Ileft the warm comfortable dugout, I found that it was quite dark andstill snowing. My flashlight was of little use for it only lit up thesnowflakes immediately in front of me, and threw no light upon mypath. I did not know how I should be able to get back in the darknessthrough the maze of shell holes and broken wire. Luckily a signallercame up to me and seeing my plight led me over to a light railwaytrack which had just been laid, and told me that if I kept on it Ishould ultimately get back to the Arras-Bethune road. It was a hardscramble, for the track was narrow and very slippery, and had to befelt with the feet rather than seen with the eyes. I was terriblytired, for I had had a long walk and the excitement of the day andtalking to such numbers of men had been very fatiguing. To add to mydifficulties, our batteries lay between me and the road and were nowin full action. My old dread of being killed by our own guns seemed tobe justified on the present occasion. Gun flashes came every fewseconds with a blinding effect, and I thought I should never getbehind those confounded batteries. I had several tumbles in thesnow-covered mud, but there was nothing to be done except to struggleon and trust to good luck to get through. When at last I reached (p. 172)the road I was devoutly thankful to be there and I made my way to thedugout of the signallers, where I was most kindly received and hospitablyentertained, in spite of the fact that I kept dropping asleep in themidst of the conversation. One of our signal officers, in the morning, had gone over with some men in the first wave of the attack. He madedirectly for the German signallers' dugout and went down with hisfollowers, and, finding about forty men there, told them they were hisprisoners. They were astonished at his appearance, but he tookpossession of the switch-board and told them that the Canadians hadcaptured the Ridge. One of the Germans was sent up to find out, andreturned with the report that the Canadians held the ground. Our menat once took possession of all the telegraph instruments and preventedinformation being sent back to the enemy in the rear lines. Havingdone this, our gallant Canadians ordered the prisoners out of thedugout and then sat down and ate the breakfast which they had justprepared. This was only one of many deeds of cool daring done thatday. On one occasion the Germans were running so fast in front of oneof our battalions that our men could not resist following them. Theywere actually rushing into the zone of our own fire in order to get atthem. A gallant young lieutenant, who afterwards won the V. C. , seeingthe danger, with great pluck, ran in front of the men and halted themwith the words, "Stop, Boys, give the barrage a chance. "

In spite of the numbers of wounded and dying men which I had seen, thevictory was such a complete and splendid one that April 9th, 1917, wasone of the happiest days in my life, and when I started out from thesignallers dugout on my way back to Ecoivres, and passed the hillwhere I had seen the opening of the great drama in the early morning, my heart was full of thankfulness to Almighty God for his blessing onour arms. I arrived at my room in the Château at about half past twoa. M. , very tired and very happy. I made myself a large cup of strongcoffee, on my primus stove, ate a whole tin of cold baked beans, andthen turned in to a sound slumber, filled with dreams of victory andglory, and awoke well and fit in the morning, more than ever proud ofthe grand old First Division which, as General Horne told us later, hadmade a new record in British war annals by taking every objective onthe scheduled dot of the clock. 

CHAPTER XVII. (p. 173)

A MONTH ON THE RIDGE. 

_April to May, 1917. _

The great drawback to a victory in a war of movement, which we weretold we were now engaged in, is that, after an advance, one has tofollow up the line, and consequently, comfortable billets have to beexchanged for broken down shacks in the forward area. Not many daysafter our men had taken Vimy Ridge, Divisional Headquarters had tomove up to the Arras-Bethune road and occupy a chalk cave which wasknown as the Labyrinth. It had once been the scene of fierce fightingbetween the French and the Germans. Deep down, in passages scooped outof the chalk were the various offices of the division and the billetsfor the staff. The place was very much crowded, and I quicklyperceived that the last person whose society was wanted there was theSenior Chaplain. Having taken the situation in at a glance, I made myway to my friend the Staff Captain of the Artillery, and he verykindly invited me to share with him and another officer, the littledugout he had chosen for himself. It was entered by a narrow passagecut through the chalk in the side of the trench, and the roofconsisted of a large semi-circular piece of iron under the ground. Wehad three beds and a table, and so were comfortable. When one stood onthe earth which covered our roof, it was impossible to see anysuggestion of a home underneath. Nothing was in sight but the wideexpanse of rolling country cut up on all sides by trenches and shellholes, and wearing a sort of khaki uniform of light brown mud. To theeast of us, lay the road bordered with leafless and battered trees, past which went an interminable line of lorries, guns and limbers. Wewere very comfortable, and at night when the winds were blowing andthe rain was coming down in sheets, it was not half bad after dinnerto read aloud Tennyson's "Ulysses" or other of my favourite poems. Iam not sure that I did not at times, relying upon the inclemency ofthe weather overhead, recite some of my own. I know that one morning, when I had awakened at about four o'clock, I turned on the light of astorage battery which I had found in a German dugout, and sitting upwrote the verses which I called "The Silent Toast" and which my (p. 174)artillery friends approved of when I recited them at breakfast. 

The aftermath of victory is of course very sad. Many were the gallantmen whose bodies were laid to rest in the little cemetery at Ecoivres. The cemetery is well kept and very prettily situated. The relatives ofthose who are buried there will be pleased to find the graves socarefully preserved. The large crucifix which stands on a mound nearthe gate is most picturesquely surrounded by trees. In the mound somesoldier, probably a Frenchman, had once made a dugout. The site wasevidently chosen with the idea that crucifixes were untouched byshells, and therefore places of refuge from danger. I often thought, as I looked at the crucifix with the human shelter beneath it, that itmight stand as a symbol of the hymn:--

 "Rock of Ages cleft for me Let me hide myself in Thee. "

The engineers had had a dump for their material near the Bethune-Arrasroad, and when they moved it forward to a place called the "NineElms, " the engineer officer gave me his dugout, which was partlybeside the road and partly under it. It consisted of several rooms, one of which contained a bed, and had steps going down to a deepchamber whither one could retire in case of shelling. It was good tohave such a large and comfortable establishment, and when Alberta waschained up in her corner and I had strapped myself into my kit bag atnight, we both felt very snug. The only trouble was that visitors keptcoming at all hours to ask for engineering materials, not knowing thatthe character of the abode had changed. Early one morning, an officercame in a great hurry, and waking me up, asked if there were anywinches there, --he pronounced the word like wenches. I sat up in bedand looked at him sternly, and said, "Young man, this is a religiousestablishment, I am the Senior Chaplain, and there are no wencheshere. " He did not know quite what to make of the situation. "I meanwooden ones, " he said. I replied, "Young man, there are no wencheshere, either wooden or any other kind; the engineers have goneforward. " He apologized and left. On another occasion, in the darknessof middle night, an Imperial soldier who had lost his way came downthe steps and put his head into my door and began to stammer and hissin such an extraordinary way that Alberta was roused and barked (p. 175)furiously. I woke up with a start and asked what the matter was, but allI could get from the poor man was a series of noises and hisses. Iturned on my flashlight, and a very muddy face covered with a shock ofred hair looked in at the door of my little room, and with manycontortions and winkings, emitted a series of incomprehensible noises. What with the stammering man and the barking dog, I was at my wits endto find out the trouble. At last by a process of synthesis, I piecedthe various sounds together and found that the man wanted the locationof a certain British battery. I gave him the best information I could. 

Not far from me, at Arriane Dump, the Chaplain's Service established acoffee stall, and there men who were going up to or coming from theline could get coffee, biscuits and cigarettes at all hours. Theneighbourhood had now become so safe that little huts were being runup in various places. I asked our C. R. E. To build me a church, and, tomy great joy, an officer and some men were detailed to put up a littlestructure of corrugated iron. At one end, over the entrance door, there was a belfry in which was hung a good sized German gas bellfound in the trenches on our advance. Surmounting the belfry, was across painted with luminous paint. Inside the church, I had an altarwith crucifix and candlesticks, and the Union Jack for a frontal. Ialso had a lectern and portable organ. The oiled linen in the windowslet in a sufficient quantity of light, and the whole place wasthoroughly church-like. I shall never forget the first service we heldin it when the building was completed. It was in the evening and thesun was just setting. The air was balmy and spring-like and there wasno shelling in the front line. The bell was rung and the congregationbegan to collect. I went over to the church and there I found, lyingwrapped in a blanket on a stretcher beside the building, the body of apoor lad of the 2nd Division. It could not be buried until word hadbeen received from his battalion. I got some of the men to carry thestretcher in and lay it in the aisle. I put on my cassock andsurplice, lit the candles, and we had choral evensong, my organistplaying the responses. The little church was filled, and there, in themidst of us, was one who had entered into his rest. It seemed to methat the most suitable hymn was:--

 "Let saints on earth in concert sing With those whose work is done, For all the servants of our King (p. 176) In heaven and earth are one. 

 One army of the living God To His command we bow; Part of the host have crossed the flood, And part are crossing now. "

All present sang the hymn most heartily, and we felt itsappropriateness. I never hear it now without thinking of that eveningservice in St. George's Church at Arriane Dump. To those at home, Isuppose, it will appear strange that an incident of that kind wouldnot be almost too moving. At the front, however, death did not seem tobe such a terrible thing--it was part of our life and something to beexpected and met uncomplainingly. Every morning, until we moved, I hada Celebration of the Holy Communion in the church at eight o'clock, and every evening I had Evensong at six. I was told long afterwardsthat when General Horne paid his first visit to our BattleHeadquarters, he pointed to the little iron structure with its belfryand white cross, and asked what it was. When they told him it was achurch, he said, "A church! Now I know why the Canadians won VimyRidge. " Unfortunately, the point of the observation was lost by thefact that the church was built, not before, but after we had taken theRidge. 

When we left Arriane Dump, I handed over the church to the SeniorChaplain of the British division which took our place, and he had thebuilding taken down, put in lorries, and re-erected in the village ofRoclincourt, where he adorned it with a painted window of St. Georgeand the Dragon. 

Along the Arras-Bethune road are various cemeteries where the men ofthe different battalions are buried. The greatest care was taken incollecting the dead and making their last resting place as neat andcomely as possible. A plank road was constructed to connect theBethune-Arras road with the Lens-Arras road further forward. It lay ina straight line over the broken ground cut up by trenches and hugecraters, and brought one to the headquarters of the siege battery inwhich my son was a gunner. On all sides stretched the plain which ourmen had won. Far off, on clear days, one could see in the distance thelittle hamlets behind the German lines. 

We had taken the Ridge, but there were villages in the plain whichwere not yet in our hands. I heard there was to be an attack one (p. 177)morning early. So the night before, I left my dugout at one a. M. It was a strange, weird walk along the plank road and then down therailway track to Farbus wood. The barrage was to open at four-thirty, and at four-ten a. M. I walked into the dugout where the Headquartersof the 3rd Artillery Brigade were. We waited till four twenty-five, and then I went up to see the barrage. Before us lay the plain, andall round us on the hillside, except in the space before us, weretrees of Farbus Wood. At four-thirty the barrage opened, and we had afine view of the line of bursting shells along the enemy's front. Fora time our fire was very intense, and when it eased off I started downthe hill to the town of Willerval, where in a dugout I found theofficers of one of our battalions regaling themselves with the bottlesof wine and mineral water which the Germans had left behind them intheir well-stocked cellars. Willerval was badly smashed, but enoughwas left to show what a charming place it must have been in the daysbefore the war. In the shell-ploughed gardens, spring flowers wereputting up inquiring faces, and asking for the smiles and admirationof the flower-lovers who would tread those broken paths no more. I satin a quiet place by a ruined brick wall and tried to disentangle thecurious sensations which passed through the mind, as I felt the breezelightly fanning my face, smelt the scent of flowers, heard theskylarks singing, saw the broken houses and conservatories, andlistened to the shells which every now and then fell on the road tothe east of the village. That super-sensitiveness to the charms ofnature, which I have mentioned before, thrilled me with delight. Thewarm spring sun beat down from a cloudless sky, and the gloriousromance of being out in the war-zone added to the charm. 

One of our ambulances had a dressing station in the cellars of theChâteau, and there were a number of German prisoners there who werewaiting their turn as stretcher bearers. From Willerval I went to thedressing station in the sunken road, where one of our chaplains washard at work rendering assistance to the wounded. We had taken Arleux, but of course had to pay the price, and over the fields in differentdirections one could see stretchers being carried, bearing their loadsof broken and suffering bodies. Our grand old Division never failed intaking its objective, and later on, we advanced from Arleux to Fresnoy, which completed for us our campaign on Vimy Ridge. The Divisions (p. 178)on each side of us were held up, but when we left the Ridge we handedover Fresnoy to our successors in the line. Later, they were obligedto relinquish it. 

There is something splendid in the esprit-de-corps of a Division, andnone could be greater than that which animated all the units of the1st Canadian Division, or as we were called, "the boys of the old redpatch, " from the red patch which we wore as a distinguishing mark uponour arms. 

On May 4th, orders came to us that we had to move, and at night Iwalked over the old plank road to say good-bye to my son--for theirbattery was to retain its position--and on the next day, followed bylittle Alberta, I rode from Arriane Dump to my old billet in Bruay, breaking the journey by a visit to the 87th Battalion at Château de laHaie. We had returned to our old quarters covered with glory, and, onall sides, the French people were sincere in their admiration for whatthe Canadian Corps had done. It was certainly delightful to get backto clean billets, and to be able to enjoy the charming spring weatheron roads that were not shelled and in fields that were rich in thepromise of summer. Our Headquarters once again made their home in theAdministration Building in the square, and the usual round ofentertaining went on. During the daytime, battalions practised thenoble art of open warfare. The sense of "Something accomplished, something done, " inspired our men with the ardour of military life, and bound us all even closer together in the spirit of valiantcomradeship. 

CHAPTER XVIII. (p. 179)

A WELL-EARNED REST. 

_May and June, 1917. _

Three days after we had settled at Bruay I was invited by one of ourstaff officers and the Colonel of one of our battalions to accompanythem on a visit to our old trenches on the Somme. We left in themorning and went south, over the roads and past the little villageswhich we knew so well, till we came to Albert. We went up the Bapaumeroad, now deserted and lonely. Our front line was some miles to theeast, and so all that waste of country over which we had fought wasnow without inhabitants. We left the motor near Courcellette andwalked over the fields to the old trenches where the First Brigade hadmade their attack. It was a dreary day. Low clouds hung over the skyand a cold wind blew from the east. Spring had made very littleadvance in those wide fields of death, and the grass was hardly green, where there was any grass. We walked over the well-known tracksreviewing incidents of the great battle. We crossed Death Valley andsaw our old lines. The place was so solemn that by mutual agreement wedid not talk, but each went off by himself. I found a number ofCanadian and German bodies still unburied, and all over the fieldswere rifles and mess tins, spades and bits of accoutrement. One couldhardly imagine a scene more desolate and forlorn. Every inch of thatground had been fought over and bought with the price of human blood. The moan of the wind over the fields seemed like the great lament ofNature for her sons who had gone. It was impossible to identify thebodies we found, but we knew that burial parties would soon set towork to collect them. Over each poor brown and muddy form I held ashort service and used the form of committal from the burial office inour prayer-book. 

It was with a sense of relief that we walked back up the road, pastthe ruins of Courcelette, and rejoined the motor. The scene was toopainful, and made too great a pull upon the heart-strings. In thegreat army of the slain that lay beneath that waste of mud were manywhom we had known and loved with that peculiar love which bindscomrades in the fighting line to one another--

 "God rest you valiant Gentlemen (p. 180) Who sleep beneath that ground. "

Once more, at the end of the month, I paid another visit to ReginaTrench, when I was on my way to place a cross over my son's grave inthe cemetery at Tara Hill. By this time, the grass was green, thetrenches were filling up and in the cloudless blue sky larks weresinging. The impression of dreariness was passing away, and the woundson the breast of nature were being healed. 

Our life at Bruay as usual was exceedingly pleasant, and the menthoroughly enjoyed the beauty and the freshness of the country. Gamesand sports were indulged in and the nightly entertainments in thetheatre given by our concert party were most enjoyable. 

I shall never forget the happy rides on Dandy down the roads andacross the fields to the various battalions and artillery brigades. Atevery turn I would meet men whom I knew, and to shake hands with thoseglorious lads who had done such great things for the world was anhonour and a privilege. In looking back to that time faces and placescome before me, and I feel once again the warm spring winds over thefields of France, and see the quaint old villages of Houdain, Ruitzand Hallicourt where our various battalions were billetted. Sometimes, at exalted moments, I had meals with generals in their comfortablequarters; sometimes with company officers; sometimes with the non-coms, but I think the most enjoyable were those that I took with the men indirty cook-houses. With a dish-cloth they would wipe off some old boxfor a chair, another for a table; then, getting contributions ofcutlery, they would cook me a special dinner and provide me with amess-tin of strong hot tea. When the meal was over and cigarettes hadbeen lighted, general conversation was indulged in, and there would betalks of home, of war experiences, and many discussions of religionand politics. One question which was asked me again and again intrenches and dugouts and billets was--"Are we winning the war?" It maybe hard for people at home to realize how little our men knew of whatwas happening. The majority of them never saw the newspapers, and ofcourse the monotony of our life and the apparent hopelessness ofmaking any great advance was a puzzle to them. I never failed to takethe question seriously and give them, as far as I was able, a generalidea of the aspect of the war on the various fronts. In order to beable to do this I read "The Times" daily with great care. It was (p. 181)really the only paper that one could depend on, and its marvellousinfluence on the conduct of the campaign completely justified itsclaim to be still the exponent of British policy, and its inheritedright to the title of "The Thunderer. "

Our artillery were still in the line along the Ridge, but our infantrybrigades were all at rest. It was proposed that we should have athanksgiving service for victory with each brigade. The Senior Chaplainof the Corps took the matter in hand with the Senior Chaplain of theArmy. A form of service was printed on slips of paper, and on Sunday, May 13th, we had services for the three infantry brigades. It was alovely warm day, and the services were held at the most convenientpoints. The 2nd Brigade were assembled at Ruitz. It was a splendidsight. The 5th, 7th, 8th and 10th Battalions were drawn up in a greatsquare, generals and staff officers were present; a band played thehymns and the army chaplain gave us a most stirring address. The nextservice was with the 1st Brigade in a field near Coupigny, where the1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th Battalions were drawn up, making a magnificentshow of young, ardent and stalwart manhood. The moment it was over thegeneral and staff were motored over to the 3rd Brigade atChâteau-de-la-Haie. Here were assembled the 13th, 14th, 15th and 16thBattalions. General Horne attended this Service, and, after thereligious ceremony was over, gave an address. His admiration for theachievement of our men was evidently sincere, and he always showed thedeepest interest in everything connected with the welfare of theCanadians. 

Near Bruay on the way to Houdain were some large aerodromes and theheadquarters of the squadron. I had met their chaplain before atArmentieres when he was attached to the infantry. He very kindlyinvited me up to his quarters, and several times I dined with him atthe officers' mess. He was the chaplain of several squadrons, and hadto fly from one to another to take services on Sundays after the mannerof a true "sky pilot. " He told me some splendid tales of the gallantryof the young men to whom he had to minister. On one occasion the orderwas given that six German observation balloons along the front linehad to be brought down, for we were about to make an advance. Six menwere therefore, told off for this important but dangerous duty. Thechaplain told me that at once the question arose as to how they (p. 182)were to dress for the encounter. Should they wear old clothes or shouldthey be arrayed in their best? They decided that if they were broughtdown they would like, by their appearance, to do most credit to theirsquadron, and so it was determined that they should wear their newestuniforms. He told me that to him, who knew the dangers underlying theenterprise, it was most pathetic to see the young fellows in the highestspirits getting themselves polished up as if they were going to aninvestiture at Buckingham Palace. He had thought of having a serviceof Holy Communion for them, but there was no time, so he saw themstart off on their voyage telling them that he would follow them withhis prayers. The danger of such an undertaking was very great, as theplanes had to fly low over the German trenches and then rise up andattack the balloons. That night six young airmen came to dinner in themess as usual, but there were six observation balloons less in theGerman lines. 

One night when I went to dinner with the officers of the squadron Iwas placed at the right hand of the O. C. He was late in arriving, andI wondered what sort of man would come to fill the vacant chair. To mysurprise, when we were half way through dinner, a young officer, notmuch more than a boy came and took the seat and welcomed me to themess. I asked him if he were the Major. He said he was, and on hisleft breast were several decorations. I was just going to make someremark about his youthful appearance when he said, "Now don't say it, Padré, don't say I look young, I really can't help it. " I had a longand interesting talk with him about his work. He was full of enthusiasm, and his knowledge of men impressed me deeply. There was a large numberof officers at the table all under his command. I thought it waswonderful that a man so young should have such a knowledge of humancharacter. This war has certainly shown that mellowed age is not sucha necessary qualification for right judgment as we thought it was. Oldage has had its day, and the young world, that has just been born inthe anguish and travail of the old, must be "run" by young men whounite in themselves the qualities of judgment and the love of adventure. The hut used as a mess-room was most artistically decorated, and madea fine setting for the noble young fellows, who sat round the tablechaffing one another and laughing as if they never had to face deathin the blinding mists of morning or the blazing sun of noon, with therain of shells and machine gun fire falling round them, as they (p. 183)climbed higher and higher like skylarks into the wide vault of heaven. 

On the first of June, we were ordered back to the line, and ourDivisional Headquarters was to be divided. The General and staff wereto be at the advanced position in the huts and dugouts on the LaTargette road, and the non-combatant officers were to be billettednear Villers au Bois in Château d'Acq, a comfortable modern house witha large garden on one side and a pleasant tree-covered hill at theback. Here, to my surprise and delight, I found myself in possessionof a large front room with furniture in it that appeared almostgorgeous. I had one comfortable night's sleep in it, but alas onlyone. On the next evening, when the full moon was shining with thatfateful power which she has of turning night into day and of guidingthe flight of hostile bombers, we were sitting smoking our cigarsafter dinner at the artillery headquarters in the La Targette road, when suddenly we heard the pulsating buzzing of a German plane. Atonce someone called out, "A Boche plane, put out the lights. " In aninstant the lights were out, but the fatal moonlight shone with clearand cruel lustre. There was a huge crash, then another, then another, then another, and someone said, "It has discharged its load. " For afew moments we waited in silence, then we heard the sound of voicesand men calling for help. I went across the open to the huts where thestaff officers and the clerks lived. The German plane kept buzzinground and round at a low altitude, the observer evidently trying tofind out what mischief he had done. To my dismay, I found that sixteenpersons including the A. D. M. S. And the Assistant to the A. P. M. , hadbeen wounded, two of them fatally. We could not use the lights inattending to the wounded for the German airman was on the watch, andit was not until he went away that we could get ambulances to carrythem off. 

The General did not think it was worth while to risk a second attackby remaining at the place, so, in the middle of the night, with greatdispatch the headquarters was moved back to the Château, and insteadof my occupying the mahogany bed in the front room, I found myself onthe floor of one of the huts in the garden. The General quite rightlyand naturally taking to himself the bed which I had left. 

Château d'Acq was for many weeks and at different times our comfortableand delightful home. There were many Nissen huts round the Château (p. 184)and under the beautiful trees on the hillside. Here the differentbranches of the service had their offices, and the engineers built forme a little house of tar paper lined with green canvas, over the doorof which was painted the sign "St. George's Rectory. " The C. R. E. Alsobuilt me a new St. George's Church on the other side of the road. Itwas to be the chef d'oeuvre of his architectural skill, and to be madeas complete and perfect as possible. A compass was brought and thetrue east and west found. The material of which the church was to bebuilt was tar paper and scantling. The roof was to be covered withcorrugated iron. The belfry was to be hung this time with two Germangas bells, which were dignified with the title of a chime of bells. The windows, filled with oiled linen, were to be pointed after themanner of Gothic architecture. The church was to be cruciform, with avestry on one side balanced by an organ chamber on the other. We had anice altar, with the legal ornaments, and an altar rail. We had alectern, and the proper number of benches for the congregation. Weeven had a font, which was carved out of chalk by the C. R. E. 's batmanand given as an offering to the church. The C. R. E. , a most devout andstaunch Presbyterian, was proud of his architectural achievement andtold me that now he had handed over to me a complete church he wishedevery service which the Church of England could hold to be celebratedin it. He said, "In addition to your usual services, I want men to bebaptised, to be married, and to be ordained in that church. " When Iprotested that possibly no men could be found desiring these offices, he replied, "The matter is perfectly simple. Like the centurion in theBible, I am a man under authority. All I have to do is to call up tenmen and say 'Go and be baptised tomorrow morning in Canon Scott'sChurch', and they will go. If they don't, they will be put in theguard room. Then I will call up ten more men and say, 'Go and bemarried in Canon Scott's church. ' If they don't, I will put them inthe guardroom. Then I will call up ten more men and say, 'Go and beordained in Canon Scott's church'. If they don't, I will put them inthe guard room. " All this was said with perfect solemnity. As a matterof fact, when another division was occupying Château d'Acq, a manreally was baptised in the little church. It was used daily for a timeby the Roman Catholic Chaplain. 

A photograph of the building is preserved in the Canadian War RecordsOffice. The first morning I rang the chime of bells for the early (p. 185)service, our A. D. M. S. Avowed that he, mistaking the character of thesound, and supposing that it was a warning of a gas attack, sat up inhis bed in the sweltering heat and put on his gas helmet. 

From Château d'Acq I used to go and take services for the siegeartillery on the Lens-Arras road, and also at the charmingly situatedrest camp at Fresnicourt. We knew however that a bombing raid mightoccur at Château d'Acq on any clear night. Whenever we heard Germanplanes in the air we always felt how unprotected we were, and it gaveus a sense of relief when the buzzing sound grew fainter and fainterand died off in the distance. 

The cool green shade of the trees made a pleasant roof over our headson the hot days of early summer, and at dawn in the woods opposite wecould hear the nightingales. Later on, the owner of the Château soldsome of the bigger trees, and we found on our return to it in thefollowing year that the beauty of the place had been destroyed, andthe hillside looked like the scene of a Canadian lumber camp. However, the rose-trees in the garden with their breath of sweetest odour werea continual joy and delight to the soul. 

CHAPTER XIX. (p. 186)

PARIS LEAVE. 

_June 1917. _

My time for leave was due again, and as we were allowed to spend it inFrance without interfering with the number of those who desired to seetheir friends in England, I determined to go to Chamounix. I thoughtthat the sight of a great natural wonder like Mont Blanc would have anuplifting effect upon the mind, at a time when everything human seemedto be going to rack and ruin. The white peaks of the Alps in theirchangeless purity against the blue of the infinite sky seemed to me avision which the soul needed. So I started off one lovely morning onmy way to Paris. I went by side-car to Amiens, where I took the train. It was a delightful expedition, and I left with a good conscience, because our men were not expected to attack, and were in a quietsector of the line. The driver of the car, with the prospect of a goodmeal at Amiens and a good tip, was in the best of humours. The air wassweet and fresh and the grass wore its brightest green. The sunshinebeat down from a cloudless sky, and when we paused for repairs, as wehad to do from time to time, birds' songs furnished us with a mostenjoyable concert. An expedition of this kind was made doubly charmingby having in it a touch of adventure. When we came to a village, atonce the map had to be studied and the turns in the road noted. Aconversation with some of the villagers as we journeyed, always brokethe sense of loneliness, and gave us an insight into the feelings ofthe people. However, on this particular occasion, I was not able tocomplete the journey to Amiens in the side-car. Either the car brokedown, or the driver preferred to go on by himself, for the thing cameto a dead stop just as a car from the Corps was about to pass us. Theoccupants kindly invited me to go on to Amiens with them. It was aswifter way of continuing the journey and much more comfortable, so Isaid good-bye to my original driver and started off with my newfriends. 

Amiens was a bustling place then and very unlike the Amiens I saw alittle over a year later. I started by train at six-thirty p. M. , andat eight-thirty, after a pleasant journey, arrived at Paris, where Iwent to the Hotel Westminster. On the next evening, I started off (p. 187)with some friends for Evians-les-Bains. The train was very full, andthere were no berths in the wagon-lit, so we had to stay up all nightin a crowded first-class carriage. There was an old French Curé at oneend of the compartment, who, quite early in the evening, drew out asilk handkerchief and covered his head and face therewith, leading usto suppose that he had sunk into oblivion. We therefore carried on avery pleasant and vivacious conversation, as the night was warm and wewere not inclined to sleep. Suddenly the old Curé pulled off thehandkerchief and said in a gruff voice, "It is the time for sleeps andnot for talks. " and, having uttered this stinging rebuke, re-coveredhis head and left us in penitent silence. We arrived at Evians-les-Bainsin good time, and went to a very charming hotel with a lovely view ofthe Lake of Geneva in front. Unfortunately, I had hurt my foot sometime before and it looked as if it had got infected. Not wishing to belaid up so far from medical assistance, I decided to return the sameevening, which I did, and once more found myself at the HotelWestminster. I now determined to spend my leave in Paris. There weremany of our men in the city at that time. They were all in a veryimpecunious condition, for there was some difficulty in getting theirpay and, in Paris, money did not last long. I did my best to try andhelp them, and later our system of payment was improved. It wasperhaps just as well for some of them that their money was short. 

Poor old Paris looked very shabby to one who remembered her in formerdays with her clean streets and many-fountained parks. She wore theair of shabby gentility. The streets were not clean; the people werenot well-dressed, the fountains no longer played. France had been hardhit by the war, and the ruin and desolation of her eastern borderswere reflected in the metropolis. I spent most of my time in Paristrying to keep men straight, with more or less success. I can imaginenothing worse for a lonely young fellow, who had taken his leave afterweary months in the front line, than to find himself in the midst ofthe heartless gaiety of the French capital. On all sides the minionsof vice, diseased in mind and body, lay in waiting for their prey. Toone who loved Canada and longed for the uplifting of the pure life ofCanadian homes, it was a spectacle which filled the heart with anxiety. Before I left Paris, I wrote a letter to the Continental Daily Mailadvocating the taking over of some hotels which could be turned intohostels or clubs for soldiers while on leave. This, I am happy to (p. 188)say was afterwards done. 

I met many of our men at the soldiers' tea-rooms called "A corner ofBlighty" in the Place Vendome, and I organized several dinner andtheatre parties which went off very pleasantly. When the men hadcompanionship, they did not feel the lure of vice which came to themin moments of loneliness. I met some interesting people in Paris, andat a Sunday luncheon in the charming house of the Duchess de la M---- Imet Madame ----, the writer of a series of novels of rather luridreputation. The authoress was a large person with rich orange-colouredhair, powdered cheeks, and darkened eyelashes. She wore a large blackhat, enormous solitaire pearl ear-rings, and, as a symbol of herpersonal purity, was arrayed in white. She lamented the fact thatwomen writers were not allowed to visit the front. When I told herthat Mrs. Humphrey Ward had been there, she said, "Oh yes, theyallowed her to go because they said she could write good English, butshe cannot get the ear of the American people in the way _I_ can. "

There were two or three French officers present, one of whom was anattaché at the Embassy in Madrid. I was much impressed by their quietdignified bearing, so typical of the chivalrous heroism of France, andso unlike anything which we could look for in the officers of theGerman Army. I could not help observing that the French were muchdepressed and filled with anxiety as to the issue of the war. A Frenchlady said to me "How can we go on much longer; our man-power is nearlyexhausted?" It is a supreme delight to me to think that that wonderfulnation, which suffered and bled so deeply and bore its wrongs sonobly, has now been avenged on the ruthless enemy, and that thetricolour once more floats over Alsace and Lorraine. Profoundlypatriotic though we of the British Empire are, there is something inthe patriotism of the French which goes down into the deepest roots ofthe human soul. I remember once in the private burying place of anoble family who owned a chateau not far from our front line, seeing alittle child's grave. The child had died in Canada at the age of twoyears, and its body had been brought back to its ancestral restingplace. On the tombstone, under the inscription were the words:--

 "Petit ange Priez pour la France. "

I was very much struck by the prayer. That the sorrow for a (p. 189)child's death should be coupled with the love of country seemed moststrange and pathetic. I venture to say that it would be impossible tofind a parallel instance of such a blending of emotions in any Englishchurchyard. The present owner of the Château, which was at least twoor three hundred years old, was away fighting for his country, andlong grass and weeds filled the uncared for corner by the side of theold church. In past history, we have fought with the French again andagain, but we always felt that we were fighting with gentlemen, andwere sure that every courteous deed done by us would meet with anequally courteous response. One of the saddest things in the war wasthat, while we often admired the military efficiency of the Germans, we had absolutely no respect for their officers or men, nor could weregard them as anything but well-trained brutes. The ties which bindus to France now are very intimate and personal, and it is a matter ofthankfulness to all who love human idealism and true culture, that thereproach of the defeat of 1870 has been washed away in blood, and thatFrance will emerge from her fiery trial a purer and a loftier nation. 

I was not sorry when my Paris leave was over and I returned to myHeadquarters at Château d'Acq. It was always delightful to get back tomy war home and settle down again in the midst of those on whoseshoulders the fate of civilization rested. I arrived back on June29th, just in time to prepare for the special services which were tobe held throughout the Corps on Sunday, July 1st, it being the jubileeof the Dominion. I made arrangements with the band of the RoyalCanadian Regiment, as our Divisional band was away, to march over fromVillers au Bois and play for us at the service. We had special hymnsand prayers neatly printed on cards, which the men were to retain assouvenirs. The parade was held just outside St. George's Church, ournew Divisional Commander, General Macdonell, and his staff attending. The occasion was particularly interesting to me, because I was theonly man in the whole Canadian Corps at the front who could rememberthe first Dominion Day. I could remember as a child being taken by myfather on the 1st of July, 1867, to hear the guns firing a salute onthe grounds of McGill College, Montreal. Canada had travelled a longdistance on the path of nationhood since that far-off time, and now, after fifty years, I had the satisfaction of being with the great (p. 190)Canadian Army Corps on European soil, engaged in the biggest war ofhistory. Such an experience is not often the privilege of a humanlife, and the splendid body of men before me gave promise of Canada'sprogress and national glory in the future. Everyone felt the peculiarsignificance of the celebration. 

Owing to the fact that my foot was still troubling me, I was sent downto the rest-camp at Fresnicourt, where I met many of the officers andmen in that delightful old Château. The country round about was verypretty, and the views from the hills were charming. Every night I usedto have either a service, or a talk with the men, on the grass besidea little stream. They were all enjoying the rest and refreshment thatcame from being able to live in pleasant surroundings and away fromshells and work in the trenches. On July 18th, I went by side-car toSt. Omer where the Senior Chaplains of the Army were summoned to aconference. We were billeted in the large building used as the Chaplains'Rest Home, and there enjoyed the great privilege, not only of meetingone another, but of listening to some splendid addresses and lecturesby those in charge. It was pleasant to re-visit St. Omer. The quaintold French town, with its rambling streets and polite inhabitants, took one away from the thoughts of war and gave one almost a feelingof home. In the smoking-room at night, we had the opportunity ofdiscussing with one another the various moral and religious problemswith which the chaplain had to contend, and many were the interestingexperiences of those chaplains. On the last day of our meetings, atthe early Eucharist, we had an address from the Archbishop of York, who had just come over to France. Later on, he gave an address at ageneral meeting of the chaplains at Bethune. 

While at St. Omer I paid a visit to the Second Army School in theirmagnificent buildings in Wisques, where I saw the room that my son hadoccupied, and met some of the people who remembered him. The place wasused as a training school for officers and was most wonderfully equipped. The building was a modern convent, and the large unfinished chapel, withits high vaulted roof, was used as a dining-room. It was inspiring atdinner to see the hundreds of young officers, all so keen and cheery, sitting round the tables, while a good band played during the meal. Itwas hard to realize that they were only having a momentary respitefrom the war, and, in a week or two, would be once more up in the linefacing wounds and death. The Commandant took great pride in the (p. 191)institution, and told me of the splendid records of the men who hadpassed through his hands. 

Our Divisional Headquarters now moved to a place called Bracquemont, near Noeux les Mines. Here I had a very fine room in the house of themanager of one of the Mines, the offices of which were on the otherside of the road. The house was well built, and had a most charminggarden at the back. It was large and commodious, and I always fearedthat my billet would attract the covetous desires of some high staffofficer and that I should be thrown out to make way for him. My roomwas on the ground floor with two large windows opening on the street, enabling me to get the Daily Mail from the newsboy in the morning. Theceiling was high and the furniture most sumptuous. A large mirrorstood upon the marble mantel-piece. I had linen sheets on the bed andan electric light at my side. It did not seem at all like war, but theend of the mahogany bed and some of the chairs, also one corner of theceiling, had been perforated by bits of shrapnel. So in the midst ofluxury, there was the constant reminder that the war was still goingon--a death's head at the feast. 

CHAPTER XX. (p. 192)

WE TAKE HILL 70. 

_July and August, 1917. _

Bracquemont was a very charming home. There were many men about us, the artillery horse lines were there as well as two battalions inrest, and various other units. Behind the British C. C. S. There was alarge hall with a stage at one end. Here our concert party gave aperformance every night. Between us and the front line, were thevillages of Maroc, Le Brebis, Mazingarbe, and Bully-Grenay, which wereour billeting area while we occupied the trenches in advance of Loos. I was thus in easy reach of all the units in the Division and could doa great deal of parish visiting. 

In the country behind us, there were many Chinese Labour Companies andone of Zulus. When not at work, they were encamped in large compoundssurrounded by barbed wire. Our band used to play occasionally for theentertainment of the Chinese, who very much enjoyed both the music andthe compliment that was paid to them by its being provided. On oneoccasion, I went with General Thacker to visit one of the ChineseLabour Companies. The officer in charge wished us to see some of theirsports, and so we sat on chairs at the top of the field and theChinamen came up and gave us an exhibition of their skill in somethingthat looked like fencing. They used sticks for foils. We could notquite see who won in the encounter, or what constituted the finishingstroke, but, as soon as each pair of performers retired they turnedand bowed solemnly to the General and made way for two othercombatants. They were great powerful men, very different from the typeof Chinese one sees in this country. One of the performers we weretold by the O. C. , could carry a weight of five hundred pounds on hisshoulders. After the gymnastic performance, we had a concert, and aman sang, or rather made a hideous nasal sound, to the accompanimentof something that looked like a three stringed fiddle. The song, whichgreatly delighted the Chinese listeners, consisted of an interminablenumber of verses; in fact we never heard the end of it, for the O. C. Stopped it and told the musicians that the officers had to leave. Hetold us that the men were well behaved, and that only once had he hadoccasion to hold a court-martial. 

The Zulus were encamped near Ranchicourt. They too were a stalwart (p. 193)lot of men, but felt the cold of the winter very much. I was ridingpast them in the road one day and spoke to the British sergeant incharge of them. He pointed out one young man who, he said, was the sonof a chief, and, in his own country, was entitled to a body-guard offifteen men. In recognition, therefore, of his aristocratic birth, hewas allowed to wear three stripes. While we were talking, the boylooked round and saw that we were speaking about him. The sergeantcalled out something to him in Zulu language, and the boy smiled andnodded to me. I asked the sergeant what he had said to him. Hereplied: "I told him that you thought you had met him before, and itpleased him. " This accounted for the boy's smiling at me and the nodof recognition. I suppose he thought that on some occasion in myrambles through Africa we had met in the jungle. At any rate, Iadmired the sergeant's tact and savoir faire. There was a greatmixture of races among the allied forces in France, and I always feltsorry for the poor heathen that they should be dragged into the war ofthe Christian nations. 

Our front trenches were not comfortable places. To reach them one hadto pass through Maroc and along a road on the outskirts of Loos. Beside the road, in the cellars of a broken building, called FortGlatz, was a dressing station. The neighbourhood was frequentlyshelled, for the road from Maroc to Loos was under observation fromthe two mysterious iron towers in Wingles. Beyond Fort Glatz, theengineers had a store of trench materials. The place was called"Crucifix Dump, " on account of the large crucifix which stood there ona mound of earth. The figure on the crucifix was made of metal and ithad been struck by shrapnel. It looked so pathetic standing there amidthe ruin and desolation around, mutely saying to those who had ears tohear, "Is it nothing to you, all ye who pass by; behold and see ifthere was ever sorrow like unto my sorrow?" From a shrapnel hole nearthe heart of the figure, birds could be seen flying in and out, getting food for their young. At the foot, there was the grave of aGerman officer who had been killed when the Germans occupied Loos. 

I often used to go to Bully-Grenay to visit some of the siege batteries. They had comfortable billets but the Germans soon found out theirlocation and sent over some very big shells. One large shell had a curiousexperience. It fell in the road to the south of Bully-Grenay, (p. 194)burrowing under the ground without exploding. Then it rose and wentthrough the side of a brick house, and finally reposed on the floor ofan upper room. We all went to see it lying there, like some giganticsea monster dead and stranded on the shore. The potential force of thehuge shell was enormous, but it lay there perfectly harmless after itsstrange pilgrimage. 

I was passing one of the siege batteries one day, when I saw a numberof men working round a damaged gun-pit. I went over to it and foundthat a shell had landed there that morning, just as they were changingshifts on the guns. It had killed and buried a number of the men, atthe same time setting fire to our ammunition. The bodies of those whowere buried were burnt almost to ashes by the terrific heat, and onlycharred bits of them were recovered. 

South of Loos there was the famous Double Crassier. It was a largeslag heap on which once ran a line of railway. The top, of course, wasin sight of the Germans, but down in the hollow on our side of it wehad a great number of battery positions. That little corner where ourguns were concentrated was an easy target for the German artillery, and many were the high explosives and gas-shells which they dropped. In the town of Maroc itself there was a large fosse or mine-head. Thebuildings round it were capacious, and well made. They were of coursenow much damaged, but the cellars were extraordinarily commodious andextensive. They were lined with white tiles, and the largest one wasfitted up as a place of rest and amusement with a canteen where themen could get coffee, cakes and cigarettes. I stationed one of ourchaplains there to look after the work and hold services in one of thecellars which was fitted up as a chapel. In the large room there werebenches, and a stage afforded a good floor for boxing. I determined tostart boxing there as a sport for the artillerymen, who had fewopportunities of enjoying the entertainments which were given behindthe line. I had a great friend in one of the Highland battalions, whohad been wounded three times in the war, and was heavy-weight championof the 1st Division. I got his O. C. To attach him to me, and I placedhim in the cellar at Maroc where he began to instruct the men in thenoble art of self defence. People used to wonder why I had aprize-fighter attached to me, and I told them that if the JuniorChaplains were insubordinate, I wanted to be able to call in some onein an emergency to administer discipline. I always said, with (p. 195)perfect truth, that since my prize-fighter was attached to me I hadhad no trouble with any of the chaplains. It is wonderful what thingsone can do in the Army which are not according to the King's Regulations. By right, as Senior Chaplain of a Division, I was entitled only to oneman who was to act in the dual capacity of batman and groom, but lateron I managed to get a man to act as secretary, who was given sergeant'sstripes and looked after the office when I went on my wanderingsthrough the Division. Then I got a man who knew something about musicto be appointed as my organist. He used to travel with me in the staffcar with my portable organ when I went to take church parades onSunday. He was afterwards gassed and I lost him, but he did usefulwork while he was with me in helping the singing. The prize-fightermade another addition to what I called the Senior Chaplain's battalion. Then, as time went on, I was able to get a man to take over the dutiesof a batman, and I finally obtained a chauffeur to run my side-car. This large army of assistants was a sore puzzle to our Camp Commandant, who had to arrange for their rations and discipline. I was always beingasked how many men I had on my staff. However, to use a soldier'sexpression "I got away with it. "

The road through Maroc was not a pleasant one to travel. It was liableto be shelled at any moment. On one side of the street was a largebrick wall which had been perforated by a shell and the place wascalled "The Hole in the Wall. " The Germans knew that we had manybatteries concealed in the ruined town, so they never left it alonefor very long. I was going up to the front one day, when I met in thestreet an artillery officer coming back. We had not seen each otherfor some time, and he gave me such a warm greeting that I at oncedetermined to reward him by reciting to him one of my poems. I gotabout half way through when the enemy, not knowing, of course, whatwas going on, began to shell the place, and some bits of mud and brickfell in the road not far off. In spite of the beauty of the poem, myfriend began to get restless, and I was faced with the problem ofeither hurrying the recitation and thereby spoiling the effect of therhythm, or of trusting to his artistic temperament and going on as ifnothing was happening. I did the latter, and went on unmoved by theexploding shells. I thought the Major would see that the climax of thepoem had not yet been reached and was worth waiting for. I wasmistaken. He became more and more restless, till at last he said, (p. 196)"Excuse me, Canon, but I think I must be hurrying on. " He left mestanding in the road with the last part of the poem and its magnificentclimax still in my throat. I looked after him for a moment or two, then turned sorrowfully, lamenting the depravity of human nature, andpursued my journey. I had not gone far in the street before I came toa large pool of blood, where a man had just been killed. There wassome excuse, therefore, for my friend's conduct, for he must havepassed that pool of blood before he met me, and his nerves wereprobably not in their normal condition. He went back to his batteryand told his friends there that I had actually buttonholed him inMaroc and insisted upon his listening to a miserable poem of minewhile shells were falling in the place. 

In order to avoid the danger of passing through the town, we generallyused a path across the fields. I was returning from the trenches withsome men one night along this path, when we saw from Maroc flashes ofa light which was apparently being used as a signal. At once we wereseized with an attack of spy-fever, and I said to the men, "There issomeone signalling to the Germans. " The night was so dark thatsignalling could have been seen at a considerable distance. Immediately we started off towards the light, which went out when weapproached, but we discovered an officer in a mackintosh, and I atonce asked him who he was. Tired as our men were, for they were comingout after being several days in the trenches, they followed me andwere so keen on the adventure that one of them had drawn his revolver. The officer became very rude and he used some blasphemous wordstowards me in the dark, which naturally provoked a stern rebuke. Itold him I was a Lieut. -Colonel, and that I should report him to hiscommanding officer. Then we asked him to give proof of his identity. Icould see by his manner that he was becoming exceedingly uncomfortable, so I insisted upon his leading us to his headquarters. He did, and westumbled on over telephone wires and piles of bricks till he broughtus into the yard of a broken down house, in the cellars of which wefound the officers of his battery. The O. C. Was very polite and, whenI pointed out to him the danger of flashing a light in the neighbourhoodof the track which was used by our infantry battalions at night whengoing to or coming from the trenches, he said his unit would be morecareful in the future. After a little conversation we left. A day (p. 197)or two afterwards I met one of the officers of the battery, and wehad a good laugh over the incident, but he told me that it was evenmore amusing than I had thought, for the young officer had a dugout inthe field and was making his way thither with nothing on but hispyjamas and his mackintosh. When we asked him for some proofs of hisidentity, he was terrified lest we should search him and find him inthis peculiarly unmilitary costume, which might have made us stillmore suspicious. 

Ever since our moving to Bracquemont, we had been preparing to completethe work of our advance towards Lens by an attack on Hill 70, the highground to the north-west of that city. Compared with the taking ofVimy Ridge, the exploit was of course a minor one, but, for manyreasons, it was felt to be an exceedingly dangerous task and one whichwould cost us dearly. The Germans had had time to concentrate theirforces in front of us, and they knew the value of the commandingposition which they held. Everyone felt anxious as to the result ofthe enterprise, and we had learnt from recent experiences on the Ridgeand at Fresnoy how powerful the enemy was. Although, of course, I didnot let the men see it, I was always worried when we had an attack inview. When I held services for them on parade, or addressed them attheir entertainments, or met them by the roadside, I used to look intotheir eyes and wonder if those eyes would soon be viewing the eternalmysteries "in the land that is very far off. " I tried to make it apoint never to pass anyone without a handshake or a word of cheer andencouragement. How their faces used to brighten up at some triflingkindness or some funny story!

I was fond of visiting the men who acted as the road control on theeast side of Maroc. One of their number was of course on guard day andnight, so I was always sure of meeting a friend whenever I passed. Inever went down to their cellar without being offered a cup of tea andother dainties. They used to sleep on shelves, and often invited me torest my weary limbs there. I would thank them for their kindness, butthought it prudent, for reasons of personal cleanliness, not to acceptit. It always gave me great pleasure to come upon friends in out ofthe way places. I remember meeting an officer late one night near thefront at Loos. It was very dark, and, as soon as he recognized me, heexclaimed, "Here's old Canon Scott, I'll be d--d!" "My friend, " I saidsolemnly, "I hope you will not allow that sad truth to get abroad. (p. 198)The Canadian Government is paying me a large salary to try and keepyou from that awful fate, and if they hear that your meeting me hashad such a result, I shall lose my job. " He apologized for the expression, and said it was only meant as an exclamation of surprise. 

By the beginning of August, everything was ready for the attack, andon the 14th, carrying my rations with me, I made my way to the 7thSiege Battery; for I had arranged to go to their observation post andwatch the barrage from there. I started off in the evening, with oneof the gunners. We skirted Maroc and reached the O. P. , which was calledSt. Pat's. It was a long walk over the open and through the trenchesbefore we got into the place. From it we looked down the slope towardsour front line, and beyond this we saw the rise in the ground calledHill 70, held by the Germans. The barrage was to begin at fourtwenty-five in the morning; so the gunner and I went down into adugout and tried to get a little rest. Before we got to sleep, however, we became aware of the smell of gas, and, hearing thetramping of feet in the trench at the top of the stairs, I went up andfound the men of the 14th Battalion with their helmets on goingforward in preparation for the advance. They recognized me because Idid not put on my mask, and as they passed they shook hands with meand I wished them "good luck in the name of the Lord. " Such cheerysouls they were, going forth in their stifling helmets to the unknowndangers which awaited them. 

I found that sleep was impossible, so I went up to the O. P. And waitedfor the barrage. It was a lovely night; the stars were shiningbeautifully, and the constellation of Orion hung on the horizon in theeastern sky, with the pale moon above. A great silence, stirred onlyby the morning breeze, brooded over the wide expanse of darkness. Then, at four-twenty-five, the guns burst forth in all their fury, andall along the German line I saw not only exploding shells, but thebursting oil drums with their pillars of liquid fire, whose smoke rosehigh in the air with a peculiar turn at the top which looked like theneck of a huge giraffe. At once the Germans sent up rockets of variouscolours, signalling for aid from their guns, and the artillery duel ofthe two great armies waxed loud and furious. I stood on the hill withsome of our men, and watched the magnificent scene. Nothing but thethought of what it meant to human beings took away from our (p. 199)enjoyment of the mighty spectacle. When day dawned, we could see, silhouetted against the morning sky, men walking over the hilltop, andnow and then jumping down into the captured trenches. Once again ourDivision had got its objective. At various points difficulties hadbeen encountered, and in a place called the "Chalk Pit", which afterwardsbecame our front line, the Germans had made a determined stand. Theyhad a wonderful dugout there, like a rabbit-warren, with many passagesand entrances, from which they were bombed out with great difficulty. One of our western battalions suffered heavily in taking thestronghold. 

I went on to Fort Glatz and to some of the other advanced aid-posts. We had many casualties, but we felt that the worst was not yet over, for we knew that, although we had taken the hill, the Germans wouldmake a desperate fight to get it back again. All day long our artillerypounded away and our infantry consolidated the line. Our PioneerBattalion did splendid work in digging trenches under heavy fire, inorder to connect our advanced positions. When the sun set and thenight once more cast its shade over the earth, there was no cessationin the sound of battle. 

The next morning I visited the wounded in the C. C. S. , and in theafternoon went by car once more to the 7th Siege Battery and thencemade my way through Maroc to the front, as I had heard from the Generalthat the artillery were having a hard time. Their guns had been firingincessantly since the barrage started. I met many men on the journeywho gave me accounts of their experiences during the battle, and, bythe time I reached the Y. M. C. A. Coffee-stall in a ruined building onthe Maroc-Loos road it was quite late. Here in a cellar I found somemen making coffee for the walking wounded, who were coming back verytired and glad of a shelter and a hot drink. I went on down the roadto the well concealed trenches which led to the 1st and 2nd ArtilleryBrigade Headquarters. In the deep dugout, I found the O. C. S of the twobrigades and their staffs hard at work. It was an anxious time, becauseammunition was short, and every available man was employed in carryingit up to the guns. The Senior Colonel asked me if I would go round tosome of the gun pits and talk to the men. They were tired out, hesaid, with the constant firing, and there was still no prospect of arest. I told him that if he would give me a runner to act as guide, Iwould visit all the gun-pits of the two Brigades. Accordingly a (p. 200)runner was sent for, and he and I started off at midnight. It was verydark, and when we emerged from the trench and turned to the right onthe Lens-Bethune road we met parties of wounded men coming back, andthe batteries in the fields beside us were firing over our heads. Wevisited first the cellar of a building by the way, where there was anaid post. Here were many men being attended to by the doctors. Theywere all worn out, and did not look forward with much pleasure totheir journey back to Maroc along the dark and dangerous road. 

From the dressing station, my guide and I went into a trench and alongthis to the gun positions. As we came to each, we visited the officersand men. We got a glad welcome from the faithful, true-hearted fellowswho were working with might and main to save the lives of their comradesin the front line. Some of the guns were fearfully heated and werehard to handle. Yet the S. O. S. Signals from the front trenches wouldgo up every now and then, telling our gunners that the Germans weremaking another counter-attack, and asking for artillery support tosave the situation. We made our way through the trench towards thebatteries at the foot of the Loos Crassier. In doing so, we had topass under the road. I was going on ahead, and when I stooped down topass under the bridge, to my surprise I could dimly descry in thedarkness a row of silent men sitting on each side of the passagefacing one another. I said, "Good-night, boys, " but there was noanswer. The figures in the darkness remained motionless and still. Icould not quite make out what the matter was, for our men alwaysresponded to my greeting. Suddenly, an enemy flare-light went up inthe distance, and I saw, to my horror, that the two rows of mensitting so silently were Germans. I was wondering if I had run my neckinto a noose, when a voice from the other end of the passage calledout, "They are prisoners, Sir. I am taking them back with me andgiving them a few minutes rest. " I must say that I was greatlyrelieved. I went on to the gun-pits just in front of the crassier, andhere the men were working hard. It was splendid to see their absolutedisregard of everything but their duty. I felt myself to be such aslacker beside them, but I told them how gloriously they were carryingon, and how their work was appreciated by the infantry. The nightbegan to wear away, and when I reached the gun-pits that were furtherback it was broad daylight. In fact, I visited the last one at sixa. M. Some of the batteries had by this time ceased firing, and the (p. 201)men had fallen asleep in all sorts of curious positions, ready to beroused in an instant. Altogether, my guide and I visited forty-eightgun-pits that night, and it was about seven o'clock when we returnedto Brigade Headquarters. 

The next night the Germans sent over a rain of gas-shells on thebatteries, and the men at the guns found it impossible to see thesights through the eye-pieces of their gas-helmets, and so chose toface the poison unprotected rather than run the risk of injuring ourinfantry by bad firing. There were of course heavy casualties amongthe gunners as a result of this. Some died and many were badly gassed, but the line was held. 

As I was returning after spending the night at the gun-pits, I feltterribly tired. The morning sun rose higher and higher, and beat downwith summer heat on my steel helmet as I made my way along the pathwhich skirted the town of Maroc. I sat down by the side of a trench tohave some breakfast, and opened a tin of milk and my tin of bully beefand was just preparing to have a meal, when I must have fallen asleepinstantaneously. How long I slumbered I do not know, but when I wokeup I found, standing in front of me, three amused and puzzled Australiantunnellers. When I fell asleep, I must have upset my breakfast, whichwas lying at my feet, and the tunnellers were evidently enjoying whatthey considered to be the discovery of a padré a little the worse forwear. They were somewhat surprised, not to say disappointed, when Iwoke up, and they said, "You seem to be very tired, Sir. " I told themthat I had had very little sleep for several nights, and had beenwalking all night long, winding up my story (for the honour of thecloth) with the statement that I was a teetotaller. Whether theybelieved it or not I do not know, but we had a long talk together andthey told me of the work they were doing in digging a tunnel from Loosto the front line. 

The next day I went to the advanced dressing station and saw the menthat were gassed being brought in. So strongly were their clothessaturated with the poison that, as they were being cut off, in orderthat the bodies of the men might be washed with the liquid used forcounteracting the burning effects of the gas, our eyes and throatssmarted from the fumes. There was nothing more horrible than to seemen dying from gas. Nothing could be done to relieve their suffering. The body, as well as the throat and lungs, was burned and blistered bythe poison. 

The German counter-attack had now spent itself, and Hill 70 was (p. 202)ours. One more splendid deed had been achieved by the Canadian Corps, and we now held in our hands the commanding position which threatenedthe town of Lens. 

CHAPTER XXI. (p. 203)

EVERY DAY LIFE. 

_August to October 1917. _

Hill 70 being now in our grip the Division came out of the line onAugust 21st, and moved back to our old billets in Bruay. 

Every night, as usual, our concert party gave a performance in thetheatre. We were very proud of them. The men's costumes were well madeand very tasteful. "Babs, " our leading lady, was most charming andengaging, in spite of the fact that her hands looked decidedly masculine. The townspeople enjoyed the entertainments as much as we did, and thebattalions were given their own special nights. Occasionally, some ofthe jokes appeared to me a trifle too broad. At such times I would paya visit to the Green-room, as Senior Chaplain, and mildly suggesttheir withdrawal. I must say that the men took my interference in goodpart and kept their exuberance of spirits well in check. Our Divisionalband was up to high-water mark, and their rendering of the hymns andchants on Sundays made our services in the theatre extraordinarilyhearty. 

One afternoon I motored over to Quatre Vents to take a funeral servicein the cemetery there. Instead of returning, I went down to Cambligneulto see the men of the 7th Battalion. They were enjoying a rest in thequaint old town. In the evening, I went down to the Y. M. C. A. Hut whichwas in charge of the British. Here I found our men crowded into thebuilding, not knowing what to do with themselves. The officer in chargeof the hut was a quiet man, who was doing his best in superintendingthe work at the counter. It struck me, however, that he felt a littleembarrassed by the situation, and did not know how to provide amusementfor the wild Canadians. I asked him if he would object to our having astag-dance. He said, "Certainly not, you may do anything you like. " Atonce we got several dozen candles and illuminated the place. Then wesent out for a pianist and some violinists, and got up a scratchorchestra. We then cleared away the tables and benches and turned theplace into a dance-hall. The orchestra struck up a lively two-step, and great burly chaps chose their equally burly partners, and (p. 204)started off in the dance with such gusto that the place was filledwith the sounds of dissipation. This attracted more men from outside, and finally we had the liveliest scene imaginable. I actually foundmyself joining in the mazes of the waltz, and amid roars of laughterthe dancing went on fast and furious. So delighted was the Y. M. C. A. Officer, that he mounted the platform at the end of a dance, and inspite of my protest, called for three cheers for the man who hadsuggested the entertainment. At the close of the evening, we had cupsof hot coffee and biscuits, and parted in the best of humours. I wasthen confronted by a problem that had not presented itself to mebefore, and that was, how I was to get back to my home in Bruay, whichwas about ten miles off. Once more my favourite text came to my mind, "The Lord will provide. " So I bid good-bye to my friends in the hutand went off, trusting that a car or lorry would pick me up on theroad. This time I found that the Lord did not provide, so I started atabout half-past ten on my homeward journey on foot. As I passedthrough the sleeping village of Estrée-Cauchie, I came upon some menof another Division who had been imbibing very freely in an estaminet, and who were about to wind up a heated argument with a free fight. Itwas very dark, and it was hard for me to convince them that I was achaplain with the rank of Lieut. -Colonel, until I turned my flashlightupon my white collar. Happily, my efforts as peacemaker were not invain. I poured oil on the troubled waters till I saw them subside, andthe men went off to their billets. One young fellow, however, wasexperiencing that interest in spiritual problems, which was sometimesaroused in the most unexpected quarters by free libations of spirituousliquors. He caught hold of my arm and implored me to enlighten him onthe theological differences which separated Anglicans and Presbyterians. I forget which he was himself, but at the time the problem was amatter of extraordinary interest to him. While I always considered itmy duty to impart enlightenment to darkened souls whenever I could, the recollection that I had about seven miles to walk to my home thatnight rather tempered my missionary zeal, and by a promise to discussthe whole matter on our next meeting I managed to tear myself away andproceed on my journey. 

It was a long tramp down the silent road in the darkness. The housesin the little villages through which I passed were tightly shut. Not alight could be seen, and Providence supplied no car or lorry (p. 205)for my conveyance. On a hill in the distance, I saw the revolvinglight which acted as a signal to the aeroplanes. It would shine outfor a few seconds and then die away. The air was fresh and cool, and Ihad time to meditate on the curious events of the intense life which Ilived. It was still day in Canada, and the sun was shining over ourcities, the great lakes, the prairies, and the jagged peaks in themountain province on the Pacific coast. When was this life going toend? Were we really making any progress? Overhead, my beloved friendsthe stars, kept up their silent twinkling, which gave them an appearanceof life. In the valley lay the old medieval Château of Ohlain. Ithought of the historical figures from the pages of French history whohad walked along that road centuries before, filled with the anxietiesand problems of their own age. Now and then, some bird of the nightwould break the silence with its cry or twitter, and still I ploddedon. At last, long after midnight, I reached the outskirts of Bruay, and entering the High Street, made my way to my billet, where Albertawas waiting to give me a warm welcome. 

It was the privilege of the British Army to have as its commanders, good and devout men. One always felt that, in any appeal, the cause ofreligion would be upheld. General Horne, who commanded the First Army, of which we formed a part, was a man of sincere religious life, andnever failed to show his appreciation of the chaplains and their work. One day he invited all the Chaplains of the First Army to have teawith him at his headquarters in the beautiful Château of Ranchicourt. It was a lovely afternoon, and we motored over to the meeting inbusses. Tables were set for tea and refreshments on the lawn, and theCount and his charming daughter were there, giving a touch of homelife to the gathering. All the chaplains who could be off duty werepresent. After tea, while we sat on the grass, the General gave us avery helpful talk on religious work among the men from a soldier'spoint of view. The old Château, with its beautiful gardens in front ofthe huge elms gave a fine setting to the scene. 

On August 31st I was driven over to a field at the back of Villers-Chatel, where the 2nd Brigade was to hold a memorial service for those who hadbeen killed at the taking of Hill 70. I had been asked to give theaddress. The place chosen was a wide and green field which slopedgradually towards the line of rich forest trees. On the highest partof the ground facing the woods, a small platform had been erected (p. 206)and was decorated with flags. On this the chaplains stood, the CorpsCommander and the Brigadier and staff being at one side. Before us, forming three sides of a square, were the four battalions of theBrigade. The scene when viewed from the platform was magnificent. Thesky was blue, the sun was shining, and the glorious trees guarded thegreen mysteries of the forest behind. The troops were in splendidform, and the bright red patches on their arms gave a touch of colourwhich set off the khaki uniforms. Every one of the men had beenthrough the battle and was a hero. The service went well, and thehymns, to the accompaniment of the band, were sung heartily. At theclose, the Corps Commander and staff went round to each battalion, andthose who had won honours came forward to receive them. As theofficers and men stood in turn before the General, the A. D. C. Read outa short account of what each had done to win the decoration. It wasdeeply moving to hear the acts of gallantry that had been performed. Fixed and motionless each man would stand, while we were told how hiscourage had saved his company or platoon at some critical moment. Iremember particularly hearing how one sergeant who got the D. C. M. , hadcarried his Lewis gun, after all the other members of the crew hadbeen wounded or killed, and, placing it at a point of vantage, had, byhis steady fire, covered the advance of a company going forward toattack. Little do people at home know by what supreme self-sacrificeand dauntless courage those strips of bright-coloured ribbon on thebreasts of soldiers have been won. After the decorations had beenpresented, the men fell back to their battalions. The band struck upthe strains of "D'ye ken John Peel?", and the whole Brigade marchedpast the General, the masses of men moving with machine-likeprecision. Even the rain which had begun to fall did not mar the fineeffect. 

Our stay at Bruay was not to be of long duration. In the early hoursof September 5th a bomb dropped in the garden behind the administrationbuilding where our Headquarters were, waking us from sleep with asudden start. It did no harm, but on the next day we were informedthat we were all to move back to our old quarters in Barlin. I alwayssaid that I regarded a bomb dropped on Headquarters as a portent sentfrom heaven, telling us we were going to move. Accordingly onSeptember 6th we all made our way to Barlin, where I was given abillet in an upper room in an estaminet. The propriety of housing (p. 207)a Senior Chaplain in an estaminet might be questioned, but thisparticular one was called the estaminet of St. Joseph. An estaminetwith such a title, and carried on under such high patronage, was onein which I could make myself at home. So on the door was hung my sign, "Canon Scott, Senior Chaplain, " which provoked many smiles and muchcomment from the men of the battalions as they passed by. I waslooking out of my window in the upper storey one day when the 2ndBattalion was marching past, and, to the breach of all good discipline, I called out to the men and asked them if they did not envy me mybillet. A roar of laughter went up, and they asked me how I got thereand if I could take them in as well. I told them that it was thereward of virtue, and only those who could be trusted were allowed tobe housed in estaminets. 

Near me, at Barlin, the motor machine-gun brigade was encamped. It hadbeen there for some time, and I was glad to meet old friends and renewacquaintance with the unit that had such a distinguished career at thefront. I had not seen them much since the old days at Poperinghe, butwherever they went they covered themselves with glory. To spend anevening in the hut used as the sergeants' mess was a delight. Therollicking good humour that prevailed was most contagious, and I shallalways treasure the memory of it which has now been made sacredthrough the death of so many whom I met there. I used to visit thetents, too, and sitting on a box in their midst have a smoke and talkwith the men. Heavy indeed has been the toll of casualties which thatnoble brigade has suffered since those happy days. 

Word was sent to the Division one day by the British troops holdingour trenches on Hill 70, that some bodies of our men were lyingunburied in No Man's Land. One of our battalions was ordered toprovide a burial party and I decided to accompany them. I was to meetthe men at a certain place near Loos on the Lens-Arras road in theevening, and go with them. The burial officer turned up on time, butthe party did not. At last the men arrived and we went through thewell-known trenches till we came to the front line. Here I had to godown and see some officers of the British battalions, and try to findout where the bodies were. Apparently the officers could give uslittle information, so we decided to divide up into small parties andgo into No Man's Land and search for the dead ourselves. As we were insight of the enemy, we could not use our electric torches, and (p. 208)only by the assistance of German flare-lights were we able to pickour steps over the broken ground. We found a few bodies which had notbeen buried, but it was impossible to do more than cover them withearth, for the position was an exposed one. We did the best we couldunder the circumstances, and were glad to find that the number ofunburied had been greatly exaggerated. On another occasion I took aburial party out one night, and found that the officers and men sentwere a new draft that had never been in the line before. They weremuch interested in the novel and somewhat hazardous nature of theexpedition. On this occasion when we returned to Bully-Grenay, themorning sun was shining brightly overhead, and it began to get quitewarm. The men were very tired with their night's work, and when wehalted they lay down on the pavement by the road and went to sleep. One poor fellow actually collapsed, and we had to send off to adressing station for a stretcher on which he was taken away formedical treatment. A burial party, from the nature of the case, wasnot a pleasant expedition, and Canada ought to be grateful for the wayin which our Corps burial officers and the men under them carried outtheir gruesome and often dangerous duty. One of our burial officers, afine young fellow, told me how much he disliked the work. He said, "There is no glory in it, and people think that we have an easy time, but two of my predecessors have been killed and I expect to getknocked out myself some day. " A year later he was killed near Cambrai, after he had faithfully done his duty in caring for the bodies of theslain. 

Our front trenches were now to the right of Hill 70, in advance ofLiéven, and it seemed as if we were going to be stationed in theneighbourhood for some time, for the rumour was that the Canadians hadto complete their work at Vimy by the capture of Lens. Barlin, therefore, and the area around it was a great centre of Canadian lifeand activity. We had our large Canadian tent-hospitals, our brigadeschools, and various Y. M. C. A. Places of entertainment, besides ourofficers' clubs. 

In an open field near my billet were stationed the horse lines of ourDivisional Train, and it used to give me great pleasure to pass thelong rows of wagons which by the constant labour of the men were keptin prime condition. The paint was always fresh, and all the chainswere polished as if they were merely for show. It would be hard (p. 209)for people at home to realize that the wagons which had been usedfor years under such rough conditions always looked as if they hadjust come out of the shop, but that was the case. The constantattention to detail in the army, the smartness of the men, and thegood turn-out of the horses and limbers, have a great moral effectupon every department of the service. The men were always grumblingabout polishing buttons and chains, but I told them that theimpression of efficiency it gave one made it quite worth while. ADivision that could turn out such a fine looking Train as we had couldalways be depended upon to do its duty. 

CHAPTER XXII. (p. 210)

A TRAGEDY OF WAR. 

There is nothing which brings home to the heart with such force theiron discipline of war as the execution of men who desert from thefront line. It was my painful duty on one occasion to have to witnessthe carrying out of the death sentence. One evening I was informed bythe A. P. M. That a man in one of our brigades was to be shot the nextmorning, and I was asked to go and see him and prepare him for death. The sentence had already been read to him at six o'clock, and thebrigade chaplain was present, but the A. P. M. , wished me to take thecase in hand. We motored over to the village where the prisoner wasand stopped at a brick building which was entered through a courtyard. There were men on guard in the outer room and also in a second roomfrom which a door led into a large brick chamber used as the condemnedcell. Here I found the man who was to pay the penalty of hiscowardice. He had a table before him and on it a glass of brandy andwater and writing materials. He was sitting back in his chair and hisface wore a dazed expression. The guards kindly left us alone. He roseand shook hands with me, and we began to talk about his sentence. Hewas evidently steeling himself and trying to fortify his mind by thesense of great injustice done to him. I allowed him to talk freely andsay just what he pleased. Gradually, I succeeded in getting at theheart of the true man which I knew was hidden under the hard exterior, and the poor fellow began to tell me about his life. From the age ofeleven, when he became an orphan, he had to get his own living andmake his way in a world that is often cold and cruel to those who haveno friends. Then by degrees he began to talk about religion and hiswhole manner changed. All the time I kept feeling that every momentthe dreaded event was coming nearer and nearer and that no time was tobe lost. He had never been baptised, but wished now to try and make upfor the past and begin to prepare in a real way to meet his God. 

I had brought my bag with the communion vessels in it, and so he and Iarranged the table together, taking away the glass of brandy and waterand the books and papers, and putting in their place the white (p. 211)linen altar cloth. When everything was prepared, he knelt downand I baptised him and gave him his first communion. The man's mindwas completely changed. The hard, steely indifference and the sense ofwrong and injustice had passed away, and he was perfectly natural. Iwas so much impressed by it that while I was talking to him, I keptwondering if I could not even then, at that late hour, do something toavert the carrying out of the sentence. Making some excuse and sayingI would be back in a little while, I left him, and the guard went intothe room accompanied by one of the officers of the man's company. WhenI got outside, I told the brigade chaplain that I was going to walkover to Army Headquarters and ask the Army Commander to have the deathsentence commuted to imprisonment. 

It was then about one a. M. And I started off in the rain down the darkroad. The Château in which the General lived was two miles off, andwhen I came to it, I found it wrapped in darkness. I went to thesentry on guard, and told him that I wished to see the General onimportant business. Turning my flashlight upon my face, I showed who Iwas. He told me that the General's room was in the second storey atthe head of a flight of stairs in a tower at the end of the building. I went over there, and finding the door unlocked, I mounted the woodensteps, my flashlight lighting up the place. I knocked at a door on theright and a voice asked me who I was. When I told my name, I wasinvited to enter, and an electric light was turned on and I found Iwas in the room of the A. D. C. , who was sitting up in bed. Luckily, Ihad met him before and he was most sympathetic. I apologized fordisturbing him but told him my mission and asked if I might see theGeneral. He got up and went into the General's room. In a few momentshe returned, and told me that the General would see me. Instead ofbeing angry at my extraordinary intrusion, he discussed the matterwith me. Before a death sentence could be passed on any man, his casehad to come up first in his Battalion orderly room, and, if he wasfound guilty there, it would be sent to the Brigade. From the Brigadeit was sent to the Division, from the Division to Corps, from Corps toArmy, and from Army to General Headquarters. If each of these courtsconfirmed the sentence, and the British Commander-in-Chief signed thewarrant, there was no appeal, unless some new facts came to light. Ofall the men found guilty of desertion from the front trenches, only asmall percentage were executed. It was considered absolutely (p. 212)necessary for the safety of the Army that the death sentence shouldnot be entirely abolished. The failure of one man to do his duty mightspoil the morale of his platoon, and spread the contagion of fear fromthe platoon to the company and from the company to the battalion, endangering the fate of the whole line. The General told me, however, that if any new facts came to light, suggesting mental weakness orinsanity in the prisoner, it might be possible for the execution to bestayed, and a new trial instituted. This seemed to give hope thatsomething might yet be done, so I thanked the General for his kindnessand left. 

When I got back to the prison, I made my way to the cell, not ofcourse, letting the condemned man know anything that had happened. Bydegrees, in our conversation, I found that on both sides of his familythere were cases of mental weakness. When I had all the informationthat was possible, I went out and accompanied by the brigade chaplain, made my way once again to Army Headquarters. The chances of avertingthe doom seemed to be faint, but still a human life was at stake, andwe could not rest till every effort had been made. I went to the roomof the A. D. C. , and was again admitted to the presence of the ArmyCommander. He told me now that the only person who could stop theexecution was the Divisional Commander, if he thought it right to doso. At the same time, he held out very little hope that anything couldbe done to commute the sentence. Once more I thanked him and went off. The brigade chaplain was waiting for me outside and we talked thematter over, and decided that, although the case seemed very hopelessand it was now half-past three, one last effort should be made. Wewalked back through the rain to the village, and there awoke theA. P. M. And the Colonel of the battalion. Each of them was mostsympathetic and most anxious, if possible, that the man's life shouldbe spared. The A. P. M. Warned me that if we had to go to DivisionalHeadquarters, some seven miles away, and return, we had no time tolose, because the hour fixed for the execution was in the early dawn. 

The question now was to find a car. The only person in the place whohad one was the Town Major. So the Colonel and I started off to findhim, which we did with a great deal of difficulty, as no one knewwhere he lived. He too, was most anxious to help us. Then we had tofind the chauffeur. We managed to get him roused up, and told him (p. 213)that he had to go to Divisional Headquarters on a matter of life anddeath. It was not long before we were in the car and speeding down thedark, muddy roads at a tremendous rate, whirling round corners in away that seemed likely to end in disaster. We got to the DivisionalCommander's Headquarters and then made our way to his room and laidthe matter before him. He talked over the question very kindly, buttold us that the courts had gone into the case so carefully that heconsidered it quite impossible to alter the final decision. If theaction of the prisoner had given any indication of his desertion beingthe result of insanity, something might be done, but there was nothingto suggest such was the case. To delay the execution for twenty-fourhours and then to have to carry it out would mean subjecting a humanbeing to unspeakable torture. He felt he could not take it uponhimself to run the chance of inflicting such misery upon the man. TheColonel and I saw at once that the case was utterly hopeless and thatwe could do no more. The question then was to get back in time for thecarrying out of the sentence. Once more the car dashed along theroads. The night was passing away, and through the drizzling rain thegray dawn was struggling. 

By the time we arrived at the prison, we could see objects quitedistinctly. I went in to the prisoner, who was walking up and down inhis cell. He stopped and turned to me and said, "I know what you havebeen trying to do for me, Sir, is there any hope?" I said, "No, I amafraid there is not. Everyone is longing just as much as I am to saveyou, but the matter has been gone into so carefully and has gone sofar, and so much depends upon every man doing his duty to theuttermost, that the sentence must be carried out. " He took the mattervery quietly, and I told him to try to look beyond the present to thegreat hope which lay before us in another life. I pointed out that hehad just one chance left to prove his courage and set himself rightbefore the world. I urged him to go out and meet death bravely withsenses unclouded, and advised him not to take any brandy. He shookhands with me and said, "I will do it. " Then he called the guard andasked him to bring me a cup of tea. While I was drinking it, he lookedat his watch, which was lying on the table and asked me if I knew whattime "IT" was to take place. I told him I did not. He said, "I thinkmy watch is a little bit fast. " The big hand was pointing to tenminutes to six. A few moments later the guards entered and put a (p. 214)gas helmet over his head with the two eye-pieces behind so that he wascompletely blindfolded. Then they handcuffed him behind his back, andwe started off in an ambulance to a crossroad which went up the sideof a hill. There we got out, and the prisoner was led over to a boxbehind which a post had been driven into the ground. Beyond this apiece of canvas was stretched as a screen. The firing party stood at alittle distance in front with their backs towards us. It was justdaylight. A drizzling rain was falling and the country looked chillyand drear. The prisoner was seated on the box and his hands werehandcuffed behind the post. He asked the A. P. M. If the helmet could betaken off, but this was mercifully refused him. A round piece of whitepaper was pinned over his heart by the doctor as a guide for the men'saim. I went over and pronounced the Benediction. He added, "And mayGod have mercy upon my soul. " The doctor and I then went into the roadon the other side of the hedge and blocked up our ears, but of coursewe heard the shots fired. It was sickening. We went back to theprisoner who was leaning forward and the doctor felt his pulse andpronounced him dead. The spirit had left the dreary hillside and, Itrust, had entered the ranks of his heroic comrades in Paradise. 

The effect of the scene was something quite unutterable. The firingparty marched off and drew up in the courtyard of the prison. I toldthem how deeply all ranks felt the occasion, and that nothing but thedire necessity of guarding the lives of the men in the front line fromthe panic and rout that might result, through the failure of oneindividual, compelled the taking of such measures of punishment. Ayoung lad in the firing party utterly broke down, but, as one rifle onsuch occasions is always loaded with a blank cartridge, no man can beabsolutely sure that he has had a part in the shooting. The body wasthen placed in a coffin and taken in the ambulance to the militarycemetery, where I held the service. The usual cross was erected withno mention upon it of the manner of the death. That was now forgotten. The man had mastered himself and had died bravely. 

I have seen many ghastly sights in the war, and hideous forms ofdeath. I have heard heart-rending tales of what men have suffered, butnothing ever brought home to me so deeply, and with such cuttingforce, the hideous nature of war and the iron hand of discipline, asdid that lonely death on the misty hillside in the early morning. (p. 215)Even now, as I write this brief account of it, a dark nightmareseems to rise out of the past and almost makes me shrink from facingonce again memories that were so painful. It is well, however, thatpeople should know what our men had to endure. Before them were theGerman shells, the machine-guns and the floods of gas. Behind them, iftheir courage failed, was the court-martial, always administered withgreat compassion and strict justice, but still bound by inexorablelaws of war to put into execution, when duty compelled, a grim andhideous sentence of death. 

If this book should fall into the hands of any man who, fromcowardice, shirked his duty in the war, and stayed at home, let himreflect that, but for the frustration of justice, he ought to havebeen sitting that morning, blindfolded and handcuffed, beside theprisoner on the box. HE was one of the originals and a volunteer. 

CHAPTER XXIII. (p. 216)

VISITS TO ROME AND PASCHENDAELE. 

_October and November, 1917. _

It was a good thing, after the bitter experience which I had justpassed through, that permission was granted me at this time to takesome men on a leave trip to Rome. My visit to Paris had convinced methat it was no proper place for men to spend their leave in, so whenmy next leave was nearly due I wrote to Division and asked permissionto take a party to Italy in order that some of our men might have thebenefit of seeing the great monuments of European history and art. Weeks passed away and I heard nothing about the matter, until at lasta telegram came through granting my request. I had only askedpermission to take twelve men with me whose names had to be sent inbeforehand. But the telegram which granted permission was couched insuch vague terms, merely referring to a certain file-number, that I, knowing that nobody would take the trouble to turn up the originaldocument, said nothing about it, and by a stroke of good lucksucceeded in taking with me forty-six men, including two chaplains, two young officers and one of the staff of the Y. M. C. A. Two of themen, alas, became casualties in the Paris barrage on the first night, and were reported "missing, believed dead, " but were found two daysafterwards by the police and sent back. The rest of us had a glorioustime and travelled to Rome via Marseilles, Nice--which included avisit to Monte Carlo--Genoa and Pisa. I shall never forget thedelightful trip across France by daylight, and the moonlight night atMarseilles, where we put up at the Hotel Regina. The men were in fineform and presented a splendid soldierlike appearance. Their newuniforms were set off by the bright red patch upon their sleeves, andtheir buttons were kept well polished. I told them, before we started, that I did not wish to be either a detective or a nursery-maid, but Iasked them to play the game and they did. We were going into thecountry of an ally and I knew that such a large party would be undervery critical observation wherever we went. I had really no authorityover the men beyond that which they were willing that I shouldexercise. The individuals of the party were not specially selected, but I felt perfect confidence that we should have no trouble, although I was naturally very much teased by members of "C" mess (p. 217)who prophesied that I should lose some men in Paris, some inMarseilles and some in Rome, and my friends even went so far as todeclare that they doubted whether I should ever come back myself. Wewere favoured with glorious weather, and travelled by daylight thewhole length of the Riviera. The utmost good humour prevailed, and theglorious view of the blue Mediterranean on one side, with that of theromantic mountains on the other, drove from our minds alluncomfortable memories of the war. In fact we seemed to get intoanother world. 

The train arrived at Pisa at about nine o'clock p. M. And was to waitthere for three hours, so we all got out and had some supper andstarted off to see the famous leaning tower by moonlight. The suddenappearance of British troops in the quaint old town caused quite asensation, and the people came out of the cafes to see us and a mobfollowed us wherever we went. We were of course pounced upon by thevendors of souvenirs, and a number of the men came back to the stationcarrying alabaster leaning towers under their arms. I warned the partyabout the danger of loading themselves with such heavy and brittlemementos, for we had still a long journey before us. The wisdom of mywarning was apparent later on, for on leaving Rome the alabastertowers had begun to lean so much that they could no longer stand up. Ashelf full of leaning towers propped up one against another, lookingas if they had just partaken of an issue of rum, was left in thehotel. We journeyed all night, some of the men sleeping on the seats, some on the floor, and some in the hatracks overhead, and in themorning amid intense excitement we arrived at the station in Rome. Ihad been able to get a shave and clean up in the train, so on arrivalwas ready to go and hunt for a hotel. I told the men, however, to findtheir way to the Leave Club and make themselves presentable and that Iwould return for them as soon as possible. After securing billets inthe Hotel Bristol, I went back for the party. Although I knew the menwould want to go about the city by themselves, I felt it would be agood thing for our esprit-de-corps, that we should march to the hotelin a body. So, not knowing how to give military orders myself, andremembering what real colonels always did in similar predicaments, Iturned to the senior sergeant and said, "Sergeant, make the men fallin, and when they are ready I will take over the parade. " When thesergeant came up to me and saluting said the parade was ready, (p. 218)I found to my dismay that the men were facing the wrong way and if Isaid "Quick march", they would walk into the brick wall opposite. Iwent up close to the sergeant and whispered to him, "Turn the menround. " This he did, and placing myself at their head I shouted, "Quick March. " I think that moment, as I started off to march throughRome at the head of that fine body of men who followed two abreast, was the proudest of my life. I had always been interested in history, and have read Gibbon from cover to cover, so the thought suddenlyflashed upon me, "Julius Caesar once led his forces through Rome. Later on, Augustus Caesar led his forces through Rome. In the middleages, Rienzi led his forces through Rome, and now, (here my head beganto swell till it grew too big for my cap) Canon Scott is leading hisforces through Rome. " We marched through the streets at "attention"and looked not to the right nor to the left, in spite of the fact thatwe passed many groups of admiring onlookers. When we arrived at thehotel, I called out, "Halt", in proper military tones and the menhalted, but I did not know the usual formula for telling them todisperse, and I did not want such a proper beginning to have amiserable end. I thought of saying, "Now I will dismiss thecongregation, " but that sounded too religious. I knew that if I said, "Now we will take up the collection, " my army would fly off quicklyenough. However, while I was debating with myself, the men took thelaw into their own hands and, breaking off, went into the hotel. 

We happened to arrive in Rome just at the time of the great Italiandisaster in the North, and we found the populace plunged into greatanxiety. English and French newspapers were banned by the censor, soit was difficult to find out what was happening, but I was toldprivately that matters were very critical, and there might be arevolution in Rome at any moment. I was also advised to see that ourmen behaved with great circumspection, for German agents were secretlytrying to make trouble between the British and Italians. I told ourmen to remember we had to help on the cause of the Allies and to bevery careful about details, such as saluting every Italian officer. Ithink they saluted every Italian private as well. I also told them, incase they were questioned on the subject, to say they were quitepleased with the war, in fact that they rather enjoyed it and were nota bit afraid of the Germans, and were determined to fight until adecisive victory gave us a chance of lasting peace. 

Wherever we went on the journey, we stayed at the best hotels, for (p. 219)I had told each man to bring with him a thousand francs. It was agreat puzzle to the Italians that Canadian soldiers were able to stayat the most select hotel in Rome, and also that the officers and menwere able to mix together in real comradeship. The Highlanders in ourparty of course attracted the greatest attention, and were frequentlyfollowed by an admiring crowd as they passed through the streets. Colonel Lamb, the military attaché at the Embassy, was very kind to usand secured us many privileges, not the least acceptable of which wasfree transportation. We split up into small parties, and visited thesights of the Eternal City as we pleased. On the first night afterdinner, we paid a visit to the Coliseum by moonlight, which issomething to remember. Wherever we went we met with the kindesttreatment. The ladies of the Leave Club gave us an entertainment oneevening, which was attended by the military and naval attachés at theBritish and American Embassies, and by some of the English residents. I was proud of the appearance of the men. Before we left the hotel atNice, an English lady, the wife of a British General at the front, came up and congratulated me upon the men, and said they were the mostgentlemanly young fellows she had ever seen. I think it was a help tothem to feel that their appearance in Rome at that critical time wassomething which gave our party a kind of political significance, andthe phrase, "to help on the cause of the Allies, " became a watchwordamong us. 

One night an Italian Colonel asked some of our men to dine with him athis hotel and took them to the theatre afterwards. On another occasion, five of our men were sitting in the front row of one of the theatreswhen an actor gave an impersonation of the different sovereigns ofEurope. When he appeared as King George, the orchestra struck up ourNational Anthem, and at once our men rose up and stood to attention. One of them told me afterwards that he felt cold shivers going downhis back as he did so, because he was in full view of everybody. For amoment there was a pause, then the audience, understanding what theaction meant, rose en masse and stood till the music was over and thenclapped their hands and shouted "Viva l'Inghilterra!"

Many of our men were very anxious to see the Pope, and so it wasarranged that we should have an audience. Colonel Lamb informed the1st Italian Division that we would march in a body through (p. 220)their district. We started off in the morning, our young Highlandofficer being in command. As we passed through the streets, the peoplegreeted us very cordially. Many of them raised their hats. The traffic, too, would stop to let us pass. We went over the bridge of Hadrian andarrived at the entrance of the Vatican beside St. Peter's in goodtime. There we were met by an Irish priest, who remembered me from myprevious visit. I asked him if the men should break ranks but he toldme to let them come in formation. So, two by two, we mounted theglorious Royal Staircase, the splendid surroundings being a goodsetting for the fine looking soldiers. At the various landings, theSwiss Guards in their picturesque uniforms presented arms, and wefound ourselves at last in a wonderful hall with richly frescoed wallsand ceiling. Here the men were halted and passed in single file intothe audience chamber. We had to wait for quite a long time, and atlast the Pope entered, clothed in white and looking much older andmore worn than when I had seen him only a year and a half before. Hewas very guarded in what he said to us, because we were the firstsoldiers whom he had received in a body, and any expression he mightmake with reference to the war would be liable to variousinterpretations. He spoke to some of our men in French and then wishedus health and protection and a safe return to Canada. Then, giving hisblessing he left us, and we made our way to the outer room where wereformed and marched off as we had come. 

That afternoon we were photographed in the Coliseum, and I visited theinteresting old church of St. Clement afterwards. Every evening, aftera day spent in rambling among antiquities, we used to attend the operain the Grand Opera House. It acted as a sort of relaxation after theserious business of sight-seeing. Rumours now reached us of the attackthat our Division was making up in the Salient, and one night when Iwas having tea in the Grand Hotel I went over and asked a youngBritish staff officer whom I saw there, if he had any news. He said tome that the Canadian Corps were making an attack at Passchendaeleunder the most appalling conditions of mud and rain and had coveredthemselves with glory. I asked him if it were true that Sir WilliamRobertson had come to Rome. "Yes, " he said, "I am his son. He hasbrought me with him and we are all very proud of the Canadians. " Atanother table I saw M. Venezelos. It was understood now that (p. 221)Britain and France were to come to the assistance of Italy, but stillVenice was in imminent peril, and the Italians were heart-broken atthe way the 3rd Italian Army had behaved. Refugees from the Northbegan to pour into Rome and affairs were very serious. I told our menof the gravity of the situation and the increased importance ofhelping on the cause of the Allies in every possible way. 

It is the custom at Rome on All Soul's day, November 2nd, to placeflowers and wreaths on the marble steps in front of the equestrianstatue of Victor Emmanuel. This year, I was told, the people weregoing to make a special demonstration. It occurred to me that it mightnot be a bad idea if we, too, placed a wreath to the memory of ourcomrades. I put the matter before Colonel Lamb and he said it was avery good idea indeed, but asked us to put on the card which would beattached to our wreath, the words, "To the brave Italian dead, fromtheir comrades in the British Empire, " rather than, "To the braveItalian dead from their Canadian comrades. " He said he was anxious toemphasize the connection between the British and the Italians. AnItalian major made the arrangements with me for carrying out theproject. Poor man, he was so moved at the thought of the disgracefulsurrender of the 3rd Italian Army that his eyes filled with tears ashe talked about it, and he said, "What will our Allies think of Italywhen her men behave like that?" I told him it was only a small part oftheir army that had failed and that the rest had behaved verygallantly. That afternoon, preceded by two of our sergeants carrying alarge wreath of laurel tied with purple ribbon, to which we attachedtwo cards with the inscription, one in English and one in Italian, wemarched through the crowds of onlookers, who took off their hats as wepassed, until we reached the great marble steps which lead up to thegilded statue of the late King. Here there was a magnificent displayof flowers made up in all sorts of designs. The crowd gave away beforeus, and one of the officials, who had been directed by the Italianmajor, took the wreath from us and gave it a place of honour in frontof the statue. We stood in a long line on the marble steps and salutedand then turned and left. The people clapped their hands and shouted, "Viva l'Inghilterra!" We were pleased at the impression the simple actof courtesy made, and felt that it was helping on the cause of theAllies. 

Our men were always very much amused by the moving picture shows, (p. 222)the characters of these entertainments being so different from that ofsimilar exhibitions at the front. They were so tragic and so sentimentalthat they did not appeal strongly to the wholesome minds of Canadiansoldiers. It was always very interesting to hear their criticisms ofthe customs and outlook of the people with whom we were sojourning. There is no doubt that the army mind is the sanest and most wholesomein the whole community. It may not express itself in the most artisticterms or the most religious language, but its judgments are absolutelysound and worthy of the most careful consideration. I am sure thatCanadian political life, unless other influences nullify it, will beimmeasurably bettered by the soldiers' vote. 

I had the great privilege of a visit to Cardinal Gasquet in the homeof the Dominicans not far from St. Peter's. The interview had beenarranged for me by an English priest whom I met at the hospital of theBlue Nuns, where I had taken two of our men who were ill withpneumonia. The Cardinal is engaged in the stupendous task of revisingthe text of the Latin Vulgate. He showed me photographs of the ancientmanuscripts with the various readings noted. It will be years beforethe great task is completed, but when it is, it will remain untouchedfor centuries to come. He told me that news had just been received ofthe consecration of the first Roman Catholic Bishop in Russia. Thishad been made possible by the overthrow of the reigning dynasty. Hewas most kind, and told me many interesting things about life in Romeduring the war, and before I left asked me to write my name in hisvisitor's book, pointing out to me on the upper part of the page therecent signature of the Cardinal Archbishop of Cologne. 

Altogether we had been absent by this time for nearly two weeks, andhad still a long return journey ahead of us. I thought, however, thatthe valuable service our men were rendering the great cause justifiedour over-staying our leave. In fact, when I went to say good-bye toColonel Lamb, he and his staff told me that the presence of our men inthe City at that time had been worth any amount of printed propaganda. I hinted that some statement of that kind to General Currie might be agood thing. To my great delight, soon after we had returned, GeneralCurrie received the following letter, which has an official stampwhich I never expected:--

 BRITISH EMBASSY, (p. 223) ROME. 9th November, 1917. "Dear General, "With reference to the recent visit to Rome of a party of Canadian officers and soldiers, I am requested by H. E. Sir Rennel Rodd to inform you of the excellent impression produced among the inhabitants of this city, by the soldierlike turnout, and excellent and courteous behaviour of all ranks belonging to the party. 

 "Their visit has helped to inspire Italians with a feeling of confidence in their allies at a time of great anxiety and trial. "Believe me, Yours very truly, (Sgd. ) CHARLES A. LAMB, Colonel, Military Attaché. Rome. "

We left for Florence on Saturday November 3rd. The ladies of the LeaveClub came to see us off, and after a delightful trip in brilliantsunshine, we arrived at our destination at seven in the evening. Onour journey we passed many trains filled with refugees, who werecrowded together in third-class carriages. As the Austrian and Germanarmies advanced in the North the people in the villages were given aquarter of an hour in which to decide whether they would stay or go. They were warned, however, that if they stayed and the Italians evertried to retake the towns they would all be put to death. I was toldby some officers of a British hospital in Turin, who had had to leavethe Italian front in a hurry, that it was a sad sight to see theinhabitants of the towns fleeing down the roads from the advancingenemy. Old and infirm people dragged themselves along. Parents losttheir children and children lost their parents in the crowd, and thepeople took with them only the things which they could carry on theirpersons. Florence was crowded with these unfortunates, who were lyingout at night in the squares and being tended by the citizens. Therewas a great crowd at the station when we arrived, and a number ofItalian soldiers who spoke English gathered round our party and toldus that the war was over and that the soldiers would not fight anymore. Our men, however, were equal to the occasion, and told them (p. 224)that _we_ were going to keep on fighting no matter what the Italians did, and that there could be no peace until we had a decisive victory. Thewhole city was astir, and many Italian regiments were quartered there. I told the men before we sought for accommodation in the crowded town, how important it was that we should show a determined face at thistime. 

On the following afternoon, which was Sunday, I had a curiousexperience. The Y. M. C. A. Officer and I were going off to see the greatchurch of Santa Croce, which is the Italian Westminster Abbey, manygreat Italians having been buried there. As we passed down the streetmy friend went into a shop to buy some chocolates. While I waswaiting, I heard the stirring notes of the Marseillaise, and lookinground saw a band coming up the street followed by three Italian flags, a number of soldiers, and a rabble of men, women and children. Icalled to my companion to come out quickly and salute the Italiancolours. As they passed, we stood on the curb and saluted with strictmilitary precision. In fact we saluted so well that the delightedmembers of the procession grabbed us by the hand and finally draggedus into their midst, others clapping their hands and shouting "Vival'Inghilterra!" I was separated from my companion in the rabble andcalled over to him and asked him what it was. He said, "I think it isa Socialist demonstration. " This rather dismayed me, but I turned toone of the people by my side and asked him in French what the crowdwas. He told me it was the society for finishing the war, so I calledout to my friend, "It's all right Captain, it is the society forfinishing the war. I have wanted to join that society for some time. "I saw at once that the procession was an attempt to pull the Italianstogether and rouse them to a supreme effort to resist the enemy andsave Italy. The crowd was so enthusiastic about the presence ofrepresentatives of the British Army, that they finally caught us byour legs and carried us on their shoulders through the streets. It wasa most amusing incident. I could not help thinking that the crowd werethe descendants of the men who had burnt Savonarola at the stake. Myfriend, whose sense of humour had failed him, shouted over to me, "Ihate being made a fool of like this. " I told him not to be rude as wewere helping on the cause of the Allies. Finally, overcome by ourstruggles, the men let us down, and we were pushed along in the crowdto the square in front of the Hotel Minerva. Here the leaders of theprocession invited us into the hotel and we were taken upstairs to (p. 225)the front room, out of which opened a balcony overlooking the square. A young Italian officer, who had been a lawyer before the war and hadlost both his eyes, went on to the balcony and made a most impassionedappeal to his countrymen. The crowd in the square was now very dense, and received his speech with great enthusiasm. When it was over, oneof the officers of "The society for finishing the war, " came and urgedme to address the crowd. I was so pleased to find that my French wasbetter understood in Italy than in any place except England, that Iasked my friend if I should speak to them in French. He looked at mevery sourly, for he had not quite got back his equanimity, and saidcurtly, "You had better not. " Then I said, "I will talk to them inItalian. " I shall never forget the look of dismay which passed overhis countenance, but I told him it was helping on the cause of theAllies. I went out on the balcony, and the people seeing the Britishuniform and probably mistaking me for a general, at once began tocheer. I took off my cap, waved it in the air and shouted at the topof my voice "Viva l'Italia. " It was the only speech they wanted. Itwas neither too long nor too short. The crowd repeated the words, andthen shouted, "Viva l'Inghilterra!" and the band actually struck up"God save the King" and followed it by "Rule Britannia, Britanniarules the waves" (I wished at the time she had ruled under the wavesas well. ) I went back to the room and the Italians were so delightedwith my short and pithy speech, that they invited me to dine with themthat night and bring two officers with me. When we got down to thesquare, the mob crowded round us and shook hands with us, and I wasafraid that some of the ladies were going to embrace us. I thinkpeople thought we were part of the advance guard that had been sentfrom France to the assistance of Italy. 

That night three of us attended the dinner given by the officers of"The society for finishing the war, " in a very fine restaurant. TheDeputy for Florence, who had been one of the members of the governmentwhich had declared war on Austria, was present and I sat by the sideof an alderman of the city. Opposite to me was an English lady whoacted as an interpreter. At the close of the dinner the Deputy roseand made a very eloquent speech, welcoming us to Italy and saying howmuch Italians appreciated the fact that England was one of her Allies. I replied in English, which was translated by our fair interpreter, and told them how glad we were to be with them and that we had come, some of our men seven thousand miles, as a voluntary army to fight (p. 226)not only for the British Empire, but for something even bigger thanthat, for our common civilization, and that the war had made theAllies one family. I said that our men were determined to fight to thebitter end, for we could have no true peace until we had a decisivevictory. Then I added that, if our Division were sent to Italy, weshould all come with great pleasure, knowing that the Italians wereour comrades and warm friends. I thought too, during my speech, that adugout in Florence would be worth two in Bully-Grenay. The partyseemed very pleased with my remarks and we all exchanged visitingcards and separated good friends. The whole affair was very amusing, and when the Italians pushed back the enemy in 1918, I used to tellthe men, amid roars of laughter, that nothing but my modesty preventedmy saying who it was that had saved Italy, that no one would ever hearfrom my lips the name of the man who, when Italy was lying prostrateat the feet of the advancing foe, shouted into her dying ear thestartling words "Viva l'Italia" and set her on her feet. 

Two days afterwards, accompanied to the station by an admiring crowdand three ladies carrying Italian flags, we bade farewell to Florenceand started on our return journey. We spent the afternoon in Pisa, and, after a night's journey, arrived at Turin in the morning. Our mengot out of the train and were making their way to the station whenthey were met by the British R. T. O. A very large officer who wore aneyeglass. He brought them quickly to attention by calling out, "Whoare you?" They told him they were Canadians on leave, and I, fearingbloodshed, went up to the officer and explained who they were and whythey had come. He told me that there had been a mutiny in Turin thatsummer and relations between the British and Italians were very muchstrained, owing to the action of German agents. He said he had beenliving on the top of a volcano for the past three months, and wasafraid to allow any large body of troops to go about the town lestthere might be trouble. I assured him that our men would behave withgreat circumspection. He then told me that they would have to be backin rest-billets, near the station, not later than ten o'clock. I askedif he could not make it eleven, because I knew that the men wanted togo to the theatre. He agreed to this and asked me to tell them thatroll would be called in the rest-billets at eleven o'clock. I haltedthe men and said, "Boys, roll will be called in the rest-billetstonight at eleven o'clock sharp. " Whether it was or not we never (p. 227)knew, for none of us was there to hear. The men went to the theatresand to the various hotels afterwards. No trouble ensued, and when weleft on the following afternoon the R. T. O. Was most friendly and gaveus a hearty send-off, no doubt feeling too relieved at our departureto make any inquiries. 

Although we had had a most delightful trip I was really thankful wewere at last setting our faces towards the North. We arrived in Paristhe next morning, and before we left the station I told the men thatevery one of them had to be at the train that evening. I had taken itupon myself to extend their leave, as I thought their presence inItaly was beneficial to the cause, but I asked them to show theirgratitude by not failing to return all together. That night, to myintense satisfaction, they all turned up at the station at seveno'clock, and we started for Calais. We arrived there the next morning, and in the afternoon left for the front. 

We arrived at Poperinghe that night at six o'clock. It was dark, adrizzling rain was falling, and the mud was thick. We could hear thebig guns firing, and the men were coming and going in all directions. We took a hasty farewell of one another and then parted. No one we metcared whether we had come from Italy or were going to Jericho. The mendid not know where their headquarters were, and I was particularlyanxious not to find mine. I went over to the Officer's Club andsecured a shake-down in the garret, but, as I heard that our Divisionhad made an attack that day, I determined to go up to the line. Istarted off after dinner in an ambulance to the old mill atVlamertinghe, where there was a repetition of the sights and soundswhich I had experienced there on two previous occasions. Later on, Iwent forward in another ambulance through Ypres to an advanceddressing station. Then I started to walk up the terrible, muddy roadstill I came to the different German pill-boxes which had beenconverted into headquarters for the battalions. Finally, after wadingthrough water and mud nearly up to my knees, I found myself the nextafternoon wandering through the mud and by the shell holes andmiserable trenches near Goudberg Copse, with a clear view of the ruinsof Paschendaele, which was held by another division on our right. Thewhole region was unspeakably horrible. Rain was falling, the drearywaste of shell-ploughed mud, yellow and clinging, stretched off intothe distance as far as the eye could see. Bearer parties, tired (p. 228)and pale, were carrying out the wounded on stretchers, making ajourney of several miles in doing so. The bodies of dead men lay hereand there where they had fallen in the advance. I came across one poorboy who had been killed that morning. His body was covered with ashiny coating of yellow mud, and looked like a statue made of bronze. He had a beautiful face, with finely shaped head covered with closecurling hair, and looked more like some work of art than a humanbeing. The huge shell holes were half full of water often reddenedwith human blood and many of the wounded had rolled down into thepools and been drowned. As I went on, some one I met told me thatthere was a wounded man in the trenches ahead of me. I made my way inthe direction indicated and shouted out asking if anybody was there. Suddenly I heard a faint voice replying, and I hurried to the placefrom which the sound came. There I found sitting up in the mud of thetrench, his legs almost covered with water, a lad who told me that hehad been there for many hours. I never saw anything like the wonderfulexpression on his face. He was smiling most cheerfully, and made nocomplaint about what he had suffered. I told him I would get astretcher, so I went to some trenches not far away and got a bearerparty and a stretcher and went over to rescue him. The men jumped downinto the trench and moved him very gently, but his legs were so numbthat although they were hit he felt no pain. One of the men asked himif he was only hit in the legs. He said, "Yes, " but the man looked upat me and pulling up the boy's tunic showed me a hideous wound in hisback. They carried him off happy and cheerful. Whether he everrecovered or not I do not know. If he did and ever sees this book, Iwish he would write and tell me how he is. 

That was our last attack at Paschendaele. Our Division had taken itsfinal objective. The next morning, the infantry were to come out ofthe line, so in the late afternoon I returned with some stretcherbearers. Several times shells came near enough to splatter us withmud, and here and there I turned aside to bury those for whom graveshad just been prepared. 

At the front that day, a runner and I had joined in a brief burialservice over the body of a gallant young officer lying where he fellon the side of a large shell-hole. As I uttered the words--"I am theResurrection and the Life, saith the Lord, " it seemed to me that thelonely wind bore them over that region of gloom and death as (p. 229)if it longed to carry the message of hope far away to the many sadhearts in Canada whose loved ones will lie, until the end, in unknowngraves at Paschendaele. 

CHAPTER XXIV. (p. 230)

OUR LAST WAR CHRISTMAS. 

Our Division moved back to Barlin and I was once more established inmy old billet. As our artillery were still at Ypres, I determined togo back on the following day to the Salient. I started in a car thenext morning at six, and arrived at Talbot House, Poperinghe, in timeto have breakfast with Padré Clayton, who was in charge of thatsplendid institution. Then I made my way to Ypres and found my son athis battery headquarters under the Cloth Hall Tower. It was a mostromantic billet, for the debris of the ruins made a splendidprotection from shells, and the stone-vaulted chambers were airy andcommodious, much better than the underground cellars in which most ofthe men were quartered. The guns of the battery were forward in a very"unhealthy" neighbourhood. The officers and men used to take turns ingoing on duty there for twenty-four hours at a time. They found thatquite long enough, as the forward area was continually exposed toshells and aeroplane attacks. I went on to visit our own fieldbatteries, and found them distributed in a most desolate region. Themud was so deep that to step off the bath-mats meant sinking almost tothe knees. In order to move the guns, planks had to be laid in frontof them for a track, and the guns were roped and dragged along by themen. It was hard physical labour but they bore it, as they did otherdifficulties and dangers, with the utmost good humour. It was tiringenough merely to walk out to see them, without having anything else todo. What those men went through at that time no one can imagine. Justto watch them laying the planks and hauling on the ropes which drewthe heavy mud-covered guns made me weary. When I meet some of mygunner friends in Montreal and Toronto looking so clean and happy, Ithink of what they did behind Passchendaele Ridge, and I take off myhat to them. 

I spent three days at Ypres, and then, by jumping lorries, made my wayback to St. Venant and Robecq, where I spent the night. The nextmorning I left for Bethune, and thence by the assistance of lorriesand a car continued my journey to our new Divisional Headquarters, which had found a home at Château de la Haie. Here I had a billet (p. 231)in an upstairs room over what had been part of a stable. The room wasneither beautiful nor clean, but served as an abode for me and Albertaand her newly-arrived family. The Château was a large house of nodistinction, but it stood in delightful grounds, and at the back of itwas a pond whose clear waters reflected the tall, leafless trees whichbordered it. One fact made the Château popular and that was, that, upto that time, no shell or bomb had fallen in the neighbourhood. It wassaid that the location of the Château was not to be found on theenemy's maps. Round about were huts with accommodation sufficient tohouse a whole brigade. The charm of the place was completed by our 4thDivision having erected there a large and most artistic theatre, whichwould seat on benches nearly one thousand men. It had a good stage anda pit for the orchestra in front. This theatre, when our concert partywas in full swing, was a source of infinite delight to us all. It wasbuilt on the slope of a hill, the stage being at the lower end and agood view of the play therefore, could be had from all parts. Thescenery was beautifully painted and the electric lights andfoot-lights well arranged. 

Near us was the village of Gouy-Servins, where many men were billeted, and in huts at Souchez and other places along the valley the variousunits found their homes. The year's campaign was now over and we couldlook forward to a quiet time during the winter. "C" mess had a verycomfortable hut, with an open fireplace. We were supposed to have theliveliest entertainments of any mess at Headquarters, and hadtherefore many visitors. I shall never forget the jolly face of ourpresident, the D. A. D. M. S. , nor the irrepressible spirit of our A. P. M. , son of a distinguished father who commanded an Army, nor the drycommon-sense humour of our Field Cashier. What delight they took inragging the Senior Chaplain, whose automatic ears, as he averred, prevented his hearing the things he should not. Nor must we forget theCamp Commandant, often perplexed like Martha with much serving. It wasa goodly company and one much addicted to bridge and other diversions. I shall not forget the continual appeals of a gallant staff officerwith two or three ribbons, who asked me penitently every morning for amoral uplift, which I noticed completely evaporated before evening. There was a freedom about our gatherings that was quite unique and hasleft pleasant memories in the mind, in spite of the fact that I toldmy fellow members they were the most godless crowd in Christendom. One day when we were at Ecoivres, a shell fell by the house, while (p. 232)we were having dinner. Someone asked me afterwards if it had "put mywind up?" "Not a bit", I replied, "I knew that the Devil was not goingto destroy one of his favourite machine-gun emplacements. "

There was much excitement at this time over the question ofconscription. The soldiers were to have votes and much depended upontheir being given in the right way. It was a critical time, as ourman-power was being exhausted. Recruiting under the voluntary systemhad become inadequate to meet our needs. Beyond this, however, onefelt that the moral effect of Canada's refusing conscription would bevery harmful. The Germans would at once see in it an indication thatCanada was growing weary of fighting and they would consequently takeheart. It was most essential then that our men should cast a solidvote for the coalition government. I felt it my duty therefore to doas much electioneering work as I could. At night I used to address themen in the theatre between the acts of the play, and tell them that ifwe threw out the conscription bill, it would go a long way to undo thegood of all they had done and destroy the value of the sacrifice ourdead comrades had made. Once I was invited to speak to a battalion ofthe 4th Division during an entertainment which they were holding. WhenI closed my address I told them that the last thing I wanted to do wasto influence their vote. All I asked of them when they went to thepolls was to make a cross in front of Borden's name. From the laughterand cheers with which this statement was received, I think theyprobably did. A few of the men told me that the thing which made themhesitate about voting for conscription was that they could not bringthemselves to do anything which would force others to come and endurethe hellish life at the front. The great unionist victory at the pollsin Canada, which we heard of on December 18th, showed us that theheart of the young country was sound, and this no doubt was noted bythe Germans. 

One more, (and this was the last, ) St. George's church was built forme near the Château. Thus I was enabled to have a daily celebration ofthe Holy Communion. 

The arrival of one of the battalions of the 4th Division gave us thefirst indication that we were to move. On December 20th we left oncemore for Bruay. Here I found that my old billet was no longeravailable, but I managed to find a home in a clean little cottage (p. 233)in the same street, where I had a room downstairs for an office, cheered by an open fire, and a large bare room upstairs in which I putmy bed. On the garden-gate I hung out my sign "St. George's Rectory. "Once again I found myself in the familiar neighbourhood with all thebeloved battalions round us as before. The theatre was filled nightafter night, and there were the old gatherings of officers in thehotel. We regarded it as a great stroke of luck that once more we weregoing to spend Christmas out of the line. 

On Christmas Eve, when I was preparing to go up to the midnightCommunion Service in the theatre, a new C. Of E. Chaplain arrived andcame with me to assist. On the stage the altar was set as before, andthe dear old flag which now for three long years had been devoted tothe sacred purpose shone out as the frontal. The band played theChristmas hymns and a large number of men attended. Some of them, butnot many, had been there the year before. It was very beautiful andsolemn. At midnight on New Year's Eve we repeated the service. Againthere was a large congregation, and to me as I looked back to thegathering held in that place just one year ago it was quiteoverpowering. How many of those who had been with us at the dawn of1917 had passed away? The seats where they had sat were filled withother men. The hymns they had joined in were sung by other lips. In myheart went up the cry, "How long, O Lord, how long?" Once more thehands of the weary world clock had passed over the weeks and months ofanother year, and still the end was not in sight. As we stood insilence, while the buglers sounded the Last Post for the dying year, awild and strange vision swept before me: I saw again the weary wasteof mud and the shell ploughed ridge at Vimy; the fierce attacks atArleux and Fresnoy; the grim assault on Hill 70 and the hellish agonyof Paschendaele. Surely the ceaseless chiselling of pain and death hadgraven deeply into the inmost heart of Canada, the figures 1917. 

CHAPTER XXV. (p. 234)

VICTORY YEAR OPENS. 

_January and February, 1918. _

Victory Year, though we did not know it by that name then, opened withfine bracing weather, and there was the usual round of dinners andentertainments with which we always greeted the birth of a newtwelve-month. We had several Canadian-like snow storms. In the midstof one, I met a forlorn despatch rider coming up the main street onhis wheel with the blinding snow in his face. I stopped him and askedhim if he wouldn't like to have some dinner, and I took him into thehotel. He had been to Bethune to buy some V. C. Ribbon for one of themen of his battalion who was going to be presented with it on thefollowing day, and was so proud of his mission that he made nocomplaint about the long and tiring journey through the snowstorm. Thecountry behind Bruay is broken up into pleasant valleys, and there areplenty of trees on the hills, so the winter aspect of the districtmade us feel quite at home. I used to give many talks to the men onwhat I called "The war outlook", I thought it helped to encouragethem, and I was perfectly sincere in my belief, which grew stronger astime went on, in spite of notable set-backs, that we should havevictory before the end of the year. 

We had a visit at this time from Bishop du Pencier, who came to hold aconfirmation for us at Divion. There were forty candidates, nearly allof them being presented by chaplains of the 1st Brigade. It was asolemn service and made a deep impression upon the men. The hymns weresung very heartily, and the Bishop gave a most helpful address. Iremember specially one young fellow called Vaughan Groves, who came tome for the preparation. He was a small, rather delicate young ladabout nineteen years of age, and was a runner for the 2nd Brigade. Hehad a fine open face and had the distinction of having won the M. M. And bar. To have won these honours as a Brigade runner was a mark ofrare courage. I felt the deepest admiration for the boy, who was theonly son of a widowed mother in Canada. He never touched liquor andhad lived a perfectly straight life, and his was just the type ofcharacter which found scope for great deeds in the war. After the (p. 235)confirmation I lost sight of him, until some months afterwards when, as I was going through Arras one night, I looked into a cellar nearthe 2nd Brigade Headquarters, and seeing a number of men in there, went down to have a talk. I found they were the Brigade runners, andso I at once asked for my young friend. They told me that he had beenwounded in the arm and when he came to the dressing station, findingthere a man who was dying from loss of blood, had at once offered hisown blood for transfusion into the veins of the sufferer. So much hadto be taken from him that the boy got very weak and had to be sentback to England to recuperate. The men added that it was just thething that little Vaughan would do. He was the finest, cleanest littlechap, they said, that they had ever met. It was always delightful tohear such testimony from men to the innate power of human goodness. Ihave never seen or heard of Vaughan Groves since, but I hope that someone may read this book who will be able to tell me how and where heis. 

I was not sorry when our rest was over. There was more time to gethome-sick when we were out of the line. If we had to be in the war atall, the happiest place was at the front. So when on January 23rd Ileft Bruay for Bracquemont, I did so with little regret. My billet atBracquemont was the same which I had occupied in the previousSeptember, and it seemed quite like home. Once more our men held thetrenches on Hill 70 and the battalions in the back area were billetedin Mazingarbe, Le Brebris, and Sains-en-Gohelle. 

The day after I arrived, I determined to do some parish visiting inthe slums--as I called the front line. I started off in my old trenchuniform and long habitant boots, carrying with me a supply of bully-beef, tinned milk and hardtack. I went through Bully-Grenay and then outthrough Maroc to Loos. Here once again the dressing station at FortGlatz was occupied by a doctor and staff from one of our ambulances. Ispent a little while there and then continued my journey up the roadpast Crucifix Corner to the trenches. The 7th and 8th Battalions werein the line. The day was fine and the warm sunshine was hardening themud, so things did not look too unpleasant. I went to the 7th Battalionfirst and found the gallant men carrying on in the usual way. HugoTrench was very quiet, and from it one could obtain a good view of theGerman lines and of Lens beyond. It was great fun to go into the sapsand surprise the two or three men who were on guard in them. The (p. 236)dugouts were curious places. The entrance steps were steep, andprotected by blankets to keep out gas. At the bottom would be a longtimber-lined passage, dark and smelly, out of which two or threelittle rooms would open. The men off duty would be lying about on thefloor sound asleep, and it was often hard to make one's way among theprostrate bodies. The officers' mess would have a table in it andboxes for seats. On a shelf were generally some old newspapers ormagazines and a pack of cards. In the passage, making it narrower thanever, were a few shelves used as bunks. At the end of the passagewould be the kitchen, supplied with a rude stove which sent its smokeup a narrow pipe through a small opening. In the trenches the cookswere always busy, and how they served up the meals they did was amystery to me. Water was brought in tins from a tap in one of thetrenches to the rear, and therefore was not very abundant. I haveoccasionally, and against my will, seen the process of dish-washing inthe trenches. I could never make out from the appearance of the waterwhether the cook and his assistant were washing the plates or makingthe soup, the liquid in the tin dish was so thick with grease. However, it was part of the war, and the men were doing their bestunder most unpropitious circumstances. 

I had come prepared to spend a night in the trenches, and had decidedto do so in the large German-made dugout in the chalk-pit which washeld by "D" Company of the 8th Battalion. The officer on duty with the7th Battalion kindly acted as my guide. The day had worn away, and thebright moon was lighting up the maze of yellow trenches. We passedalong, exchanging many greetings at different places, until we came tothe outpost of the 8th Battalion at the top of the path which leadsdown to the chalk-pit. Here four men were sitting keeping guard. Theygave me a warm greeting, and I told them that if I were not in a hurryto let my guide go back to his lines, I would stop and recite some ofmy poems in the moonlight. It struck me that they seemed more amusedthan disappointed. So wishing them good-luck, we started onward downthe slippery path which led into the pit, where many shells had tornup the ground and where were remains not only of uniforms and mess-tinsand rifles but also of German bodies. We had hardly reached theentrance to the dugout when two or three of those shells which the mencalled "pineapples" arrived in quick succession. They sounded so (p. 237)close that we dived into the place of refuge. We found the O. C. Of thecompany inside, and he kindly arranged to give me a large bed all tomyself in one of the chambers of the dugout. Suddenly a runnerappeared and told us that the pineapples had hit the outpost, killingnot only some of the men to whom I had just been talking but also theAdjutant of the battalion. I at once got up and went back to theplace. The line was quiet now, and the whole scene was brightlylighted by the moon and looked so peaceful that one could hardlyimagine that we were in the midst of war, but, lying in the deepshadow at the bottom of the trench, with its face downwards, was thebody of the Adjutant. He had been killed instantly. In the outpostbeside the trench, were the bodies of the men who had been on dutywhen I passed a few minutes before. 

I stayed with the sentry guarding the bodies until a stretcher partyarrived and carried them away. Then I went back to the dugout andvisited the men who were crowded into its most extraordinary labyrinthof passages and recesses. In the very centre of the place, which musthave been deep underground, there was a kitchen, and the cooks werepreparing a hot meal for the men to eat before "stand to" at dawn. Themen of course were excessively crowded and many were heating their ownfood in mess-tins over smoking wicks steeped in melted candle grease. All were bright and cheerful as ever, in spite of the stiflingatmosphere, which must have been breathed by human lungs over and overagain. It was quite late when I stretched myself on my wire mattresswith my steel helmet for a pillow. Only a piece of canvas separated mefrom the room where a lot of men were supposed to be sleeping. Theywere not only not asleep but kept me awake by the roars of laughterwhich greeted the stories they were telling. However, I managed todoze off in time, and was rudely wakened early in the morning by themetallic thud of pineapples on the ground overhead. I was wonderingwhat it meant when a man came down to the O. C. 's room, next to mine, and aroused him with the somewhat exciting news, "Major, the Germansare making an attack. " It was not long before the Major was hurryingup the steps to the passage above, and it was not long before Ifollowed, because I always had a horror of being bombed in a dugout. In the passage upstairs all the men were "standing to" with fixedbayonets, and plenty of Mills bombs in their pockets. They were a mostcheerful crowd, and really I think that we all felt quite pleased atthe excitement. A man came up to me and asked me what weapon I (p. 238)had. I told him I had a fixed bayonet on the end of my walking stick. This did not seem to satisfy him, so he went over to a cupboard andbrought me two bombs. I told him to take them away because they mightbe prematures. He laughed at this and said, "How will you protectyourself, Sir, if the enemy should get into the trench?" I told him Iwould recite one of my poems. They always put my friends to flight andwould probably have the same effect upon my foes. 

By this time the rain of pineapples overhead was very heavy, and Iwent to the door of the dugout where the Major was looking out. It wasa curious scene. Day had just dawned, and we could see the heaps ofbroken rubbish and ripped up ground in front of us, while directlyopposite at the top of the chalk-pit was our front line. Pacing up anddown this was a corporal, his form silhouetted against the graymorning sky. He had his rifle with fixed bayonet on his shoulder, andas he walked to and fro he sang at the top of his voice the old song, "Oh my, I don't want to die, I want to go home. " The accompaniment tothe song was the "swish" of the shells overhead and the bursting ofthem in the trenches behind. I told the Major that if we could onlyget a moving picture of the corporal and a gramophone record of hissong with its accompaniment we could make thousands of dollars by anexhibition of it in Canada. 

The next night I stayed at Cité St. Pierre. Who will ever forget theroad up to it, and the corner near the ruined fosse, which was alwaysliable to be shelled unexpectedly? In cellars beneath the unwholesomeand dilapidated town our men found billets. They were really quitecomfortable, but at night when the place was as black as pitch, andone had to grope one's way in the darkness along debris-coveredstreets, shaken every now and then by the German missiles from thesky, one longed for Canada and the well-lighted pavements of Montrealand Toronto. 

On February 14th, at the officers' club at Corps Headquarters inCamblain l'Abbé, we had a great gathering of all the officers who hadlanded in France three years before. The one hundred and fifty who satdown to dinner were only a small part of the original number, and, before the anniversary came round again, many of those present werecalled to join the unseen host to whose memory that night we drank insilence. It was strange to look back over three years and think thatthe war, which in February 1915 we thought was going to be a (p. 239)matter of months, had now been protracted for three years and wasstill going on. What experiences each of those present had had! What astrange unnatural life we had been called upon to live, and howextraordinarily efficient in the great war game had each become! Itwas a most interesting gathering of strong and resolute men filledwith sublime ideals of duty and patriotism, who nevertheless wereabsolutely free from all posing and self-consciousness. They hadlearnt how to play the game; they had learnt both how to command andhow to obey; they had learnt how to sink selfish interests and aims, and to work only and unitedly for the great cause. 

On February 19th I held the dedication service at the unveiling of theartillery monument at Les Tilleuls. Owing to its exposed position noconcourse of men was allowed, but there was a large gathering of theStaff, including the Army Commander, and of course a number ofofficers from the artillery. The lines of the monument are verysevere. A plain white cross surmounts a large mass of solid masonry onwhich is the tablet, which General Currie unveiled. It stands in acommanding position on Vimy Ridge, and can be seen for miles around. Many generations of Canadians in future ages will visit that lonelytribute to the heroism of those, who, leaving home and loved ones, voluntarily came and laid down their lives in order that our countrymight be free. 

CHAPTER XXVI. (p. 240)

THE GERMAN OFFENSIVE. 

_March, 1918. _

Over four months had passed away since my return from Rome, so leavewas again due. Immediately after the unveiling of the Artillerymonument I started off in a car for Boulogne, and the next afternoonarrived in London. Conditions there were worse than they had been theyear before. The streets were darker and food was scarcer. I went asfar north as Edinburgh, but when I arrived at that city I found itcold and wintry and wrapped in mists. There were many naval men there, and I paid an interesting visit to a damaged submarine which was beingrepaired in the dry-dock. It was of course nice to meet friends again, but, beyond that, my last leave was not a pleasant one. It was a timeof great anxiety. The Americans had come into the war, but they werenot yet ready. Another campaign was before us, and the issue of itnone could foresee. I was haunted perpetually by the dread of meetingwith some accident, and so being sent back from the front. Severaltimes I had a vivid dream, that I had got back to Canada and foundthat the war was still going on and I could not return to it. I shallnever forget the joy of waking on such occasions and looking withdawning consciousness upon my surroundings and feeling that I wasstill at the front. It was a happy day for me, therefore, when onMarch 8th I arrived once more at Bracquemont, in the midst of mybeloved war-family, and able to re-visit Liévin, Loos, and Hill 70. 

My favorite home in the trenches was the dugout in the chalk-pit, which I have just described, and I often wish I could be suddenlytransported there and revive old memories. We were planning at thistime to make a big gas-attack along the Canadian Corps front. Threethousand gas-cylinders were to be fired by electricity upon the enemy. As I wanted to see this, I made my way to the chalk-pit. The timefixed for the event was five minutes to eleven at night. If the attackwas to come off, the word "Japan" was to come through on the wires;if, owing to the wind being in the wrong direction, the attack had tobe postponed, the word "Russia" would be sent. At 10. 45 I climbed upthe steps to the observation post at the back of the chalk-pit (p. 241)and waited. From this point I had a good view of the line towardsLens. I watched the luminous hands of my watch, and they passed thehour of eleven without anything occurring, as the breeze came from theEast. I knew the word "Russia, " the name of the country that failedus, must have been sent over the wires. It was a queer sensation tosit up there in the dark with no sound but the soft murmur of thenight wind in our ears, and the crash of an occasional shell. In thoselong dark stretches of waste land around me, thousands of human beingson both sides of the line were awake and active, either burrowing likeants in the ground or bringing up rations and war material along thecommunication trenches. 

I spent four nights that week in the chalk-pit waiting for the attack, and on March 21st, the night of the day on which the Germans launchedtheir fierce attack against our Fifth Army, my patience was rewardedand the wind was propitious. I mounted the observation post and oncemore peered over the black stretches of country under the starlit sky. Suddenly, at five minutes to eleven, there was a burst of artilleryfire, and over our heads with the usual swishing sound thegas-cylinders sped forth. The German lines were lit with burstingshells. Up went their rockets calling to their artillery forretaliation. I could hear their gas bells ringing to warn their men ofthe poison that was being poured upon them. It must have been adrenching rain of death. I heard gruesome tales afterwards of desolateenemy trenches and batteries denuded of men. The display of fireworkswas magnificent, and the German artillery in the rear were not slow inreplying. A great artillery duel like that in the darkness of thenight over a waste of ground on which no human habitation could beseen had a very weird effect, and was wonderful to behold. I climbeddown into the dugout and made my way through it to the chalk-pit, andthen up to an outpost beyond. Here were four men, and I found thatthree of them had just come up from the base and that this was theirfirst night in the line. They did not seem to be enjoying it as muchas I thought they should, so I remarked that it was a beautiful nightand pointed out to them the extraordinary romance of being actuallyout in the front line during such a bombardment. They seemed to getmore enthusiastic later on, but the next morning I was wakened in myroom by the laughter of men on the other side of the canvas wall, andI heard one old soldier telling, to the amusement of his fellows, (p. 242)of my visit on the previous evening. He said "We were out there withthe shells falling round us, and who should come up but the Canon, andthe first thing the old beggar said was, 'Boys, what a lovely night itis. '" The men roared at the idea. It was always illuminating to get achance of seeing yourself as others saw you. 

That day, before I had gone to the chalk-pit, I heard from a staffofficer at Corps of the German attack in the South, and I gatheredfrom his manner that things were not going well. On March 29th wesuddenly shifted our headquarters to Château de la Haie. Here we weretold that we had to be ready to move again at a moment's notice. Verybad news had come from the South, for the Germans were advancing, andour Fifth Army had been pushed back. The enemy had now got theinitiative into his hands, and things were exceedingly serious. TheAmericans would not be ready for some time, and the question was howto stay the onrush of the fresh divisions which the Germans werehurling against us. An order from General Currie, couched in beautifullanguage, told us that there was to be no retreat for Canadians, andthat, if need be, we should fall where we stood. There was no panic, only firmer resolve and greater activity in every department. Though Imade it a point of never questioning our staff about war secrets, Isoon became aware that our Division was to be sent South to try andstem the oncoming tide. 

Every night the 4th Divisional concert party gave an entertainment inthe theatre, which was crowded with men. A stranger could not havetold from the roars of laughter that shook the audience from time totime that we were about to face the fiercest ordeal of the war. The2nd Brigade was quartered round us first, and one night in the theatrean officer appeared in front of the stage between the acts and orderedall the officers and men of the 5th Battalion, who were present, toreport at once to their headquarters. Instantly the men got up andleft, the rows of vacant seats looking quite tragic. The play went on. Again, another battalion, and another, was called off. The audiencedwindled. It reminded one of the description in the "Tale of TwoCities" of the condemned men in prison waiting for the call of theexecutioner. Before the close of the performance the theatre wasalmost empty. The 2nd Brigade moved away that night and the 3rd tooktheir places the next day. I knew that they, too, would have to movesuddenly, so I arranged that at night we should have a service (p. 243)followed by a Celebration of the Holy Communion in the theatre afterthe play was over. Once again the building was crowded with anenthusiastic audience, and, after the play was ended, I announced theservice. To my astonishment, most of the men stayed and others crowdedin, so we must have had nearly a thousand men present. The concertparty had received orders to pack up their scenery immediately andmove off. While I was on the stage getting the altar ready the sceneshifters were hard at work behind me. In spite of this disturbance, wehad a wonderful service. I gave them a short address, and spoke aboutthe high call which had come to Canadians to do big things, and howthe eyes of the world were upon us. We were the champions of right, and I asked them to go forth in the power of God and do their duty. Then I began the Communion Service. The colours of the flag which hungover the altar glowed like an inspiration. The two altar lights shonelike stars above it. At the back of the stage (but we heeded them not)were the busy men packing up the scenery. We sang the hymn "O God ourhelp in ages past, " and at the time of communion about two hundredofficers and men mounted the stage in turn and knelt in rows toreceive the Bread of Life. It was a thrilling moment, and it showedhow, underlying the superficial thoughtlessness of the soldier's life, there was the deep and abiding sense of the reality and need of God. The service ended about eleven p. M. 

After shaking hands with some of the men I went back to my billet andthere found that we had to start that night for parts unknown. All oursurplus baggage had been sent off and only what was absolutelynecessary was retained. The members of "C" mess were sitting round thetable having a little liquid refreshment and waiting for the bus whichwas to take them off. Our A. D. M. S. , who was starting at once, kindlyoffered to take me with him in an ambulance. Alberta and I, with twoor three men, got into the vehicle, and I bid farewell for the lasttime to Château de la Haie. It was a bright moonlight night and theair was cold, but the roads were dry and dusty. The A. D. M. S. , who wasthe only person who knew our destination, sat in front with the driverand told him the various turns to take. Clouds of dust blew back intothe ambulance as we sped onward. It was a curious expedition. The warseemed to be more real than ever. One felt that a new page in itshistory was being turned. I wondered what was in store for us andwhat our experiences were going to be. I was also surprised that (p. 244)one was able to go forth without any emotion upon an adventure of suchmagnitude. On and on we rattled down the moonlit roads, past sleepingvillages, and round sharp curves which jolted us in the car, until atlast, at half-past two, we pulled up suddenly in front of some largeiron gates which gave entrance to the grounds of a chateau standingback some distance from the road. The A. D. M. S. And his staff got outand hunted for a cottage which they could use as an office. 

I thought I had better go off and find a place where I could spend therest of the night. With my haversack over my shoulder and followed byAlberta, I entered the gate, and made my way up the avenue till I cameto the Château. It was a large and picturesque building, and stood outnobly against the outline of the trees in the park. The moon lit upthe gray stone front, which was made all the richer by the variegatedlight and shade. The mansion, however, showed no inclination to behospitable. All the windows were tightly closed with shutters, andthere was no appearance of life anywhere. I knew we were not far fromthe advancing Germans, and I supposed that the inhabitants had allfled. I was so cold and tired that I determined to force an entranceand spend the night inside. I walked round to the back, where I saw agreat park richly wooded. A large door in the centre of the building, reached by a broad flight of stone steps, seemed to offer me a chanceof getting inside. I went up and tried the handle, when, to my surprise, the door opened and I found myself in a beautiful hall richlyfurnished and lighted by a lamp. Antlers hung on the wall, and theplace had the appearance of an English country-house. After my longride, and at that hour of the night, I felt as if I were in a dream. Isaw a door to the right, and opening it was admitted to a moderndrawing-room luxuriously furnished. A grate fire was burning on thehearth, and on a centre-table stood silver candelabra with lightedcandles. There were also plates of bread and butter, some very nicecups and saucers, and a silver coffee-pot. At once I said to myself, "I am evidently expected. " It was like a story from the ArabianNights. I looked about the place and not a soul appeared, Albertatucked herself up on a rug and was soon fast asleep. I was justpreparing to partake of the refreshments which, it seemed, some fairygodmother had provided, when in came one of our A. D. Cs. He was as muchsurprised to see me as I was to see him. He told me that our (p. 245)Divisional Commander had arrived there about an hour or two before andhad gone to bed, and that we were in the home of a certain count whoseservants had all fled. He also told me that there was a bedroom that Icould have upstairs, and which would not be occupied by our staffuntil the next evening. I had a cup of coffee, and then, callingAlberta and taking a candle, I climbed a very rambling staircase tillI reached the top storey, where I found an empty room with a verydirty bed in it. However, I was glad to get a place in which to rest, and so, with my rain-coat for a covering, I went to sleep. The nextmorning, having foraged for some water in which I had a good wash, Iwent off to the village to get some food. I met many of our unitscoming up in busses. Some were halted by the wayside, and nobody knewwhat we were going to do or why we were there. The Imperial transportofficer in charge had either acted under wrong orders or else thedrivers did not know the roads. Some of our battalions had lost theirway, one even entered a village at the other end of which were theGermans, and two of our Engineer Companies disappeared completely fortwo days. 

The country people were hurrying off in carts, taking their householdgoods with them. I found a primitive farmhouse where I was able to buysome eggs and bread, and I invited a number of stragglers in to havesomething to eat. By noon, however, we got orders from the Army tomove back to a place called Fosseaux. There we occupied an emptychateau which before the war must have been a very fine place. A widegrassy road nearly a mile in length, bordered on each side by fine oldtrees, stretched off into the distance in front of the central door. The entrance to the road was guarded by an exquisitely wrought irongate, flanked on each side by stone pillars surmounted by carvedheraldic figures. It was now cold and rainy, and our two ArtilleryBrigades were halted in a field opposite and were awaiting orders. Before nightfall they had left, and the forward section of ourDivision made their headquarters in a hut at Warlus; the members of"C" mess remaining at Fosseaux. 

March the 29th was Good Friday, and a strange one it was. There wasmuch stir and commotion everywhere, and we were so unsettled, that allI could do was to have a service in the cinema in the evening, and onEaster Day two Celebrations of Holy Communion at which I had onlytwenty-eight communicants. Our men had gone in to the line to the (p. 246)southeast of Arras, round Telegraph Hill, where an attack by theGermans was expected, as their advance to the south had been checked. I made my way to Arras, and spent the night in one of the mysteriouscaves which lie under that city. It was called St. Sauveur Cave, andwas entered from a street behind the station. The 1st Brigade wasquartered there. In the morning I walked down the long dark passagetill I came to an opening which led me to some high ground where therehad evidently been a good deal of fighting. From there I made my wayover to the front line, where the 1st Battalion was entrenched. Ipassed numbers of wooden huts broken by shells. Many men must havebeen quartered there at one time. It was sad to go into them and seethe waste and desolation, and the lost war material scattered in alldirections. On my way I came to a deep trench which some Imperialmachine-gunners were holding. They had had an anxious time, and wereglad to have a visitor. Several of them regretted that they had notbeen able to attend any Easter service. I told them we would have onethere and then, as I was carrying the Blessed Sacrament with me. So wecleaned a corner of the trench, and there I had a short service andgave the men communion. 

Our trenches were not satisfactory, as we did not know accuratelywhere those of the Germans were. That night, instead of going back tothe 1st Brigade I made my way to the huge Rouville Caves under Arras, where the whole of the 3rd Brigade were quartered. It was a mostcurious abode. No one knows when the caves were dug. They wereprobably extended from time to time as the chalk was quarried for thepurpose of building the town. Long passages stretched in differentdirections, and from them opened out huge vaulted chambers where thebattalions were billeted. I spent the night with the 14th Battalion, and the next day held services in turn for each of the four units ofthe Brigade. The 16th Battalion occupied a huge cavern with othersbranching off from it. I could hardly imagine more picturesquesurroundings for a military service. The candle flames twinkled likestars in all directions in the murky atmosphere, and the singing ofthe men resounded through the cave. Overhead was the town which theenemy was shelling. In one of the caves we found the foundation ofwhat had been an old prison, with a date upon it of the 18th century. It was very pleasant wandering down the passages, with a candle (p. 247)stuck on the top of my steel helmet, and meeting everywhere oldfriends who were glad of the temporary rest. Life there, however, wasvery strange. One could not tell whether outside it was day or night. I made my way back that afternoon by a passage which led out to one ofthe Arras sewers, by the side of which there was a stone pavementenabling one with a good flashlight to walk safely. The exit from thesewer, which now consisted of a shallow stream of perfectly clearwater, led me up to a house in one of the streets, and thence by a carI made my way to Warlus, and home to Fosseaux. 

A few days afterwards our headquarters were moved up to Etrun, andthere we found ourselves crowded into the quaint little town. TheChâteau was our headquarters, and a tar-paper house which theEngineers built for me under a spreading hawthorn tree became my home. Etrun was a most interesting place historically. It had been the siteof a Roman camp where Valentinian had his headquarters in the 4thcentury. The large mound, or vallum, which the Romans had thrown up toprotect themselves from the attacks of the German tribes, is now athickly wooded hill, pierced by the road which connects the villagewith the Arras highway. The grounds of the Château were mostdelightful, and before the French Revolution the house had been aconvent. In the garden was the recumbent stone effigy, overgrown withmoss, of one of the sisters. The most beautiful thing about the placeis the clear stream, wide and deep, which comes from underground andflows over sparkling white pebbles through the green meadows to theriver Scarpe. This stream was evidently the source of attraction tothe Romans, who always made their camps where there was a plentifulsupply of running water. The garden on one side was built up in stoneterraces along which were gravel walks, where, no doubt, the nuns ofold enjoyed their holy meditations. In the stream, as it wanderedthrough the meadows, there was a plentiful supply of water-cress, which looked exquisitely green against the pebbles at the bottom. Howone did long for the war to end, so that we might be able to lie downin the grass, free from anxiety, and enjoy the drenching sunlight andthe spring song of the birds. 

CHAPTER XXVII. (p. 248)

IN FRONT OF ARRAS. 

_April, 1918. _

Etrun was a convenient place for a headquarters. My hut wascomfortable, and the tree that grew beside it stretched itsthickly-leaved boughs over it, as though wishing to protect it fromthe sight of enemy planes. Visitors were always welcome. In the gardenwere many other huts, and a path led to the churchyard in which stoodthe old church. It was strongly built, but very crudely furnished, andspoke of many generations of humble worshippers to whom it was thegate of heaven. On one side of the garden was a stream, which turned aquaint mill-wheel, and an island in the stream, connected with thebanks by a bridge, made a pleasant resort. A little nest of beauty, such as Etrun was, in the midst of the war, most restful to the soul, especially after a visit to the line. Of course, we had to be carefulabout screening all lights, for a shell landed one night in a hutopposite mine. Luckily the shell was a "dud". Had it not been, mysergeant, groom, and batman would have been no more, for it burrowedits way into the ground under the floor of their abode, as they werehaving supper. 

On one occasion about one in the morning, we were awakened from sleepby three terrific explosions. They sounded close, so I thought thatsome of our men might have been hit. I got up and went off to seewhere the shells had landed. The quaint old hamlet lay silent in themoonlight, and not a soul was stirring. I went down one of the narrowstreets, and met a tall figure in black coming towards me. It was theCuré, who was bent on a similar mission, fearing that some of hispeople had been wounded. We went round the place together until we meta man coming up the road, who told us that a bomb had struck therailway bridge and exploded two mines which we had in readiness incase the Germans were to make an advance. The bridge had beencompletely shattered, but luckily our sentries there had escaped. TheCuré and I then parted and went back to our beds. 

It was a great treat for our men who were billeted in villages in (p. 249)the Scarpe Valley to have plenty of water, and in the variousmill-ponds they found swimming-places. Our front line at this timeextended for quite a long distance north and south of the Scarpe. Infact the river acted for a short distance as No Man's Land. On thenorth of the Scarpe were the ruins of the village of Fampoux, and onthe south those of Feuchy. How well our men will remember the towns ofMaroeil, Anzin, St. Nicholas and St. Aubin. I used to go off acrossthe meadow lands, now bright and fresh with spring verdure, till I gotto the St. Eloi road, and then by jumping lorries would make my way toSt. Nicholas and on to Cam Valley. On the east side of the valley werequaint dugouts which were occupied by the battalion in reserve. A pathup the valley led to the communication trench, and finally downPudding Lane to Pudding Trench. The ground was elevated, so that fromone of the trenches which led down towards Fampoux I was able to seewith my glasses the country behind the German lines. I saw quitedistinctly one day the spires of Douai, and in another direction on ahillside I could make out a railway train which must have beencarrying German troops. I had many interesting walks through thetrenches, and slept there several times. On one occasion I tookAlberta with me, but she would persist in going off into No Man's Landhunting for rats. The arrival of a minnenwerfer, however, gave her agreat fright and made her jump back into the trench with alacrity, much to the amusement of the men, who said that she knew the use oftrenches. 

One day I went down the trench which led into Fampoux. Whizzbangs werefalling every now and then, so the men were keeping low. At one placethere was a good view of the German lines. An officer and a sergeantstood there looking through their glasses and pointed out to me a spotin the hillside opposite where we could see a number of the enemy. They came out of one trench, crossed the road, and went down intoanother. The officer told me that he had counted over a hundred thatday. I asked him why he did not telephone to Battalion Headquarters toinform the artillery. He told me he had no telephone. Then I said, "Why don't you send a runner?" He explained that Fampoux was occupiedas an outpost, and that no runners were allowed to be sent from thereduring the daytime; orders to this effect being very strict. "I am nota runner, " I said, "and I am not in your Battalion. If you will giveme the map-location of the place where you think the Germans are (p. 250)congregating, I will take it back with me to the liaison officer atBattalion Headquarters. " He was very pleased with my offer, because atthis time we were daily expecting a big attack upon our lines. To getback we had to crawl down a steep place in the trench, which was inview of the Germans, until at last we reached the cellar of a ruinedhouse which the O. C. Of the company used as a billet. He got out hismaps and gave me the exact location of the road and trenches where theGermans had been seen to pass, and where apparently they were massing. I got him to write down the map-location carefully on a piece ofpaper, and then, armed with this and feeling very important, I startedback, this time avoiding the trench and going up the Fampoux road onthe side of which there was some torn and broken camouflage. I cameacross a steel helmet by the wayside with part of a man's head in it, and the road had been pretty well battered by shells, but I feltexceedingly proud at being able to do something which might possiblyavert an attack upon our men. I went on till at last I saw in thehillside the beginning of a trench, and made my way up this to Puddinglane and found Battalion Headquarters. The Artillery officer had beenhaving a quiet time and was delighted at the prospect of ordering a"shoot. " At once he telephoned back to the brigade, and not longafter, when the quiet sun was setting in the West, a most terrificbombardment of artillery, both field and heavy, smashed the Germantrenches on the hill opposite. The headquarters men and I looked overthe valley and saw the line of bursting shells. Much to theiramusement, I told them that this was my music, that I had ordered theshoot. I felt like the fly on the axle of a cart, who said to hiscompanion fly, "Look at the dust we are making. "

On another occasion, I was filled with almost equal pride, when, meeting on the roadside a company of men who were going into thetrenches for the first time and were waiting for a guide, I offered myservices and actually led the company of young heroes into thetrenches myself. The humour of the situation was so palpable that themen felt as if they were going to a picnic. 

The trenches on the Feuchy side of the Scarpe were well made, and ledup to the higher ground to the east of Arras, where they joined thelines of a Scots Division. At one point we saw in No Man's Land alonely tent, which I was told had been occupied by a British chaplainbefore we had been driven back. I paid a most enjoyable visit to (p. 251)the engineers in Arras and stayed at Battalion Headquarters. They werein a large and comfortable house in the Place St. Croix. In the diningroom we had a grate fire, a rug on the floor, and several easy chairs. A most sumptuous dinner was served, and one could scarcely believethat we were in a war. 

The men of the battalion were billeted in the deep cellars under a rowof houses at the end of the Grande Place. Some of these houses datedback to the time of the Spanish occupation, so the cellars must havebeen very ancient. They were vaulted in stone and were connectedtogether by passages, so they were not only quite safe from shells butwere exceedingly interesting and picturesque. We had several servicesfor the men and one for a field ambulance which made its home in theDeaf and Dumb Asylum. In a large room in the Asylum there was a goodpiano, so it enabled us to use the place at one time as a church andat another as a ballroom. There was a strange charm about dear oldArras which is quite indescribable. In spite of the ruined buildingsand the damaged grass-grown streets, there was the haunting beauty ofa quiet medievalism about the city. The narrow streets, the pleasantgardens hidden behind the houses, spoke of an age that had passed. Arras has been the centre of interest in many wars, and Julius Caesarmade his headquarters there in B. C. 65. The river Scarpe has carriedto the sea many memories of hostile hosts that have fought along itsbanks. To walk back from the dressing station in the small hours ofthe morning, when the moon was shining on the silent and half-ruinedstreets and squares, was a weird experience. Surely, if ghosts everhaunt the scenes of their earthly life, I must have had many unseencompanions with me on such occasions. There were still two or threeshops in the place where souvenirs and other small articles were soldto the men, and there were hoards of champagne and other wines in someof the cellars, but only a few of the inhabitants remained and theylived hidden lives in the underground retreats. 

Our Division, however, was soon moved from Etrun to Château d'Acq, where I arrived at four one morning after a visit to the trenches. Ifound my billet in an Armstrong hut. The people who had occupied theChâteau since we were there must have experienced an air raid, becauseextraordinary precautions had been taken to guard against bombs. I litmy lamp and found that the bed was surrounded on all sides by a (p. 252)wall composed of two thicknesses of sandbags. When I got down Into itI felt as if I were in a grave. In the morning I got my batman toremove the fortification, as I thought there was no occasion toanticipate the sensations of being buried. However, at night I oftenheard German aeroplanes overhead, and it was a relief when theirintermittent buzzing died off into the distance. 

We were now a long way from the front line, but by jumping lorries Iwas still able to go forward and visit the slums. On returning fromsuch a visit one afternoon I suffered a great loss. The order had goneout some time before that all stray dogs were to be shot, and manypoor little four-footed souls were sent into whatever happy land isreserved for the race which has been the earliest and best friend ofman. I had kept a sharp lookout on Alberta, but I never dreamt thatanyone would shoot her. However, that evening while I was gettingready to go off to Ecoivres, and Alberta was playing in front of myhut, the sergeant of the police, carried her off, unknown to me, andordered a man to shoot her. When I came out from my hut, and whistledfor my faithful friend, I was told that she had been condemned todeath. I could hardly believe it; but to my dismay I found that it wasonly too true, and the poor little dog, who was known all over theDivision and had paid many visits to the trenches, was not only shotbut buried. Filled with righteous anger, I had the body disinterredand a proper grave dug for it in front of a high tree which stands ona hill at the back of the grounds. There, surrounded by stones, is theturf-covered mound, and on the tree is nailed a white board with thisepitaph neatly painted in black:--

 HERE LIES ALBERTA of Albert Shot April 24th, 1918. 

 The dog that by a cruel end Now sleeps beneath this tree, Was just the little dog and friend God wanted her to be. 

Alberta, much respected in life, was honoured in death, for nearly allthe men at Headquarters were present when she was buried, and one ofthem told me that at a word from me they would lay out the police. (p. 253)I should have liked to have given the word, but I told them that wehad a war on with the Germans, and that we had better not startanother till it was finished. On the following day the board with theepitaph was placed in position in the presence of a Brigadier-Generaland our kind-hearted and sympathetic C. R. E. I was so filled withindignation at the loss of my companion, who, wherever I tied upDandy, would always mount guard over him and allow no one to approachhim, that I determined to seek a billet away from Headquarters, andnear the front. However, this intention was frustrated a day or twolater by an order which came through for our Division to go into restat a place called Le Cauroy, not far from the town of Frevent, andabout 15 kilometres to the southwest of Château d'Acq. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. (p. 254)

SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 

_May and June, 1918. _

It was late in the evening when I reached the Château at Le Cauroy, and I found that I was to be billeted in the house of the Curé, on oneside of the fine avenue of lime trees. Ross was waiting for me andtook the horse, and I went inside to my room. A curious sensation cameover me of having seen the place before. It seemed as if I had beenthere in one of my dreams, but the mystery was cleared up on thefollowing day by my finding out from the Vicaire that this was theplace where I had spent such a gloomy Sunday on the 22nd of October, 1916, during our return from the Somme. The count who owned theChâteau was naval attaché to the French Embassy in London, but hiswife and children, with the servants, occupied apartments on the rightwing of the building. The presence of a lady gave a special charm tothe place, and tennis on a good court under the trees in the park wasmost enjoyable. On several occasions some of our Canadian Sisters fromthe C. C. S. At Frevent honoured us with their presence at dinner, whichwas followed by a dance. Under the trees in the avenue, a mostpicturesque open theatre was erected by the engineers, and here ourconcert party gave us nightly performances of their new play, whichwas called "The Marriage Market. " Hundreds of men from the battalionsaround would sit on the soft grass under the overhanging trees throughwhich we could see the stars, and on the brightly lighted stage, withthe orchestra in front, we had an exhibition of real talent. Theweather was delightful and the men enjoyed a holiday in the country. At a little distance behind the Château there was a clear streamblocked by an ancient mill-dam. Here we could get a swim and bask inthe sun in the long cool grass. Altogether we were very happy at LeCauroy. 

A great change had come over the war at this time, for Foch hadassumed the supreme command. While we had had excellent leaders allthrough the campaign, one always felt that there was a need for someelectrifying personality at the head of things. In a mysterious (p. 255)way the knowledge that Foch had taken the conduct of the war in handgave us just that touch of magnetism which we needed. As mattersstood, the German attacks had been successful up to a certain point, but we were still waiting for their main offensive. When or where thiswas to begin we did not know, but we were convinced that it would be, for us, a life or death struggle. The fact that Foch was in commandand that he was keeping his head gave us confidence. He seemed like asurgeon who shows his greatness by the very coolness with which heperforms some critical operation. The men were always asking if wewere losing the war, and I always told them that it was like this--theGermans were advancing and losing and we were retreating and winning. We practised daily the art of open warfare for which the country roundus offered splendid opportunities. We knew that we had been taken outof the line in order to prepare to become "shock troops", and theknowledge of this gave our life a great inspiration. 

It was the right policy, in view of what was before us, to give themen all the amusement possible, so football and baseball were indulgedin freely by officers and men. We were too well trained now to worrymuch about the future. In fact, although I had often preached on thetext, "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, " I never fullyacted upon the principle until I had been in the war for three years. It is certainly the true secret of happiness and I hope that thesofter life of peace time will not rob one of it. When Mrs. Carlylewas asked what caused her most suffering in life, she replied, "Thethings which never happened, " It would have surprised the people athome if they could have seen the cheeriness and lightheartedness ofmen who were being trained day by day to deliver the hammer strokeswhich were to smash the huge war machine of Imperial Germany. 

The 2nd Brigade one day gave us a most successful circus in a largefield near our Headquarters. The arrangements and weather wereperfect, and the spectators were delighted with a performance thatsurpassed Buffalo Bill's Wild West show. Afternoon tea and dancingfollowed at a chateau, and aeroplanes gave us a fine exhibition of theskill of the new branch of the service by flying low and droppingmessages and red smoke bombs. I met one of the young airmen, and in afit of enthusiasm asked him if he would take me up with him some day. He was quite keen about it, and asked me to let him know when to (p. 256)send for me. Our plans, however, were upset a day or two afterwards bythe Headquarters of the Division moving off to the beautiful Châteauat Villers Chatel. They left in the morning, and as usual I followedleisurely on Dandy. I went through some pretty villages. No soldierswere to be seen, and the quiet ordinary life of the people wasundisturbed by the war. The world was bathed in sunshine and thefields were brilliant with new crops. Every little hamlet wasembowered in trees, and the small white houses with their red tiledroofs spoke of peace. In the solemn light of evening I came to theentrance gate of my new home. 

The Château of Villers Chatel was a fine modern building with an oldround tower at one end. This tower is all that remains of the originalstructure, but it was kept in good condition and the interior was mostartistically arranged. My room was in the garret and was approached bya spiral staircase, very narrow and steep. The Château was enlivenedby the presence of two Countesses; both very pleasant ladies who hadtheir own apartments and who kindly entertained us at night in theircheery drawing-room. On the wide lawn in front of the Château a hugechestnut tree stood, rich in leaves, with low boughs branching in alldirections and covering a wide radius, and with their tips almosttouching the grass. The tree furnished a green shelter for a largenumber of persons. The sun could not penetrate the foliage, and thegiant trunk was covered with rugged bark beautifully coloured. Here, on Sunday mornings, I placed my flag-covered altar, and Church Paradewas held under the tree. The men, over a hundred in number, stood in asemi-circle in front of me, and the bright sunlight beyond the rim ofoverhanging boughs lit up the green grass around. It was one of themost beautiful places imaginable for a church service, and thebranches made a vaulted roof overhead. On one side of the garden was alarge and elaborate cement grotto, and a statue of the Blessed Virginstood in a niche at the back. Seats for worshippers were placed infront. The Countesses were moved by piety to keep a number of candlesblazing in the grotto all night, invoking thereby the protection ofOur Lady. Our staff, who walked not by faith but by sight, were muchworried by the strong light which could easily be seen from a Germanaeroplane. However, no one could muster up courage enough to interferewith the devotion of our hostesses, and as a matter of fact we neverhad any bombing raids at Villers Chatel. It was a question among (p. 257)the officers as to whether our immunity should be attributed to thepower of prayer or to extraordinary good-luck. 

At the end of the lawn facing the Château was a forest of magnificenttrees. It was in the fields at the back of this wood that we had heldthe memorial service for the 2nd Brigade, which I have alreadydescribed. One of the forest paths was in the form of a pergola. Thetrees had been trimmed so that the boughs overhead were interlaced andit went for about half a mile into the forest, like the vaulted aisleof a church. The sunlight through the green leaves overhead cast onthe pathway a mysterious light suggestive of fairyland. 

Our battalions were once more in their old billets in theneighbourhood, and as we were still at rest I had many opportunitiesof visiting them. How well I remember going about and delivering mylecture on our leave trip to Rome. As I look back upon mywar-memories, I think that those talks were the most delightfulexperiences I have ever had. I really had nothing to say, but I knewthat anything which could occupy and amuse the minds of those bravelads, who were daily preparing to hurl themselves against the enemy, was worth while. I would go to the C. O. Of a battalion and say, "Colonel, I would like to come and give your men a talk on our leavetrip to Rome. " He would always take the matter very seriously, thinking I had some learned discourse on architecture, or some otherabsolutely futile subject to give the men. But being too polite totell me to go to Jericho, or somewhere else, he would say, "Yes, I amsure it would be very interesting. How long will the lecture last?" Onmy replying, "About two hours and a half, " his countenance would fall. He was struggling between his fear of offending me and his fear ofdoing something which would bore the men. Sometimes colonels wouldsay, "That's a long lecture. " But I urged them to take my word for itand to let the thing go ahead, and if I saw I was boring the men Iwould stop. So the lecture would be announced. I suppose I must havegiven it to something like twenty thousand men. I would arrive at thebattalion headquarters in the afternoon, have dinner with the C. O. AndAdjutant in their billet, and then walk over to some pleasant field onwhich a thousand men were drawn up in line, presenting a most propermilitary appearance. The sun would be setting behind the trees whichskirted the parade ground, and, after telling the Colonel and (p. 258)other officers to keep in the background, I would go over in frontof the battalion and tell them that the Colonel had handed the paradeover to me, and that they were to break ranks and sit on the ground asclose as possible. At once military stiffness was dispelled, and amidmuch laughter the men would crowd around and squat on the groundtightly packed together. Imagine what a picture that was. Splendidstalwart young men they were, hundreds and hundreds of them, withhealthy merry faces, and behind them in the distance the green treesand the sunset. Of course smoking was allowed, and I generally hadsome boxes of cigarettes to pass round. Then I would tell them of ourtrip to Rome and of my following out the injunction of making the mostof a fortnight's leave by turning it into three weeks; of my puzzlingthe R. T. O. In Paris by asking for transportation to Rome viaMarseilles, as we had abandoned the idea of travelling via Calcutta onaccount of the submarine menace; of my being unable to enter theCasino at Monte Carlo because officers were not admitted in uniform, and the only mufti I had brought with me was my pyjamas which I hadleft at the hotel; of the two casualties in the Paris barrage; of thetime I gave C. B. To "Yorky" when I saw he had partaken too freely ofcoffee, and of the delightful memories of Italy which we had broughtback with us. The talk was not all humorous. I managed to get in manylittle sermons between the lines, or as I put it, "the lecture wasimpregnated with the poison of morality. " Men assimilated that poisonmore readily when handed out to them in such doses. Then the sun wouldset and the evening shadows lengthen, and finally the stars would comeout over the scene and the mass of men before me would merge into onegreat blur, which sent up, nevertheless, roars of merry laughter. Whatappealed to them most was the way a padré and forty-four wildCanadians, in the biggest war the world has ever known, were able tobreak through the Hindenburg line of army red tape. 

Our machine gun battalion was quartered south of the St. Pol road at aplace called Averdoignt. It was a lovely little village, very quietand well away from the line, with pretty orchards and a stream at theback. When it was only possible to have a voluntary service in theevening, I would get a group of men as a body-guard and start off downthe village to the quaint old church, halting at every farmyard on theway and calling out to those billeted there, "Come on, you heathen, come to the voluntary church parade. " In the most good-natured (p. 259)way, dragging their reluctant pals with them, men would come out andswell our ranks until, by the time we reached the church, there was agood congregation. There against the wall of the building I wouldplant a table borrowed from the Curé's house, make it into an altar, distribute hymn books, and start the service, while the evening lightsin the sky tinged the scene with a soft beauty. 

When we were in the line the machine-gunners were always split up intosmall sections over the front, their guns of course being verycarefully concealed. In consequence, just when I thought I had reachedan area which was quite uninhabited, I would stumble on some queerlittle hole, and, on calling down it to see if there were any menthere, the answer would be, "The machine-gun battalion, " and I wouldfind myself among friends. At Averdoignt they had one of the best restbillets they ever had, and they enjoyed it thoroughly. 

Owing to the great distance which I had to cover in doing my parishvisiting among the battalions, the difficulty of transportation, whichhad been serious from the beginning, became even more pressing, andsome good friend suggested to me on the quiet that I should try to geta Clino, (that is a machine-gun side-car) from the Motor Machine-GunBrigade. With great trepidation, I made an excursion one day to theirheadquarters at Verdrel. The O. C. Was most kind and sympathetic. Ishall never cease to invoke blessings upon his head. He took me overto the machine-shop and there presented to me, for my use until itshould be recalled, a new Clino which had just come up from the base. The officer in charge uttered a protest by saying that they only hadsix Clinos for the Brigade, but the major remarked dryly, "And afterCanon Scott has got his we shall only have five. " Surely once againthe Lord had provided for me. I was driven back to the Château in thenew machine, but then had to find a driver. One was provided by thesignallers. He was a graduate in science of McGill, so I used to laystress upon my personal greatness from the fact that I had a universitygraduate for my chauffeur. Many and varied were the drives which Lyonsand I had together, and many and varied were our adventures. Had theClino not been both exceedingly strong and very new it would have cometo grief long before it did. To go rattling down the St. Pol road atforty-five kilometres an hour was a frequent occurrence. All I had tosit upon was a seat without arms, while my foot rested on a bar in (p. 260)front. People asked me how it was I did not tumble off. I told themthat I tied myself to the back of the seat with my spinal cord. I gotthe sappers to make me a large box which fitted on the back of thevehicle and had a padlock. In it I used to carry my bag of a thousandhymn books and other necessaries for church parades, and on the top ofthe box, as a protection to my car, I had the words "Canon Scott"painted in large white letters. The dust as we threaded our waythrough the streams of lorries almost choked us, but we could coverthe ground in a short space of time which was a great thing. Lyonsnever managed the lights very successfully, and one rainy night aftermidnight, when I was returning from saying good-bye to the artillerywho were moving South, in a lonely part of the road he ran the machineinto some bushes on a bank by the wayside, and we found ourselvessitting in the mud without our hats. We did not know where we were andthe rain was heavy, but we managed to disentangle the car and finallygot home, resolving that further night excursions were out of thequestion. About a fortnight afterwards I received an order to returnthe Clino, but before I did so I journeyed to Corps Headquarters andmade a passionate appeal to General Currie for its retention. As aresult I received a private intimation to keep the car and say nothingabout it. Of course I was the envy of everyone, and when they asked mehow I got the Clino I said I did not exactly know. Whether it was sentto me from heaven with the assistance of General Currie, or whether itwas sent to me from General Currie with the assistance of heaven, wasa theological question which I had no time to go into during the war. When our Division was marching into Germany, after I was knocked outof the campaign, the dear old signallers used to patch up the Clino, even making new parts for it, in order that Canon Scott's car mightget into Germany. Alas! the poor thing, like the one-horse shay, wentto pieces finally one day and had to be left at Mons. During thoselast busy months, I do not know how I could have got on without it. 

As I was a bit under the weather at this time my friend, GeneralThacker, invited me to go and stay with him at his headquarters in theChâteau at Berles, where I was given a charming room looking out onthe garden. I found myself in the midst of the artillery brigades whowere now at rest, and very pleasant it was to see them away from theunwholesome gun-pits where they were usually to be found. I could (p. 261)lie on the grass in the garden, read one of Trollope's novels andlisten to the birds overhead. A walk through the wood led to a hugefield of scarlet poppies, which, when the sun shone upon it, made ablaze of colour which I have never seen equalled. As one approachedit, one could see the red glow light up the stems of the trees asthough they were aflame. 

We had many boxing and baseball contests, which roused great excitement, but the crowning glory of the time was the Divisional sports whichwere held in a large field at a place called Tincques on the St. Polroad. A grandstand and many marquees had been erected, and the variousevents gave great delight to the thousands of spectators. In theevening our concert party gave a performance on the stage in the openair, which was witnessed by a large and enthusiastic audience. Afterit was all over, I unexpectedly met my airman friend, Johnny Johnson, who told me that he had been waiting a long time to take me up in hismachine. I explained to him that, owing to our headquarters havingmoved away to Le Cauroy, I thought it was too far off to get in touchwith him. In my secret heart, I had looked upon my removal as aspecial intervention of Providence on my behalf, but Johnny was notdisposed, however, to allow any difficulty to stand in the way, so itwas arranged that he should send for me at Berles the following dayand take me to the headquarters of the 13th Squadron atIzel-les-Hameaux. There was nothing for it but to jump with alacrityat such a noble offer, so on the following morning I started off inthe Squadron's car for their headquarters. 

My pilot had gone off to bring up the new machine which was to take meon my first aerial voyage. The Squadron had most comfortable billetsin huts, and were a most charming lot of young men. A Canadian amongstthem, taking pity upon a fellow-countryman, gave me a kind introductionto his fellow officers. Johnny Johnson returned in the afternoon, andduring tea I heard him explaining to the other men that he had had hischoice of two machines, an old machine with a new engine and the othera new machine with an old engine. Although I was engaged in conversationat the other end of the table, I listened with great interest to thisdiscussion, and felt much relieved when I heard that Johnny's choiceof an old machine with a new engine was approved of by his hearers. Hetold me that the air was very bumpy and that he would not take me upuntil the sun was lower in the sky. Having arrived at that happy (p. 262)state of inward peace which a man experiences when he goes off to thedentist to have a tooth pulled, I did not mind when I was to be takenup. At six o'clock, however, Johnny said we must get ready, so I wasprovided with a fur-lined leather coat, leather helmet, goggles and alarge pair of fur gauntlets. We went over to the aerodrome where ourfiery steed was champing its bit as though longing to spring into the"vast inane. " Two or three attendants were getting it ready. It was anR. E. 8 plane and a machine gun was fixed on one side. Johnny climbedinto his position and I took a seat behind him. An attendant came upand asked my name and address. It sounded as if I were making my lastwill and testament. I had a letter with me addressed to my son which Iwas to drop over his battery lines in Liévin, and also a red smokebomb but declined an invitation to take any more formidable weapon. Then I told my pilot not to be anxious about me whatever happened. Ialways expected to be killed at the front so never worried how or whenthe event was to occur. The engine was then started. For a time themachine meandered about the field without showing any disposition tomount into the air and I was beginning to think, like the Irishman whowas taken for a ride one day in a sedan chair that had no bottom init, that, "If it were not for the honour and glory of the thing Imight as lief walk, " when, all of a sudden, we began to plunge, leftthe ground, and, mid a fearful buzzing, mounted higher and higher. Werose over the huts and above the village trees and then by a corkscrewmotion which necessitated the machine going almost on its edge, wemade our way heavenwards. I did not feel the least bit seasick but itwas a curious sensation to look down and see absolutely nothingbetween me and the church of Izel-les-Hameaux crowned by its sharppointed spire with no cork on it. I looked at my young friend in frontof me, who was busy with the handles and cranks of his machine. He wasonly a boy of nineteen and my fate was literally in his hands, but hishead was well set on his shoulders and he seemed completelyself-possessed and confident. After we had mounted to six thousandfeet, we struck out in the direction of the front. 

It was a lovely afternoon and a most wonderful panorama spread belowus. The great plain beneath us was marked off like a chessboard insquares of various shades of yellow and green, dotted here and therewith little villages surrounded by the billowy crests of trees. We sawstraight white roads going off in all directions, and beyond, (p. 263)towards the east, low murky clouds behind the German lines. We flew onand on till we reached the war zone and here the fields were marked byhorse-tracks and the villages had been hit with shells. Before us inthe distance I saw the line of our observation balloons and thought, if anything happened to the machine, I would get out into one of them, but when we passed over them they looked like specks on the groundbelow. I could see the blue ribbon of the Scarpe winding off into thegreat mists to the east, and then beneath us lay the old city ofArras. I could see the ruined Cathedral, the mass of crooked streetsand the tiny, dusty roads. Further on was the railway triangle, whereone night later on I got a good dose of gas, and then I saw thetrenches at Fampoux and Feuchy. Still onward we sailed, till at lastJohnny Johnson shouted back, at the same time pointing downwards, "TheGerman trenches. " I saw the enemy lines beneath us, and then Johnnyshouted, "Now I am going to dip. " It was not the thing I speciallywanted to do at that particular moment, but I supposed it was allright. The plane took a dive, and then Johnny leaned over and firedoff some rounds of the machine gun into the German lines. We turned tocome back and rose in the air, when, in the roar of the wind I heard abang behind me, and looking round saw, hanging in the air, a ball ofthick black smoke. Then there was another beneath us and some more atone side. In all, the Germans followed us with six shells. Johnnyturned round and shouted, asking me how I felt. "Splendid", I said, for I really did enjoy the novelty of the experience. Many times haveI looked up into the clouds and seen a machine followed by "Archies"and wondered what it felt like to be up there, and now I knew. Onephrase however, which I had often read in the newspapers kept ringingin my ears--"Struck the petrol tank and the machine came down inflames. " And the last verse of "Nearer my God to Thee, " also ranthrough my head, "Or if on joyful wing upwards I fly. " We turned nowto the right and flew over Vimy Ridge, and then made two or threeturns round Liévin where, above his battery, I dropped the letter formy son. It was delivered to him two weeks afterwards in a hospital inLondon. We flew out over Lens and crossed the German lines again, skirting the district which the Germans had flooded and then turnedour faces homewards. Above the Château at Villers Chatel, I droppedthe red smoke bomb. We circled round in the air at a great heightwhile I wrote on a piece of paper, "Canon Scott drops his blessingfrom the clouds on 1st Canadian Divisional Headquarters, " and put (p. 264)it in the little pocket of leaded streamers. Alas, it was lost in awheat field and so did not do them any more good than the other blessingsI have dropped upon them. We then turned to Berles where I could seebeneath me the old house and the tiny beings in white playing tennison the court. We reached the aerodrome at Izel-les-Hameaux and landedsafely after being in the air for fifty-five minutes. It was a mostdelightful experience for a non-combatant. The next day the engine ofthe machine gave out and Johnny Johnson was compelled to make a forcedlanding. Luckily it was behind our lines. I went several times againto try to have another flight, but from the excuses made I inferredthat joy-rides of this description had been banned. The following yearin London I heard by accident that poor Johnny Johnson had been killeda few weeks after our trip. He was a splendid young fellow andabsolutely without fear. May his brave soul rest in peace. 

Nearly two months had passed since we had been in the line, and theGermans had made no attack. We wondered what had happened to them. Ithought that perhaps influenza had laid them low. At any rate we werenot anxious to end the happy time we were having. The climax of ourglory was reached on the 1st of July when we celebrated the birthdayof the Dominion by Corps sports on the field at Tincques. It was amost wonderful occasion. 

Dominion Day fell on a Monday, and on the previous afternoon, knowingthat large bodies of men, including the contestants, were congregatedat Tincques, I determined to go over and pay them a visit. I found thevillage full of troops and all very keen about the next day's show. Ina little lane, were some 1st Division men, and they were enjoying theexcitement of a game which was very popular at the front, called"Crown and Anchor. " It is played with special dice on a board orsquare of green canvas. On the canvas were painted an anchor and crownand I think a heart and spade. The game was banned by the army onaccount of its unfairness. The banker had, I think, sixty-four chancesto one in his favour. The consequence of this was that very soon hebecame possessed of all the money which green youths, unsuspectingtheir disadvantage, chose to lay on the board. This game, in the handsof a sharper, was often the means of robbing a battalion of very largesums of money; sometimes forty thousand francs were made by the banker. The police had orders to arrest anyone playing it and I used to (p. 265)do my best to stamp it out. Though I do not play for money myself, I never could see any great harm in those poor boys out there gettinga little relaxation from their terrible nervous strain by a game ofbridge or poker for a few francs. But a game which was founded whollyon dishonesty was something which I felt was unworthy of our men. Whenever I saw them crowding round a little spot on the grass I knewthere was a game of crown and anchor going on, and I would shout, "Look out, boys, I am going to put the horse on the old mud hook"--aphrase I had heard the men use--and then canter Dandy into their midstscattering them in all directions. Over and over again I have goneinto a ring of men and given the banker five minutes to decide whetherhe would hand over his board and dice to me or have his name reportedto the police. He never failed to do the former, although sometimes helooked rather surly at losing a very fruitful source of revenue. Ihave brought home with me enough crown and anchor dice to make themouth of an old soldier water. On this occasion I became possessed ofthe crown and anchor board and the dice in the usual way. But, as themen said they wanted to have some amusement, I went to an officer'sbillet and got a pack of cards for them, and they settled down to agame of poker. 

Some pious souls proposed that I should have a service that evening inthe field where the sports were to be held. I thought that it would bea good idea, but was not sure how large a congregation I should have. I got together a little body-guard in the village and we went offcollecting stragglers by the way. When we came to the corner of thefield where I proposed to hold my service, we found to my dismay thatit was full of masses of men crowding around what I knew were crownand anchor boards on the ground. I did not mind doing police work inmy own Division, where I was known by the men, but I did not feelcalled upon to act as A. P. M. For the Corps, so I had to start anotherline of campaign. I marched on at the head of my congregation straightinto the midst of the gamblers. The men on the outskirts saw me comingand I could see them warning the players. Those sitting on the groundstood up and wondered what was going to happen. Looking very serious, I went right through the crowd, without saying anything, to a distanceon the other side, and then the curiosity of the men was aroused andthey all followed. When I stood still I found myself surrounded byhundreds of men who were waiting to see what I was going to do. (p. 266)Without a smile, I pulled out the crown and anchor board from my pocketand, to the astonishment of all, laid it on the ground and called out, in the gamblers' language, "Who is for the old sergeant-major?" Neverbefore have I seen such an expression of surprise on people's faces. Among the crowd were some Imperial soldiers and they could not makeout what sort of padré I was. For a moment, in spite of the grinningcountenances of the 1st Division men, there was a pause of silenthorror. Then they all burst into a roar of laughter, and I told them Ihad come out there that evening, as it was Sunday, to hold a serviceand did not know what text to take for a sermon. Now they had given meone. I held up the crown and anchor board and said I was going topreach about that, and I delivered a discourse on honesty. When it wasover, they asked me to give my lecture on our leave trip to Rome. Ithought it might be a good diversion for the time. My side-car wasbrought up, and sitting on it, in the midst of the men, who crowdedabout me on the ground, I gave them a long talk which lasted until itwas too dark for any more crown and anchor. 

The next day brought us glorious weather, and from early in themorning battalions were pouring into Tincques. The grounds weresplendidly laid out and bordered with many stands and marquees. Theremust have been nearly forty-thousand spectators present. The Duke ofConnaught, Sir Robert Borden, and all sorts of great people attended, and the playing of "O Canada" by the massed bands was something which, as a British General told me, made a big lump come in one's throat. Itwas the last Dominion Day we were to spend in France. We were on theeve of tremendous events, and it was a splendid manifestation ofCanada's glory at the front. There was such a gathering of old friendswho had not met for years, that one really could not attend to thevarious events and sports that were taking place. We met for a moment, and the old days would be talked over, and then we parted, some, alas, never to meet again in this world. That vast crowd which fringed thehuge expanse of ground was quite the most thrilling spectacle thatCanadians had ever seen. Tincques must be a quiet place now, andperhaps only a few marks in the great field still remain to show wherethe sports were held. But there were gathered there that day the vasthost of noble gentlemen who saved the honour and freedom of our youngcountry. 

CHAPTER XXIX. (p. 267)

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 

_July to August 7th, 1918. _

The possession of a side-car gave me the opportunity of getting muchfurther afield in my visits. Our 1st Divisional wing, where the newdrafts were received and trained for the front line, was at this timeback in a place called Loison, in the quiet and beautiful countrybetween St. Pol and General Headquarters. I had done a great deal ofparish visiting among our battalions in rest and given the story of myleave trip to Rome many times, so I thought I would make an excursionto the Base. We had a delightful trip down the St. Pol road throughlittle villages and towns which looked as they did in pre-war days. The country where the Divisional wing was stationed was very charming. It was well watered by many pretty rivers, and hills covered withtrees gave diversity to the landscape. I told the men they were livingin a land flowing with milk and honey. I stayed at the headquarters ofthe wing in a delightful old house on a hill surrounded with finetrees. Each Brigade had its own reserve, so there were many men in thevillage, and an old mill pond enabled me to have two or three goodswims. In a Y. M. C. A. Tent, courses of lectures in connection with theKhaki University were being given on various subjects. One evening, naturally I gave them a talk on our leave trip to Rome. On another, ina corner of the field, I gave them an informal lecture on Englishliterature. Having got so far from home, I determined to go a littlefurther, and so we made a trip to Boulogne, where my son who had beengassed was still in a C. C. S. , and that afternoon on our return we wentto Montreuil to see what G. H. Q. Looked like. I was told that Montreuilwas a very picturesque old walled city, but that we should not beallowed to enter. However, I had been able to do so many forbiddenthings in the war that I thought it would be worth trying, so the oldClino sped over the hard macadamized roads from Boulogne till we cameto the valley on the opposite side of which the town is situated. Wesaw many cars coming and going, and many troops by the way, andfinally we sped up the hill which leads to the entrance gate. A sentrywas standing there, who saluted most properly, and we passed into (p. 268)the sacred city without molestation. It was a delightful old Frenchtown, full of historical interest. The narrow streets and quaint oldbuildings carried one back in thought to the days of chivalry andbattles waged by knights in shining armour. We saw some of thechurches, and then went to the officers' club for tea. The waitressesat the club were English girls who had taken the place of the menneeded at the front. I got them to provide for my friend Lyons intheir sitting-room, and I went in to have tea with the officers. Agreat many were there sitting at small tables. It was interesting tosee the badges of so many different regiments. Most of the officershad a good supply of ribbons, and a few of them had lost an eye or alimb, or bore other marks of wounds. I think that almost all of themwere staff officers and that some of them were generals. It struck methat the atmosphere to a stranger was rather chilly. The demeanour ofthe people was much less free than that which we had been accustomedto at the front. Of course Montreuil held the brains of the army, andit was quite right that the directing intelligences there should feelthe loftiness of their position. I made up two lines as I was havingtea, which I thought hit off the mental attitude of some of theofficers present, when they saw a stranger and looked him up and downthrough their monocles, "I'm on the staff of the G. H. Q. , And I'd like to know who the devil are you?"

There had been such a democratic upsetting of traditions and customsin the Service, owing to the obliteration of the original BritishArmy, that it was quite refreshing to find that a remnant of Israelhad been saved. 

I paid two visits to the Divisional wing within a few days of eachother, and on one occasion, on a baking July day, addressed abattalion of draftees who were about to be sent up to the front. Theywere a fine looking lot of men and knew their drill. Poor boys, theylittle knew what was in store for them in those last hundred days ofthe war. 

Rumours were current now that the time for our great attack had come, so there were no more joy-rides for me to the pleasant fields andsociety of Loison. On my return on July 14th I found our Headquartersonce again at Etrun, and our Division were holding their old (p. 269)trenches to the north and south of the Scarpe. Once more I had thepleasure of sleeping in Pudding trench and doing what I called"consolidating the line. " I did a good deal of parish visiting in thetrenches at this time. I felt that big changes might occur at anymoment, and I wanted to be with the men in any ordeal through whichthey might have to pass. Very strange scenes come before me as I lookback upon those days before our great attack. One night I stayed withthe gallant Colonel of the Canadian Scottish at Tilloy. Hisheadquarters were in No Man's Land, and the front trench ran in asemi-circle to the rear. The Colonel, having found a good Germandugout in the cellars of the ruined chateau, preferred to make hisheadquarters there. We did not know where the enemy's front line was, and our men were doing outpost duty in shell-holes further forward. They had to be visited every two hours when it was dark, to see thatall was well. That night I asked the Colonel if I might go out withthe patrol. He demurred at first, and then gave his consent only oncondition that I should take off my white collar, and promise not tomake any jokes with the men on duty for fear they should laugh andgive away our position. I made my promise and started with the patrolofficer and his runner. It was a curious sensation wandering off inthe darkness as silently as possible, tripping now and then on bits ofwire and almost slipping into the trenches. We came to the differentshell-holes and whispered conversations were held. The sentries seemedsurprised when I spoke to them, as they could not recognize me in thedarkness. I whispered that I had promised the Colonel not to tell anyfunny stories for fear they should laugh, so I merely gave them thebenediction, in return for which spiritual function I got a very warmhandshake. To do outpost duty in a place like that must have been moreinteresting than pleasant, for at all times the sentries had to keepstraining their eyes in the darkness to see if a patrol of the enemywas coming to surprise them. On our return we saw some shells fallingto the right in the shadowy desolation of what was called Bully-beefWood. 

On another occasion, I was coming out near Feuchy along the railwaytriangle when the Germans dropped some gas shells in the cutting. Twoof the men and I were talking together, and we had just time to diveinto Battalion Headquarters and pull down the gas blankets. We put onour helmets, but not before we had got a dose of the poison. As I satthere with my throat burning, I was filled with alarm lest I (p. 270)should lose my voice and be unable in the future to recite my poems. It was hard enough, as it was, to keep my friends long enough to hearmy verses, but I thought that if I had to spell them out in deaf-and-dumblanguage no one would ever have patience to wait till the end. However, after a few days my throat got better, and my friends wereonce again forced to lend me their ears. 

The railway triangle was a well-known place, and any men who may havelived in some of the dugouts along the banks are not likely to forgetit. In the valley there was a large artificial lake in which I hadsome of the most pleasant swims I have ever enjoyed, although thewaters were sometimes stirred up by the advent of a shell. 

It was part of our strategy to let our men get the impression that wewere going to stay in the trenches before Arras for a long time. Wehad several raiding parties with a view to finding out the positionand strength of the enemy, and our C. C. S. 's were well equipped andlooked as if they were going to remain there forever. Our CorpsHeadquarters, too, were not far from Etrun, and the concentration ofCanadians in the neighbourhood gave us the impression that we hadfound a more than temporary resting place. An American Chaplain wassent up to stay with me for a visit in order to see what conditionswere like at the front. He was a Lutheran, although not of Germanextraction. I took him up to Arras one night, where we had dinner withthe engineers, and afterwards saw the 10th Battalion start off for thetrenches. He was much impressed with the spirit and appearance of themen. It was late when we got back to my quarters, and to my surpriseon the next morning an order came through that the American Chaplainhad to return immediately. Neither he nor I could understand it. Ibegan to think he must have got into some scrape, as no explanationwas given. The real reason came out afterwards. 

On August 1st our Division suddenly packed up and started once morefor Le Cauroy. We knew now that big things were in store for us andthat the Canadian Corps were going to attack. We heard rumours of thepreparations the French and Americans had made in the South, and wefelt that at last the Allies were going to get the initiative intotheir hands. Whither we were going, however, we did not know, but weall devoutly hoped that it would not be the Salient. The secret of ourdestination was kept most profoundly. We were told that everything (p. 271)depended upon our holding our tongues and exciting as little curiosityas possible among the inhabitants. Once again, as before Vimy, but toeven a greater extent, we felt the electric thrill which kindles theimagination of an army going into battle. The rapid move which theCanadian Corps now made was the most sporting thing we ever did, andit appealed strongly to the hearts of young men who were keen on gamesand had been inured to a hardy life in Canada. Swiftly and secretlythe battalions entrained at various points and left for parts unknown. I went in my side-car to the machine-gun headquarters at Liencourt, and on the next day to the Curé's house at Le Cauroy. I found out fromHeadquarters that our Division was going south within a day or so, butthat I was not to tell the men. The brigades were billeted in theneighbouring villages, but were soon to move. I was only one day at LeCauroy, and on the 3rd of August, after a rainy morning, started offin my side-car for Hornoy, a little village not far from Amiens. Weleft Le Cauroy in the afternoon, and soon the sun came out making thefreshly washed country more beautiful than ever. It was very interestingfinding our way by the map, and as we neared our destination I metmany friends in the other divisions who were stationed in the villagesthrough which we passed. By the time we reached Hornoy, the sun hadset. My billet was to be with the Curé. I went over to the neat whitePresbytère which was approached by a large gate leading into thegarden. The old man came to meet me at the door of his house, and putme through a lot of questions in what I thought was a needlessly gruffmanner. I found out afterwards that he was very kind, and that hisgruffness was only assumed. He gave me a room upstairs comfortablyfurnished, and invited me to come into his office whenever I pleased. The church, which could be entered from the garden, was in good order, and parts of it were very old. The day after we arrived at Hornoy wasSunday, August 4th. It was the fourth anniversary of our declarationof war, and I had hoped to hold a big service for the men. Unfortunately, we were all scattered and, as our hymn books did not turn up, havingbeen confiscated as a reprisal by some of the crown and anchor men, myplans were frustrated. In the afternoon I went by side-car to Amiensand found the city looking very different from its appearance on mylast visit. The streets were absolutely deserted. Many of the houseshad been damaged by shells. The Cathedral roof itself had been (p. 272)pierced in some places and the noble interior looked very dreary, thefloor of the nave being covered with bits of broken stone and glass. It was sad to think that it might share the fate of Rheims. SomeCanadians were wandering about the streets rather disconsolately. Theempty city gave one a terrible sense of loneliness. On the followingevening about midnight the 16th Battalion and the 3rd Battalion ofEngineers passed through Hornoy in trains, going forward. 

Our own orders to move came two days later, on August 7th, and I leftfor St. Feuchien. I went off in my side-car to the quaint old village. It is situated on the top of a low hill, and consists of a few streetsand some large buildings standing in their own grounds. One of thesewas the country home of the Archbishop of Amiens, and this was to beour billet. I entered the grounds by a broken-down gate and drew up infront of a large brick building, one wing of which was a chapel andkept locked up. In front of the building was a well full of empty tinsand other refuse. The interior of the place had once been quite fine, but was now absolutely filthy, having been used as billets. Thebilliard tables, however, could still be used. The room assigned to mewas on the ground floor at the back. The dirt on the floor was thick, and a sofa and two red plush chairs were covered with dust. A bed inthe corner did not look inviting, and through the broken windowsinnumerable swarms of blue-bottle flies came from the rubbish heaps inthe yard. The weather was very hot and there was apparently no waterfor washing. I made an inspection of the building upstairs, but allthe rooms had been assigned to different officers. The Archbishop'sroom was very large with a huge bed in it, but wore an air of soiledmagnificence. 

Everybody was in a great rush and, although I did not know when ourattack was to take place, I felt that it might happen at any moment;and so, not worrying about my billet, I started off in my side-car tosee General Thacker at Château Longeau. I found, as I passed throughBoves and other villages, that the whole Canadian Corps wasconcentrated in the neighbourhood. The dusty roads were crowded withlorries, tanks, whippets and limbers, besides numbers of men. When Igot to Château Longeau I found, to my surprise, that the General hadgone to Battle Headquarters in Gentelles Wood, and an officer whom Imet on the road told me that zero hour was on the following morning. Idetermined therefore not to return to the archiepiscopal palace (p. 273)at St. Feuchien, but to go off to the attack. I returned to Boves, where, having washed and shaved, I had dinner in a damaged house withsome officers of a light trench mortar battery, and after dinnerstarted on my way to Gentelles Wood. It was a time of intenseexcitement. Less than a week ago we had been in the line at Arras, andnow we were about to make our great attack at Amiens. The warm summerevening was well-advanced when I reached our Battle Headquartersbehind the wood. All the staff officers were so busy that to ask one aquestion was like putting a spark to a powder magazine, so I kept outof their way and journeyed up the road to the barrier beyond which novehicle was allowed to pass. I said good-bye to Lyons and then startedoff to find the trenches from which the 16th Battalion was going tolead the charge. 

CHAPTER XXX. (p. 274)

THE BATTLE OF AMIENS. 

_August 8th to 16th, 1918. _

It was strange and exhilarating to go off on an expedition of thatkind in the cool air and fading light of the evening. Something toldus that at last the hour of victory was drawing near. The moving ofthe Corps had been so splendidly conducted and the preparation hadbeen so secret that success seemed assured. This was an achievementwhich was completely different from all our past experience. The onlyquestion was, had we taken the Germans by surprise, or were theywaiting with massed forces to resist our attack? As I left the outskirtsof the wood behind me, and made my way over the green plain, nowfading into the twilight, I passed a battalion of the 3rd Divisionmanning a line of trenches. I had a talk with some of the men and toldthem that I had heard from a tank officer that nearly one thousandtanks were to be engaged in the attack on the following morning. Farover to the left, on a rise in the ground I saw the remains of avillage, and was told that a mud road across the fields would lead mein the direction of the 1st Division front. I met as usual many menwhom I knew, and finally some officers of the 15th Battalion in adugout. The light began to fade and I had difficulty in seeing farahead of me, but the track at last brought me to a sunken road whichturned to the right. Here on the hillside more men were waiting indugouts, and I was directed to a quarry, on the top of which I was totake a path that would lead me to a group of trees, where I shouldfind the Headquarters of the 16th Battalion. When I got to the quarryI found many roads there, and whether it was that the information Ihad received was incorrect, or that I was more than usually stupid, Ido not know. I wandered up and down for a long time, tripping overbits of wire and slipping into holes, before I was able to get to thetop of the hill and look over in the direction of the German lines. Atlast I found a track which had evidently been used by men going up tothe front. I went along it for a considerable distance and foundmyself on what appeared to be a plateau, but as far as I could see, noobject stood out against the starry sky-line. Shells were falling inthe fields to the left, and at different points on the eastern (p. 275)horizon the bright light of a German flare would tell us the positionof the enemy's lines. I went on for some distance, straining my eyesin the darkness to see if I could discover any trees. I thought I hadlost my way again. Suddenly the dim figure of a man approached, andwhen he came up to me, I found he belonged to one of the ImperialBattalions from whom we were taking over the line. He asked me the wayto the quarry, and I was able to tell him. Then he gave me thedirection I had to take to reach my destination. I resumed my walkalong the narrow path and at last, to my great delight, I saw a blackobject in the distance. When I came up to it I found it was the groupof trees for which I had been looking. The trees were growing out of acurious round hole in the ground. Here, a signaller of the 16thBattalion happened to turn up and acted as my guide. He led me down apath to the bottom of the hole where were several dugouts. In one ofthese I found more men of the Battalion. They were intensely keen overthe prospect of a great victory on the morrow. I was told that thebattalion and the companies which were going over in the first wavewere in advanced trenches to the left. So, after bidding the mengood-bye and good luck, I started off. At last I reached the trench, and getting down into it found the Headquarters of the Battalion hadarrived there not long before. On asking where the Colonel was, I wastaken to a place where a piece of canvas hung down the side of thetrench. When this was lifted, I looked down into a little hole in theground and there saw the C. O. , the Adjutant and another officerstudying a map by the light of a candle. The place was so tiny that Ihad to crawl in backwards, and finding that there was no room for avisitor, I soon took my departure. The Colonel ordered me to stay inthe trench, but I had made up my mind to go forward and see thecompanies which were going over in the first wave. They lay along theside of a road some distance down the slope in front of us. In makingmy way there I passed a trench where the 5th Battalion was waiting tofollow up the advance. A German machine-gun was playing freely uponthe spot, but no one got hit. When I came to the advanced companies ofthe 16th Battalion, I passed along their line and gave them myblessing. It was splendid to meet and shake hands with those gallantlads, so soon to make the attack. They were in high spirits in spiteof the seriousness of their enterprise. 

The barrage was to start at 4. 20, so I left them about 4. 10 to go (p. 276)back to Battalion Headquarters in the trench, as I intended to followup the advance with the stretcher-bearers. On my way back I met theColonel, his orderly, and his piper, who a few minutes later waskilled in the attack. I shook hands with them, and the Colonel said, "Now, Canon, if anything happens to me don't make any fuss over me;just say a few words over me in a shell-hole. " I said, "You will comeout all right, Colonel, there will be no shell-hole for you. " Then, asmy senior officer, he ordered me back to the trench. I told him Iwould go over the top with him if he wanted me to do so, but he wouldnot hear of it. When I got to the trenches only a few minutes remainedtill the barrage was to start. I climbed up on the parapet and waited, looking off into the darkness. It was a wonderful moment. When theGerman flare-lights went up we could see that there was a wood on theother side of the valley in front of us, and its outline began to growmore distinct against the grey of the morning sky. I could see toright and left a great stretch of country sloping gradually into thedarkness. Shells still fell behind our lines at intervals. Our ownguns were perfectly silent. What did the enemy's quietness portend?Were the Germans aware of our contemplated assault? Were they lying infull strength like a crouching lion ready to burst upon us in fury atthe first warning of our approach? Had all our precautions been invain? Or were we on the eve of a victory which was going to shatterthe iron dominion of the feudal monster? This was one of thosemagnificent moments in the war which filled the soul with a strangeand wild delight. For months we had been preparing for this event, andnow it was upon us. The sky was growing lighter, and the constellationof the Pleiades was beginning to fade in the sky above the outline ofthe distant trees. I looked at my watch. Nearer and nearer the handscrept to zero hour, but they move slowly at such times. Then at 4. 20the long barrage burst in all its fury. The hissing rain of shellsthrough the air on a twenty mile front made a continuous accompanimentto the savage roar of the thousands of guns along the line. Those gunssent their wild music round the globe, and sounded that note ofvictory which only ceased when the bells of the churches in all thecivilized world rang out their joyful peals at the signing of theArmistice. 

Up went the German rockets and coloured lights calling for help, (p. 277)and ever and anon a red glow in the sky told us that we had blown upan ammunition dump. The noise was earth-shaking, and was even moreexhilarating than that of the barrage at Vimy. I was so carried awayby my feelings that I could not help shouting out, "Glory be to Godfor this barrage!" The German reply came, but, to our delight, it wasfeeble, and we knew we had taken them by surprise and the day wasours. 

A strange sound behind us made us look around, and we saw the advancingtanks creeping down the slope like huge grey beetles. Our men werejust in time to divert the course of one which threatened to cut ourtelephone wires. Then the 5th Battalion got out of their trenches, andthe stretcher-bearers and I went off with them down the slope. Thewood through which the German lines ran was called Hangard Wood andlay on the opposite side of the valley. Here and there lying in theripe grain which covered the fields were bodies of the wounded anddead of the 13th and 16th Battalions. The stretcher-bearers set towork to carry off those who had been hit. A sergeant followed me andwe skirted the wood looking for wounded, while he was able to becomepossessor of a machine-gun and several German revolvers. The wheat hadbeen trampled down by the men in their charge, but was still highenough in places to conceal a prostrate form. By this time the attackhad passed through the wood and the enemy were running before it. TheGerman artillery now concentrated their fire on the valley, whichsoon, in the still morning air, became thick with smoke. It wasimpossible to see more than a few yards in front of one. We heard thecrash of shells around us, but could not see where they burst. The sunhad not risen and we soon lost our way in the mist. We could not tellfrom the direction of the sound which was the German barrage and whichwas ours. 

I was going on ahead when I came to a large shell-hole that had beenmade in some previous battle. At the bottom of it lay three apparentlydead Huns. I was looking down at them wondering how they had beenkilled, as they were not messed about. I thought that they must havedied of shell-shock, until one of them moved his hand. At once Ishouted, "Kamarad", and to my intense amusement the three men lying ontheir backs put up their hands and said, "Kamarad! mercy! mercy!" Itwas most humorous to think that three human beings should appeal to meto spare their lives. I told them in my best French to get up andfollow me, and I called out to the sergeant, "Sergeant, I have got (p. 278)three prisoners. " My desire to take a prisoner had been a standingjoke among our men. Whenever they were going into action I used tooffer them $25. 00 to bring out a little German whom I might captureall by myself. I used to tell them not to bring out a big one, as itmight look boastful for a chaplain. Here were three ready to hand forwhich I had to pay nothing. We moved on through the smoke, a mostcomical procession. The sergeant went ahead and I brought up the rear. Between us went the three terror-stricken prisoners, crouching everynow and then when shells fell near us. At last we stumbled on acompany of the 2nd Battalion coming forward, and I called out to them, "Boys, I got seventy-five dollars worth of Huns in one shell-hole. "Our gallant Canadians at once took the three unfortunate men, wholooked as if they expected to have their throats cut, and havingrelieved them of the contents of their pockets and removed theirbuttons and shoulder-straps, gave me one of the latter as a souvenir. 

When the prisoners were disposed of and sent back with others underescort, I started forward again and seeing a tank coming down the hillgot on it and so went back into the battle. We passed quite easilyover some wide trenches, then when the machine came to a stop I gotoff and made my way to the end of the valley and climbed to the higherground beyond. There I found myself in a wide expanse of countrycovered by yellow grain and rolling off in hills to the distance. Hereand there I met wounded men walking back, and many German prisoners. In the fields in different directions I could see rifles stuck, bayonet downwards, in the ground, which showed that there lay woundedmen. I found that these were chiefly Germans, and all of them hadreceived hideous wounds and were clamouring for water. Poor men, I wassorry for them, for I knew it would be long before they could becarried out or receive medical attention, owing to the rapidity of ouradvance. I made my way to each in turn and gave him a drink from someof the water bottles which I carried round my belt. I think all theGermans I saw that morning were dying, having been wounded in thestomach. After attending, as far as it was possible, to their bodilyneeds, I endeavoured to minister to their spiritual. As they happenedto be Roman Catholics, I took off the crucifix which I wore round myneck and gave it to them. They would put up their trembling hands andclasp it lovingly, and kiss it, while I began the Lord's Prayer (p. 279)in German. This happened many times that day. One man who had ahideous wound in the abdomen was most grateful, and when he handed meback the crucifix he took my hand and kissed it. It was strange tothink that an hour before, had we met, we should have been deadlyenemies. At a crossroad further on the Germans must have concentratedtheir fire when our men advanced, for many dead and wounded were lyingabout. 

The sun was now high in the heavens and it became very hot, but theautumn fields looked beautiful, and, as there were no hedges orfences, the low rolling hills gave one the sense of great expanse, andwere an ideal ground for a battle on a large scale. While I waslooking after the wounded I heard the cheering of the 16th Battalionwho had reached their objective and were settling down to rest and tohave some food. I made my way to them and found the Colonel in highglee over what his men had done. It had been a splendid routing of theenemy. The Battalions of the 1st and 2nd Brigades followed up theattack and were now moving forward, so I followed after them. It was adelightful feeling to be walking through the golden harvest fieldswith the blue sky overhead, and to know that we were advancing intothe enemy's land. It seemed as if by our own labours we had suddenlybecome possessed of a vast property and that everything we found waslawfully ours. It is no doubt that feeling which fills men with thedesire to loot in a conquered country. 

I had a magnificent view from the hill of the British Cavalry going intoaction. Thousands of little horses in the distance on the vast plainwere galloping in a long line across the yellow fields, which remindedone of the great battles of old, when mounted men, and not machine-gunsand gas-shells, were the determining factor. The store of water that Ihad brought with me was now exhausted, but I was able to get a freshsupply from the water-bottle of a dead man. The road that leads fromGentelles to Caix winds through the valley to the right of the line ofour attack and follows a little stream. It is very narrow, and on thatday was so crowded with cavalry, ambulances and artillery movingforward that every now and then it would become blocked. In a mill, which the Germans had used partly as artillery headquarters and partlyas a depot for military stores, our men found a quantity of blankets, coats and other useful articles. Our doctors established an aid-postin the out-buildings, and made use of the materials which the enemyhad left behind in his flight. A section of our machine-gunners (p. 280)was resting there, and it was a great refreshment to stop for a whileand have a good clean-up and a shave with a borrowed razor. We were soparched with thirst that we drank out of the stream, in spite of thefact that many shells had fallen into it. Our final objective wasstill some miles away, so I started up the road, following after the1st Brigade. 

The Germans, finding the game was up, had left many guns behind themand blown up a large quantity of ammunition. One great heap of it laybeside the river. Very pretty hamlets lay along the valley; we passedone called Ignacourt, where there was a damaged church. We afterwardsestablished an ambulance there. I was very tired with my long walk, not having had any sleep the night before, so was glad to get a lifton an ambulance and go forward in the afternoon to the village ofCaix, which was the final objective of the 2nd Brigade. One of ourambulances had taken over a building in the Square, but was shelledout of it that night. The 10th Battalion had gone forward and takenpossession of trenches beyond the village. I went out to them andthere found the men in high spirits over the way the battle had gone. The old red patch Division had advanced 14, 000 yards, and so hadbeaten the record of any division, British or enemy, during the War. It was now late in the afternoon and no further attack that day wascontemplated. Before us on a slight rise in the ground lay the villageof Rosières, through which the road ran parallel to the trenches whichwe held. Between us and the village was a slight dip in the ground, and with glasses we could see lorries full of fresh German troops, amid clouds of dust, making their way to a point in the village. Therethey would stop and the men would get out and hurry down the fieldsinto the trenches. It looked as if they were going to make acounter-attack. The situation was very disquieting. I was told by oneof the sergeants in our front line that we were in need of freshammunition, and he asked me if I would let the Colonel know. I passedthrough the trenches on my return and told the men how glorious it wasto think that we had pushed the Germans back and were now so manymiles from where we had started. I went back to Battalion Headquartersand found that they were in a cottage on the eastern extremity of thevillage. Across the road was a cavalry observation-post, where someofficers were watching Rosières and the arrival of German troops. (p. 281)Luckily for us the Germans had no guns to turn upon us, although thevillage of Caix was shelled constantly all night. Later on, somebatteries of the Royal Horse Artillery and our field guns, which hadcome up, sealed the fate of the Germans and prevented a counter-attack. A glorious sunset over the newly conquered territory made a fittingclose to a day of great deeds and high significance. When darknessfell and the stars looked out of the quiet sky, I said good-night tomy cavalry friends, whose billets were down in a hollow to the right, and started off to find some place to sleep. 

The cellars of the cottage occupied by the Colonel were crowded, so Iwent to the village and seeing some men entering a gateway followedthem. It was the courtyard of a large building, presumably a brewery. The runners of the battalion had found a deep cellar where they hadtaken up their abode. I asked if I might sleep with them for thenight. The cellar was not particularly inviting, but it was well belowthe ground and vaulted in brick. The floor was simply earth and verydamp. Two candles were burning in a box where a corporal was makingout the ration-list for the men. I got two empty sandbags to put onthe floor to keep me from getting rheumatism, and lying on them andusing my steel helmet as a pillow I prepared to sleep. The runners, except those on duty, did the same. Our feet met in the centre of theroom and our bodies branched off like the spokes of a wheel. Whenanyone turned and put his feet on one side we all had to turn and putour feet in the same direction. We heard a good many shells burstingin the Square that night, but we were safe and comparatively comfortable. Before I got to sleep, I watched with great admiration the two youngnon-coms who were sitting at the table arranging and discussing in alow tone the duties of the various men for the following day. The twolads could not have been more than twenty years of age, but theirsense of responsibility and justice was well-developed. I thought whata fine thing it was that men were being trained like that to becomeuseful citizens of Canada. We were up early in the morning and I mademy way to Battalion Headquarters, where I heard that there was to beanother attack in the forenoon. 

We were now to change places with the 2nd Division. They were to shiftfrom our right flank to our left and take over the attack on (p. 282)Rosières while we advanced towards Warvillers. From the cavalryobservation-post, I could see with a glass the 5th Battalion going upto the front in single file along a hedge. I had breakfast with the7th Battalion officers in their dugout by the roadside near thecavalry billets, and then started off to join the 8th Battalion whichwas going to attack that morning. Machine-guns from Rosières wereplaying on the road near the end of the wood. I determined thereforenot to go round the wood but through it and so reached the other sidein safety. I was sitting on a fallen tree eating some lunch andwondering whether I should be able to get up in time for the attack, when, to my great joy, over the hill to my right, I saw some troopsapproaching in extended order. Hardly had they appeared on the crestwhen the Germans at Rosières opened fire upon them and shells fell onthe hill. The men kept very steady and nobody, as far as I could see, was hit. When they got down to the wood I went forward and spoke tothem and found they were the 22nd Battalion, and I met severalQuebecers whom I knew. 

I saw the Battalion go off in the direction of Rosières and I renewedmy journey to our own line. I passed the 24th Battalion who were goingup on the left of the 22nd, and they told me that the 2nd Brigade wereon their right. There were many trenches along the way which theGermans had abandoned on the previous day. I passed a poor horse whichwas badly wounded and still alive. It was attached to a broken Germancart. I got one of our men to shoot the animal, and went on till Icame to a railway in the hollow and followed it. There were manywooden buildings here and there which had been built by the Germans. These structures had been badly knocked about by shrapnel, and thelitter of articles within showed how rapid the German flight had been. At a little distance on the east side of the track, there was a greenwood, which was called, as I afterwards found out, Beaufort or HatchetWood. Every now and then as I walked, little puffs of dust would risefrom the road in front of me, showing that machine-gun bullets werefalling about. A cavalry patrol of three men, returning down the trackfrom the direction of the wood, came towards me, and, taking me for acombatant officer, the corporal saluted and said, "That wood is veryheavily held by machine-guns, Sir, we have just made a reconnaissance. ""That's all right, " I said, "I do not intend to take it just yet. " Iwas going up the track, wondering where I had got to, when I saw (p. 283)a young officer of the 8th Battalion, followed by his men, comingtowards me. I went to him and told him that I had heard the wood wasvery heavily held by machine-guns. He said he knew it and was going toattack from the side, so I went with them and, as they lay on theground and got their Lewis guns in position, I pronounced thebenediction over them and then continued my journey up the railroad. On the west side of the track at the top of the bank was a hedge. HereI found the 14th Battalion waiting to follow up the 8th. A youngofficer of the latter battalion was lying on the ground dying. Hedictated a farewell letter to his wife, which I afterwards gave to theAdjutant. On the slope of ground down which the 8th had chargedtowards the railway I saw many bodies of dead and wounded men, so Iwent up to them to see what I could do. Several were dying, and Ifound one poor fellow who had never been baptised; so I took somewater from my bottle and baptised him as he lay there. They would becarried off when the stretcher-bearers could begin their work. 

While I was attending to the wounded, I looked towards the wood at theother side of the track. I was on a higher level, and so had a view ofthe open country beyond, and there, to my astonishment, I saw theGermans leaving their ambush and running away. I hurried down the hillto the hedge and shouted out to the 14th Battalion that the Germanswere running away, and an officer came up to make sure. Then orderswere given to the men to charge and they crossed the track and tookpossession of the wood. As soon as I had seen the wounded carried offI followed after the troops, and there once more had the joy ofadvancing over newly-won territory. 

At a farmhouse a number of our men were gathered for a temporary rest, and there I learned that the colonel of the 8th Battalion and a largenumber of officers and men had been killed that morning. The battalionhad to charge down the hill in the face of heavy machine-gun fire. Some tanks were standing by the farm and one of the officers offeredto take me with him in the machine, but as it was to go into the 2ndDivisional area I had to decline the invitation and follow up our menon foot. I passed a number of German wounded. One of them, a younglad, was terribly alarmed when he saw me approaching, thinking I wasgoing to murder him. He held up his hands and shouted, "Kamarad!" Ithink the Germans had heard wild stories of the ferocity of (p. 284)Canadians. The boy then began to implore me to send him to an ambulance. He was wounded in the leg, and had bound up his wounds very neatly andskilfully. I tried to make him understand that the stretcher-bearerswould come up in time, and I stuck his rifle in the ground with hishelmet on the top of it, as a signal to the bearer party. 

Before me at the end of the road, I saw amid trees the village ofWarvillers. Many men were going towards it from all directions; and Isaw our artillery brigades taking up battery positions to the left. Imet two men of the 5th Battalion and we started off to the villagetogether. The place was now in our hands, as the Germans had evacuatedit some hours before. The houses were quite intact and offeredprospects of pleasant billets. My companions and I, finding it wasquite late in the afternoon, determined to go and have our meal in agarden near the Château. We sat down on the grass and opened ourbully-beef tins, and seeing onions growing in the garden thought itwould be a good thing to have that savoury vegetable as a relish. Itadded to the enjoyment of our simple meal to think that we were eatingsomething which the Germans had intended for themselves. We managed toget some fresh water too from a well nearby, which looked quite clean. On the other side of a wall we could see the roof of the Château. Oneof the men thought he would like to go and explore and find out whowas there. He came back a few minutes afterwards and said it was fullof Germans. So, taking their rifles, the two men went off to attackit, thinking they had found a stronghold of the enemy. I was justhaving a smoke after my meal when the lads came back and said that theGermans whom they had seen were our prisoners and that the Château hadbeen taken over by us as a dressing station. We made our way to it andfound that it was a very beautiful place situated in lovely grounds. Acard on a door upstairs bore the inscription, "His Excellency General, "and then followed a German name. The place had been the headquartersof some enemy corps or division on the previous day. At the back ofthe Château was a very strong concrete dugout divided off into rooms, which were soon filled by our officers and men. All that night thewounded were being brought to the Château, and German prisoners alsofound their way there. Nobody was paying much attention to the latter, and, thinking it was unwise to let them wander about, and perhaps goback to their lines with information about our location, with (p. 285)the permission of the C. O. Of the ambulance, who was up to his eyes inwork, I had them all put into one large room over which I placed aguard. They were sent back to the corps cage in the morning. TheGermans evidently expected that we would use the Château because theydropped some heavy shells in the garden during the night, and we hadto get the wounded down in to the cellars in quick time. 

I had about three hours sleep that night, and in the morning Idetermined to follow up our men of the 1st Brigade who had nowestablished themselves at a village ahead of us called Rouvroy. As Iwas starting off, a signaller came up to me and told me he hadcaptured a stray horse with a saddle on it and that he would lend itto me to take me to my destination. I mounted the animal and went downthe avenue in great pride and comfort, but after I got into the road aman came up and stopped me and told me, to my horror, that I wasriding his horse which he had lost the night before. It requires greatstrength of mind and self-mastery to give up a mount to a pedestrianwhen you are once in the saddle. But the war had not entirelyextinguished the light of conscience in my soul, so, tired as I was, Idismounted and gave up the steed. But as I saw the man ride back tothe Château I began to wonder within myself whether he was the realowner or not. One thief does not like to be out-witted by another. However, there was nothing to do now but to go straight ahead. Theroad before me led directly to Rouvroy. Some German planes werehovering overhead, and in the fields to my left our artillery weregoing into action. As shells were dropping on the road I took a shortcut over the fields. Here I found some of our machine-gunners, and thebody of a poor fellow who had just been killed. I got to the villageof Rouvroy about noon and made my way to a dugout under the mainroad, where the colonel and some of the officers of the 3rd Battalionwere having lunch. They gave me a cup of tea, but I told them I hadtaken my food on the journey, so did not want anything to eat. Theylooked much relieved at this, because rations were short. Theirchaplain was there and gave me a warm reception. I was feeling ratherused up, so lay down on a wire mattress and had an hour's sleep. Whenlunch was over the chaplain and I went to see the sights of the town. The ruined church was being used for a dressing station and it seemedto me it was rather a dangerous place, as the Germans would be (p. 286)likely to shell it. We found an old bookshop which was filled withGerman literature and writing paper, some of which proved very useful. 

We had a good rest in a dugout, but I felt so seedy that I told him, if he heard that I had gone out of the line, not to think it wasbecause I was suffering from "cold feet". We went back to the village, and there we found shells dropping in the main street not far from thechurch. In fact, one came so close that we had to dive into a cellarand wait till the "straffing" was over. Then I bid my companiongood-bye and started off over the fields back to Warvillers. By thistime I felt so unwell that it was hard to resist the temptation tocrawl into some little hole in which I might die quietly. However, with my usual luck, I found a motor car waiting near the road for anair-officer who had gone off on a tour of inspection and was expectedto return soon. The driver said I could get in and rest. When theofficer came back he kindly consented to give me a ride to myDivisional Headquarters. We did not know where they were and I landedin the wrong place, but finally with the assistance of another car Imade my way to Beaufort. There I found our Division had establishedthemselves in huts and dugouts at the back of an ancient chateau. Withgreat difficulty I made my way over to General Thacker's mess andasked for some dinner. 

During the meal, the General sent off his A. D. C. On a message, and hesoon returned with no less a person than the A. D. M. S. , who, to mydismay, proceeded to feel my pulse and put a clinical thermometer inmy mouth. My temperature being 103-1/2, he ordered me at once to gooff to a rest camp, under threat of all sorts of penalties if I didnot. I lay on the floor of his office till three in the morning, whenan ambulance arrived and took me off to some place in a field, wherethey were collecting casualties. From thence I was despatched to thelarge asylum at Amiens which was operated by an Imperial C. C. S. Themajor who examined me ordered me to go to the Base by the next train, as they had no time to attend to cases of influenza. For a while I wasleft on the stretcher in a ward among wounded heroes. I felt myselfout of place, but could do nothing to mend matters. Two sisters cameover to me, and apparently took great interest in me till one of themlooked at the tag which was pinned on my shoulder. With a look ofdisgust she turned and said to her companion, "He isn't wounded atall, he has only got the 'flu'". At once they lost all interest (p. 287)in me, and went off leaving me to my fate. Stung by this humiliation, I called two orderlies and asked them to carry me out into the gardenand hide me under the bushes. This they did, and there I found manyfriends who had been wounded lying about the place. My batman had comewith me and had brought my kit, so a box of good cigars which I handedround was most acceptable to the poor chaps who were waiting to besent off. By a stroke of good luck, an accident on the railwayprevented my being evacuated that evening. I knew that if they oncegot me down to the Base my war days would be over. 

On the following morning, feeling better, I got up, shaved, put on mybest tunic, and, with a cigar in my mouth, wandered into the receptionroom, where I found the major who had ordered me off on the previousday. Puffing the smoke in front of my face to conceal my paleness, Iasked him when he was going to send me down to the Base. He looked alittle surprised at finding me recovered, and then said, "Well, Padré, I think I will let you go back to your lines after all. " It was agreat relief to me. The chaplain of the hospital very kindly took mein charge and allowed me to spend the night in his room. The next dayI got a ride in a Canadian ambulance and made my way back to Beaufort. There, to my horror, I found that the Division, thinking they had gotrid of me for good, had appointed another padré in my place. Throughthe glass door of my room, I could see him giving instructions to thechaplain of the artillery. I felt like Enoch Arden, but I had notEnoch's unselfishness so, throwing the door wide open, I strode intothe room, and to the ill-concealed consternation of both my friendswho had looked upon me in a military sense as dead, informed them thatI had come back to take over my duties. Of course, everyone said theywere glad to see me, except General Thacker, who remarked dryly thatmy return had upset all the cherished plans of well-ordered minds. TheA. D. M. S. Had told them that he had thought I was in for an attack ofpneumonia. It was really a very amusing situation, but I wasdetermined to avoid the Base, especially now that we felt the greatand glorious end of our long campaign was coming nearer every day. 

CHAPTER XXXI. (p. 288)

WE RETURN TO ARRAS. 

_August, 1918. _

On Friday the 16th of August our Division left Beaufort and moved backto billets at Le Quesnel. Here there was a good sized chateau whichwas at once used for office purposes. The General and his staff madetheir billets in a deep cave which was entered from the road. It wasof considerable extent, lit by electric light, and rooms opened out onboth sides of the central passage. I had one assigned to me, but as Idid not feel well enough to stand the dampness I gave it to the clerksof the A. D. M. S. , and made my home with the veterinary officer in thecellar of the school-house which stood beside the church. The latter, which had been used by the Germans as a C. C. S. , was a modern buildingand of good proportions. The spire had been used as an observation-post. One or two shells had hit the building and the interior, though stillintact, was in great disorder. The altar ornaments, vestments, andprayer books were thrown about in confusion. The school-house where Iwas lodged must have been also the Curé's residence. A good-sized roomdownstairs served as a chapel for my Sunday services. The cellar, where the A. D. V. S. And I slept was quite comfortable, though by nomeans shell-proof. As the only alternative abode was the cave, he andI, deciding we would rather die of a shell than of rheumatism, chosethe cellar. The Corps ambulances were all together in a valley not faraway, and in trenches to the east, near the cemetery where the 8thBattalion officers and men had been buried, there were some reservesof the 3rd Brigade. 

Things were quiet now in the front line, so I determined to make atrip to Albert to see my son's grave. It was a long and dusty journeyand the roads were rough. We passed back through the district overwhich we had advanced, and saw everywhere gruesome traces of thefighting. When we came to Albert, however, we found it was still inthe possession of the enemy. The Americans were holding the line, andan American sentry stopped us at a barrier in the road and said thatno motorcycles were allowed to go any further in that direction. (p. 289)It was strange to hear the American accent again, and I told the ladthat we were Canadians. "Well", he said, with a drawl, "that's goodenough for me. " We shook hands and had a short talk about the peacefulcontinent that lay across the ocean. There was nothing for us to dothen but to return. 

On the following Sunday, the Germans having evacuated Albert a day anda half before, I once more paid a visit to the old town. I left myside-car on the outskirts of the place and was taken by Mr. Bean, theAustralian War Correspondent, into his car. He was going up to takesome photographs. The day was intensely hot, and the dust of the nowruined town was literally ankle-deep and so finely powdered that itsplattered when one walked as though it had been water. I saw theruins of the school-house which our ambulances had used, and noticedthat the image of the Virgin had been knocked down from the tower ofthe Cathedral. I passed the house where our Headquarters had been. Thebuilding was still standing but the front wall had gone, leaving theinterior exposed. I made my way up the Bapaume road to Tara Hill, andthere to my great delight I found the little cemetery still intact. Shells had fallen in it and some of the crosses had been broken, butthe place had been wonderfully preserved. A battery on one side of ithad just ceased firing and was to advance on the following day. WhileI was putting up some of the crosses that had fallen, Mr. Bean came upin his car and kindly took a photograph of my son's grave. He alsotook a photograph of the large Australian cross which stands at onecorner of the cemetery. Tara Hill had been for six months between theGerman front and reserve lines, and I never expected that any trace ofthe cemetery would have been found. I shall probably never see theplace again, but it stands out in my memory now as clear and distinctas though once more I stood above the dusty road and saw before me therows of little crosses, and behind them the waste land battered by warand burnt beneath the hot August sun. Over that very ground my son andI had ridden together, and within a stone's throw from it two yearsbefore we had said good-bye to one another for the last time. 

Our Division had now come out of the line and were hurrying north. OnAugust 26th Lyons and I started off in the car, and after a tediousand dusty journey, enlivened by several break-downs, arrived (p. 290)in Arras very late at night and found a billet with the Engineers inthe Place de la Croix. Once more our men were scattered about the oldcity and its environs as if we had never left it. Our Battle Headquarterswere in the forward area and rear Headquarters in a large house in Ruedu Pasteur. It was a picturesque abode. The building itself was modern, but it was erected on what had been an old Augustinian Monastery ofthe 11th century. Underneath the house there was a large vaulted hallwith pillars in it which reminded one of the cloisters of WestminsterAbbey. It was below the level of the ground and was lit by narrowwindows opening on the street. It was a most interesting place and hadbeen decorated with heraldic designs painted on canvas shields by aBritish Division that had once made its headquarters there. We usedthe hall as our mess and from it passages led to several vault-likechambers and to cellars at the back, one of which was my bedroom. Aflight of steps led down to stone chambers below these and then down along sloping passage to a broken wall which barred the entrance intothe mysterious caves beneath the city. The exhalations which came upto my bedroom from these subterranean passages were not as fresh orwholesome as one could have wished, but, as it was a choice betweenfoul air and running the chance of being shelled, I naturally chosethe former. 

We moved into this billet in the evening, and early the followingmorning I was lying awake, thinking of all the strange places I hadlived in during the war, when close by I heard a fearful crash. Iwaited for a moment, and then, hearing the sound of voices calling forhelp, I rushed up in my pyjamas and found that a huge shell had strucka house three doors away, crushing it in and killing and wounding someof our Headquarters staff. Though Arras was then continually beingshelled, some of the inhabitants remained. Opposite our house was aconvent, and in cellars below the ground several nuns lived allthrough the war. They absolutely refused to leave their home in spiteof the fact that the upper part of the building had been ruined byshells. Our nearness to the railway station, which was a favouritetarget for the German guns, made our home always a precarious one. 

One day the Paymaster was going into our Headquarters, when a shellburst in the Square and some fragments landed in our street taking offthe fingers of his right hand. I was away at the time, but when Ireturned in the evening the signallers showed me a lonely (p. 291)forefinger resting on a window sill. They had reverently preserved it, as it was the finger which used to count out five-franc notes to themwhen they were going on leave. 

Our Corps dressing-station was in the big Asylum in Arras. The nunsstill occupied part of the building. The Mother Superior was a fineold lady, intensely loyal to France and very kind to all of us. Whenthe Germans occupied Arras in the beginning of the war, the CrownPrince paid an official visit to the Asylum, and, when leaving, congratulated the Mother Superior on her management of the institution. She took his praises with becoming dignity, but when he held out hishand to her she excused herself from taking it and put hers behind herback. 

The dressing-station was excellently run and the system carried outwas perfect. The wounded were brought in, attended to, and sent off tothe C. C. S. With the least possible delay. The dead were buried in thelarge military cemetery near the Dainville road where rest the bodiesof many noble comrades, both British and Canadian. A ward was setapart for wounded Germans and it was looked after by their own doctorsand orderlies. 

Meanwhile our Division was preparing for the great attack upon theDrocourt-Quéant line. The 2nd Division were in the trenches and hadtaken Monchy. We were to relieve them and push on to the Canal du Nordand, if possible, beyond it. Movements were now very rapid. All thestaff were kept intensely busy. The old days of St. Jans Cappel andPloegsteert, with their quiet country life, seemed very far away. Thiswas real war, and we were advancing daily. We heard too of the victoriesof the French and Americans to the South. It was glorious to thinkthat after the bitter experience of the previous March the tables hadbeen turned, and we had got the initiative once more. Our BattleHeadquarters, where the General and his staff were, lay beyondNeuville Vitasse. They were in a deep, wide trench, on each side ofwhich were dugouts and little huts well sandbagged. Over the top wasspread a quantity of camouflage netting, so that the place wasinvisible to German aeroplanes. The country round about was cut up bytrenches, and in many of these our battalions were stationed. All thevillages in the neighbourhood were hopeless ruins. I tried to get abillet in the forward area, as Arras was so far back, but everyavailable place was crowded and it was so difficult to get up rationsthat nobody was anxious to have me. 

CHAPTER XXXII. (p. 292)

THE SMASHING OF THE DROCOURT-QUÉANT LINE. 

_September 2nd, 1918. _

On Saturday, August 31st, I paid a visit to our Battle Headquarters, and the General asked me to have a Celebration of the Holy Communionthere the next morning at eight. I knew that the attack was almostdue, so I prepared for it and took my iron rations with me. We had theCommunion Service in a tent at the General's Headquarters. There wereonly three present, but the General was one of them. I had breakfastin a quaint little hut in the side of the trench, and then started offto the forward area. The great stretch of country was burnt dry by thesummer heat and the roads were broken up and dusty. I was taken by carto the Headquarters of the 2nd Brigade which were in a trench, andfrom thence I started on foot to Cherisy. Here the 8th Battalion werequartered, the 5th being in the line. Zero hour, I was told, was earlythe next morning. The 2nd and 3rd Brigades were to make the attack. The 5th Battalion was to have advanced that day and taken possessionof a certain trench which was to be the jumping off line on thefollowing morning. I heard that they had had a hard time. They haddriven out the Germans, but had been seriously counter-attacked andhad lost a large number of men. I determined therefore to go out andtake them some cigarettes and biscuits which the Y. M. C. A. Generouslyprovided. I started off in the afternoon to go to the front line, wherever it might be. I went down the road from Cherisy past thechalk-pit, where we had a little cemetery, and then turning into thefields on the left walked in the direction in which I was told the 5thBattalion lay. It was a long, hot journey, and as I had not quiterecovered from my attack of influenza I found it very fatiguing. Onall sides I saw gruesome traces of the recent fighting. I came acrossthe body of a young artillery officer of the 2nd Division, but, as allhis papers had been taken away, I could not discover his name. My waypassed through the remains of what had been an enemy camp. There werea number of well-built huts there, containing much German war-material, but they had been damaged by our shells. The Germans had (p. 293)evidently been obliged to get out of the place as quickly as possible. I was just leaving the camp when I met several of our men bringing upa number of prisoners. While we were talking, some shells fell, and weall had to dive into two trenches. The Huns took one; we Canadianstook the other. We had no desire, in case a shell landed in our midstto have our bits mingled with those of the Germans. When the"straffing" was over, the others went back, and I continued my way tothe front. It must have been about six or seven o'clock when I arrivedat the 5th Battalion Headquarters, which were in a deep German dugout. The Colonel was absent at a conference, so the Adjutant was incommand. I told him that I had come provided with cigarettes and othercomforts for the men, and asked him to give me a runner to take me tothe front line. He absolutely refused to do anything of the kind, ashe told me he did not know where it was himself. The situation wasmost obscure. Our men had attacked and had been driven back and thenthey had attacked again, but he thought they were now in shell holesand would be hard to find. In fact, he was most anxious about thecondition of affairs and was hoping the Colonel would soon return. Iasked him if he would like me to spend the night there. He said hewould, so I determined to settle down and wait for an opportunity ofgetting up to the men. 

I went over to a trench a little way off, passing two dead Germans asI did so, and saw the little white flag with the red cross on it whichshowed that a dugout there was used as the regimental aid post. I wentdown into the place, which had two openings, and found the M. O. Andhis staff and a number of machine-gunners. Being Sunday, I told themthat I would have service for them. We all sat on the floor of thelong dugout. Two or three candles gave us all the light we had, andthe cigarettes which I had brought with me were soon turned intosmoke. In the meantime a young stretcher-bearer, unknown to me, made acup of tea and brought that and some buttered toast for my supper. When I had finished and we were just going to begin the service, avoice suddenly shouted down the steps in excited tones. "We've all gotto retreat; the Germans are coming. " At once a corporal shouted up tohim, "Shut up, none of that talk out here. " Of course, I had not saida word to any of the men about the condition of our front line, butremembering what the Adjutant had told me about it, I thought now thatthere might be some reason for the alarm. As I have said on a formeroccasion, I had a great objection to being bombed in a dugout, so (p. 294)I said to the men, "Well, boys, perhaps we had better take it seriouslyand go up and see what the matter is. " We climbed up to the trench, and there on looking over the parapet we saw an exciting scene. It wasnot yet dark, and in the twilight we could see objects at a certaindistance, but it was just light enough and dark enough to confuseone's vision. Along the line to the right of our front trenches, rockets and S. O. S. Signals were going up, showing that the Germanswere attacking. Our reserve battalions were far back at Cherisy, andour artillery had not yet come up. At any rate, somewhere in theglimmering darkness in front of us the Germans were advancing. Theyactually did get between us and our front line. The machine-gunners atonce went to their posts, and the M. O. Wanted orders as to what he andhis staff were to do. I went back down the trenches past the deadGermans to Battalion Headquarters, and asked the Adjutant what ordershe had for the M. O. He said we were all to congregate at Headquarters;so I went back and gave the message. I remember looking over the wasteof ground and wondering if I could see the Germans. For a time it wasreally very exciting, especially for me, because I did not knowexactly what I should do if the Germans came. I could not fight, norcould I run away, and to fold one's arms and be taken captive seemedtoo idiotic. All the time I kept saying to myself, "I am an old foolto be out here. " Still, we got as much fun out of the situation as wecould, and, to our intense relief, the arrival of some of our shellsand the sudden appearance of a Highland Battalion of the 4th Divisionon our left, frightened the Germans and they retired, leaving us tosettle down once more in our trench home. 

On the return of the Colonel, we learned that, on account of the heavylosses which the 5th Battalion had suffered that day, the 7th Battalionwould attack on the following morning. Later on in the evening, I sawsome machine-gunners coming up, who told us that they had left somewounded and a dead man in a trench near the road. I determined to goback and see them. The trench was very crowded, and as it was dark itwas hard to find one's way. I nearly stepped on a man who appeared tobe sleeping, leaning against the parapet. I said to one of the men, "Is this a sleeping hero?" "No, Sir, " he replied, "It's a Hun stiff. "When I got down to the road, I met two men and we hunted for the placewhere the wounded had been left, but found they had been carried (p. 295)off to Cherisy. So I started back again for Battalion Headquarters, and as numbers of men were going forward I had no difficulty infinding it. 

The dugout was now absolutely crowded. Every available space, including the steps down from the opening, was filled with men. Imanaged to secure a little shelf in the small hours of the morning, and had two or three hours sleep. The atmosphere was so thick that Ithink we were all overcome by it and sank into profound slumber. Atlast, one of the men suddenly woke up and said to me, "It's tenminutes to five, Sir. " The barrage was going to start at five. As faras I could see, everyone in the dugout but ourselves, was soundasleep. I climbed up the steps, waking the men on them and tellingthem that the barrage would start in ten minutes. The sentries in thetrench said that the 7th Battalion had gone forward during the nightwith a number of 4th Division men. The morning air was sweet and freshafter that of the dugout, but was rather chilly. A beautiful dawn wasbeginning, and only a few of the larger stars were visible. Theconstellation of Orion could be seen distinctly against the grey-blueof the sky. At five o'clock the barrage started, and there was theusual glorious roar of the opening attack. Very quickly the Germansreplied, and shells fell so unpleasantly near, that once again wecrowded into the dugout. After a hasty breakfast of bacon and tea thebattalions moved off, and I made my way to the front. I saw an officerof the 7th Battalion being carried to the M. O. 's dugout. He was notbadly hit, and told me he was just back from leave and had beenmarried only a fortnight ago. I shook hands with him and congratulatedhim on being able to get back to Blighty and have a wife to look afterhim. He was being carried by some Germans and had two of our bearerswith him. I went down into a communication trench and the next instanta shell burst. I did not know then that anybody had been hit by it, but I learned afterwards that the officer, the stretcher-bearers andthe Germans had all been killed. 

I made my way to a mud road, where to my infinite delight I saw largenumbers of German prisoners being marched back. By the corner of awood the 8th Battalion were waiting their turn to advance. To the leftwas the hill called The Crow's Nest, which our 3rd Brigade had takenthat day. I crossed the Hendecourt-Dury road, which had trees on (p. 296)both sides of it, and then meeting the 2nd Battalion went forward withthem. There were some deep trenches and dugouts on the way, which ourunits at once appropriated and which became the headquarters of two ofour Brigades. Our artillery had also come up and their chaplain was withthem. The C. O. Of the 7th Battalion was having breakfast in the corner ofa field, and feeling very happy over the result of the morning's work. Far off we could see the wood of Cagnicourt, and beyond that in thedistance we could see other woods. I went off in the direction ofCagnicourt and came to some German huts, where there was a collectionof military supplies. Among them was a large anti-tank rifle. As ithad begun to rain, I was very glad to find some German water proofsheets which I put over my shoulders as I was eating my bully-beef. Cagnicourt lay in a valley to the right and, when I got there, I founda battery of artillery had just arrived and were taking up theirpositions by a road which led on to Villers-Cagnicourt. We were all inhigh spirits over our fresh achievement. In some dugouts on the way, Ifound the headquarters of the 13th and 14th Battalions, and learned ofthe very gallant deed of the Rev. E. E. Graham, the Methodist chaplainattached to the 13th Battalion. He had carried out, under the barrage, five wounded men of the 2nd Division, who had been left in No Man'sLand. He was recommended for the Victoria Cross, but unfortunately, for some reason or other, only got the D. S. O. In a trench nearVillers-Cagnicourt I found the 4th Battalion, who told me that theythought our advance was checked. I sat talking to them for some time, but was so tired that I absolutely could not keep awake. The men weremuch amused to see me falling asleep in the midst of a conversation. Imanaged, however, to pull myself together, and went over to the mainCherisy road, on the side of which one of our ambulances had taken upits position and was being attended by one of our military chaplains. I was feeling so seedy by this time that I got a seat by the side ofthe driver on a horse ambulance, and made my way back to Cherisy. Theroad was narrow and crowded with traffic, and had been broken inplaces by shells. Quite a number of bodies were lying by the wayside. I arrived back at my billet in Arras in the evening feeling verytired. At the Corps dressing station that night I saw large numbers ofour men brought in, among them the C. O. Of the 2nd Battalion, who hadespecially distinguished himself that day, but was very badlywounded. 

In spite of the fact that we had not been able to go as far as we (p. 297)had intended, another glorious victory was to our credit, and we hadbroken the far-famed Drocourt-Quéant line with its wire entanglementswhich the Germans had thought to be impregnable. Two days afterwards, on September 4th, our Division was taken out of the line and sent backfor rest and reorganization. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. (p. 298)

PREPARING FOR THE FINAL BLOW. 

_September, 1918. _

Our Divisional Headquarters were now established in the delightful oldchateau at Warlus. In Nissen huts near-by, were the machine-gunbattalion and the signallers, and, as I had one end of a Nissen hutall to myself, I was very comfortable. The three infantry brigadeswere quartered in the villages round about. The engineers andartillery were still at the front. As usual our men soon cleanedthemselves up and settled down to ordinary life, as if they had neverbeen through a battle in their lives. The weather was very pleasant, and we were all glad at the prospect of a little quiet after thestrenuous month through which we had passed. Our concert party at onceopened up one of the large huts as a theatre, and night after nighttheir performances were witnessed by crowded and enthusiasticaudiences. Just across a field towards Bernaville the 15th Battalionwas quartered in a long line of huts and in the village itself werethe 14th and 16th Battalions. I was therefore quite near the men of myold 3rd Brigade. The 16th Battalion concert party gave a fineperformance there one evening, which was attended by some CanadianSisters who came up from one of our C. C. S's. The play was called, "ALittle Bit of Shamrock, " and was composed by members of the concertparty. It was exceedingly pretty and very clever, and evoked thundersof applause. The Colonel was called upon for a speech, and, althoughhis words were few, the rousing cheers he got from his men told himwhat they thought of their commanding officer, who soon afterwards wasto be awarded the Victoria Cross. As one sat there in the midst of themen and thought of what they had gone through, and how the flames inthe fiery furnace of war had left their cheery souls unscathed, one'sheart was filled with an admiration for them which will never die. 

On looking over my diary during those delightful days while we werewaiting to make the great attack, I see records of many journeys toour various battalions and artillery brigades. Wanquetin, Wailly, Dainville, Bernaville, Hautes Avesnes--what memories these names (p. 299)recall! I would rattle over the dusty roads in my side-car and pull upat Battalion Headquarters and get an invitation to dinner. On suchoccasions I used to visit the cooks first and ask them if they hadenough food on hand for me in case the officers invited me to dinewith them, and in case they didn't, if they (the cooks) would feed melater on in the kitchen. When the invitation had been given, I used togo back to the cooks and say, "It's all right, boys, you won't bebothered with my society, the officers have asked me to dinner. " Inthe evening, before I rode off, I used to go round to the men'sbillets, or to the Y. M. C. A. Tent, if there was one, and have a talkwith the men on the war outlook or any other topic that was perplexingthem at the time. Often I was followed to my car by some man who haddeeper matters to discuss, or perhaps some worry about things at home, and who wanted to unburden himself to a chaplain. On the way back, when darkness had fallen and my feeble headlight warned us againstspeeding, I would meet or overtake men and have a talk, or tell themto mount up on the box at the back of the car and I would give them aride. The rows of tall trees along the road would stand out blackagainst the starlit sky, and in the evening air the sweet smells ofnature would fill us with delight. We felt too, that nearer and nearerthe hour of the great victory was approaching. Who amongst us would bespared to see it? How would it be brought about? What great and fiercebattle would lay the Germans low? The supreme idea in the mind wasconsecration to a sublime sacrifice, which dwarfed into insignificanceall previous events in life. We had our fun, we had our jokes, we metour friends, we saw battalions go on a route march, we watched menplay their games in the fields; but to me it seemed that a new andmysterious light that was born of heaven hid behind the sunshine, andcast a glory upon men and even nature. To dine at the rude board tablewith the young officers of one of the companies of a battalion, perhaps in a bare hut, on the floor of which lay the lads' beds, wassomething sacred and sacramental. Their apologies for the plainness ofthe repast were to me extremely pathetic. Was there a table in thewhole world at which it was a greater honour to sit? Where could onefind a nobler, knightlier body of young men?

In the garden round the Château at Warlus were many winding paths, where old trees gave a delightful shade. Here at odd moments one (p. 300)could get away for a time into the leafy solitude and think quietlyand wonder. Although we were in rest there was of course no remissionof warlike activity and preparation. We knew that the next thing thatlay before us was the crossing of the Canal du Nord and the push toCambrai. That was a deed which would not only tax our strength andcourage, but depended for its success upon the care and diligence ofour preparation. 

On the two Sundays that we were at Warlus I had splendid churchparades with the Machine-Gun Battalion. Part of their billets were inhuts beside the road to Dainville. In one of them one night I foundsome Imperial officers who were in charge of the wireless telegraphstation. They told me some interesting facts about their work. Thenight was divided into different periods when the communiqués of thevarious countries would be sent out. These, of course, were for allthe world to read. The most wonderful thing they told me, however, wasthat they could pick up the code messages sent from the GermanAdmiralty Headquarters at Kiel to their submarines under the sea. Ofcourse not knowing the code, our officers could not translate thesedespatches. 

I received a great blow at this time, for my friend Lyons, who actedas the chauffeur of my side-car, was sent off to the 3rd Division toreplace one of the despatch riders whom they had lost in the attack. Our own signallers could not give me another man. As I could not runthe car myself, a sudden move might compel me to leave it behind. Someone, too, might appropriate it, for the honesty of the army was, as I knew from experience, a grace on which one could not place muchreliance. The only person to whom I could apply was my good and kindfriend, the builder of my churches and huts, Colonel Macphail, ourC. R. E. He was always my refuge in distress. He looked upon thebuilding of churches at the front as an act of such piety that itwould guarantee to him at any time the certain admission into heaven. He attributed his piety to the claim which his clan made to be thedescendants of St. Paul. Apparently in Gaelic, Macphail means "the sonof Paul. " The Colonel was always fond of insisting upon his highlineage. He came to see me once when I was ill at Bruay, and afterstating the historical claims of his ancestors, asked me if I had notobserved some traits in his character which were like those of St. Paul. I told him that the only resemblance to the Apostle which I haddiscovered in him was that his bodily presence was weak and his (p. 301)speech contemptible. In spite of those unkind thrusts, however, thecolonel manifested the Apostle's quality of forgiveness, and wasalways ready to try and make me comfortable. I wrote to him now andasked if he could send me a driver for my car. He did not fail me. Afew days afterwards, a young sapper appeared, saluted most properly, and told me that he had been ordered by the C. R. E. To report to me forduty as chauffeur. I was so delighted that I at once despatched thefollowing letter to my friend:--

 "Dear Colonel Macphail, If I had but a tail I would wag it this morning with joy, At your having provided My car that's one-sided With a good and intelligent boy. 

 May your blessings from heaven Abound in this war, And be seven times seven More than ever before. "

The possession of a new driver for my car enabled me to pay a lastvisit to Le Cauroy, where I had left some of my possessions on ourtrip to Amiens. I found the Curé in high good humor over the way thewar was going. The outlook was very different now from what it hadbeen when I was there before. I also visited Arras and the forwardarea, where I dined one night in a tent with Major Price, who was thenin command of my original battalion, the 14th. The men were billetedin trenches and as usual were making the best of things. It wasstrange to look back to the early days of the war and talk about oldtimes. As I returned in the twilight and gazed far away over the wasteland towards the bank of low clouds in the eastern sky, my heart grewsick at the thought of all which those fine young men might have toendure before the crowning victory came. The thought of the nearpresence of the Angel of Death was always coming up in the mind, changing and transfiguring into something nobler and better ourearthly converse. 

In the war, the Bible statement, "We have here no continuing city, "was certainly true. Our happy life in Warlus and its neighbourhoodcame to an end. On Friday, September 20th, the Division moved to (p. 302)Achicourt near Arras. I took the opportunity to visit some friends inthe 3rd Division who were taking our places. Among them was "Charlie"Stewart, of the P. P. C. L. I. I had taught him as a boy at school when Iwas curate of St. John's, Montreal. We talked over old times, and thegreat changes that had taken place in Canada and the world since wewere young. He was killed not long afterwards before Cambrai. I wenton through Dainville, where I met the 42nd Battalion, and reachedAchicourt in the evening. My billet was in a very dirty room over alittle shop. One corner of the house had been hit by a shell, and agreat store of possessions belonging to the people was piled up on oneside of my room. We knew we were not going to be there long, so we didnot worry about making ourselves comfortable. I had a view out of mywindow of green fields and a peaceful country, but the town itself hadbeen badly knocked about. 

On Sunday morning, I got the use of a small Protestant church whichstood by a stream in the middle of the town. It was a quaint place, and, instead of an altar, against the east wall there was a highpulpit entered by steps on both sides. When I stood up in it I feltlike a jack-in-the-box. I had a queer feeling that I was getting tothe end of things, and a note in my prayer-book, with the place anddate, gives evidence of this. We had not many communicants, but thatwas the last Celebration of Holy Communion that I held in France. Onthe following Sunday I was to leave the war for good. I rememberwalking away from the church that day with my sergeant and talkingover the different places where we had held services. Now we were onthe eve of great events, and the old war days had gone forever. Afterthe service, I started off in my side-car on a missionary journey tothe battalions that had now gone forward. I went off up the road tothe ruined town of Beaurains. Here I found the Headquarters of the16th Battalion in the cellar of a broken house. The officers' mess wasa little shack by the roadside, and among those present was thesecond-in-command, Major Bell-Irving, who had crossed with me on the"Andania. " Alas, this was the last time I was to see him. He waskilled in the battle of Cambrai. 

After lunch I continued up the long pavé road which leads to Croisilles. On the way I saw the 8th Battalion in an open field. Near them were anumber of Imperial officers and men of the British Division which (p. 303)was on our right. We made our way through Bullecourt to Hendecourt, near which in trenches were the battalions of the 1st Brigade, andthere too Colonel Macphail had his headquarters. There was a greatconcentration of men in this area, and the roads were crowded withlorries and limbers as well as troops. I stayed that night with theengineers, as the weather looked threatening. The sky grew black andrain began to fall. When one stood in the open and looked all round atthe inky darkness everywhere, with the rain pelting down, and knewthat our men had to carry on as usual, one realized the bitterness ofthe cup which they had to drink to the very dregs. Rain and darknessall round them, hardly a moment's respite from some irksome task, theache in the heart for home and the loved ones there, the irondiscipline of the war-machine of which they formed a part, the chanceof wounds and that mysterious crisis called death--these were theelements which made up the blurred vision in their souls. 

The next morning the weather had cleared, and I went on towards Cagnicourt. On the journey I was delayed by a lorry which had gone into the ditchand completely blocked the road. Here in a field the 1st Field Ambulancehad established themselves. Later on I managed to get to Cagnicourtand found my son's battery in the cellars of the Château. They weregetting their guns forward by night in preparation for the attack. They gave me a very pressing invitation to sleep there and I acceptedit. We had a pleasant evening, listening to some remarkably goodviolin records on the gramophone. Good music at such times had aspecial charm about it. It reminded one of the old days of concertsand entertainments, but, at the same time, as in the background of adream, one seemed to hear beneath the melodies the tramp of mightybattalions marching forward into battle, and the struggles of strongmen in the fierce contests of war. 

On the following day I went on to the quarry which was to be ourBattle Headquarters near Inchy Station, from which the 2nd Divisionwere moving. I had a view of the smiling country over which we were tocharge. Between us and that promised land lay the Canal, the crossingof which was necessarily a matter of great anxiety. It was late atnight before I got back to my home at Achicourt, where I had my lastwar dinner with my friend General Thacker, who, with his staff, was upto his eyes in work. The next day was taken up with arranging for (p. 304)the disposition of our chaplains during the engagement, and about sixo'clock I told Ross to saddle Dandy, and on the dear old horse, whowas fresh and lively as ever, I galloped off into the fields. The sunhad set and the fresh air of the evening was like a draught ofchampagne. Dandy seemed to enjoy the ride as much as I did, andcleared some trenches in good style. For nearly three years and a halfwe had been companions. He had always been full of life and verywilling, the envy of those who knew a good horse when they saw him. When I returned in the twilight and gave him back to Ross, I said, "You know, Ross, I am going into this battle and may lose my leg init, and so I wanted to have my last ride on dear old Dandy. " It was mylast ride on him, and he was never ridden by anyone again. After I waswounded, he was kept at Headquarters until, in order to avoid hisbeing sold with other horses to the Belgians, our kind A. D. V. S. Ordered him to be shot. He was one of the best friends I had in thewar, and I am glad he entered the horses' heaven as a soldier, withoutthe humiliation of a purgatory in some civilian drudgery. 

That night some bombs were dropped near the station at Arras on unitsof the 3rd Division, which passed through Achicourt in the afternoon, causing many casualties, and we felt that the Germans knew anotherattack was at hand. It was the last night I had a billet in France. Onthe next morning we moved forward to some trenches on the way toInchy, and I parted from Headquarters there. This was really the mostprimitive home that the Division had ever had. We had in fact no homeat all. We found our stuff dumped out in a field, and had to hunt forour possessions in the general pile. A few tents were pitched and theclerks got to work. In a wide trench little shacks were being run up, and I was to be quartered in the same hut as the field cashier, whichwas thus to be a kind of union temple for the service of God and theservice of Mammon. I looked down into the clay pit and saw the menworking at my home, but I knew that I should probably not occupy it. Idetermined to go forward to our Battle Headquarters, prepared for amissionary journey, and find out when the attack was going to be made. I put into my pack some bully-beef, hardtack, tinned milk and otherforms of nourishment, as well as a razor, a towel and various toiletnecessaries. On the other side of the road, the signallers had theirhorse-lines, and our transports were near-by. I got my side-car (p. 305)and, bidding good-bye to my friends, left for Inchy. We passed downthe road to Quéant, where we saw the wounded in the field ambulance, and from there started off through Pronville to Inchy Station. Theroads as usual were crowded, and the dust from passing lorries wasvery unpleasant. We were going through the valley by Inchy Copse whenwe suddenly heard a loud crash behind us which made my driver stop. Iasked him what he was about, and said, "That was one of our guns, there is nothing to be alarmed at. " "Guns!" he said, "I know the soundof a shell when I hear it. You may like shells but I don't. I'm goingback. " I said, "You go ahead, if I had a revolver with me, I wouldshoot you for desertion from the front line. That was only one of ourguns. " He looked round and said, "You call that a gun? Look there. " Iturned and sure enough, about a hundred feet away in the middle of theroad was the smoke of an exploded shell. "Well, " I said, "you hadbetter go on or there will be another one pretty soon, and it may getus. " With extraordinary speed we hurried to our destination, where Ileft the car, taking my pack with me. I told the driver, much to hisrelief, that he could go home, and that when I wanted the car again Iwould send for it. 

The quarry was, as I have said, our Battle Headquarters, and here inthe deep dugouts which I had visited previously I found our staff hardat work. They told me that this was "Y" day, and that zero hour whenthe barrage would start was at 5. 20 the next morning. At that hour wewere to cross the Canal and then press on into the country beyond. Wehad a two battalion front. The 4th and 14th Battalions were to makethe attack, and be followed up by the other battalions in the 1st and3rd Brigades. When these had reached their objective the 2nd Brigadewas to "leap frog" them and push on to Haynecourt and beyond. I wasglad that I had come provided for the expedition, and bidding good-byeto General Thacker, whose parting injunction was not to do anythingfoolish, I got out of the quarry and made my way down the hill towardsInchy. A railway bridge which crossed the road near me was a constantmark for German shells, and it was well to avoid it. An officer met meand asked where I was going. I said, "I don't know, but I think theSpirit is leading me to the old 14th Battalion in Buissy Switch Trench. "He told me the direction to take, which was to cross the road andfollow the line of railway. The tins of milk and bully-beef cut (p. 306)into my back so I stopped by a culvert and taking off my pack andtunic, sat on the ground and cooled off. There was no sign of BuissySwitch anywhere, but I got up and went on. The evening was closing inby this time, and, as I am never good at seeing in the dark, it beganto be difficult to keep from tripping over things. At last the roadbrought me to a trench in which I found the 14th Battalion. They weregetting ready to move off at midnight and wait in the wood by the edgeof the Canal until the barrage opened. It made one proud to be withthose young men that evening and think what they were called upon todo. What difficulties they would encounter in the Canal they did notknow. They said they might have to swim. We hoped, however, that therewas not much water, as the canal was still unfinished. 

I said good-bye to them and wished them all good-luck. Crossing theroad I entered another trench, where I found the 13th Battalion, andbeyond them came to the 1st Battalion. By this time, it was dark andrainy, and the ground was very slippery. I had to feel my way alongthe trench. A company of the 4th Battalion who were to be in the firstwave of the attack, passed on their way forward to take up theirposition for the following morning. Probably never in the war had weexperienced a moment of deeper anxiety. The men would have to climbdown one side of the canal, rush across it, and climb up the other. Itseemed inevitable that the slaughter would be frightful. At home inthe cities of Canada things were going on as usual. Profiteers wereheaping up their piles of gold. Politicians were carrying on thegovernment, or working in opposition, in the interests of theirparties, while here, in mud and rain, weary and drenched to the skin, young Canadians were waiting to go through the valley of the shadow ofdeath in order that Canada might live. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. (p. 307)

THE CROSSING OF THE CANAL DU NORD. 

_September 27th, 1918. _

When I got to the sunken road above Inchy I found that No. 1 Companyof the Machine-Gun Battalion had a little sandbag house there, andwere waiting for the attack. I went in and the young officers and menmade me at home at once. I divested myself of my pack, coat and steelhelmet, and determined to settle down for the night. Suddenly a shellburst in the road, and I went out to see if anyone was hit. Two orthree men were wounded but not severely. We got them in and the youngO. C. Of the company bound up their wounds and sent them off. There wasa row of these sandbag-huts against the bank, and at one end of themwas the entrance to a dugout in which the 1st Battalion and theGeneral of the 1st Brigade had made their headquarters. I went downthe steep steps into a long dark passage, lit here and there by thelight which came from the rooms on either side. The whole place wascrowded with men and the atmosphere was more than usually thick. Imade my way down to the end where there was a pump which had been putthere by the Germans. Here the men were filling their water-bottles, and I got a fresh supply for mine. Not far from the pump a few stepsled down into a room where I found the C. O. And a number of theofficers of the 1st Battalion. It was about two a. M. , and they werehaving a breakfast of tea and bacon and invited me to join them. Afterthe meal was finished, the Colonel, who was lying on a rough bed, saidto me, "Sit down, Canon, and give us some of your nature poems to takeour minds off this beastly business. " It was very seldom that I wasinvited to recite my own poems, so such an opportunity could not belost. I sat down on the steps and repeated a poem which I wrote amongthe Laurentian mountains, in the happy days before we ever thought ofwar. It is called, "The Unnamed Lake. "

 "It sleeps among the thousand hills Where no man ever trod, And only nature's music fills The silences of God. 

 Great mountains tower above its shore, (p. 308) Green rushes fringe its brim, And o'er its breast for evermore The wanton breezes skim. 

 Dark clouds that intercept the sun Go there in Spring to weep, And there, when Autumn days are done, White mists lie down to sleep. 

 Sunrise and sunset crown with gold The peaks of ageless stone, Where winds have thundered from of old And storms have set their throne. 

 No echoes of the world afar Disturb it night or day, But sun and shadow, moon and star Pass and repass for aye. 

 'Twas in the grey of early dawn, When first the lake we spied, And fragments of a cloud were drawn Half down the mountain side. 

 Along the shore a heron flew, And from a speck on high, That hovered in the deepening blue, We heard the fish-hawk's cry. 

 Among the cloud-capt solitudes, No sound the silence broke, Save when, in whispers down the woods, The guardian mountains spoke. 

 Through tangled brush and dewy brake, Returning whence we came, We passed in silence, and the lake We left without a name. "

There is not much in the poem, but, like a gramophone record, itcarried our minds away into another world. For myself, who rememberedthe scenery that surrounded me when I wrote it and who now, in thatfilthy hole, looked at the faces of young men who in two or threehours were to brave death in one of the biggest tasks that had beenlaid upon us, the words stirred up all sorts of conflicting emotions. The recitation seemed to be so well received that I ventured onanother--in fact several more--and then I noticed a curious thing. Itwas the preternatural silence of my audience. Generally speaking, whenI recited my poems, one of the officers would suddenly remember he hadto dictate a letter, or a despatch rider would come in with orders. Now, no one stirred. I paused in the middle of a poem and looked roundto see what was the matter, and there to my astonishment, I found (p. 309)that everyone, except the young Intelligence Officer, was sound asleep. It was the best thing that could have happened and I secretly consoledmyself with the reflection that the one who was unable to sleep wasthe officer who specialized in intelligence. We both laughed quietly, and then I whispered to him, "We had better go and find some placewhere we, too, can get a little rest. " He climbed over the prostrateforms and followed me down the passage to a little excavation wherethe Germans had started to make a new passage. We lay down side byside on the wooden floor, and I was just beginning to succumb to thesoothing influences of my own poetry, when I thought I felt littlethings crawling over my face. It was too much for me. I got up andsaid, "I think I am getting crummy, so I'm going off. " I looked in onthe General and the Brigade Major, and then climbed up the steps andwent to the machine-gun hut. 

The night was now well advanced so it was time to shave and get readyfor zero hour. A little after five we had some breakfast, and about aquarter past I went up to the top of the bank above the road andwaited for the barrage. At 5. 20 the savage roar burst forth. It was astupendous attack. Field guns, heavy guns, and siege batteries sentforth their fury, and machine-guns poured millions of rounds into thecountry beyond the Canal. So many things were flying about and landingnear us, that we went back under cover till the first burst of thestorm should subside. At that moment I knew our men were crossing thehuge ditch, and I prayed that God would give them victory. When thebarrage had lifted I started down towards the Canal, passing through afield on my way where I found, lying about, dead and wounded men. Fouror five were in a straight line, one behind another, where a Germanmachine-gun must have caught them as they advanced. A young officer ofthe 2nd Battalion was dying from wounds. Two or three decorations onhis breast told his past record in the war. While I was attending tothe sufferers, a sergeant came up to me from the direction of theCanal and asked the way to the dressing station. He had a frightfulwound in his face. A bit of a shell had dug into his cheek, carryingoff his nose. He did not know at the time how badly he had been hit. Iasked him if he wanted me to walk back with him, but he said he wasall right as the dressing station was not far off. I often wonderedwhat became of him, and I never heard till the following year when aman came up to me in the military hospital at St. Anne's, with a (p. 310)new nose growing comfortably on his face and his cheek marked with ascar that was not unsightly. "The last time I met you, Sir, " he said, "was near the Canal du Nord when you showed me the way to the dressingstation. " I was indeed glad to find him alive and well, and to seewhat surgical science had done to restore his beauty. 

I went on to the Canal, and found that at that point it was quite dry. I climbed down to the bottom of it in which men were walking and thesappers were at work. Some ladders enabled me to get up on the otherside and I had the joy of feeling that the Canadians had crossed thegreat Canal du Nord. Our battalions were now moving up and I joinedthem, avoiding a part of a field which the men told me was under thefire of a machine-gun from the mill in Marquion. The country was openand green. The day was fine, and once more we experienced thesatisfaction of taking possession of the enemy's territory. Before usthe ground rose in a gradual slope, and we did not know what mightmeet us when we arrived at the top, but it was delightful to go withthe men feeling that every step was a gain. When we got to the top ofthe rise, we had a splendid view of the country beyond. Before us, inthe distance running from right to left, lay the straight Arras-Cambrairoad with its rows of tall trees. Where we stood, there were a numberof deserted German trenches. Here the M. O. Of the 3rd Battalion openedup an aid post, and the chaplain went about looking for the wounded. Our men went on down into the valley and got into some forwardtrenches. I stayed on the hill looking at the wonderful scene throughmy German glasses. On the left in a quarry beside the village ofMarquion, I saw two Germans manning a machine-gun. Our 3rd Brigade hadtaken the place, and some Highlanders were walking on the edge of thequarry just above the Huns, of whose presence they were unaware. I sawthe enemy suddenly hide themselves, having noticed the approach of theHighlanders, but when the latter had passed the two Boches reappearedand went on firing as before. It was not long before the Germanartillery turned their guns on our hill and I told some men of the 2ndBrigade, who were now coming forward, to take cover in the trench orgo in extended order. I had hardly uttered the words when a shellburst, killing one man and wounding in the thigh the one to whom I wastalking. I went over to him and found that no artery had been cut, andthe chaplain of the 3rd Battalion got him carried off. Down in the (p. 311)valley our advance had evidently been checked for a time. While I wastrying to see what the trouble was, a young officer, called Cope, ofthe 8th Battalion came up to me. He was a splendid young fellow, andlooked so fresh and clean. He had lost a brother in the Battalion inthe early part of the war. I said, "How old are you, Cope?" He replied, "I am twenty. " I said, "What a glorious thing it is to be out here attwenty. " "Yes, " he said, looking towards the valley, "it is a gloriousthing to be out here at twenty, but I should like to know what isholding them up. " He had hardly spoken when there was a sharp crack ofa machine-gun bullet and he dropped at my side. The bullet had piercedhis steel helmet and entered his brain. He never recoveredconsciousness, and died on the way to the aid post. 

The 2nd Brigade was now moving forward, so I went down the hill past adugout which had been used as a German dressing station. There Isecured a bottle of morphine tablets, and spoke to our wounded waitingto be carried off. Just before I reached the Arras-Cambrai road, Icame to the trench where the C. O. Of the 3rd Battalion had establishedhimself. The chaplain and I were talking when an officer of the 2ndBattalion came back with a bad wound in the throat. He could notspeak, but made signs that he wanted to write a message. We got himsome paper and he wrote, "The situation on our right is very bad. " The4th Division were on our right, and they had been tied up in BourlonWood. So now our advancing 2nd Brigade had their right flank in theair. As a matter of fact their left flank was also exposed, becausethe British Division there had also been checked in their advance. Icrossed the road into the field, where I found the 5th and 10thBattalions resting for a moment before going on to their objective. Infront of us, looking very peaceful among its trees, was the village ofHaynecourt which the 5th Battalion had to take. The 10th Battalion wasto pass it on the left and go still further forward. We all startedoff, and as we were nearing the village I looked over to the fields onthe right, and there, to my dismay, I saw in the distance numbers oflittle figures in grey which I knew must be Germans. I pointed themout to a sergeant, but he said he thought they were French troops whowere in the line with us. The 5th Battalion went through Haynecourtand found the village absolutely deserted and the houses stripped ofeverything that might be of any value. Their C. O. Made his headquartersin a trench to the north of the village, and the 10th disappeared (p. 312)going forward to the Douai-Cambrai road. 

It was now quite late in the afternoon. The sun was setting, and I fearedthat if I did not go back in time I might find myself stuck out there forthe night without any food or cover. I thought it was wise thereforeto go to Deligny's Mill, where I understood the machine-gunners wereestablished. In the road at the entrance of Haynecourt, I found ayoung German wounded in the foot and very sorry for himself. I thinkhe was asking me to carry him, but I saw he could walk and so showedhim the direction in which to make his way back to our aid posts. Iwas just going back over the fields when I met a company of our lighttrench mortar batteries. The men halted for a rest and sat down by theroad, and an officer came and said to me, "Come and cheer up the men, Canon, they have dragged two guns eight kilometres in the dust andheat and they are all fed up. " I went over to them, and, luckilyhaving a tin of fifty cigarettes in my pocket, managed to make them goround. I asked the O. C. If he would like me to spend the night withthem. He said he would, so I determined not to go back. Some of themen asked me if I knew where they could get water. I told them theymight get some in the village, so off we started. It makes a curiousfeeling go through one to enter a place which has just been evacuatedby the enemy. In the evening light, the little brick village lookedquite ghostly with its silent streets and empty houses. We turned intoa large farmyard, at the end of which we saw a well with a pump. Oneof the men went down into the cellar of the house hunting forsouvenirs, and soon returned with a German who had been hiding there. We were just about to fill our water-bottles, when I suggested thatperhaps the well had been poisoned. I asked the German, "Gutt wasser?""Ja, ja, " Then I said, "Gutt drinken?" "Nein, nein, " he replied, shaking his head. "Well, Sir, " the men said, "we are going to drink itanyway. " "But if the well is poisoned, " I replied, "it won't do youmuch good. " "How can you find out?" they said. A brilliant ideaflashed upon me. "I tell you what, boys, " I said, "we will make theGerman drink it himself and see the effect. " The men roared withlaughter, and we filled a bottle with the suspected liquid and madethe unfortunate prisoner drink every drop of it. When he had finished, we waited for a few minutes (like the people who watched St. Paul onthe Island of Melita after he had shaken off the viper into the (p. 313)fire) to see if he would swell up or die, but as nothing of that kindhappened we all began to fill our water-bottles. Just as the last manwas about to fill his, a big shell landed in the garden next to us, and he, catching up his empty bottle, ran off saying, "I'm not thirstyany longer, I don't want any water. "

After their rest and refreshment, the company went over to a sunkenroad on the east side of the village. It was now getting very chillyand the daylight was dying rapidly. From the ground above the road onecould see in the distance the spires of Cambrai, and in some fields tothe southeast of us, with my glasses I could distinctly see numbers oflittle grey figures going into trenches, apparently with the idea ofgetting round to the south of our village on our exposed flank. I meta young officer of the machine-gun battalion, and lending him myglasses pointed out where the Germans were massing. He got the men ofhis section and took up a forward position along a ditch which ran atright angles to the sunken road. Here too were some of the companiesof the 5th Battalion. They had hardly got into position when theGermans shelled the road we had been on, most unmercifully. I tookrefuge with a number of the men of the 5th Battalion in a garden, beside a brick building which had been used by the German troops as awash-house and which was particularly malodorous. Two or three shellsdropped in the orchard, breaking the trees, and we had to keep down onthe ground while the shelling lasted. I could not help thinking of thewarning the 2nd Battalion officer had given us about the situation onour right. It did seem pretty bad, because, until the arrival of the7th and 8th Battalions, our right flank was exposed, and the enemymight have gone round to the southeast of the village and attacked usin the rear. When things settled down, I went back up the sunken road, and, as I did so, thought I saw some men going into a gateway in themain street of the village. I made my way to the open trenches wherethe Colonel of the 5th Battalion had his headquarters, and I determinedto spend the night there, so they kindly provided me with a Germanovercoat. I was just settling down to sleep when a runner came up andreported that some men were wounded and were asking the way to thedressing station. Someone said they thought the M. O. Had made hisheadquarters in the village. Then I remembered having seen some menenter a gateway in the street as I passed, so two of us started offto find out if this was the regimental aid post. The night was (p. 314)absolutely black, and my companion and I had to feel our way alongthe street not knowing who or what we might bump into, and expectingevery moment that the Germans would begin to shell the place as soonas they thought we had had time to find billets there. At last to ourgreat relief, we came to a large gateway in a brick wall and foundsome of our men, who told us that the M. O. Had made his dressingstation in the cellar of a building to the right. We went down into itand came upon a place well lighted with candles, where the devotedM. O. And his staff were looking after a number of men on stretchers. 

The Germans were determined that we should not have a quiet night andvery soon, as we had expected, they began to shell the village. Thedressing station was in a building which they themselves had used forthe same purpose, so they knew its location, and shells began to fallin the yard. We got all the men we could down to the cellar; but stillthere were some stretcher cases which had to be left in the roomsupstairs. It was hard to convince them that there was no danger. However the "straffing" stopped in time, and I went down to the end ofthe cellar and slept in a big cane-seated chair which the Germans hadleft behind them. In the morning I went back again to our men in theline. The 10th Battalion had established themselves partly in a ditchalong the Cambrai road not far from Epinoy, and partly in outpostsbehind the German wire. The country was undulating, and in placesafforded an extensive view of the forward area. German machine-gunemplacements were in all directions, and our men suffered veryseverely. I was in an outpost with one of the companies when I saw inthe distance one of our men crawling on his hands and knees up to aGerman machine-gun emplacement. The helmets of the enemy could bedistinctly seen above the parapet. It was very exciting watching theplucky fellow approach the place of danger with the intention ofbombing it. Unfortunately just as he had reached the side of thetrench the Germans must have become aware of his presence, for theyopened fire, and he had to crawl back again as fast as he could. 

Though many wounded were brought in, we knew that some were stilllying out on the other side of the wire in full view of the enemy. Assoon as it was dark enough, a bearer party, which I accompanied, started off to try and collect these men. With my cane I managed tolead the party through a gap in the wire. I came to a poor fellow (p. 315)who had been lying there since the previous night with a smashed armand leg. He was in great pain, but the men got him in safely, and thenext time I saw him was in a Toronto hospital where he was walkingabout with a wooden leg, and his arm in a sling. I went down to anoutpost where I saw some men. We could only talk in whispers, as weknew the Germans were close at hand. They told me they were one of thecompanies of the 10th Battalion. I asked, "Where are your officers?"They said, "They are all gone. " "Who is in command?" They replied, "ALance-Corporal. " I rejoined the bearers and we had great difficulty ingetting back, as we could not find the gap in the wire, which seemedto go in all directions. 

The 10th Battalion was relieved that night by the 8th, the C. O. Ofwhich made his headquarters with the C. O. Of the 5th Battalion in alarge dugout by the sunken road. There, late at night, I shared abunk with a young machine-gun officer and had a few hours of somewhatdisturbed sleep. The next morning, Sunday, September the 29th, thefourth anniversary of our sailing from Quebec, our men were having ahard time. The German defence at Cambrai was most determined, and theyhad a large quantity of artillery in the neighbourhood. I went back tothe road and into the trench beyond the wire and found a lot of menthere. The parapet was so low that the men had dug what they called, "Funk holes" in the clay, where they put as much of their bodies asthey could. Sitting in a bend of the trench where I got a good view ofthe men, I had a service for them, and, as it was that festival, Iread out the epistle for St. Michael and All Angel's Day, and spoke ofthe guardianship of men which God had committed to the Heavenly Hosts. Going down the trench later on, I came to a place from which I couldsee, with my glasses, a German machine-gun emplacement and its crew. Iwent back and asked for a sniper. A man who said he was one came up tome and I showed him the enemy and then directed his fire. I could seefrom little puffs of dust where his bullets were landing. He was agood shot and I think must have done some damage, for all of a suddenthe machine-gun opened fire on us and we had to dive into the trenchpretty quickly. I told him that I thought we had better give up thegame as they had the advantage over us. To snipe at the enemy seemedto be a curious way to spend a Sunday afternoon, but it was a temptationtoo hard to resist. I crawled back through the trench to the road, andthere finding a man who had just lost his hand, directed him to (p. 316)the aid post near Battalion Headquarters. I accompanied him part ofthe way and had reached the edge of the sunken road, when a major ofthe Engineers came up to me and said, "I have got a better pair ofGerman glasses than you have. " It was an interesting challenge, so westood there on a little rise looking at the spires of Cambrai andcomparing the strength of the lenses. Very distinctly we saw the town, looking peaceful and attractive. Suddenly there was a tremendous crashin front of us, a lot of earth was blown into our faces, and we bothfell down. My eyes were full of dirt but I managed to get up again. Ihad been wounded in both legs, and from one I saw blood streaming downthrough my puttees. My right foot had been hit and the artery in thecalf of my leg was cut. I fell down again with a feeling of exasperationthat I had been knocked out of the war. The poor major was lying onthe ground with one leg smashed. The same shell had wounded in thechest the young machine-gun officer who had shared his bunk with methe night before. I believe an Imperial officer also was hit in theabdomen and that he died. The chaplain of the 10th Battalion whohappened to be standing in the sunken road, got some men togetherquickly and came to our help. I found myself being carried off in aGerman sheet by four prisoners. They had forgotten to give me myglasses, and were very much amused when I called for them, but I gotthem and have them now. The major not only lost his leg but lost hisglasses as well. The enemy had evidently been watching us from someobservation post in Cambrai, for they followed us up with anothershell on the other side of the road, which caused the bearers to dropme quickly. The chaplain walked beside me till we came to the aid postwhere there were some stretchers. I was placed on one and carried intothe dressing station at Haynecourt. They had been having a hard timethat day, for the village was heavily shelled. One of their men hadbeen killed and several wounded. I felt a great pain in my heart whichmade it hard to breathe, so when I was brought into the dressingstation I said, "Boys, I am going to call for my first and last tot ofrum. " I was immensely teased about this later on by my friends, whoknew I was a teetotaller. They said I had drunk up all the men's rumissue. A General wrote to me later on to say he had been terriblyshocked to hear I was wounded, but that it was nothing in comparisonwith the shock he felt when he heard that I had taken to drinking rum. Everyone in the dressing station was as usual most kind. The (p. 317)bitter thought to me was that I was going to be separated from the old1st Division. The nightmare that had haunted me for so long had atlast come true, and I was going to leave the men before the war wasover. For four years they had been my beloved companions and myconstant care. I had been led by the example of their noble courageand their unhesitating performance of the most arduous duties, in theface of danger and death, to a grander conception of manhood, and alonging to follow them, if God would give me grace to do so, in theirpath of utter self-sacrifice. I had been with them continuously intheir joys and sorrows, and it did not seem to be possible that Icould now go and desert them in that bitter fight. When the doctorshad finished binding up my wounds, I was carried off immediately to anambulance in the road, and placed in it with four others, one of whomwas dying. It was a long journey of four hours and a half to No. 1C. C. S. At Agnez-les-Duisans, and we had to stop at Quéant on the way. Our journey lay through the area over which we had just made the greatadvance. Strange thoughts and memories ran through my mind. Faces ofmen that had gone and incidents that I had forgotten came back to mewith great vividness. Should I ever again see the splendid battalionsand the glad and eager lives pressing on continuously to Victory?Partly from shell holes, and partly from the wear of heavy traffic, the road was very bumpy. The man above me was in terrible agony, andevery fresh jolt made him groan. The light of the autumn afternoon waswearing away rapidly. Through the open door at the end of theambulance, as we sped onward, I could see the brown colourless stretchof country fade in the twilight, and then vanish into completedarkness, and I knew that the great adventure of my life among themost glorious men that the world has ever produced was over. 

CHAPTER XXXV. (p. 318)

VICTORY. 

_November 11th, 1918. _

They took me to the X-ray room and then to the operating-tent thatnight, and sent me off on the following afternoon to the Base with aparting injunction that I should be well advised to have my foot takenoff; which, thank God, was not found necessary. From the C. C. S. AtCamiers, two days later I was sent to London to the Endsleigh PalaceHospital near Euston Station, where I arrived with another woundedofficer at 2. 30 a. M. I was put in a little room on the seventh storey, and there through long nights I thought of our men still at the frontand wondered how the war was going. The horror of great darkness fellupon me. The hideous sights and sounds of war, the heart-rendingsorrows, the burden of agony, the pale dead faces and blood-stainedbodies lying on muddy wastes, all these came before me as I lay awakecounting the slow hours and listening to the hoarse tooting of lorriesrattling through the dark streets below. That concourse of ghosts fromthe sub-conscious mind was too hideous to contemplate and yet onecould not escape them. The days went by and intimations at lastreached us that the German power was crumbling. Swiftly and surely theDivine Judge was wreaking vengeance upon the nation that, by itsover-weaning ambition, had drenched the world in blood. 

On November 11th at eleven in the morning the bells of London rang outtheir joyous peals, for the armistice had been signed and the war wasover. There was wild rejoicing in the city and the crowds went crazywith delight. But it seemed to me that behind the ringing of thosepeals of joy there was the tolling of spectral bells for those whowould return no more. The monstrous futility of war as a test ofnational greatness, the wound in the world's heart, the empty homes, those were the thoughts which in me overmastered all feelings ofrejoicing. 

On Sunday morning, the 4th of May, 1919, on the Empress of Britain, after an absence of four years and seven months, I returned to Quebec. On board were the 16th Battalion with whom I had sailed away in 1914, the 8th Battalion, the Machine Gun Battalion, the 3rd Field (p. 319)Ambulance and some of the Engineers. Like those awaking from a dream, we saw once more the old rock city standing out in the great river. There was the landing and the greeting of loving friends on the wharfwithin a stone's throw from the place whence we had sailed away. WhileI was shaking hands with my friends, an officer told me I had toinspect the Guard of Honour which the kind O. C. Of the vessel hadfurnished. I did not know how to do this properly but I walked throughthe rows of stalwart, bronzed men and looked into their faces whichwere fixed and immovable. Each man was an original, and every unit inthe old 1st Division was represented. For four years and seven months, they had been away from home, fighting for liberty and civilization. Many of them wore decorations; many had been wounded. No Generalreturning victor from a war could have had a finer Guard of Honour. 

The troops had to wait on board the ship till the train was ready. Allalong the decks of the great vessel, crowded against the railings inlong lines of khaki, were two thousand seven hundred men. Their brightfaces were ruddy in the keen morning air. On their young shoulders theburden of Empire had rested. By their willing sacrifice Canada hadbeen saved. It made a great lump come in my throat to look at them andthink of what they had gone through. 

I went back to the gangway for a last farewell. In one way I knew itmust be a last farewell, for though some of us will meet again asindividuals it will be under altered conditions. Never again but indreams will one see the great battalions marching on thebattle-ploughed roads of France and Flanders. Never again will one seethem pouring single file into the muddy front trenches. All that isover. Along the coasts of the Atlantic and Pacific, among our cities, by the shores of lakes and rivers and in the vast expanse of prairiesand mountain passes the warrior hosts have melted away. But there onthe vessel that day the fighting men had come home in all theirstrength and comradeship. I stood on the gangway full of conflictingemotions. 

The men called out "Speech, " "Speech, " as they used often to do, halfin jest and half in earnest, when we met in concert tents andestaminets in France. 

I told them what they had done for Canada and what Canada owed themand how proud I was to have been with them. I asked them to continueto play the game out here as they had played it in France. Then, (p. 320)telling them to remove their caps, as this was our last church parade, I pronounced the Benediction, said, "Good-bye, boys", and turnedhomewards. 

INDEX (p. 321)

A

Abbeville, 160, 161. 

Abeele, 132, 134. 

Achicourt, 302, 303, 304. 

Aeroplane, first ride in, 261, 264. 

Agnez-les-Duisans, 317. 

Albert, 136, 140, 146, 147, 148, 154, 158, 179, 288, 289. 

"Alberta, " 149, 174, 178, 205, 231, 243, 244, 245, 249, 252. 

Alberta Dragoons, 93, 115. 

Alderson, Gen. 89, 98, 108, 109, 111. 

Ambulance drivers, 130. 

Americans, 240, 242, 288. 

American declaration of war, 165. 

Amesbury, 32. 

Amiens, 135, 186, 271, 273. 

"Andania, " 24, 25, 27, 302. 

Anzin, 165, 166, 249. 

Anzin-St. Eloi. Rd. , 164. 

Archbishop of York, 190. 

Argyle & Sutherland Highlanders, 82. 

Arleux, 170, 177, 253. 

Armagh Wood, 131, 133. 

Armentieres, 38, 41, 98, 181. 

Armistice, 318. 

Army, 1st, 205. " 5th, 242. " Hqrs. , 211. " " 2nd, 134. " Service Corps, 50, 99. " Mind, the, 222. 

Arras, 150, 235, 246, 247, 251, 270, 290, 296, 301, 304. 

Arras-Bethune rd. , 164, 171, 173, 174, 176. 

Arras-Cambrai, 310, 311. 

Arriane Dump, 164, 175, 176, 178. 

Artillery, Canadian, 285. " Monument, 239. 

Attention to detail, effect of, 209. 

Aubigny, 154. 

August 4th, 271. 

Australians, 122. 

Australian Tunnellers, 201. 

Averdoignt, 258, 259. 

Avonmouth, 35. 

B

Bac St. Maur, 42. 

Bailleul, 38, 76, 98, 109, 112, 113, 114. 

Bailleul-sur-Berthouit, 170. 

Bailly-sur-Lys, 43, 46. 

Bapaume, 136, 137. 

Baptism at the Front, a, 122. 

Barlin, 161, 162, 206, 207, 230. 

Barrage, 168, 172, 198, 276, 309. 

Base, 267. 

Battalion, British, 165. " Guards, 79. " Headqrs. , 249, 250, 251, 252, 269, 276, 280, 281, 294, 295. " Machine Gun, 258, 298, 300, 307, 313, 318. " of Engineers, 3rd, 272. " Pioneer, 199. " 1st, 109, 181, 246, 306, 307. " 2nd, 181, 207, 278, 296, 309, 311. " 3rd. , 125, 149, 181, 285, 311. " 4th. , 181, 296, 305, 306. " 5th. , 181, 242, 275, 277, 282, 284, 292, 294, 311, 313. " 5th. , Headqrs. , 293. " 7th. , 181, 203, 235, 236, 282, 294, 295, 296, 313. " 8th. , 159, 181, 235, 236, 282, 283, 288, 292, 295, 302, 311, 313, 314, 318. " 10th. , 61, 181, 270, 280, 311, 312, 314, 315, 316. " 13th. , 52, 80, 118, 120, 181, 277, 296, 306. " 14th. , 23, 24, 27, 54, 58, 61, 111, 118, 125, 159, 160, 181, 246, 282, 295, 298, 301, 305, 306. " 15th. , 37, 38, 39, 42, 55, 118, 181, 274, 298. " 16th. , 37, 42, 57, 60, 72, 82, 106, 118, 119, 120, 125, 152, 164, 181, 246, 272, 273, 274, 275, 277, 279, 298, 302, 318. " 22nd. , 282. " 24th. , 282. " 42nd. , 302. " 87th. , 147, 148, 157, 178. 

Battery, my son's, 303. " Siege, 193. " " 7th. , 166, 198, 199. " " 11th. , 154, 155. 

Battle Headqrs. , 136, 176, 272, 273, 290, 291, 292, 303, 304, 305. 

Bean, C. W. E. Mr. , 289. 

Beaufort, 282, 286, 288. 

Beaurains, 303. 

Bedford House, 126, 132. 

Bed of Chairs, 79. 

Bell-Irving, Major, 302. 

Berles, 260, 261, 264. 

Bernaville, 147, 298. 

Bethune, 88, 89, 90, 159, 190, 230, 234. 

Bishop du Pencier, 234. " of London, 48. 

Bishop's College men, 114. 

Blind Organist, 89. 

Borden, Sir Robert, 22, 72, 102, 266. 

Boulogne, 240, 267. 

Bourlon Wood, 311. 

Boves, 272, 273. 

Bracquemont, 151, 191, 192, 197, 235, 240. 

Bray Hill, 167. 

Brielen, 75. 

Brigade, 206. " Artillery, 171, 245, 260. " " 1st. , Hqrs. , 199. " " 2nd. , " 199. " " 3rd. , " 177. " " 3rd. , 36, 53, 75, 76, 77, 87, 97, 103, 168, 181. " Cavalry, 82, 98, 103. " Headqrs. , 93, 156, 201. " Infantry, 65, 98. " " 3rd. , Headqrs. , 107, 118. " Machine Gun, 207. " Motor Machine Gun, 130. " Schools, 208. " 1st, 128, 179, 234, 246, 279, 280, 285, 303, 305, 307. " 2nd. , 80, 181, 205, 234, 242, 255, 257, 279, 280, 282, 292, 305, 310, 311. " 2nd. , Hqrs. , 235. " 3rd. , 31, 43, 75, 76, 77, 93, 97, 98, 242, 246, 292, 295, 298, 305, 310. 

British Artillery, 106. " Cavalry, 46. " Tribute, 169. 

Bruay, 159, 161, 178, 179, 180, 181, 203, 204, 205, 206, 232, 234, 235, 300. 

Brutenell, Col. , 130. 

Buissy Switch Trench, 305. 

Bulford Camp, 95, 96. 

Bullecourt, 303. 

Bully-Beef Wood, 269. 

Bully-Grenay, 192, 193, 194, 208. 

Byng, Gen. , 132. 

C

"C" Mess, 99, 149, 217, 231, 243, 245. 

C. C. S. , 267, 270, 286, 291, 317, 318. " British, 128, 129. 

Caestre, 38, 49. 

Cagnicourt, 296, 303. 

Caix, 279, 280, 281. 

Calais, 227. 

Camblain l'Abbé, 149, 151, 152, 158, 159, 238. 

Cambligneul, 203. 

Cambrai, 302, 315. 

Camiers, 318. 

Cam Valley, 249. 

Canadian Cavalry, Hqrs. , 160. " Corps, 72, 108, 132, 149, 150, 178, 189, 190, 220, 240, 265, 270, 271, 272, 274. " Corps Headqrs. , 109, 132, 150, 238, 260, 270. " Cyclist Corps, 142. " Light Horse, 93. " Prisoners of War Fund, 109. " Sisters, 254. " War Records Office, 184. 

Canal du Nord, 291, 305. 

Canaples, 135, 137, 147, 161. 

Canteen, 138. 

Cassel, 49, 50, 52, 134. 

Caves, 246. 

Cemetery, 152, 158, 176, 180, 291. Canadian, 56, 136, 138. At Ecoivres, 174. Military, 214. Near Thélus, 156. 

Centre Way, 155. 

Chalk Pit, 199. 

Chamounix, 186. 

Chaplain, American, 270. " British, 111. " General, 34. " Junior, 194. " Praise of, 116. " Rest Home, 190. " Roman Catholic, 184. " Senior, 98, 173, 181, 190, 203, 207, 231. " Senior of Australian Div. , 138. " Senior Roman Catholic, 34, 76. " 1st. Army, 205. " Service Headqrs. , 135. 

Château d'Acq. , 183, 184, 185, 189, 251. " de la Haie, 178, 181, 230, 242, 243. " Longeau, 272. " of Le Cauroy, 147. " of Ranchicourt, 150. 

Cheerfulness of Men, 255. 

Cheery word, effect of, 67. 

Cherisy, 292, 294, 295, 296. 

Chinese Labour Companies, 192. 

Christmas, 32, 118, 159, 233. 

Church Parade, 18, 21, 22, 38, 320. " Service, 315. " under Chestnut Tree, 256. 

Cité St. Pierre, 238. 

"City of Chester, " 36. 

Clayton, 230. 

Clino, 259, 260, 267. 

Comradeship, effect of, 78. 

Concert Party, 180, 192, 203, 231, 242, 243, 254, 261, 298. " " 1st Divisional, 159. 

Concerts, 153. 

Confirmation Service, 109. 

Congreve, General, 40. 

Connaught, Duke & Duchess, 22, 266. 

Consecration, the Supreme Idea, 299. 

Contalmaison, 137. 

Cope, 311. 

Convalescent Camp, 133. 

Coupigny, 181. 

Courcelette, 115, 138, 140, 142, 144, 145, 155, 157, 179. 

Court-o-Pyp, 96, 97. 

Croisilles, 302. 

"Crown & Anchor, " 264. 

Crow's Nest, The, 295. 

Crucifix Corner, 235. Dump, 193. 

Crucifixes, 105. 

Crucifixion of Canadian Soldier, 76. 

Currie, Gen. , 80, 109, 112, 222, 239, 242, 260. 

D

Dainville, 291, 298, 300, 302. 

"Daily Mail, " 187, 191. 

"Dandy, " 90, 91, 95, 103, 107, 108, 110, 113, 122, 128, 134, 165, 180, 253, 256, 265, 304. 

Day of Young Men, the, 182. 

Death Valley, 138, 156, 157, 179. 

Deligny's Mill, 312. 

Desertion, procedure for death penalty, 211. " death penalty inflicted, 214. 

Dish washing in the trenches, 236. 

Divion, 234. 

Division, 106, 122, 132, 162, 177, 192, 199, 203, 207, 209, 216, 220, 226, 227, 228, 242, 251, 253, 260, 265, 268, 280, 287, 288, 289, 291. " 1st. , 33, 46, 93, 108, 130, 149, 172, 178, 194, 264, 266, 274, 317, 319. " 2nd. , 108, 138, 175, 281, 291, 296, 303. " 3rd. , 129, 274, 300, 302, 304. " 4th. , 146, 154, 158, 231, 232, 242, 294, 295, 311. " Guards, 123, 132. " Scots, 250. 

Divisional Area, 2nd. , 282. " 1st. Wing, 267, 268. " Headqrs. , 123, 134, 135, 147, 159, 173, 183, 191, 213, 230, 256, 271. " " 1st. Can. , 264, 286. " Rest Camp, 132. " Sports, 261. " Train, 133, 208, 209. 

Dominion Day, 189. " " Sports, 266. 

Douai, 249. 

Douai-Cambrai, 312. 

Double-Crassier, 194. 

Douve, 118. 

Dregs of the Cup, 303. 

Dressing Station, 140, 142, 144, 177, 200, 201, 227, 235, 284, 285, 291, 296, 309, 314, 316. 

Drocourt-Quéant Line, 291, 297. 

Duffy, 62, 73. 

Durham Light Infantry, 39. 

Duty as a guide, 250. " " " runner, 250. 

E

Easter Day, 48, 123, 245. " " 1916, 128. 

Ecoivres, 162, 166, 167, 172, 232, 252. 

Edinburgh, 240. 

"Empress of Britain, " 318. 

Endsleigh Palace Hospital, 318. 

Engineer Companies, 245. 

English Channel, 28. 

Epinoy, 314. 

Estaires, 46, 48, 49. 

Etrun, 247, 248, 251, 268, 270. 

Estrée-Cauchie, 204. 

Evians-les-Bains, 187. 

F

Fampoux, 249, 250, 263. 

Farbus, 177. 

Festubert, 80, 82, 89. 

Feuchy, 249, 250, 263, 269. 

Field Ambulance, 1st. , 303. " " 2nd. , 68, 69, 70, 74. " " 3rd. , 37, 133, 319. " Co. Engineers, 3rd. , 135. 

Fight in a Church Service, 102. 

Flêtre, 38, 122. 

Fleurbaix, 43. 

Florence, 223, 226. 

"Florizel, " 26. 

Foch, Marshal, 254, 255. 

"Follies, The, " 123. 

Fort Glatz, 193, 199, 235. 

Fosseaux, 245, 247. 

"Four Winds, The, " 152, 154. 

France, Patriotism of, 188. 

Fresnicourt, 185, 190. 

Fresnoy, 177, 178, 233. 

Frevent, 253, 254. 

Frohen Le Grand, 147. 

G

Gas Attack, 240, 241. 

Gas Poisoning, 201. 

Gas Shells, 269. 

Gaspé Basin, 26. 

Gasquet, Cardinal, 222. 

General Hospital, No. 2, 35, 36, 37, 80, 97. 

Gentelles Wood, 272, 273, 279. 

German Aeroplane, 111. " Dugouts, 136. " Prisoners, 65, 80, 82, 142, 144, 200, 278, 283, 284, 295, 312, 316. " Spy, 83, 89, 96, 108. " Thoroughness, 66. 

Ghurkas, 79. 

Glasgow Highlanders, 81. 

Good Friday, 48, 165, 245. 

Gouldberg Copse, 227. 

Gouy-Servins, 231. 

Graham, Rev. E. E. , 296. 

Graves, Unrecorded, 158. 

Great Memories of the War, 117. 

Grenade School, 132, 133. 

Grenay, 235. 

Groves, Vaughan, 234, 235. 

Gwynne, Bishop, 99, 100, 135. 

H

Haig, Gen. , 78, 79. 

Hallicourt, 180. 

Hangard Wood, 277. 

Harter, Major, M. C. , 40. 

Hatchet Wood, 282. 

Hautes Avesnes, 298. 

Haynecourt, 305, 311, 312, 316. 

Headquarters, 112, 122, 178, 206, 211, 267, 268. 

Hell Fire Corner, 69. 

Hendecourt, 303. 

Hendecourt Dury, 295. 

Hill 60-54, 55, 124. 

Hill 63-91, 101, 106, 113, 117, 118. 

Hill 70-197, 198, 202, 203, 205, 207, 208, 233, 235, 240. 

"Hole in the Wall, The, " 195. 

Holy Communion, 21, 27, 32, 40, 49, 66, 71, 77, 95, 96, 101, 119, 120, 132, 143, 146, 147, 150, 160, 163, 164, 166, 176, 190, 211, 232, 243, 245, 246, 292, 302. 

Honor to a Belgian Maid, 111. 

Hooge, 124. 

Hooggraaf, 123, 128, 134. 

Horne, Gen. , 172, 176, 181, 205. 

Hornoy, 271, 272. 

Houdain, 180, 181. 

Houplines, 39. 

Hughes, Gen. , 15, 17, 21, 22, 53, 102, 103. 

Hugo Trench, 235. 

I

Ignacourt, 280. 

Inchy Station, 303, 304, 305. 

Indian Troops, 74. " Village, 80. 

Ironside, Col. , 148. 

Italian, 1st. Div. , 218. " 3rd Army, 221. 

Izel-les-Hameaux, 261, 262, 264. 

J

Joffre, Gen. , 72. 

Johnson, Johnny, 261, 264. 

Jutland, 129, 130. 

K

Khaki University, 267. 

King, The, 32, 72, 134. 

"King Edward's Horse, " 112. 

Kitchener, Earl, 102, 103, 129. 

Kort Dreuve, 101. 

L

La Boisselle, 137. 

Labyrinth, 173. 

Lacouture, 79. 

La Crêche, 94. 

Lake of Geneva, 187. 

Lamb, Col. , 219, 221, 223. 

Lark Hill, 31. 

La Targette Rd. , 183. 

Laventie, 45. 

Le Brebis, 192, 235. 

Le Cauroy, 253, 254, 261, 270, 271, 301. 

Lectures on Leave Trip to Rome, 257, 258. 

Leicesters, 45. 

Lens, 197, 202, 235, 241, 263. 

Lens-Arras, 176, 185, 207. 

Lens-Bethune Rd. , 200. 

Les Tilleuls, 239. 

Le Touret, 80, 82. 

Liencourt, 271. 

Liéven, 208, 240, 262, 263. 

Loison, 267, 268. 

London, 91, 93, 240, 318. 

Loos, 109, 110, 192, 193, 197, 201, 207, 235, 240. 

Loos Crassier, 200. 

Lord's Prayer, 71, 142. 

Lyons, 259, 260, 273, 289, 300. 

M

MacDonald, Murdoch, 44, 52, 53, 54, 67, 68, 75, 81, 87, 94, 95. 

Macdonell, Gen. , 82, 189. 

Macphail, Col. , 300, 303. 

Maison Blanche, 164, 169. 

Mametz, 146. 

Maple Copse, 133. 

Maroc, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 235. 

Maroeil, 249. 

Marquion, 310. 

Marseilles, 216. 

Mazingarbe, 192, 235. 

Memorial Service for Hill 70 Attack, 206. 

Memories of the War, 132. 

Mercer, Gen. , 128, 129. 

Merville, 46. 

Messines, 101. 

Military Prison, 123. 

Ministering to German Prisoners, 278. 

Miraumont, 139, 157. 

Moment Before Attack, 276. 

Mons, 260. 

Mont des Cats, 112, 128, 129. 

Montreuil, 267. 

Mont St. Eloi, 149, 150. 

Morgue, 124. 

Mount Kemmel, 112. 

Murray, Major, 112. 

N

Nazebrouck, 37. 

Neuve Chapelle, 45. 

Neuve Eglise Rd. , 95, 96. 

Neuville St. Vaast, 169. 

Neuville Vitasse, 291. 

New Year, 160, 233. 

Nieppe, 98, 99, 108, 109, 112. 

"Nine Elms, " 174. 

Noeux les Mines, 191. 

"No Man's Land, " 120, 126, 149, 207, 249, 269. 

O

Observation Balloons, 181, 182. " Post, 280. 

Ohlain, 152, 205. 

Ouderdom, 74. 

P

Paris, 186, 187, 227. 

Parish Visiting, 20, 192, 235, 267, 269. 

Passchendale 220, 227, 228, 229, 230, 233. 

Patricia, Princess, 22. 

Petit Moncque Farm, 103, 107, 118. 

"Philo, " 91, 94, 95, 104, 134, 149. 

"Pineapples, " 236, 237, 238. 

Pisa, 217, 226. 

Place St. Croix, 251. 

Ploegsteert, 38, 91, 94, 100, 102, 103, 110, 113, 118. 

Plymouth, 28. 

Poems: "The Unnamed Lake, " 307. "Requiescant, " 75. 

Pope, The, 220. 

Poperinghe, 123, 128, 132, 207, 227, 230. 

Poppies, 261. 

Pozières, 137, 138, 142, 144, 155. 

Price, Major, 301. 

Pronville, 305. 

Pudding Lane, 249. " Trench, 249, 269. 

Puzzling Question, A, 163. 

Pys. , 139, 157. 

Q

Quatre Vents, 203. 

Quéant, 305, 317. 

Quebec, 318. 

Queen's Own Westminsters, 41. 

Quesnel, 288. 

R

Railway Dugouts, 124, 126, 130, 131, 132. " Triangle, 270. 

Ranchicourt, 152, 193. 

Ravine, 133. 

Recitation of Poem Under Difficulties, 195. 

Record Attack, A, 172. 

Record-beating Advance, 280. 

Refugees, 69. 

Regina Trench, 138, 148, 156, 157, 158, 180. 

Religion of Men at Front, 116, 134. 

Rest Camp, 185, 190. 

Riviera, 217. 

Robecq, 78, 230. 

Roberts, Lord, 32. 

Robertson, Sir Wm. , 220. 

Roclincourt, 176. 

Roellencourt, 147, 148, 149. 

Romarin, 94, 111. 

Rome, 216, 217. 

Rome, March Through the Streets, 218. 

Rosières, 280, 282. 

Ross, Pte. , 95, 104, 112, 114, 154, 254, 304. 

Rouville, 246. 

Rouvroy, 285. 

Royal Canadian Regiment, 189. 

Royal Horse Artillery, 281. 

Royal Rifles, 8th, 15, 16. 

Rubempré, 135, 136, 137. 

Ruitz, 180, 181. 

S

Sad stories, 139, 141. 

Sains-en-Gohelle, 235. 

Salient, 122, 128, 130, 132, 230, 270. 

Salisbury Plain, 30, 34. 

Sanctuary Wood, 125, 133. 

Sappers, 78. 

Sausage Valley, 137. 

Scarpe, 165, 247, 250, 251, 269. 

Scarpe Valley, 249. 

Second Army School, 190. 

Seely, Gen. , 98, 111. 

Shells, 17 inch, 57. 

Shell Trap Farm, 65. 

"Shock Troops, " 255. 

"Silent Toast, The, " 174. 

"Sky Pilot, " 181. 

Smith-Dorrien, Gen. , 38, 52, 53. 

Somme, 134, 137, 179. 

Sons, My, 46, 146, 147, 148, 165, 176, 178, 190, 230, 262, 267, 289. 

Son's Grave, 157, 158, 180, 288. 

Souchez, 231. 

Spy Fever, 196. 

Squadron, 13th, 261. 

St. Aubin, 249. 

St. Eloi Rd. , 167, 249. 

St. Feuchien, 272, 273. 

St. George's Church, 123, 175, 176, 189. " " " No. 2, 184. " " " No. 3, 232. " " Rectory, 184, 233. 

St. Jans Cappel, 112, 113, 114, 122. 

St. Jean, 61, 67. 

St. Julien, 54, 61. 

St. Lawrence, 26. 

St. Nazaire, 36. 

St. Nicholas, 249. 

St. Omer, 99, 100, 134, 135, 190. 

St. Pol Rd. , 147, 160, 161, 258, 259, 261, 267. 

St. Sauveur Cave, 246. 

St. Sylvestre, 50. 

St. Venant, 230. 

Steenje, 77, 78, 93. 

Steenvoorde, 54, 134. 

Stewart, Charles, 302. 

Stonehenge, 32. 

Strand, 151. 

Strathcona Horse, 107. 

Strazeele, 37. 

Stretcher Bearers, 145. 

Sunday Program, 132. 

Swan Château, 127. 

T

Talbot House, 123, 230. 

Talbot, Neville, 123. 

"Tanks, " 140, 274, 277, 282. 

Tara Hill, 136, 137, 147, 154, 158, 180, 289. 

Telegraph Hill, 246. 

Tent Hospitals, Canadian, 208. 

Terdeghem, 52, 53. 

Thacker, Gen. , 134, 192, 260, 272, 287, 303, 305. 

Thélus, 170. 

"The Times, " 180. 

Tilloy, 269. 

Tilques, 135. 

Tincques, 264, 266. 

Training for Final Attack, 255. 

Tully, 160. 

Turcos, 63, 72. 

Turin, 226. 

U

"Unbroken Line, The, " 7. 

V

Valcartier, 16, 17, 19, 24. " Departure, 23. 

Vandervyver, M. , 54, 60, 67, 68. 

Venezelos, M. , 221. 

Verbranden Molen, 126. 

Verdrel, 259. 

Victory Year, 234. 

Villers au Bois, 183, 189. 

Villers-Cagnicourt, 296. 

Villers-Chatel, 205, 256, 257, 263. 

Vimy Ridge, 150, 151, 162, 164, 167, 169, 178, 181, 233, 239, 263. 

Vlamertinghe, 59, 68, 69, 70, 72, 73, 130, 132, 227. 

W

Wailly, 298. 

Wanquetin, 298. 

Warlus, 245, 247, 299, 300, 301. 

Warvilliers, 282, 284, 286. 

Westhof Farm, 98. 

Wieltje, 54, 55, 61, 62. 

Willerval, 170, 177. 

Wingles, 193. 

Wippenhock, 130. 

Wisques, 190. 

Wounded, 316. 

Wreath on Victor Emmanuel Statue, 221. 

Wulverghem, 106, 115. 

Y

Y. M. C. A. , 30, 138, 155, 166, 203, 204, 208, 267, 292, 298. 

Ypres, 49, 50, 54, 55, 124, 128, 130, 132, 227, 230. 

Yser Canal, 54, 55. 

Z

Zillebeke Bund, 125. 

Zulus, 192, 193. 

 _Warwick Bros. & Rutter, Limited_ _Printers and Bookbinders_ _Toronto_