CHAPTER XXII. (p. 210)

A TRAGEDY OF WAR.

There is nothing which brings home to the heart with such force the iron discipline of war as the execution of men who desert from the front line. It was my painful duty on one occasion to have to witness the carrying out of the death sentence. One evening I was informed by the A.P.M. that a man in one of our brigades was to be shot the next morning, 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 the brigade chaplain was present, but the A.P.M., wished me to take the case in hand. We motored over to the village where the prisoner was and 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 room from which a door led into a large brick chamber used as the condemned cell. Here I found the man who was to pay the penalty of his cowardice. He had a table before him and on it a glass of brandy and water and writing materials. He was sitting back in his chair and his face wore a dazed expression. The guards kindly left us alone. He rose and shook hands with me, and we began to talk about his sentence. He was evidently steeling himself and trying to fortify his mind by the sense of great injustice done to him. I allowed him to talk freely and say just what he pleased. Gradually, I succeeded in getting at the heart 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 of eleven, when he became an orphan, he had to get his own living and make his way in a world that is often cold and cruel to those who have no friends. Then by degrees he began to talk about religion and his whole manner changed. All the time I kept feeling that every moment the dreaded event was coming nearer and nearer and that no time was to be lost. He had never been baptised, but wished now to try and make up for 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 I arranged the table together, taking away the glass of brandy and water and the books and papers, and putting in their place the white (p. 211) linen altar cloth. When everything was prepared, he knelt down and I baptised him and gave him his first communion. The man's mind was completely changed. The hard, steely indifference and the sense of wrong and injustice had passed away, and he was perfectly natural. I was so much impressed by it that while I was talking to him, I kept wondering if I could not even then, at that late hour, do something to avert the carrying out of the sentence. Making some excuse and saying I would be back in a little while, I left him, and the guard went into the room accompanied by one of the officers of the man's company. When I got outside, I told the brigade chaplain that I was going to walk over to Army Headquarters and ask the Army Commander to have the death sentence commuted to imprisonment.

It was then about one a.m. and I started off in the rain down the dark road. The Chateau in which the General lived was two miles off, and when I came to it, I found it wrapped in darkness. I went to the sentry on guard, and told him that I wished to see the General on important business. Turning my flashlight upon my face, I showed who I was. He told me that the General's room was in the second storey at the 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 wooden steps, my flashlight lighting up the place. I knocked at a door on the right and a voice asked me who I was. When I told my name, I was invited to enter, and an electric light was turned on and I found I was in the room of the A.D.C., who was sitting up in bed. Luckily, I had met him before and he was most sympathetic. I apologized for disturbing him but told him my mission and asked if I might see the General. He got up and went into the General's room. In a few moments he returned, and told me that the General would see me. Instead of being angry at my extraordinary intrusion, he discussed the matter with me. Before a death sentence could be passed on any man, his case had to come up first in his Battalion orderly room, and, if he was found guilty there, it would be sent to the Brigade. From the Brigade it was sent to the Division, from the Division to Corps, from Corps to Army, and from Army to General Headquarters. If each of these courts confirmed the sentence, and the British Commander-in-Chief signed the warrant, there was no appeal, unless some new facts came to light. Of all the men found guilty of desertion from the front trenches, only a small percentage were executed. It was considered absolutely (p. 212) necessary for the safety of the Army that the death sentence should not be entirely abolished. The failure of one man to do his duty might spoil the morale of his platoon, and spread the contagion of fear from the 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 or insanity in the prisoner, it might be possible for the execution to be stayed, and a new trial instituted. This seemed to give hope that something might yet be done, so I thanked the General for his kindness and left.

When I got back to the prison, I made my way to the cell, not of course, letting the condemned man know anything that had happened. By degrees, in our conversation, I found that on both sides of his family there were cases of mental weakness. When I had all the information that was possible, I went out and accompanied by the brigade chaplain, made my way once again to Army Headquarters. The chances of averting the doom seemed to be faint, but still a human life was at stake, and we could not rest till every effort had been made. I went to the room of the A.D.C., and was again admitted to the presence of the Army Commander. He told me now that the only person who could stop the execution was the Divisional Commander, if he thought it right to do so. At the same time, he held out very little hope that anything could be done to commute the sentence. Once more I thanked him and went off. The brigade chaplain was waiting for me outside and we talked the matter over, and decided that, although the case seemed very hopeless and it was now half-past three, one last effort should be made. We walked back through the rain to the village, and there awoke the A.P.M. and the Colonel of the battalion. Each of them was most sympathetic and most anxious, if possible, that the man's life should be spared. The A.P.M. warned me that if we had to go to Divisional Headquarters, some seven miles away, and return, we had no time to lose, 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 who had one was the Town Major. So the Colonel and I started off to find him, which we did with a great deal of difficulty, as no one knew where he lived. He too, was most anxious to help us. Then we had to find 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 and death. It was not long before we were in the car and speeding down the dark, muddy roads at a tremendous rate, whirling round corners in a way that seemed likely to end in disaster. We got to the Divisional Commander's Headquarters and then made our way to his room and laid the matter before him. He talked over the question very kindly, but told us that the courts had gone into the case so carefully that he considered it quite impossible to alter the final decision. If the action of the prisoner had given any indication of his desertion being the result of insanity, something might be done, but there was nothing to suggest such was the case. To delay the execution for twenty-four hours and then to have to carry it out would mean subjecting a human being to unspeakable torture. He felt he could not take it upon himself to run the chance of inflicting such misery upon the man. The Colonel and I saw at once that the case was utterly hopeless and that we could do no more. The question then was to get back in time for the carrying out of the sentence. Once more the car dashed along the roads. The night was passing away, and through the drizzling rain the gray dawn was struggling.

By the time we arrived at the prison, we could see objects quite distinctly. I went in to the prisoner, who was walking up and down in his cell. He stopped and turned to me and said, "I know what you have been trying to do for me, Sir, is there any hope?" I said, "No, I am afraid there is not. Everyone is longing just as much as I am to save you, but the matter has been gone into so carefully and has gone so far, and so much depends upon every man doing his duty to the uttermost, that the sentence must be carried out." He took the matter very quietly, and I told him to try to look beyond the present to the great hope which lay before us in another life. I pointed out that he had just one chance left to prove his courage and set himself right before the world. I urged him to go out and meet death bravely with senses unclouded, and advised him not to take any brandy. He shook hands with me and said, "I will do it." Then he called the guard and asked him to bring me a cup of tea. While I was drinking it, he looked at his watch, which was lying on the table and asked me if I knew what time "IT" was to take place. I told him I did not. He said, "I think my watch is a little bit fast." The big hand was pointing to ten minutes 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 was completely blindfolded. Then they handcuffed him behind his back, and we started off in an ambulance to a crossroad which went up the side of a hill. There we got out, and the prisoner was led over to a box behind which a post had been driven into the ground. Beyond this a piece of canvas was stretched as a screen. The firing party stood at a little distance in front with their backs towards us. It was just daylight. A drizzling rain was falling and the country looked chilly and drear. The prisoner was seated on the box and his hands were handcuffed behind the post. He asked the A.P.M. if the helmet could be taken off, but this was mercifully refused him. A round piece of white paper was pinned over his heart by the doctor as a guide for the men's aim. I went over and pronounced the Benediction. He added, "And may God have mercy upon my soul." The doctor and I then went into the road on the other side of the hedge and blocked up our ears, but of course we heard the shots fired. It was sickening. We went back to the prisoner who was leaning forward and the doctor felt his pulse and pronounced him dead. The spirit had left the dreary hillside and, I trust, had entered the ranks of his heroic comrades in Paradise.

The effect of the scene was something quite unutterable. The firing party marched off and drew up in the courtyard of the prison. I told them how deeply all ranks felt the occasion, and that nothing but the dire necessity of guarding the lives of the men in the front line from the panic and rout that might result, through the failure of one individual, compelled the taking of such measures of punishment. A young lad in the firing party utterly broke down, but, as one rifle on such occasions is always loaded with a blank cartridge, no man can be absolutely sure that he has had a part in the shooting. The body was then placed in a coffin and taken in the ambulance to the military cemetery, where I held the service. The usual cross was erected with no 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 of death. I have heard heart-rending tales of what men have suffered, but nothing ever brought home to me so deeply, and with such cutting force, the hideous nature of war and the iron hand of discipline, as did 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 nightmare seems to rise out of the past and almost makes me shrink from facing once again memories that were so painful. It is well, however, that people should know what our men had to endure. Before them were the German shells, the machine-guns and the floods of gas. Behind them, if their courage failed, was the court-martial, always administered with great compassion and strict justice, but still bound by inexorable laws of war to put into execution, when duty compelled, a grim and hideous sentence of death.

If this book should fall into the hands of any man who, from cowardice, shirked his duty in the war, and stayed at home, let him reflect that, but for the frustration of justice, he ought to have been sitting that morning, blindfolded and handcuffed, beside the prisoner 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 just passed through, that permission was granted me at this time to take some men on a leave trip to Rome. My visit to Paris had convinced me that it was no proper place for men to spend their leave in, so when my next leave was nearly due I wrote to Division and asked permission to take a party to Italy in order that some of our men might have the benefit of seeing the great monuments of European history and art. Weeks passed away and I heard nothing about the matter, until at last a telegram came through granting my request. I had only asked permission to take twelve men with me whose names had to be sent in beforehand. But the telegram which granted permission was couched in such vague terms, merely referring to a certain file-number, that I, knowing that nobody would take the trouble to turn up the original document, said nothing about it, and by a stroke of good luck succeeded 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 the men, alas, became casualties in the Paris barrage on the first night, and were reported "missing, believed dead," but were found two days afterwards by the police and sent back. The rest of us had a glorious time and travelled to Rome via Marseilles, Nice—which included a visit to Monte Carlo—Genoa and Pisa. I shall never forget the delightful trip across France by daylight, and the moonlight night at Marseilles, where we put up at the Hotel Regina. The men were in fine form and presented a splendid soldierlike appearance. Their new uniforms were set off by the bright red patch upon their sleeves, and their 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 I asked them to play the game and they did. We were going into the country of an ally and I knew that such a large party would be under very critical observation wherever we went. I had really no authority over the men beyond that which they were willing that I should exercise. 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 in Marseilles and some in Rome, and my friends even went so far as to declare that they doubted whether I should ever come back myself. We were favoured with glorious weather, and travelled by daylight the whole length of the Riviera. The utmost good humour prevailed, and the glorious view of the blue Mediterranean on one side, with that of the romantic mountains on the other, drove from our minds all uncomfortable memories of the war. In fact we seemed to get into another world.

The train arrived at Pisa at about nine o'clock p.m. and was to wait there for three hours, so we all got out and had some supper and started off to see the famous leaning tower by moonlight. The sudden appearance of British troops in the quaint old town caused quite a sensation, and the people came out of the cafes to see us and a mob followed us wherever we went. We were of course pounced upon by the vendors of souvenirs, and a number of the men came back to the station carrying alabaster leaning towers under their arms. I warned the party about the danger of loading themselves with such heavy and brittle mementos, for we had still a long journey before us. The wisdom of my warning was apparent later on, for on leaving Rome the alabaster towers had begun to lean so much that they could no longer stand up. A shelf full of leaning towers propped up one against another, looking as if they had just partaken of an issue of rum, was left in the hotel. We journeyed all night, some of the men sleeping on the seats, some on the floor, and some in the hatracks overhead, and in the morning amid intense excitement we arrived at the station in Rome. I had been able to get a shave and clean up in the train, so on arrival was ready to go and hunt for a hotel. I told the men, however, to find their way to the Leave Club and make themselves presentable and that I would return for them as soon as possible. After securing billets in the Hotel Bristol, I went back for the party. Although I knew the men would want to go about the city by themselves, I felt it would be a good thing for our esprit-de-corps, that we should march to the hotel in a body. So, not knowing how to give military orders myself, and remembering what real colonels always did in similar predicaments, I turned to the senior sergeant and said, "Sergeant, make the men fall in, and when they are ready I will take over the parade." When the sergeant 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 I said "Quick march", they would walk into the brick wall opposite. I went up close to the sergeant and whispered to him, "Turn the men round." This he did, and placing myself at their head I shouted, "Quick March." I think that moment, as I started off to march through Rome 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 suddenly flashed upon me, "Julius Caesar once led his forces through Rome. Later on, Augustus Caesar led his forces through Rome. In the middle ages, Rienzi led his forces through Rome, and now, (here my head began to swell till it grew too big for my cap) Canon Scott is leading his forces through Rome." We marched through the streets at "attention" and looked not to the right nor to the left, in spite of the fact that we passed many groups of admiring onlookers. When we arrived at the hotel, I called out, "Halt", in proper military tones and the men halted, but I did not know the usual formula for telling them to disperse, and I did not want such a proper beginning to have a miserable end. I thought of saying, "Now I will dismiss the congregation," but that sounded too religious. I knew that if I said, "Now we will take up the collection," my army would fly off quickly enough. However, while I was debating with myself, the men took the law into their own hands and, breaking off, went into the hotel.

We happened to arrive in Rome just at the time of the great Italian disaster in the North, and we found the populace plunged into great anxiety. English and French newspapers were banned by the censor, so it was difficult to find out what was happening, but I was told privately that matters were very critical, and there might be a revolution in Rome at any moment. I was also advised to see that our men behaved with great circumspection, for German agents were secretly trying to make trouble between the British and Italians. I told our men to remember we had to help on the cause of the Allies and to be very careful about details, such as saluting every Italian officer. I think they saluted every Italian private as well. I also told them, in case they were questioned on the subject, to say they were quite pleased with the war, in fact that they rather enjoyed it and were not a bit afraid of the Germans, and were determined to fight until a decisive 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 a great puzzle to the Italians that Canadian soldiers were able to stay at the most select hotel in Rome, and also that the officers and men were able to mix together in real comradeship. The Highlanders in our party of course attracted the greatest attention, and were frequently followed by an admiring crowd as they passed through the streets. Colonel Lamb, the military attache at the Embassy, was very kind to us and secured us many privileges, not the least acceptable of which was free transportation. We split up into small parties, and visited the sights of the Eternal City as we pleased. On the first night after dinner, we paid a visit to the Coliseum by moonlight, which is something to remember. Wherever we went we met with the kindest treatment. The ladies of the Leave Club gave us an entertainment one evening, which was attended by the military and naval attaches at the British and American Embassies, and by some of the English residents. I was proud of the appearance of the men. Before we left the hotel at Nice, 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 most gentlemanly young fellows she had ever seen. I think it was a help to them to feel that their appearance in Rome at that critical time was something which gave our party a kind of political significance, and the phrase, "to help on the cause of the Allies," became a watchword among us.

One night an Italian Colonel asked some of our men to dine with him at his 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 theatres when an actor gave an impersonation of the different sovereigns of Europe. When he appeared as King George, the orchestra struck up our National Anthem, and at once our men rose up and stood to attention. One of them told me afterwards that he felt cold shivers going down his back as he did so, because he was in full view of everybody. For a moment there was a pause, then the audience, understanding what the action meant, rose en masse and stood till the music was over and then clapped their hands and shouted "Viva l'Inghilterra!"

Many of our men were very anxious to see the Pope, and so it was arranged that we should have an audience. Colonel Lamb informed the 1st Italian Division that we would march in a body through (p. 220) their district. We started off in the morning, our young Highland officer being in command. As we passed through the streets, the people greeted 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 and arrived at the entrance of the Vatican beside St. Peter's in good time. There we were met by an Irish priest, who remembered me from my previous visit. I asked him if the men should break ranks but he told me to let them come in formation. So, two by two, we mounted the glorious Royal Staircase, the splendid surroundings being a good setting for the fine looking soldiers. At the various landings, the Swiss Guards in their picturesque uniforms presented arms, and we found ourselves at last in a wonderful hall with richly frescoed walls and ceiling. Here the men were halted and passed in single file into the audience chamber. We had to wait for quite a long time, and at last the Pope entered, clothed in white and looking much older and more worn than when I had seen him only a year and a half before. He was very guarded in what he said to us, because we were the first soldiers whom he had received in a body, and any expression he might make with reference to the war would be liable to various interpretations. He spoke to some of our men in French and then wished us health and protection and a safe return to Canada. Then, giving his blessing he left us, and we made our way to the outer room where we reformed and marched off as we had come.

That afternoon we were photographed in the Coliseum, and I visited the interesting old church of St. Clement afterwards. Every evening, after a day spent in rambling among antiquities, we used to attend the opera in the Grand Opera House. It acted as a sort of relaxation after the serious business of sight-seeing. Rumours now reached us of the attack that our Division was making up in the Salient, and one night when I was having tea in the Grand Hotel I went over and asked a young British staff officer whom I saw there, if he had any news. He said to me that the Canadian Corps were making an attack at Passchendaele under the most appalling conditions of mud and rain and had covered themselves with glory. I asked him if it were true that Sir William Robertson had come to Rome. "Yes," he said, "I am his son. He has brought me with him and we are all very proud of the Canadians." At another table I saw M. Venezelos. It was understood now that (p. 221) Britain and France were to come to the assistance of Italy, but still Venice was in imminent peril, and the Italians were heart-broken at the way the 3rd Italian Army had behaved. Refugees from the North began to pour into Rome and affairs were very serious. I told our men of the gravity of the situation and the increased importance of helping on the cause of the Allies in every possible way.

It is the custom at Rome on All Soul's day, November 2nd, to place flowers and wreaths on the marble steps in front of the equestrian statue of Victor Emmanuel. This year, I was told, the people were going to make a special demonstration. It occurred to me that it might not be a bad idea if we, too, placed a wreath to the memory of our comrades. I put the matter before Colonel Lamb and he said it was a very good idea indeed, but asked us to put on the card which would be attached to our wreath, the words, "To the brave Italian dead, from their comrades in the British Empire," rather than, "To the brave Italian dead from their Canadian comrades." He said he was anxious to emphasize the connection between the British and the Italians. An Italian major made the arrangements with me for carrying out the project. Poor man, he was so moved at the thought of the disgraceful surrender of the 3rd Italian Army that his eyes filled with tears as he talked about it, and he said, "What will our Allies think of Italy when her men behave like that?" I told him it was only a small part of their army that had failed and that the rest had behaved very gallantly. That afternoon, preceded by two of our sergeants carrying a large wreath of laurel tied with purple ribbon, to which we attached two cards with the inscription, one in English and one in Italian, we marched through the crowds of onlookers, who took off their hats as we passed, until we reached the great marble steps which lead up to the gilded statue of the late King. Here there was a magnificent display of flowers made up in all sorts of designs. The crowd gave away before us, and one of the officials, who had been directed by the Italian major, took the wreath from us and gave it a place of honour in front of the statue. We stood in a long line on the marble steps and saluted and then turned and left. The people clapped their hands and shouted, "Viva l'Inghilterra!" We were pleased at the impression the simple act of courtesy made, and felt that it was helping on the cause of the Allies.

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

I had the great privilege of a visit to Cardinal Gasquet in the home of the Dominicans not far from St. Peter's. The interview had been arranged for me by an English priest whom I met at the hospital of the Blue Nuns, where I had taken two of our men who were ill with pneumonia. The Cardinal is engaged in the stupendous task of revising the text of the Latin Vulgate. He showed me photographs of the ancient manuscripts with the various readings noted. It will be years before the great task is completed, but when it is, it will remain untouched for centuries to come. He told me that news had just been received of the consecration of the first Roman Catholic Bishop in Russia. This had been made possible by the overthrow of the reigning dynasty. He was most kind, and told me many interesting things about life in Rome during the war, and before I left asked me to write my name in his visitor's book, pointing out to me on the upper part of the page the recent signature of the Cardinal Archbishop of Cologne.

Altogether we had been absent by this time for nearly two weeks, and had still a long return journey ahead of us. I thought, however, that the valuable service our men were rendering the great cause justified our over-staying our leave. In fact, when I went to say good-bye to Colonel Lamb, he and his staff told me that the presence of our men in the 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 a good thing. To my great delight, soon after we had returned, General Currie received the following letter, which has an official stamp which 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 Attache. Rome."

We left for Florence on Saturday November 3rd. The ladies of the Leave Club came to see us off, and after a delightful trip in brilliant sunshine, we arrived at our destination at seven in the evening. On our journey we passed many trains filled with refugees, who were crowded together in third-class carriages. As the Austrian and German armies advanced in the North the people in the villages were given a quarter of an hour in which to decide whether they would stay or go. They were warned, however, that if they stayed and the Italians ever tried to retake the towns they would all be put to death. I was told by some officers of a British hospital in Turin, who had had to leave the Italian front in a hurry, that it was a sad sight to see the inhabitants of the towns fleeing down the roads from the advancing enemy. Old and infirm people dragged themselves along. Parents lost their children and children lost their parents in the crowd, and the people took with them only the things which they could carry on their persons. Florence was crowded with these unfortunates, who were lying out at night in the squares and being tended by the citizens. There was a great crowd at the station when we arrived, and a number of Italian soldiers who spoke English gathered round our party and told us that the war was over and that the soldiers would not fight any more. 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. The whole 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 this time.

On the following afternoon, which was Sunday, I had a curious experience. The Y.M.C.A. officer and I were going off to see the great church of Santa Croce, which is the Italian Westminster Abbey, many great Italians having been buried there. As we passed down the street my friend went into a shop to buy some chocolates. While I was waiting, I heard the stirring notes of the Marseillaise, and looking round saw a band coming up the street followed by three Italian flags, a number of soldiers, and a rabble of men, women and children. I called to my companion to come out quickly and salute the Italian colours. As they passed, we stood on the curb and saluted with strict military precision. In fact we saluted so well that the delighted members of the procession grabbed us by the hand and finally dragged us into their midst, others clapping their hands and shouting "Viva l'Inghilterra!" I was separated from my companion in the rabble and called over to him and asked him what it was. He said, "I think it is a Socialist demonstration." This rather dismayed me, but I turned to one of the people by my side and asked him in French what the crowd was. He told me it was the society for finishing the war, so I called out to my friend, "It's all right Captain, it is the society for finishing 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 Italians together and rouse them to a supreme effort to resist the enemy and save Italy. The crowd was so enthusiastic about the presence of representatives of the British Army, that they finally caught us by our legs and carried us on their shoulders through the streets. It was a most amusing incident. I could not help thinking that the crowd were the descendants of the men who had burnt Savonarola at the stake. My friend, whose sense of humour had failed him, shouted over to me, "I hate being made a fool of like this." I told him not to be rude as we were helping on the cause of the Allies. Finally, overcome by our struggles, the men let us down, and we were pushed along in the crowd to the square in front of the Hotel Minerva. Here the leaders of the procession 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 had lost both his eyes, went on to the balcony and made a most impassioned appeal to his countrymen. The crowd in the square was now very dense, and received his speech with great enthusiasm. When it was over, one of the officers of "The society for finishing the war," came and urged me to address the crowd. I was so pleased to find that my French was better understood in Italy than in any place except England, that I asked my friend if I should speak to them in French. He looked at me very sourly, for he had not quite got back his equanimity, and said curtly, "You had better not." Then I said, "I will talk to them in Italian." I shall never forget the look of dismay which passed over his countenance, but I told him it was helping on the cause of the Allies. I went out on the balcony, and the people seeing the British uniform and probably mistaking me for a general, at once began to cheer. I took off my cap, waved it in the air and shouted at the top of my voice "Viva l'Italia." It was the only speech they wanted. It was neither too long nor too short. The crowd repeated the words, and then shouted, "Viva l'Inghilterra!" and the band actually struck up "God save the King" and followed it by "Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves" (I wished at the time she had ruled under the waves as well.) I went back to the room and the Italians were so delighted with my short and pithy speech, that they invited me to dine with them that night and bring two officers with me. When we got down to the square, the mob crowded round us and shook hands with us, and I was afraid that some of the ladies were going to embrace us. I think people thought we were part of the advance guard that had been sent from 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. The Deputy for Florence, who had been one of the members of the government which had declared war on Austria, was present and I sat by the side of an alderman of the city. Opposite to me was an English lady who acted as an interpreter. At the close of the dinner the Deputy rose and made a very eloquent speech, welcoming us to Italy and saying how much 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 than that, for our common civilization, and that the war had made the Allies one family. I said that our men were determined to fight to the bitter end, for we could have no true peace until we had a decisive victory. Then I added that, if our Division were sent to Italy, we should all come with great pleasure, knowing that the Italians were our comrades and warm friends. I thought too, during my speech, that a dugout in Florence would be worth two in Bully-Grenay. The party seemed very pleased with my remarks and we all exchanged visiting cards and separated good friends. The whole affair was very amusing, and when the Italians pushed back the enemy in 1918, I used to tell the men, amid roars of laughter, that nothing but my modesty prevented my saying who it was that had saved Italy, that no one would ever hear from my lips the name of the man who, when Italy was lying prostrate at the feet of the advancing foe, shouted into her dying ear the startling words "Viva l'Italia" and set her on her feet.

Two days afterwards, accompanied to the station by an admiring crowd and three ladies carrying Italian flags, we bade farewell to Florence and started on our return journey. We spent the afternoon in Pisa, and, after a night's journey, arrived at Turin in the morning. Our men got out of the train and were making their way to the station when they were met by the British R.T.O. a very large officer who wore an eyeglass. He brought them quickly to attention by calling out, "Who are you?" They told him they were Canadians on leave, and I, fearing bloodshed, went up to the officer and explained who they were and why they had come. He told me that there had been a mutiny in Turin that summer and relations between the British and Italians were very much strained, owing to the action of German agents. He said he had been living on the top of a volcano for the past three months, and was afraid to allow any large body of troops to go about the town lest there might be trouble. I assured him that our men would behave with great circumspection. He then told me that they would have to be back in rest-billets, near the station, not later than ten o'clock. I asked if he could not make it eleven, because I knew that the men wanted to go to the theatre. He agreed to this and asked me to tell them that roll would be called in the rest-billets at eleven o'clock. I halted the men and said, "Boys, roll will be called in the rest-billets tonight 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 theatres and to the various hotels afterwards. No trouble ensued, and when we left on the following afternoon the R.T.O. was most friendly and gave us a hearty send-off, no doubt feeling too relieved at our departure to make any inquiries.

Although we had had a most delightful trip I was really thankful we were at last setting our faces towards the North. We arrived in Paris the next morning, and before we left the station I told the men that every one of them had to be at the train that evening. I had taken it upon myself to extend their leave, as I thought their presence in Italy was beneficial to the cause, but I asked them to show their gratitude by not failing to return all together. That night, to my intense satisfaction, they all turned up at the station at seven o'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, a drizzling rain was falling, and the mud was thick. We could hear the big 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 met cared whether we had come from Italy or were going to Jericho. The men did not know where their headquarters were, and I was particularly anxious not to find mine. I went over to the Officer's Club and secured a shake-down in the garret, but, as I heard that our Division had made an attack that day, I determined to go up to the line. I started off after dinner in an ambulance to the old mill at Vlamertinghe, where there was a repetition of the sights and sounds which I had experienced there on two previous occasions. Later on, I went forward in another ambulance through Ypres to an advanced dressing station. Then I started to walk up the terrible, muddy roads till I came to the different German pill-boxes which had been converted into headquarters for the battalions. Finally, after wading through water and mud nearly up to my knees, I found myself the next afternoon wandering through the mud and by the shell holes and miserable trenches near Goudberg Copse, with a clear view of the ruins of Paschendaele, which was held by another division on our right. The whole region was unspeakably horrible. Rain was falling, the dreary waste of shell-ploughed mud, yellow and clinging, stretched off into the distance as far as the eye could see. Bearer parties, tired (p. 228) and pale, were carrying out the wounded on stretchers, making a journey of several miles in doing so. The bodies of dead men lay here and there where they had fallen in the advance. I came across one poor boy who had been killed that morning. His body was covered with a shiny coating of yellow mud, and looked like a statue made of bronze. He had a beautiful face, with finely shaped head covered with close curling hair, and looked more like some work of art than a human being. The huge shell holes were half full of water often reddened with human blood and many of the wounded had rolled down into the pools and been drowned. As I went on, some one I met told me that there was a wounded man in the trenches ahead of me. I made my way in the direction indicated and shouted out asking if anybody was there. Suddenly I heard a faint voice replying, and I hurried to the place from which the sound came. There I found sitting up in the mud of the trench, his legs almost covered with water, a lad who told me that he had been there for many hours. I never saw anything like the wonderful expression on his face. He was smiling most cheerfully, and made no complaint about what he had suffered. I told him I would get a stretcher, so I went to some trenches not far away and got a bearer party and a stretcher and went over to rescue him. The men jumped down into the trench and moved him very gently, but his legs were so numb that although they were hit he felt no pain. One of the men asked him if he was only hit in the legs. He said, "Yes," but the man looked up at me and pulling up the boy's tunic showed me a hideous wound in his back. They carried him off happy and cheerful. Whether he ever recovered or not I do not know. If he did and ever sees this book, I wish he would write and tell me how he is.

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

At the front that day, a runner and I had joined in a brief burial service over the body of a gallant young officer lying where he fell on the side of a large shell-hole. As I uttered the words—"I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord," it seemed to me that the lonely 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 sad hearts in Canada whose loved ones will lie, until the end, in unknown graves at Paschendaele.



CHAPTER XXIV. (p. 230)

OUR LAST WAR CHRISTMAS.

Our Division moved back to Barlin and I was once more established in my old billet. As our artillery were still at Ypres, I determined to go back on the following day to the Salient. I started in a car the next morning at six, and arrived at Talbot House, Poperinghe, in time to have breakfast with Padre Clayton, who was in charge of that splendid institution. Then I made my way to Ypres and found my son at his battery headquarters under the Cloth Hall Tower. It was a most romantic billet, for the debris of the ruins made a splendid protection from shells, and the stone-vaulted chambers were airy and commodious, much better than the underground cellars in which most of the men were quartered. The guns of the battery were forward in a very "unhealthy" neighbourhood. The officers and men used to take turns in going on duty there for twenty-four hours at a time. They found that quite long enough, as the forward area was continually exposed to shells and aeroplane attacks. I went on to visit our own field batteries, and found them distributed in a most desolate region. The mud was so deep that to step off the bath-mats meant sinking almost to the knees. In order to move the guns, planks had to be laid in front of them for a track, and the guns were roped and dragged along by the men. It was hard physical labour but they bore it, as they did other difficulties and dangers, with the utmost good humour. It was tiring enough merely to walk out to see them, without having anything else to do. What those men went through at that time no one can imagine. Just to watch them laying the planks and hauling on the ropes which drew the heavy mud-covered guns made me weary. When I meet some of my gunner friends in Montreal and Toronto looking so clean and happy, I think of what they did behind Passchendaele Ridge, and I take off my hat to them.

I spent three days at Ypres, and then, by jumping lorries, made my way back to St. Venant and Robecq, where I spent the night. The next morning I left for Bethune, and thence by the assistance of lorries and a car continued my journey to our new Divisional Headquarters, which had found a home at Chateau de la Haie. Here I had a billet (p. 231) in an upstairs room over what had been part of a stable. The room was neither beautiful nor clean, but served as an abode for me and Alberta and her newly-arrived family. The Chateau was a large house of no distinction, but it stood in delightful grounds, and at the back of it was a pond whose clear waters reflected the tall, leafless trees which bordered it. One fact made the Chateau popular and that was, that, up to that time, no shell or bomb had fallen in the neighbourhood. It was said that the location of the Chateau was not to be found on the enemy's maps. Round about were huts with accommodation sufficient to house a whole brigade. The charm of the place was completed by our 4th Division having erected there a large and most artistic theatre, which would seat on benches nearly one thousand men. It had a good stage and a pit for the orchestra in front. This theatre, when our concert party was in full swing, was a source of infinite delight to us all. It was built on the slope of a hill, the stage being at the lower end and a good view of the play therefore, could be had from all parts. The scenery was beautifully painted and the electric lights and foot-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 various units found their homes. The year's campaign was now over and we could look forward to a quiet time during the winter. "C" mess had a very comfortable hut, with an open fireplace. We were supposed to have the liveliest entertainments of any mess at Headquarters, and had therefore many visitors. I shall never forget the jolly face of our president, 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 dry common-sense humour of our Field Cashier. What delight they took in ragging the Senior Chaplain, whose automatic ears, as he averred, prevented his hearing the things he should not. Nor must we forget the Camp Commandant, often perplexed like Martha with much serving. It was a goodly company and one much addicted to bridge and other diversions. I shall not forget the continual appeals of a gallant staff officer with two or three ribbons, who asked me penitently every morning for a moral uplift, which I noticed completely evaporated before evening. There was a freedom about our gatherings that was quite unique and has left pleasant memories in the mind, in spite of the fact that I told my 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 my wind up?" "Not a bit", I replied, "I knew that the Devil was not going to destroy one of his favourite machine-gun emplacements."

There was much excitement at this time over the question of conscription. The soldiers were to have votes and much depended upon their being given in the right way. It was a critical time, as our man-power was being exhausted. Recruiting under the voluntary system had become inadequate to meet our needs. Beyond this, however, one felt that the moral effect of Canada's refusing conscription would be very harmful. The Germans would at once see in it an indication that Canada was growing weary of fighting and they would consequently take heart. It was most essential then that our men should cast a solid vote for the coalition government. I felt it my duty therefore to do as much electioneering work as I could. At night I used to address the men in the theatre between the acts of the play, and tell them that if we threw out the conscription bill, it would go a long way to undo the good of all they had done and destroy the value of the sacrifice our dead comrades had made. Once I was invited to speak to a battalion of the 4th Division during an entertainment which they were holding. When I closed my address I told them that the last thing I wanted to do was to influence their vote. All I asked of them when they went to the polls was to make a cross in front of Borden's name. From the laughter and cheers with which this statement was received, I think they probably did. A few of the men told me that the thing which made them hesitate about voting for conscription was that they could not bring themselves to do anything which would force others to come and endure the hellish life at the front. The great unionist victory at the polls in Canada, which we heard of on December 18th, showed us that the heart of the young country was sound, and this no doubt was noted by the Germans.

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

The arrival of one of the battalions of the 4th Division gave us the first indication that we were to move. On December 20th we left once more for Bruay. Here I found that my old billet was no longer available, 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 put my 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 the beloved battalions round us as before. The theatre was filled night after night, and there were the old gatherings of officers in the hotel. We regarded it as a great stroke of luck that once more we were going to spend Christmas out of the line.

On Christmas Eve, when I was preparing to go up to the midnight Communion Service in the theatre, a new C. of E. Chaplain arrived and came with me to assist. On the stage the altar was set as before, and the dear old flag which now for three long years had been devoted to the sacred purpose shone out as the frontal. The band played the Christmas hymns and a large number of men attended. Some of them, but not many, had been there the year before. It was very beautiful and solemn. At midnight on New Year's Eve we repeated the service. Again there was a large congregation, and to me as I looked back to the gathering held in that place just one year ago it was quite overpowering. How many of those who had been with us at the dawn of 1917 had passed away? The seats where they had sat were filled with other men. The hymns they had joined in were sung by other lips. In my heart went up the cry, "How long, O Lord, how long?" Once more the hands of the weary world clock had passed over the weeks and months of another year, and still the end was not in sight. As we stood in silence, while the buglers sounded the Last Post for the dying year, a wild and strange vision swept before me: I saw again the weary waste of mud and the shell ploughed ridge at Vimy; the fierce attacks at Arleux and Fresnoy; the grim assault on Hill 70 and the hellish agony of Paschendaele. Surely the ceaseless chiselling of pain and death had graven 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 with fine bracing weather, and there was the usual round of dinners and entertainments with which we always greeted the birth of a new twelve-month. We had several Canadian-like snow storms. In the midst of one, I met a forlorn despatch rider coming up the main street on his wheel with the blinding snow in his face. I stopped him and asked him if he wouldn't like to have some dinner, and I took him into the hotel. He had been to Bethune to buy some V.C. ribbon for one of the men of his battalion who was going to be presented with it on the following day, and was so proud of his mission that he made no complaint about the long and tiring journey through the snowstorm. The country behind Bruay is broken up into pleasant valleys, and there are plenty of trees on the hills, so the winter aspect of the district made us feel quite at home. I used to give many talks to the men on what I called "The war outlook", I thought it helped to encourage them, and I was perfectly sincere in my belief, which grew stronger as time went on, in spite of notable set-backs, that we should have victory before the end of the year.

We had a visit at this time from Bishop du Pencier, who came to hold a confirmation for us at Divion. There were forty candidates, nearly all of them being presented by chaplains of the 1st Brigade. It was a solemn service and made a deep impression upon the men. The hymns were sung very heartily, and the Bishop gave a most helpful address. I remember specially one young fellow called Vaughan Groves, who came to me for the preparation. He was a small, rather delicate young lad about nineteen years of age, and was a runner for the 2nd Brigade. He had 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 of rare courage. I felt the deepest admiration for the boy, who was the only son of a widowed mother in Canada. He never touched liquor and had lived a perfectly straight life, and his was just the type of character 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 near the 2nd Brigade Headquarters, and seeing a number of men in there, went down to have a talk. I found they were the Brigade runners, and so I at once asked for my young friend. They told me that he had been wounded in the arm and when he came to the dressing station, finding there a man who was dying from loss of blood, had at once offered his own blood for transfusion into the veins of the sufferer. So much had to be taken from him that the boy got very weak and had to be sent back to England to recuperate. The men added that it was just the thing that little Vaughan would do. He was the finest, cleanest little chap, they said, that they had ever met. It was always delightful to hear such testimony from men to the innate power of human goodness. I have never seen or heard of Vaughan Groves since, but I hope that some one may read this book who will be able to tell me how and where he is.

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

The day after I arrived, I determined to do some parish visiting in the slums—as I called the front line. I started off in my old trench uniform and long habitant boots, carrying with me a supply of bully-beef, tinned milk and hardtack. I went through Bully-Grenay and then out through Maroc to Loos. Here once again the dressing station at Fort Glatz was occupied by a doctor and staff from one of our ambulances. I spent a little while there and then continued my journey up the road past Crucifix Corner to the trenches. The 7th and 8th Battalions were in the line. The day was fine and the warm sunshine was hardening the mud, so things did not look too unpleasant. I went to the 7th Battalion first and found the gallant men carrying on in the usual way. Hugo Trench was very quiet, and from it one could obtain a good view of the German lines and of Lens beyond. It was great fun to go into the saps and surprise the two or three men who were on guard in them. The (p. 236) dugouts were curious places. The entrance steps were steep, and protected by blankets to keep out gas. At the bottom would be a long timber-lined passage, dark and smelly, out of which two or three little rooms would open. The men off duty would be lying about on the floor sound asleep, and it was often hard to make one's way among the prostrate bodies. The officers' mess would have a table in it and boxes for seats. On a shelf were generally some old newspapers or magazines and a pack of cards. In the passage, making it narrower than ever, were a few shelves used as bunks. At the end of the passage would be the kitchen, supplied with a rude stove which sent its smoke up a narrow pipe through a small opening. In the trenches the cooks were always busy, and how they served up the meals they did was a mystery to me. Water was brought in tins from a tap in one of the trenches to the rear, and therefore was not very abundant. I have occasionally, and against my will, seen the process of dish-washing in the trenches. I could never make out from the appearance of the water whether the cook and his assistant were washing the plates or making the 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 best under most unpropitious circumstances.

I had come prepared to spend a night in the trenches, and had decided to do so in the large German-made dugout in the chalk-pit which was held by "D" Company of the 8th Battalion. The officer on duty with the 7th Battalion kindly acted as my guide. The day had worn away, and the bright moon was lighting up the maze of yellow trenches. We passed along, exchanging many greetings at different places, until we came to the outpost of the 8th Battalion at the top of the path which leads down to the chalk-pit. Here four men were sitting keeping guard. They gave me a warm greeting, and I told them that if I were not in a hurry to let my guide go back to his lines, I would stop and recite some of my poems in the moonlight. It struck me that they seemed more amused than disappointed. So wishing them good-luck, we started onward down the slippery path which led into the pit, where many shells had torn up the ground and where were remains not only of uniforms and mess-tins and rifles but also of German bodies. We had hardly reached the entrance to the dugout when two or three of those shells which the men called "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 the company inside, and he kindly arranged to give me a large bed all to myself in one of the chambers of the dugout. Suddenly a runner appeared and told us that the pineapples had hit the outpost, killing not only some of the men to whom I had just been talking but also the Adjutant of the battalion. I at once got up and went back to the place. The line was quiet now, and the whole scene was brightly lighted by the moon and looked so peaceful that one could hardly imagine that we were in the midst of war, but, lying in the deep shadow at the bottom of the trench, with its face downwards, was the body of the Adjutant. He had been killed instantly. In the outpost beside the trench, were the bodies of the men who had been on duty when I passed a few minutes before.

I stayed with the sentry guarding the bodies until a stretcher party arrived and carried them away. Then I went back to the dugout and visited the men who were crowded into its most extraordinary labyrinth of passages and recesses. In the very centre of the place, which must have been deep underground, there was a kitchen, and the cooks were preparing a hot meal for the men to eat before "stand to" at dawn. The men of course were excessively crowded and many were heating their own food in mess-tins over smoking wicks steeped in melted candle grease. All were bright and cheerful as ever, in spite of the stifling atmosphere, which must have been breathed by human lungs over and over again. It was quite late when I stretched myself on my wire mattress with my steel helmet for a pillow. Only a piece of canvas separated me from the room where a lot of men were supposed to be sleeping. They were not only not asleep but kept me awake by the roars of laughter which greeted the stories they were telling. However, I managed to doze off in time, and was rudely wakened early in the morning by the metallic thud of pineapples on the ground overhead. I was wondering what 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 Germans are making an attack." It was not long before the Major was hurrying up the steps to the passage above, and it was not long before I followed, because I always had a horror of being bombed in a dugout. In the passage upstairs all the men were "standing to" with fixed bayonets, and plenty of Mills bombs in their pockets. They were a most cheerful crowd, and really I think that we all felt quite pleased at the 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 and brought me two bombs. I told him to take them away because they might be prematures. He laughed at this and said, "How will you protect yourself, Sir, if the enemy should get into the trench?" I told him I would recite one of my poems. They always put my friends to flight and would probably have the same effect upon my foes.

By this time the rain of pineapples overhead was very heavy, and I went to the door of the dugout where the Major was looking out. It was a curious scene. Day had just dawned, and we could see the heaps of broken rubbish and ripped up ground in front of us, while directly opposite at the top of the chalk-pit was our front line. Pacing up and down this was a corporal, his form silhouetted against the gray morning sky. He had his rifle with fixed bayonet on his shoulder, and as 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 to the song was the "swish" of the shells overhead and the bursting of them in the trenches behind. I told the Major that if we could only get a moving picture of the corporal and a gramophone record of his song with its accompaniment we could make thousands of dollars by an exhibition of it in Canada.

The next night I stayed at Cite St. Pierre. Who will ever forget the road up to it, and the corner near the ruined fosse, which was always liable to be shelled unexpectedly? In cellars beneath the unwholesome and dilapidated town our men found billets. They were really quite comfortable, but at night when the place was as black as pitch, and one had to grope one's way in the darkness along debris-covered streets, shaken every now and then by the German missiles from the sky, one longed for Canada and the well-lighted pavements of Montreal and Toronto.

On February 14th, at the officers' club at Corps Headquarters in Camblain l'Abbe, we had a great gathering of all the officers who had landed in France three years before. The one hundred and fifty who sat down to dinner were only a small part of the original number, and, before the anniversary came round again, many of those present were called to join the unseen host to whose memory that night we drank in silence. It was strange to look back over three years and think that the 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 was still going on. What experiences each of those present had had! What a strange unnatural life we had been called upon to live, and how extraordinarily efficient in the great war game had each become! It was a most interesting gathering of strong and resolute men filled with sublime ideals of duty and patriotism, who nevertheless were absolutely free from all posing and self-consciousness. They had learnt how to play the game; they had learnt both how to command and how 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 the artillery monument at Les Tilleuls. Owing to its exposed position no concourse of men was allowed, but there was a large gathering of the Staff, including the Army Commander, and of course a number of officers from the artillery. The lines of the monument are very severe. A plain white cross surmounts a large mass of solid masonry on which is the tablet, which General Currie unveiled. It stands in a commanding position on Vimy Ridge, and can be seen for miles around. Many generations of Canadians in future ages will visit that lonely tribute to the heroism of those, who, leaving home and loved ones, voluntarily came and laid down their lives in order that our country might be free.



CHAPTER XXVI. (p. 240)

THE GERMAN OFFENSIVE.

March, 1918.

Over four months had passed away since my return from Rome, so leave was again due. Immediately after the unveiling of the Artillery monument I started off in a car for Boulogne, and the next afternoon arrived in London. Conditions there were worse than they had been the year before. The streets were darker and food was scarcer. I went as far north as Edinburgh, but when I arrived at that city I found it cold and wintry and wrapped in mists. There were many naval men there, and I paid an interesting visit to a damaged submarine which was being repaired 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 time of great anxiety. The Americans had come into the war, but they were not yet ready. Another campaign was before us, and the issue of it none could foresee. I was haunted perpetually by the dread of meeting with some accident, and so being sent back from the front. Several times I had a vivid dream, that I had got back to Canada and found that the war was still going on and I could not return to it. I shall never forget the joy of waking on such occasions and looking with dawning consciousness upon my surroundings and feeling that I was still at the front. It was a happy day for me, therefore, when on March 8th I arrived once more at Bracquemont, in the midst of my beloved war-family, and able to re-visit Lievin, 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 suddenly transported there and revive old memories. We were planning at this time to make a big gas-attack along the Canadian Corps front. Three thousand 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 time fixed for the event was five minutes to eleven at night. If the attack was 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 to be postponed, the word "Russia" would be sent. At 10.45 I climbed up the 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 towards Lens. I watched the luminous hands of my watch, and they passed the hour of eleven without anything occurring, as the breeze came from the East. I knew the word "Russia," the name of the country that failed us, must have been sent over the wires. It was a queer sensation to sit up there in the dark with no sound but the soft murmur of the night wind in our ears, and the crash of an occasional shell. In those long dark stretches of waste land around me, thousands of human beings on both sides of the line were awake and active, either burrowing like ants in the ground or bringing up rations and war material along the communication 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 launched their fierce attack against our Fifth Army, my patience was rewarded and the wind was propitious. I mounted the observation post and once more peered over the black stretches of country under the starlit sky. Suddenly, at five minutes to eleven, there was a burst of artillery fire, and over our heads with the usual swishing sound the gas-cylinders sped forth. The German lines were lit with bursting shells. Up went their rockets calling to their artillery for retaliation. I could hear their gas bells ringing to warn their men of the poison that was being poured upon them. It must have been a drenching rain of death. I heard gruesome tales afterwards of desolate enemy trenches and batteries denuded of men. The display of fireworks was magnificent, and the German artillery in the rear were not slow in replying. A great artillery duel like that in the darkness of the night over a waste of ground on which no human habitation could be seen had a very weird effect, and was wonderful to behold. I climbed down into the dugout and made my way through it to the chalk-pit, and then up to an outpost beyond. Here were four men, and I found that three of them had just come up from the base and that this was their first night in the line. They did not seem to be enjoying it as much as I thought they should, so I remarked that it was a beautiful night and pointed out to them the extraordinary romance of being actually out in the front line during such a bombardment. They seemed to get more enthusiastic later on, but the next morning I was wakened in my room by the laughter of men on the other side of the canvas wall, and I 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 with the shells falling round us, and who should come up but the Canon, and the first thing the old beggar said was, 'Boys, what a lovely night it is.'" The men roared at the idea. It was always illuminating to get a chance of seeing yourself as others saw you.

That day, before I had gone to the chalk-pit, I heard from a staff officer at Corps of the German attack in the South, and I gathered from his manner that things were not going well. On March 29th we suddenly shifted our headquarters to Chateau de la Haie. Here we were told that we had to be ready to move again at a moment's notice. Very bad news had come from the South, for the Germans were advancing, and our Fifth Army had been pushed back. The enemy had now got the initiative into his hands, and things were exceedingly serious. The Americans would not be ready for some time, and the question was how to stay the onrush of the fresh divisions which the Germans were hurling against us. An order from General Currie, couched in beautiful language, told us that there was to be no retreat for Canadians, and that, if need be, we should fall where we stood. There was no panic, only firmer resolve and greater activity in every department. Though I made it a point of never questioning our staff about war secrets, I soon became aware that our Division was to be sent South to try and stem the oncoming tide.

Every night the 4th Divisional concert party gave an entertainment in the theatre, which was crowded with men. A stranger could not have told from the roars of laughter that shook the audience from time to time that we were about to face the fiercest ordeal of the war. The 2nd Brigade was quartered round us first, and one night in the theatre an officer appeared in front of the stage between the acts and ordered all the officers and men of the 5th Battalion, who were present, to report at once to their headquarters. Instantly the men got up and left, the rows of vacant seats looking quite tragic. The play went on. Again, another battalion, and another, was called off. The audience dwindled. It reminded one of the description in the "Tale of Two Cities" of the condemned men in prison waiting for the call of the executioner. Before the close of the performance the theatre was almost empty. The 2nd Brigade moved away that night and the 3rd took their places the next day. I knew that they, too, would have to move suddenly, so I arranged that at night we should have a service (p. 243) followed by a Celebration of the Holy Communion in the theatre after the play was over. Once again the building was crowded with an enthusiastic audience, and, after the play was ended, I announced the service. To my astonishment, most of the men stayed and others crowded in, so we must have had nearly a thousand men present. The concert party had received orders to pack up their scenery immediately and move off. While I was on the stage getting the altar ready the scene shifters were hard at work behind me. In spite of this disturbance, we had a wonderful service. I gave them a short address, and spoke about the high call which had come to Canadians to do big things, and how the 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 hung over the altar glowed like an inspiration. The two altar lights shone like 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 our help in ages past," and at the time of communion about two hundred officers and men mounted the stage in turn and knelt in rows to receive the Bread of Life. It was a thrilling moment, and it showed how, 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 and there found that we had to start that night for parts unknown. All our surplus baggage had been sent off and only what was absolutely necessary was retained. The members of "C" mess were sitting round the table having a little liquid refreshment and waiting for the bus which was to take them off. Our A.D.M.S., who was starting at once, kindly offered to take me with him in an ambulance. Alberta and I, with two or three men, got into the vehicle, and I bid farewell for the last time to Chateau de la Haie. It was a bright moonlight night and the air was cold, but the roads were dry and dusty. The A.D.M.S., who was the only person who knew our destination, sat in front with the driver and told him the various turns to take. Clouds of dust blew back into the ambulance as we sped onward. It was a curious expedition. The war seemed to be more real than ever. One felt that a new page in its history was being turned. I wondered what was in store for us and what 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 such magnitude. On and on we rattled down the moonlit roads, past sleeping villages, and round sharp curves which jolted us in the car, until at last, at half-past two, we pulled up suddenly in front of some large iron gates which gave entrance to the grounds of a chateau standing back some distance from the road. The A.D.M.S. and his staff got out and 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 the rest of the night. With my haversack over my shoulder and followed by Alberta, I entered the gate, and made my way up the avenue till I came to the Chateau. It was a large and picturesque building, and stood out nobly against the outline of the trees in the park. The moon lit up the gray stone front, which was made all the richer by the variegated light and shade. The mansion, however, showed no inclination to be hospitable. All the windows were tightly closed with shutters, and there was no appearance of life anywhere. I knew we were not far from the advancing Germans, and I supposed that the inhabitants had all fled. I was so cold and tired that I determined to force an entrance and spend the night inside. I walked round to the back, where I saw a great 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 chance of getting inside. I went up and tried the handle, when, to my surprise, the door opened and I found myself in a beautiful hall richly furnished and lighted by a lamp. Antlers hung on the wall, and the place had the appearance of an English country-house. After my long ride, and at that hour of the night, I felt as if I were in a dream. I saw a door to the right, and opening it was admitted to a modern drawing-room luxuriously furnished. A grate fire was burning on the hearth, and on a centre-table stood silver candelabra with lighted candles. There were also plates of bread and butter, some very nice cups and saucers, and a silver coffee-pot. At once I said to myself, "I am evidently expected." It was like a story from the Arabian Nights. I looked about the place and not a soul appeared, Alberta tucked herself up on a rug and was soon fast asleep. I was just preparing to partake of the refreshments which, it seemed, some fairy godmother had provided, when in came one of our A.D.Cs. He was as much surprised 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 and had gone to bed, and that we were in the home of a certain count whose servants had all fled. He also told me that there was a bedroom that I could have upstairs, and which would not be occupied by our staff until the next evening. I had a cup of coffee, and then, calling Alberta and taking a candle, I climbed a very rambling staircase till I reached the top storey, where I found an empty room with a very dirty 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 next morning, having foraged for some water in which I had a good wash, I went off to the village to get some food. I met many of our units coming up in busses. Some were halted by the wayside, and nobody knew what we were going to do or why we were there. The Imperial transport officer in charge had either acted under wrong orders or else the drivers did not know the roads. Some of our battalions had lost their way, one even entered a village at the other end of which were the Germans, and two of our Engineer Companies disappeared completely for two days.

The country people were hurrying off in carts, taking their household goods with them. I found a primitive farmhouse where I was able to buy some eggs and bread, and I invited a number of stragglers in to have something to eat. By noon, however, we got orders from the Army to move back to a place called Fosseaux. There we occupied an empty chateau which before the war must have been a very fine place. A wide grassy road nearly a mile in length, bordered on each side by fine old trees, stretched off into the distance in front of the central door. The entrance to the road was guarded by an exquisitely wrought iron gate, flanked on each side by stone pillars surmounted by carved heraldic figures. It was now cold and rainy, and our two Artillery Brigades were halted in a field opposite and were awaiting orders. Before nightfall they had left, and the forward section of our Division 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 was much stir and commotion everywhere, and we were so unsettled, that all I could do was to have a service in the cinema in the evening, and on Easter Day two Celebrations of Holy Communion at which I had only twenty-eight communicants. Our men had gone in to the line to the (p. 246) southeast of Arras, round Telegraph Hill, where an attack by the Germans 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 mysterious caves which lie under that city. It was called St. Sauveur Cave, and was entered from a street behind the station. The 1st Brigade was quartered there. In the morning I walked down the long dark passage till I came to an opening which led me to some high ground where there had evidently been a good deal of fighting. From there I made my way over to the front line, where the 1st Battalion was entrenched. I passed numbers of wooden huts broken by shells. Many men must have been quartered there at one time. It was sad to go into them and see the waste and desolation, and the lost war material scattered in all directions. On my way I came to a deep trench which some Imperial machine-gunners were holding. They had had an anxious time, and were glad to have a visitor. Several of them regretted that they had not been able to attend any Easter service. I told them we would have one there and then, as I was carrying the Blessed Sacrament with me. So we cleaned a corner of the trench, and there I had a short service and gave the men communion.

Our trenches were not satisfactory, as we did not know accurately where those of the Germans were. That night, instead of going back to the 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 most curious abode. No one knows when the caves were dug. They were probably extended from time to time as the chalk was quarried for the purpose of building the town. Long passages stretched in different directions, and from them opened out huge vaulted chambers where the battalions were billeted. I spent the night with the 14th Battalion, and the next day held services in turn for each of the four units of the Brigade. The 16th Battalion occupied a huge cavern with others branching off from it. I could hardly imagine more picturesque surroundings for a military service. The candle flames twinkled like stars in all directions in the murky atmosphere, and the singing of the men resounded through the cave. Overhead was the town which the enemy was shelling. In one of the caves we found the foundation of what 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 old friends who were glad of the temporary rest. Life there, however, was very 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 of the Arras sewers, by the side of which there was a stone pavement enabling one with a good flashlight to walk safely. The exit from the sewer, which now consisted of a shallow stream of perfectly clear water, led me up to a house in one of the streets, and thence by a car I made my way to Warlus, and home to Fosseaux.

A few days afterwards our headquarters were moved up to Etrun, and there we found ourselves crowded into the quaint little town. The Chateau was our headquarters, and a tar-paper house which the Engineers built for me under a spreading hawthorn tree became my home. Etrun was a most interesting place historically. It had been the site of a Roman camp where Valentinian had his headquarters in the 4th century. The large mound, or vallum, which the Romans had thrown up to protect themselves from the attacks of the German tribes, is now a thickly wooded hill, pierced by the road which connects the village with the Arras highway. The grounds of the Chateau were most delightful, and before the French Revolution the house had been a convent. In the garden was the recumbent stone effigy, overgrown with moss, of one of the sisters. The most beautiful thing about the place is the clear stream, wide and deep, which comes from underground and flows over sparkling white pebbles through the green meadows to the river Scarpe. This stream was evidently the source of attraction to the Romans, who always made their camps where there was a plentiful supply of running water. The garden on one side was built up in stone terraces along which were gravel walks, where, no doubt, the nuns of old enjoyed their holy meditations. In the stream, as it wandered through the meadows, there was a plentiful supply of water-cress, which looked exquisitely green against the pebbles at the bottom. How one did long for the war to end, so that we might be able to lie down in the grass, free from anxiety, and enjoy the drenching sunlight and the 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 was comfortable, and the tree that grew beside it stretched its thickly-leaved boughs over it, as though wishing to protect it from the sight of enemy planes. Visitors were always welcome. In the garden were many other huts, and a path led to the churchyard in which stood the old church. It was strongly built, but very crudely furnished, and spoke of many generations of humble worshippers to whom it was the gate of heaven. On one side of the garden was a stream, which turned a quaint mill-wheel, and an island in the stream, connected with the banks 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 careful about screening all lights, for a shell landed one night in a hut opposite mine. Luckily the shell was a "dud". Had it not been, my sergeant, groom, and batman would have been no more, for it burrowed its way into the ground under the floor of their abode, as they were having supper.

On one occasion about one in the morning, we were awakened from sleep by three terrific explosions. They sounded close, so I thought that some of our men might have been hit. I got up and went off to see where the shells had landed. The quaint old hamlet lay silent in the moonlight, and not a soul was stirring. I went down one of the narrow streets, and met a tall figure in black coming towards me. It was the Cure, who was bent on a similar mission, fearing that some of his people had been wounded. We went round the place together until we met a man coming up the road, who told us that a bomb had struck the railway bridge and exploded two mines which we had in readiness in case the Germans were to make an advance. The bridge had been completely shattered, but luckily our sentries there had escaped. The Cure 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 various mill-ponds they found swimming-places. Our front line at this time extended for quite a long distance north and south of the Scarpe. In fact the river acted for a short distance as No Man's Land. On the north of the Scarpe were the ruins of the village of Fampoux, and on the south those of Feuchy. How well our men will remember the towns of Maroeil, Anzin, St. Nicholas and St. Aubin. I used to go off across the meadow lands, now bright and fresh with spring verdure, till I got to the St. Eloi road, and then by jumping lorries would make my way to St. Nicholas and on to Cam Valley. On the east side of the valley were quaint dugouts which were occupied by the battalion in reserve. A path up the valley led to the communication trench, and finally down Pudding Lane to Pudding Trench. The ground was elevated, so that from one of the trenches which led down towards Fampoux I was able to see with my glasses the country behind the German lines. I saw quite distinctly one day the spires of Douai, and in another direction on a hillside I could make out a railway train which must have been carrying German troops. I had many interesting walks through the trenches, and slept there several times. On one occasion I took Alberta with me, but she would persist in going off into No Man's Land hunting for rats. The arrival of a minnenwerfer, however, gave her a great 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 of trenches.