{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_68063/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_68063","id":"gutenberg_68063","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68063","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Historical Novels","Category: History - Modern (1750+)","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Murdoch, B. J. (Benedict Joseph), 1886-1973","World War, 1914-1918 -- Chaplains -- Canada -- Biography","World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, Canadian"],"text":"THE RED\n VINEYARD\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration: REV. B. J. MURDOCH]\n\n\n\n\n THE RED VINEYARD\n\n BY\n REV. B. J. MURDOCH\n\n LATE CHAPLAIN TO CANADIAN EXPEDITIONARY\n FORCES\n\n [Illustration]\n\n THE TORCH PRESS\n CEDAR RAPIDS IOWA\n 1923\n\n\n\n\n _Copyright 1923 by\n Flora Warren Seymour_\n\n\n DONE BY\n THE BOOKFELLOWS\n AT\n THE TORCH PRESS\n CEDAR RAPIDS\n IOWA\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_THE RED VINEYARD_\n\n\n _To the memory of all those men\n With whom I walked up and down\n The ways of The Red Vineyard;\n But especially to the memory of those\n Who stopped in the journey, and now\n Rest softly in their little green bivouacs\n In the shadow of the small white crosses,\n This book is affectionately dedicated by their\n Friend and Comrade_\n\n _The Author_\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n CHAPTER I--A LITTLE SPECULATION 11\n\n CHAPTER II--THE BISHOP WRITES 13\n\n CHAPTER III--A LITTLE ADJUSTING 16\n\n CHAPTER IV--THE PORTABLE ALTAR 19\n\n CHAPTER V--IN TRAINING CAMP 21\n\n CHAPTER VI--MASS OUT OF DOORS 24\n\n CHAPTER VII--A LITTLE INDIGNATION 26\n\n CHAPTER VIII--WE BREAK CAMP 28\n\n CHAPTER IX--THE PANEL OF SILK 32\n\n CHAPTER X--MOVEMENT ORDERS 33\n\n CHAPTER XI--THE HIGH SEAS 35\n\n CHAPTER XII--BY IRELAND 37\n\n CHAPTER XIII--ENGLAND 38\n\n CHAPTER XIV--IN CAMP 39\n\n CHAPTER XV--THE CENACLE 41\n\n CHAPTER XVI--THE BATTALION IS BROKEN UP 44\n\n CHAPTER XVII--THE LITTLE SPANIARD 46\n\n CHAPTER XVIII--THE GARRISON CHURCH HUT 48\n\n CHAPTER XIX--THE NEW SACRIFICE 50\n\n CHAPTER XX--THROUGH ENGLISH LANES 54\n\n CHAPTER XXI--AT PARKMINSTER 56\n\n CHAPTER XXII--ORDERS FOR FRANCE 60\n\n CHAPTER XXIII--AT NO. 2 CANADIAN INFANTRY BASE DEPOT 62\n\n CHAPTER XXIV--THE NEW ZEALANDERS 65\n\n CHAPTER XXV--THE WORKERS 67\n\n CHAPTER XXVI--ORDERS AGAIN 69\n\n CHAPTER XXVII--HOSPITALS AND TRAINS 70\n\n CHAPTER XXVIII--D I\u2019S AND S I\u2019S 75\n\n CHAPTER XXIX--DOWN THE HOSPITAL AISLE 77\n\n CHAPTER XXX--THE TWO BROTHERS 80\n\n CHAPTER XXXI--AN UNEXPECTED TURNING 82\n\n CHAPTER XXXII--PRIVATE BELAIR 86\n\n CHAPTER XXXIII--A LITTLE NONSENSE 89\n\n CHAPTER XXXIV--TRANSFUSION 93\n\n CHAPTER XXXV--THE MINISTERING ANGELS 95\n\n CHAPTER XXXVI--MORE ORDERS 97\n\n CHAPTER XXXVII--HELD FOR ORDERS 100\n\n CHAPTER XXXVIII--THE FRONT AT LAST 103\n\n CHAPTER XXXIX--A STRAFE AND A QUARTET 106\n\n CHAPTER XL--THE VALLEY OF THE DEAD 110\n\n CHAPTER XLI--NEW FRIENDS 115\n\n CHAPTER XLII--A LITTLE BURLAP ROOM 118\n\n CHAPTER XLIII--CHRISTMAS AT THE FRONT 120\n\n CHAPTER XLIV--BACK TO REST 123\n\n CHAPTER XLV--BRUAY 129\n\n CHAPTER XLVI--FOSSE-DIX 132\n\n CHAPTER XLVII--THE LITTLE CUR\u00c9 OF FOSSE-DIX 136\n\n CHAPTER XLVIII--INTO THE LINE 139\n\n CHAPTER XLIX--CALLED UP 142\n\n CHAPTER L--BULLY LES MINES 144\n\n CHAPTER LI--THE ONE THAT WAS LOST 146\n\n CHAPTER LII--A VAGUE UNREST 151\n\n CHAPTER LIII--THE GREAT OFFENSIVE 153\n\n CHAPTER LIV--AGNEZ-LEZ-DUISANS 158\n\n CHAPTER LV--THE REFUGEES 162\n\n CHAPTER LVI--ARRAS 164\n\n CHAPTER LVII--EASTER SUNDAY 166\n\n CHAPTER LVIII--THE RONVILLE CAVES 168\n\n CHAPTER LIX--THE BANQUET HALL 171\n\n CHAPTER LX--THE SHEEHANS 178\n\n CHAPTER LXI--ECOIVRES 181\n\n CHAPTER LXII--ECURIE WOOD 188\n\n CHAPTER LXIII--THE DIFFERENT DISPENSERS 192\n\n CHAPTER LXIV--INCAPACITATED 195\n\n CHAPTER LXV--ANZIN AND MONCHY BRETON 197\n\n CHAPTER LXVI--A NEW SHEEP 200\n\n CHAPTER LXVII--NOTRE DAME D\u2019ARDENNES 203\n\n CHAPTER LXVIII--THE PROCESSION 207\n\n CHAPTER LXIX--ON LEAVE 211\n\n CHAPTER LXX--ST. MICHAEL\u2019S CLUB 212\n\n CHAPTER LXXI--PARKMINSTER AGAIN 215\n\n CHAPTER LXXII--ANOTHER SURPRISE 217\n\n CHAPTER LXXIII--BACK TO THE BATTALION 219\n\n CHAPTER LXXIV--NO MAN\u2019S LAND AGAIN 222\n\n CHAPTER LXXV--NO MAN\u2019S LAND 227\n\n CHAPTER LXXVI--CAMBLIGNEUL 229\n\n CHAPTER LXXVII--A NEW FRONT 232\n\n CHAPTER LXXVIII--BOVES 237\n\n CHAPTER LXXIX--THE BATTLE OF AMIENS 242\n\n CHAPTER LXXX--AT THE WAYSIDE 244\n\n CHAPTER LXXXI--IN AN APPLE ORCHARD 246\n\n CHAPTER LXXXII--A STRANGE INTERRUPTION 249\n\n CHAPTER LXXXIII--BOVES AGAIN 252\n\n CHAPTER LXXXIV--THE BATTLE OF ARRAS 258\n\n CHAPTER LXXXV--BERNEVILLE AGAIN 263\n\n CHAPTER LXXXVI--LETTERS OF SYMPATHY 266\n\n CHAPTER LXXXVII--A LITTLE BIT OF SHAMROCK 269\n\n CHAPTER LXXXVIII--LEFT BEHIND 277\n\n CHAPTER LXXXIX--WITH THE FOURTEENTH 280\n\n CHAPTER XC--TELEGRAPH HILL 282\n\n CHAPTER XCI--CANAL DU NORD 283\n\n CHAPTER XCII--THE MOST TERRIBLE DAY 287\n\n CHAPTER XCIII--IN RESERVE 293\n\n CHAPTER XCIV--FREQUENT MOVES 295\n\n CHAPTER XCV--SOMAINE 297\n\n CHAPTER XCVI--THE END DRAWS NEAR 300\n\n CHAPTER XCVII--NOVEMBER ELEVENTH 303\n\n CHAPTER XCVIII--THROUGH BELGIUM 305\n\n CHAPTER XCIX--THROUGH THE RHINELAND 309\n\n CHAPTER C--L\u2019ENVOI 312\n\n\n\n\nTHE RED VINEYARD\n\n\n\n\nChapter I\n\nA LITTLE SPECULATION\n\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll give you just three nights in the front line trench before your\nhair will turn grey,\u201d said a brown haired priest, looking at me with a\nslightly aggressive air.\n\nI remained quiet.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll not be very long in the army till you\u2019ll wish yourself out\nof it again,\u201d was the not very encouraging assertion of a tall, thin\npriest who suffered intermittently from dyspeptic troubles.\n\nStill I did not speak.\n\nAnother priest, whose work was oftener among old tomes than among men,\nsaid slowly and, as was his wont, somewhat seriously, that it surprised\nhim very much to note my eagerness to go to war. He did not consider\nit in keeping with the dignity of the priest to be so belligerently\ninclined. Did I not recall that I was an ambassador of the meek and\nlowly Christ--the Prince of Peace?\n\nHad I obeyed the first impulse, I think my reply would have been\ncolored with a little asperity; but as I was weighing my words, a\ngentle white-haired old priest, stout and with red cheeks, said to me\nas he smiled kindly; \u201cAh, Father, you are to be envied. Think of all\nthe good you will be able to do for our poor boys! Think of the souls\nyou will usher up to the gates of heaven!\u201d\n\nHe shook his head slowly from side to side two or three times, and\nthe smile on his kind old face gave place to a look of longing as he\ncontinued, somewhat regretfully: \u201cAh, if I were a younger man I\u2019d be\nwith you, Father. All we older men can do now is to pray, and you may\nrest assured I shall remember you often--you and your men.\u201d\n\nI looked at the old priest gratefully. \u201cThank you, Father,\u201d I said, and\nI thought of Moses of old, with arms outstretched.\n\nNone of the other priests spoke for a while, and I gazed into the fire\nof dry hardwood that murmured and purred so comfortably in the large\nopen fire-place, built of small field stones. I was thinking earnestly\nand when the conversation was again resumed I took no part in it. In\nfact, I did not follow it at all, for I was wondering, among other\nthings, if my hair would really turn grey after a few nights in the\nfront line trenches. However, I did not worry; for I concluded it would\nbe wiser to wait until I should arrive at the trenches, where I might\nhave the evidence of my senses.\n\nI gave but a passing thought to the words of the good priest who was\na little dyspeptic. He had never been in the Army, and where was his\nreason for assuming that I should not like the life? Of course, I did\nnot mind what the old priest, whose work was so often among old books,\nhad said about my being an ambassador of the Prince of Peace. I felt\nthat this priest had got his ideas a little mixed. Not very long before\nI had heard him vent his outraged feelings when the French government\nhad called the priests of France to fight for the Colors. He had been\nhorrified. So I surmised that he imagined I had voluntarily offered my\nservices as a combatant. I had not.\n\nThe conversation continued, but I heeded it not. I was busy meditating\non the words of the saintly old priest with the red cheeks. How well he\nunderstood, I thought. And the flames of the fire shot in and out among\nthe wood, purring pleasantly the while.\n\n\n\n\nChapter II\n\nTHE BISHOP WRITES\n\n\nUp to this time I did not have the Bishop\u2019s consent. In fact, I cannot\nremember having mentioned in his presence my desire to go to the front\nwith the soldiers as chaplain; but I had talked it over frequently with\npriests, and it never occurred to me that the Bishop had not heard of\nmy wish, nor that he would not be in accord with it. But one morning I\nreceived a letter from the Bishop telling me plainly and firmly that\nhe wished me to keep quiet, and not to talk so much about going to the\nfront until I should know whether or not I would be permitted to go. He\nmentioned a recruiting meeting of a few nights previous, at which I had\noffered my services as chaplain to the battalion that was then being\nrecruited in the diocese.\n\nPerhaps I had been a little too outspoken at the meeting, but I had\nconsidered myself quite justified in breaking silence, since it had\nalready come to pass that three ministers of different Protestant\ndenominations had offered themselves as chaplains to the battalion\nwhich, though still in rather an embryonic state, gave promise of being\ncomplete in a few months. I foresaw that it would be more than half\nCatholic, as the population of the district from which it was being\nrecruited was three-fourths Catholic. So I offered myself generously,\nnot wishing to be outdone by the ministers, and then had sat down\nfeeling that I had done well.\n\nThe following morning, however, I was not quite so sure, for when\nI read my words printed in the daily paper I felt just a little\nperturbed. What would the Bishop think? I wondered. I had not long to\nwait before I knew exactly what His Lordship thought. His letter told\nme quite plainly.\n\nI kept quiet. Keeping quiet, however, did not prevent me from following\nwith interest the activities of others. Almost every evening recruiting\nmeetings were held in different places throughout the diocese, at which\nold men spoke and orchestras played, and sometimes a young boy would\nstep dance. But, most important of all, many young men enlisted. They\ncame in great numbers, the Catholics far in the majority. Then, one\nmorning early in the spring, the paper announced that the battalion had\nbeen recruited to full strength. The different companies would stay in\nthe town till the following June, when the battalion would go into camp\nto train as a unit.\n\nThat evening a letter came from the officer in command, saying that\nas eighty per cent of his men were Catholics he had decided to take a\nRoman Catholic chaplain, and that he intended going to see the Bishop\nthat evening.\n\nA few days later another letter came from the Bishop saying that he had\nbeen asked for a Catholic chaplain, and as he remembered that I had\nseemed very eager to go with the men, he was glad to say that he was\ngiving me permission to go. He had decided this, he added, on the Feast\nof the Seven Dolors of Our Lady.\n\n\u201cThe Seven Dolors,\u201d I said to myself quietly, two or three times. Then\nI fell to wishing that the Bishop had made his decision on some other\nfeast of Our Lady. I remember now, as I stood in the quiet little room\nwith the letter in my hand, recalling the words of the priest--that he\nwould not give me three nights in the front line trenches before my\nhair would turn grey. But this thought did not bother me very long, for\nI began to think of something else, and as I did the letter trembled a\nlittle with the hand that held it. \u201cPerhaps I am not coming back,\u201d I\nsaid to myself. Then I repeated: \u201cThe Feast of the Seven Dolors! The\nFeast of the Seven Dolors!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter III\n\nA LITTLE ADJUSTING\n\n\nDuring the next seven or eight days from all sides I heard one question\nasked by young and old: \u201cWhen are you going to put on the uniform,\nFather?\u201d Little children to whom I had taught catechism rushed around\ncorners or panted up narrow streets of the little town where I was\nstationed and smilingly asked me. Their fathers and mothers, after\nsaying good-morning, remarked pleasantly, as an afterthought: \u201cI\nsuppose we\u2019ll soon be seeing you in the khaki, Father?\u201d They seemed to\nanticipate real pleasure in seeing me decked in full regimentals. But\nthe more I had evidence of this seemingly pleasant anticipation, the\nless inclined I felt to appear publicly in my chaplain\u2019s uniform. When\nthe time came for a last fitting at the tailor\u2019s, I found other duties\nto claim my attention, until a polite little note from the proprietor\nof the establishment informed me that my presence was requested for a\nlast fitting of my uniform.\n\nThen one morning, when the spring birds that had returned were singing\nmerrily among the trees with not the slightest thought as to their\nraiment, and when bursting buds were making the trees beautiful in\ntheir eagerness to drape them with bright green robes, I appeared on\nthe public streets of the quiet little town clad in full regimentals.\n\nI had chosen an early hour for my public appearance, thinking that my\nordeal would not be so trying.\n\nSince that morning I have had many exciting experiences, up and down\nthe ways of war; I have witnessed many impressive scenes, beautiful,\nterrible, and horrible, but these events have by no means obliterated\nfrom the tablets of my memory the events of that morning. Nothing\nparticular happened until I had descended the hill and turned the\nfirst corner to the right in the direction of the town post-office. A\nhorse was coming at a leisurely gait down the quiet street, driven by\na young fellow of about sixteen, who sat on the seat of a high express\nwagon with a friend. Both lads seemed to see me at once, and started\nperceptibly. In his excitement, the driver pulled on the lines and\nthe startled horse jerked his head quickly, as if he, too, was struck\nby my unwonted appearance. On the opposite side of the road a barber,\nwho was operating on an early customer, stopped suddenly and came to\nthe window, the razor still in his hand, while his patient, almost\nenveloped in the great white apron that was tucked about his neck, sat\nup quickly in the chair and turned a face half-covered with thick,\ncreamy lather towards the window. All along the way people stopped,\nlooked, smiled pleasantly, and then passed on. I had almost entered\nthe post-office when the rattling of an express wagon, that must have\npassed the winter uncovered, as every spoke in the wheels seemed loose,\ncame noisily to my ears. The horse was reined up opposite me, and as I\nturned my head side-wise I was greeted by the two young fellows who had\npassed me but a few minutes before, only this time three other lads,\nwith smiling faces, were standing behind them in the wagon, holding to\nthe seat.\n\nAfter I got my mail from the box, I decided not to return by the\nsame route along which I had come. There was a more secluded way.\nIt was with a feeling of great relief that I found no one coming in\nmy direction. I took out my new khaki handkerchief, unfolded it and\nwiped my brow. But, alas, for my relief! I had not gone very far till\nI crossed a street running at right angles to my course. A number of\nschool children were coming along this. I quickened my pace. They saw\nme, and immediately a great bubbling of excited talk was borne to my\nears. Then, as I disappeared from their view, I heard the sound of\nmany eager feet pattering up the sidewalk. It ceased suddenly and I\nknew that again they were regarding me intently. There was a complete\nsilence for a second or two, then I heard quite clearly the voice of\na little girl, who in the last year\u2019s confirmation class had given me\nmore trouble than any other of the candidates, call almost louder than\nwas necessary for her companions to hear: \u201cOh! doesn\u2019t he look lovely?\u201d\nA man just coming from his house on his way to his office smiled\npleasantly and interestedly as he heard the small voice. Then he raised\nhis hat. I saluted.\n\nAs I walked up under the trees clothed in their beautiful spring\ngarments, and listened to the birds that sang so blithely this bright\ncool spring morning, with never a thought as to their raiment, I wiped\nmy brow again. \u201cThese military clothes are warm,\u201d I said to myself--yet\nI knew that this was not the reason.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IV\n\nTHE PORTABLE ALTAR\n\n\nAfter a few days a box about one foot and a half long, one foot high\nand nine inches wide, arrived. It was made of wood covered with a kind\nof grey cloth, with strips of black leather about the edges and small\npieces of brass at every corner. There were leather grips on it so that\nit could be carried as a satchel. It was my little portable altar,\ncontaining everything necessary for saying Mass. One half opened and\nstood upright from the part containing the table of the altar, which\nwhen opened out was three feet long. Fitted into the oak table was the\nlittle marble altar-stone, without which one may not say Mass. In the\ntop of the upright part was a square hole in which the crucifix fitted\nto stand above the altar; on either side were holders to attach the\ncandlesticks. From the wall that formed a compartment in the upright\nportion, where the vestments were kept, the altar cards unfolded;\nthese were kept in place by small brass clips attached to the upright.\nChalice, ciborium, missal and stand, cruets, wine, altar-breads, bell,\nlinens, etc., were in compartments beneath the altar table. The whole\nwas wonderfully compact and could be carried with one hand.\n\nAs I write these words it stands nearby, sadly war-worn after its\nvoyage across the ocean, and its travels through England, France,\nBelgium and the Rhineland of Germany. I have said Mass on it on this\nside of the ocean; on the high seas; in camp in England; in trenches;\non battlefields; in tents, camps, and billets through the war-scarred\nareas of France. I offered the Holy Sacrifice on it placed on a low,\nwide window-sill in a German billet on our way through the Rhineland.\nIt was carried across the Rhine December 13th, 1918, in the great\ntriumphal march. Now it is home again. In many places the cloth\ncovering is scraped and torn; one of the brass corners is missing. It\nis very soiled from the mud of France and rifle oil stains, etc.; the\nleather edging is chipped and peeled. The table has been broken and\nrepaired again, so has the little book-stand. The silver chalice and\npaten are slightly dented in many places. The little bell has lost part\nof its handle, but its tone is still sweet. One alb has been burned,\nbut I have another. The cincture has been broken and knotted.\n\nI gaze at it now and think of the thousands of great-hearted lads who\nknelt before it, often on rain-soaked fields, or stood among piles of\nruins and heard the sweet notes of the little bell warning them of the\nMaster\u2019s approach, so that they might bow reverently when He came; of\nthe thousands on field, on hillside, in caves and huts who knelt to eat\nof the Bread of Life, many of them going almost immediately with this\npledge of eternal life, before God to be judged,--as I think of all\nthis, there comes into my eyes a mist, and the little portable altar\ngrows dim.\n\n\n\n\nChapter V\n\nIN TRAINING CAMP\n\n\nIn a few weeks we left for training-camp, travelling all night and\narriving at our destination early in the morning. We detrained and the\nwhole battalion fell in, the band marching at the head of the column.\nOur camp was in a wide green valley, as level as a floor, flecked with\nhundreds of white bell tents; and in the distance on every side sloped\ngently upwards high solemn mountains that kept silent guard over the\nplain below. Through the whole length of the valley ran a long grey\nasphalt road, over which passed all the traffic of the camp.\n\nAll summer long battalions of new soldiers came up this road and took\nover lines that had been assigned them. All summer long, and well on\ninto the autumn, battalions of trained soldiers marched down the road\nto entrain for the port of embarkation for overseas.\n\nWe marched up the smooth road, the band playing the regimental march,\npassed line after line of the different battalions quartered on either\nside. Soldiers from different units lined the way and voiced friendly\ncriticism as to our appearance, etc. Many wagons from the farmlands\nbeyond the hills were drawn up on each side of the road; grouped about\nthem were many khaki-clad lads buying milk, little pats of butter, buns\nand a number of other articles. We marched about two miles till we came\nto a great square of unoccupied bell tents. Here we halted and took\nover our lines.\n\nIn a few days we were in the ordinary routine of camp life, and I think\nmost of the men liked the new order. Living in a tent seemed to give\none a continual feeling of freshness and buoyancy. Every morning, very\nearly, far away at general headquarters, a flag would run up the tall\nflag-pole; then from all parts of the camp would sound the reveille,\nbreaking in on the peaceful repose of honest sleepers, and when the\nlast sound of the bugles had died away there would be heard a quick\nrattle of snare-drums and a few great booms from the bass drum, then\nthe exhilarating strains of a military march would break on the morning\nair. I had listened to the pleasant martial strains for perhaps a week\nor two, and naturally associated with them the idea of orderly marching\nbandsmen, fully equipped, polished and shining from head to foot, till\none morning I untied the flap of my tent and looked out. More than half\nthe bandsmen were in their shirt sleeves; five or six were in their\nbare feet, and now and again they jumped spasmodically, as they walked\non a pebble or struck a hidden tent-peg; some who wore boots did not\nwear socks or puttees, and the trousers from the knee down were tight\nand much wrinkled, yet there was no lack of harmony in the stately,\nmarching music.\n\nAll day long till four o\u2019clock the men drilled or took different\nexercises, while the sun slowly shifted scenery on the great silent\nhills. Up and down the long grey road huge-hooded khaki motor lorries\nrumbled with their loads of supplies for field and tent. In the evening\ntowards sunset, after the men had washed and rested a little, the flag\nthat had been flying at headquarters all through the day would drop\nslowly down the pole. Then two buglers would sound retreat, after which\nthe guard would be inspected while the band played some slow waltz or\nminuet.\n\nTo me this seemed the happiest hour of the daily military routine.\nThe day was done and from all parts of the camp could be heard low,\npleasant talk, as the band played soft music, the men standing about\nin little groups or moving from tent to tent, visiting neighbors. It\nalways brought to my mind the idea of restfulness and peace.\n\nAfter retreat the long grey road would become alive with the continuous\nmovement of soldiers going and coming. The officers did not care\nto walk along this road, as it meant for them one continual return\nof salutes. Sometimes an open-air moving-picture show would be in\nprogress. There were also two halls where moving pictures were shown\non rainy nights. In the early days it was a treat to the lads to visit\nthese places. As there were never any ladies present, smoking was\npermitted. Sometimes the smoke rose in such density that it obscured\nthe pictures on the screen.\n\nAt ten o\u2019clock last post would sound and weary men would roll\nthemselves in their blankets on the hard ground and dispose themselves\nto sleep.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VI\n\nMASS OUT OF DOORS\n\n\nOn Sundays I would set up the portable altar on two rifle boxes placed\none above the other, on a great green plain near the end of the camp.\nNearly always an awning would be erected above the altar, and whenever\nthe wind blew canvas was draped about posts as a windshield, so that\nthe candles might not be extinguished.\n\nIt was a wonderful sight to see the men draw up on the grass, every\none of them reverent and quiet before the little altar as I vested for\nMass. Often three thousand were drawn up on the green plain as level as\na floor. Sometimes a number would wait till this late Mass--which was\nalways said at ten o\u2019clock--to go to Holy Communion, though I always\nsaid an early Mass for those who wished to receive.\n\nSince the war, different men who were present at those open-air Masses\nhave told me that never before had they assisted at the Holy Sacrifice\nwith such devotion. All things seemed to praise God; the great solemn\nmountains stood silent, the clouds moved soundlessly across the blue of\nthe sky. Not a sound could be heard, save when a man coughed softly, or\nwhen the little bell tinkled.\n\nOn account of what happened, I recall one of those Sunday mornings\nin particular. I had noticed, standing among the officers of one of\nthe battalions drawn up in the church parade, an elderly man wearing\nordinary blue civilian trousers and a military khaki shirt and helmet.\nHe wore a leather belt but no coat. I no sooner saw him than I said\nto myself: \u201cAn old soldier!\u201d And as I vested for the Holy Sacrifice\nthe question came flashing across my mind again and again: Who can he\nbe? What war was he in? When I turned after the Communion to address\nthe men, there he was standing, well in front with the officers. He\nlistened very attentively to my sermon, which was on the text, \u201cSon,\ngive me thy heart.\u201d Towards the end I said a few words about Our Lady,\nbecause it was the Sunday within the octave of the Assumption. I told\nthe lads to run to their Mother in all their trials; to be Knights of\nOur Lady, to think of her especially during their long hours of sentry\nduty at night, and never to let a day go by without saying her beads.\n\nThen, after I had given my blessing and had turned to unvest before my\nlittle portable altar, my \u201cold soldier\u201d came forward and introduced\nhimself. He was a judge from my home province, and he would be glad if\nI would permit him to say a few words to the men. I was very pleased\nthat he should do so. A word was said to the officers in charge and the\nmen were called to attention.\n\nThe judge stood up on the rifle box that I had just vacated, and there\nin God\u2019s beautiful out of doors, with the great green mountains looking\nup to their Creator in silent humility, this old Catholic gentleman\nspoke to the lads in a wonderfully clear voice of their Mother and\nhis Mother. It was very edifying to hear this educated Catholic\nlayman speak so. He concluded with a few words about the Mass. \u201cI have\nassisted at Mass,\u201d he said, \u201cin many large cathedrals in different\ncountries; but, I think, never with such devotion as I have this\nmorning here in the open air before your little altar placed on the\nrifle boxes, and God\u2019s beautiful sky and sunlight above us. After all,\ngentlemen, it is the Mass that counts; the changing of the bread and\nwine into the Body and Blood of Christ. God could do it and God did do\nit.\u201d When the old man finished I could not but say gratefully: \u201cGod\nbless you, judge,\u201d for I felt that his words would do very much good.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VII\n\nA LITTLE INDIGNATION\n\n\nThe time passed quickly for me, though I think for most of the men it\nwent slowly; they seemed always restless, always longing to get to the\nfront. They used to come to me often with their little grievances. They\nseemed to think that their troubles would disappear once they reached\ntraining-camp overseas.\n\nI remember one Sunday, after I had finished Mass and the last company\nhad marched off the field, two soldiers came forward from somewhere and\nsaluted. One of them, the taller of the two, acted as chief spokesman.\n\u201cFather,\u201d he said, \u201cwe have not heard Mass today. We were ordered to\ngo to the Protestant service.\u201d Excitement flashed in his eyes. \u201cThe\nservice is just over, Father, and we slipped over here to tell you.\u201d\n\nIt was strictly against _K. R. & O._ to order Catholics to a\nnon-Catholic service. The lads did not belong to my battalion,\nbut to a construction battalion that had but lately come to camp.\nHeadquarters of this battalion were not far away, so I did not wait\nfor my breakfast, but obeyed the first impulse and went immediately to\nthe training square of the No. -- Construction Co. The church parade\nwas over and the chaplain had just finished packing his books and was\npreparing to leave the field with the adjutant. I asked the chaplain if\nthe Catholics had been ordered to attend the service. \u201cYes,\u201d he said,\nand then went on to explain that it was a universal church service and\nthat all the men had been ordered to attend.\n\nI asked him to look up a book entitled _K. R. & O._ I told him that it\nwas a serious offense that had been committed; that my men had a right\nto attend their own service; that there was no such thing known in the\narmy as a universal church parade.\n\nWhen they saw they had made a mistake both chaplain and adjutant were\nvery apologetic. Shortly after this, when the battalion was to leave\nfor overseas, the chaplain wrote me a note asking me to hear the\nconfessions of the Catholics. I think they came to a man; two other\nchaplains came to help me. This construction battalion was composed\nmostly of men who had moved quite a lot over different parts of the\nworld, and had grown a little slack in the observance of their\nreligious duties. Big things were done for Our Lord that night. Perhaps\nmany would have passed the summer without even coming to Mass had not\nthis great indignity been offered them.\n\nSo the days passed quickly, and then one evening word came that we\nwere to leave--but only for another camp. There was great rejoicing at\nfirst, for the lads thought that orders for \u201cOverseas\u201d had come.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VIII\n\nWE BREAK CAMP\n\n\nIt was Sunday, October 1st. It was the most beautiful day I have ever\nseen. There had been a heavy frost during the night, and in the morning\nthe hills, which had been green all summer, but had lately begun to\nput on their autumn tints, were glorious in bright scarlet, yellow and\nrusset, with still here and there a dark-green patch of spruce. The\nwhite frost was on the ground and a covering of ice one-eighth of an\ninch thick was formed on the basin of water in my tent. The air was\ncold, clear and invigorating. The men were all in excellent spirits.\nI said Mass for my own men, and then walked about two miles towards\nthe entrance to the camp to say Mass for the other soldiers who still\nremained in the different areas. The Sabbath-day stillness seemed more\nintense than ever. Perhaps it was on account of the very small number\nleft in the camp. When I turned around after I had said Mass, I could\nnot but pause in admiration of the wonderful beauty of God\u2019s works. I\ntook for the text of my sermon: \u201cO Lord, Our Lord, how admirable is Thy\nname in the whole world.\u201d I told the lads that as Our Lord had made all\nthings beautiful we ought to keep our souls beautiful in His sight, and\nthat one of the surest means of doing so was to come to Holy Communion.\nThen I preached on the Blessed Eucharist.\n\nWhen I reached our own lines after Mass nearly all the tents had been\ntaken down and rolled up. I had breakfast at one of the men\u2019s cook\nstoves. We were to break camp at twelve o\u2019clock. I think I was the only\none who was sorry to leave.\n\nThings had gone very well during the summer; there had been many\nconsolations in the ministry. Many men who had passed long years away\nfrom the sacraments had come into the white bell tent pitched in the\nopen space in the valley and, kneeling there, had been reconciled after\nmany years\u2019 estrangement from God. I had watched the men in the evening\nand had noticed how cheerful they were, how much like boys they were in\nthe tricks they played on each other.\n\nOne evening, shortly before we were to leave, a great bonfire had been\nlighted. All through the day the men had worked at the base of the\nslopes cutting down dry trees and carrying them out. The fire was built\nin the square where the men drilled and took their physical exercises\nin the mornings. It was a thrilling sight to watch the little tongues\nof fire darting in and out among the pile of dry twigs, increasing in\nsize and speed till they developed into one great waving pillar of\nflame that tore its way upward through the gigantic pile of dry old\ntrees, hissing, crackling and roaring as it went. The flames must have\nreached forty feet in height, and at times the sparks swarmed down on\nthe tents like bees to a hive, and the soldiers had to beat them out.\nThe band marched around the flaming pillar and played, keeping always\nwithin the circle of light made by the fire. Many soldiers followed in\nprocession, some of them performing comical acrobatic feats as they\nwent. There was an almost new tent floor up near the colonel\u2019s tent\nwhich some of the lads thought would make excellent fuel for the fire.\nPresently about eight of them were carrying it towards the flames. The\nquartermaster, who had charge of the movables of the camp, saw them\napproaching and immediately advanced from his place near the fire,\nangrily shouting orders to them to put down the tent floor. They did,\nthough not till the indignant quartermaster was very near them. Then\nthey turned and ran quickly away. The quartermaster, who was a heavy\nman, did not pursue them. He turned towards the fire, but only to find\nthat a number of rough tables and chairs had gone to satisfy the hungry\nflames! He was very angry. The lads had become like little children,\nand I think their souls had become like the souls of little children.\n\nAnd now we were going back to civilization! Our journey was one of\nabout four hundred miles through many small towns and cities to a camp\nnear the seaboard, where we were to wait a few weeks before embarking.\nWe left Valcartier at the time appointed, and all that day and most of\nthe evening our route lay along the noble St. Lawrence. In the morning\nwe came into our own Province of New Brunswick, from the northern part\nof which our battalion had been recruited.\n\nIn many towns at which we stopped liquor was procured, and soon there\nwere evidences that many of the men had taken too much. And when we\ndrew near the town from the environs of which the majority of the\nlads had been recruited a great number gave signs of almost complete\nintoxication, so that parents who stood among the great crowd which\nhad gathered to see the lads as they passed through were greatly\nhumiliated. I felt sick at heart, for a public holiday had been\nproclaimed and people had come from the whole surrounding countryside\nto see the battalion for the last time before going overseas. It was\na gala-day. They had waited all morning, and then many of the men who\narrived were in every stage of intoxication! It was very humiliating to\nthe poor parents and the men had been so good all summer!\n\nWhen the train pulled out, I went back to my seat in the Pullman.\nTwo thoughts were working in my mind, so that my head felt a little\ndazed and I did not hear the officers talking around me. Neither did\nI perceive when they spoke to me. One thought was a very human one. I\nfelt terribly disheartened, and I wondered if the people thought that\nthe men had been drinking so during the summer, and I fell to wishing\nthat they could only know all about the men in camp. The other thought\nwas that I was grateful to God for having chosen me to minister to\nthem. For surely they needed a priest!\n\n\n\n\nChapter IX\n\nTHE PANEL OF SILK\n\n\nThe following Sunday, when all my Catholic soldiers were assembled at\nMass in the church of the town where we were encamped, I spoke of what\nhad transpired during our journey from Valcartier. During the week\nI had thought out a plan, and I had bought a few packages of blank\nvisiting cards and a number of lead pencils. I had cut the pencils in\ntwo and had put a part in every pew, also a blank card for every person\nthat would sit in the pew. In the course of my little talk I spoke of\nhow fine a thing it would be if they could take the pledge, given in\nsuch a way, however, that they might be free to take the rum served in\nthe trenches, which, under those circumstances, could be considered\nmedicine. Those who would take the pledge would write their names on\nthe blank cards; the cards would be gathered up after Mass; the names\nwould be typewritten on a panel of silk; the silk, bearing the names,\nwould be used as a lining for my little portable altar, and whenever\nMass would be said, a special remembrance would be made for the lads\nwho had taken the pledge.\n\nWhen we gathered up the cards after Mass they numbered almost two\nhundred. They were typed on the panel of silk, and the panel of silk,\nwith the names, still rests in the little altar. All through the war\nthey have been remembered. Many of those names appear elsewhere on\nsmall white crosses \u201cwhere poppies grow,\u201d so that now they are no\nlonger mentioned in the memento of the living; but there is another\npart of the Mass when they are remembered--with \u201cthose who have gone\nbefore us, signed with the sign of faith, and who rest in the sleep of\npeace.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter X\n\nMOVEMENT ORDERS\n\n\nWe did not stay very long in our new camping ground. For a few days the\nmen seemed quite content. Everything was new to them; but soon they\nbegan to wonder how long it would be before we would leave. The nights\noften were very cold in the tents, for it was now late in October.\nWe began to feel sure that orders for departing must come soon as no\npreparations were being made for going into winter quarters. On Sunday\nI had announced confessions for the following Wednesday. On the day\nset, four priests came to help me, but just as the men were being\nformed up to go to the church, word came that we were to leave that\nevening for overseas. The men were dismissed and soon there was a scene\nof general disorder; but on all sides were happy faces. All seemed glad\nto go. They had been looking forward to it for so long a time.\n\nI was obliged to tell the priests who had come so far that there would\nbe no confessions. I kept the hosts that the Sisters in a nearby town\nhad made for me, as I hoped to hear the men\u2019s confessions on the boat\non the way across the ocean.\n\nAll night long we stood around, waiting for the train to come to take\nus, but there had been some delay, and so it was not till early in the\nmorning that we left. Our journey was not a very long one, but we were\nobliged to wait at many different stations till trains passed us. As\nthe movement order had called for a night trip, no dining-car or buffet\nhad been attached. The men went hungry all day. The last trip had been\none of over-indulgence. This was one of abstinence.\n\nWe had no breakfast and no dinner, yet the men seemed quite content,\nand joked pleasantly over the fact that they were hungry. At one\ncountry station where we were side-tracked the bugler jumped out on the\nplatform and blew the call: \u201cCome to the cook-house door, boys!\u201d But as\nthere was no cook-house door to go to, and no \u201cMulligan battery\u201d--the\nname given to the field-kitchen, with its steaming odors of Irish\nstew--they greeted the call of the smiling bugler with derisive\nlaughter.\n\nAt four o\u2019clock we were all aboard the _S. S. Corsican_, and at five\nwe pulled out from the dock, the band on the upper deck playing \u201cAuld\nLang Syne.\u201d Many relatives of the lads, who had arrived in the little\nseaport town, waved their good-byes from the dock as the boat swung\nclear from its moorings and steamed slowly down the bay. The boys\nswarmed up the rope ladders and cheered; many little tugs far down on\nthe water darted about, shrieking shrilly their farewells. We were off\nto the war!\n\n\n\n\nChapter XI\n\nTHE HIGH SEAS\n\n\nThe doctor and I had been alloted a stateroom together, but I was\nsubsequently given one down below, where I said Mass the first morning\nand heard confessions every evening. The chief steward was a Catholic\nand he was very kind. I had permission to say Mass in the second-class\nsaloon, which was the largest on the boat, and nearly all the men came\nto Holy Communion. Our first Sunday out I said Mass for the lads below.\nAs I proceeded with the Mass the seas became very rough, so that the\nbook fell off the altar three times; the chalice, however, never moved.\nMany became sick, and the Red Cross section was busy. On the first day\nout we donned our cumbersome life-belts, which we wore all the way\nacross the Atlantic. I took mine off only while saying Mass. They hung\non the berths at night. During the day the men walked up and down the\nupper deck; sometimes there were drills, etc. We saw no vessels. Every\nday we plunged forward through rough seas, and in the afternoons, as I\nsat in my little stateroom hearing confessions, I could hear the dull\npounding of the waves on the sides of the vessel.\n\nI was very pleased with the example the Catholic officers gave the men.\nEvery one of them came to confession and Communion on the way over.\nOne, the old quartermaster, who was confined to his cabin with a severe\nattack of _la grippe_, could not come to Mass with the others, so I\ngave him Communion in his cabin towards the last of the voyage. The\nsecond morning afterwards, however, as I walked back and forth making\nmy thanksgiving, I stopped quickly and peered out over the sea. I could\nsee very faintly, across the water, a long, serried line of hills that\nlooked greyish-blue in the early morning--the hills of Ireland! I ran\nquickly to tell the quartermaster, who had been born in Ireland and\nhad still a true Irishman\u2019s great love for his native land. He was not\nthere. I was surprised, as the doctor had told me that he had given\norders that he was not to leave his cabin till after we reached port.\nAs I went out on deck again I noticed, up forward, leaning over the\ngunwale and looking towards Ireland, a great muffled figure. He wore\none khaki great coat, and another, thrown loosely about his shoulders,\ngave him a hunched appearance. It was the quartermaster!\n\nI went forward quickly: \u201cCaptain,\u201d I said, \u201cdidn\u2019t the doctor tell you\nnot to leave your stateroom till we docked?\u201d\n\nHe didn\u2019t say anything for a second or two, and I noticed a mist had\ncome into his eyes. Then he pointed far across the grey waste of\nwaters. \u201cAh, Father,\u201d he said, \u201cbut there\u2019s Ireland!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter XII\n\nBY IRELAND\n\n\nAll day long we sailed by Ireland and she seemed strangely peaceful\nand quiet. Perhaps it was the great contrast with the sea, the wide\ntumbling waste of waters that, night and day, was always restless; or\nperhaps it was a benediction resting over the whole country. Anyhow\nit seemed that way to me as often as my eyes rested on the hills and\nfields of holy Ireland. Since that morning I have seen many different\ncountries. I have come back to my own land over the same great distance\nof waters, and it was in the early morning that I saw it first, yet\nthat strange spiritual peace that seemed to rest over Ireland was\ndecidedly lacking. That early morning scene still comes back to me; and\nall through the day, whenever my eyes rested on the hills of Ireland,\nI felt that I was making a meditation and that I was being lifted in\nspirit far above the little things that bother one here below.\n\nDown below us on the water, with the swiftness almost of swallows,\ndarted here and there the long grey anti-submarine boats. Seven or\neight of them had come to meet us. Later on in the day appeared the\nmine sweepers, low short steam boats painted for the most part red, and\ncarrying one yard sails. The sails were of dark brownish-red color.\nThey worked in pairs.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XIII\n\nENGLAND\n\n\nThat evening we moved slowly up the Mersey and at nine o\u2019clock anchored\nout in the stream in full view of the city of Liverpool. We could not\nsee it very well, for throughout the city the lights were dimmed and\nwindows were darkened.\n\nAll along the Irish coast the impression was one of peace and quiet, a\nspiritual something. But England seemed to give one the idea of a great\nmachine, working slowly, steadily, untiringly. One was spiritual; the\nother material. That was my first impression of England as a nation,\nand that impression remained with me during my stay in the country.\nEvery time I returned on leave from France I found it always the same.\nEngland, as a nation, seemed to be wonderfully organized, and that\nwhole organization seemed to run smoothly, powerfully, and heavily.\nEach individual had his special work to do in that colossal workshop\ncalled England. He knew how to do that, and he did it, quietly,\nmethodically, and well. But, taken away from his own work, he seemed\nto lack resource--the resource and initiative of the men from the New\nWorld.\n\nWe entrained early in the morning. For most of us it was our first\nexperience with the compartment cars of the Old World--little\ncompartments running the width of the car, a door opening from each\nside of the car, with two seats running from one side to the other,\neach holding from three to five people, who sat facing each other.\n\nWe passed through many quaint towns and many large cities, and it was\nevening when we came into the quiet little station of Liphook. We were\ndue there at two o\u2019clock, but there had been many delays along the way.\nSometimes the lads had pulled the rope and had stopped the train; and\neach time a stolid brakeman had opened the door of compartment after\ncompartment, asking solemnly: \u201c\u2019oo pulled the reope?\u201d Of course no one\ngave him the information he asked; whereupon he closed each door and\nwent patiently on to the next compartment.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XIV\n\nIN CAMP\n\n\nI have often remarked that English writers use the word \u201cdepression\u201d\nmuch more frequently than do writers on this side of the water, and I\nhave often wondered what could be the reason for this. I had not passed\none week in England before I knew. A few days in an English military\ncamp will give one an idea of what depression is.\n\nThe military camp to which we were sent was Bramshott--a great\ncollection of long, low, one-story huts, built row on row, with a door\nat each end, opening into muddy lanes that ran the whole length of the\ncamp. It was raining mildly the evening we arrived and we marched in\nthe darkness for three miles along soft muddy roads, and now and again\nwe splashed through a puddle, though we tried to avoid them.\n\nThere seems to be an especially slippery quality about the mud of\nEngland,--to say nothing of that of France--that makes it very\ndifficult to retain one\u2019s balance. My cane, which according to military\nregulations I always carried, for the first time now proved useful.\nDay after day as the soldiers of the camp drilled in the soft, muddy\nsquares, their movements resembled sliding more than orderly marching.\nSometimes thick pads of the soft, yellow mud clung heavily to their\nfeet; very often a gentle drizzle of rain fell, and nearly always the\nsky was dark grey and sombre, so that one wondered no longer why the\nword \u201cdepression\u201d should be so frequently used in English literature.\n\nBut notwithstanding the mud and the dark skies, many of us grew to like\nEngland. There were many quaint, winding roads hedged in places with\nhawthorne bushes or spruce or boxwood. These led us into delightful\nlittle country villages with their old free-stone churches, sometimes\ncovered with ivy that often ran for a long distance up the old Norman\ntower.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XV\n\nTHE CENACLE\n\n\nNot more than three miles from the camp was situated the convent of\nthe Sisters of the Cenacle, a beautiful three-story building of red\nbrick and stucco hidden away among great hemlock, spruce and cypress\ntrees. It is a kind of rest house, where at certain seasons of the year\nretreats are given for ladies, who come from different parts of England\nand pass a week at the convent.\n\nAll during the war there was an open invitation to the Catholic\nsoldiers of Bramshott Camp to visit the convent on Sunday afternoon and\nassist at Benediction of the Most Blessed Sacrament.\n\nThere were three or four different ways of going to Grayshott, near\nwhich the Convent of the Cenacle was situated. One of these was a\nfoot-path which led first through a moor, covered in summer with\npurple heather, then through bracken, almost as high as an average\nman, and bunches of green gorse bushes that blazed light yellow at\ncertain seasons with flowers resembling in shape the sweet-peas. It\nwas a quaint little path, passing on its way \u201cWagner\u2019s Wells\u201d a chain\nof what we on this side of the Atlantic would call ponds, in a low,\nwooded valley. In summer these were very pretty when the full-leafed\nbranches of the trees hung low over the Wells, and the water was\nalmost wholly hidden by tiny white flowers that rested on the surface.\nAll during the war, on Sunday afternoons, a long, irregular line of\nkhaki-clad figures went leisurely along the foot-path to Grayshott,\npassed scenery strange though pleasing, mounted quaint rustic stiles\ntill they came to the convent of the Sisters of the Cenacle.\n\nThe first Sunday I visited the Convent there were so many soldiers\npresent that the little chapel could not contain all. I learned\nafterwards that this had happened so frequently that, in order that all\nmight be present at Benediction, the good Sisters had asked for and\nobtained a general permission to have the services on the lawn just in\nthe rear of the chapel.\n\nBenediction was given by a little Belgian who was doing chaplain\u2019s\nwork among the Canadians at Bramshott, while Father Knox, a recently\nconverted Anglican clergyman, led the soldiers in singing the hymns.\nLittle red hymn-books, which the English government had supplied\nthe Catholic soldiers, were passed around to each soldier. It was\na beautiful sight there on that English lawn, as all knelt grouped\ntogether, officer and soldier, priest, sister, while the white Host was\nraised to bless us all. Then the lads sang strongly and clearly that\nbeautiful hymn, \u201cHail, Queen of Heaven,\u201d that was sung so often during\nthe war under many different conditions. The Irishmen sang it as they\nadvanced to take a difficult position that the English had failed to\ntake at F\u00e9stubert.\n\nThe Sisters dispensed hospitality; large teapots of tea and plates\nstacked high with thin slices of bread and butter, and baskets of thick\nslices of yellow cake with currants in it. Then in the evening the\nsoldiers walked back to camp through winding foot-paths and over stiles.\n\nI am sure there are many men scattered over the country who will\nremember gratefully the Sisters of the Cenacle at Grayshott. It must\nhave inconvenienced them greatly, yet Sunday after Sunday, all during\nthe war, soldiers went to the convent, and always the Sisters treated\nthem most hospitably.\n\nOn Sundays, when the number of men present was not too large,\nBenediction was given in the Sisters\u2019 chapel. It was a very pretty\nlittle chapel and on the altar, day and night, the Sacred Host was\nexposed for perpetual adoration; and always two Sisters knelt to\nadore. On the Gospel side of the altar stood a beautiful statue of the\nBlessed Virgin which was almost covered with the military badges worn\nby soldiers of the different battalions. In some way known to women\nthe good Sisters had draped a mantle about the statue, and to this was\npinned the badges of these modern knights.\n\nAfter Benediction the lads would all come to a large room where tea\nwould be served. Often among the little khaki-clad groups a Sister\nof the Cenacle would be seen standing, or sitting, listening to the\nstories told of the country far away across the seas. The Sisters wore\na black habit, a small purple cape which reached to the elbows, and a\nwhite cap covered by a black veil, except for a one inch crimped border\naround the face. Sometimes, when it was time to leave the convent, a\ncertain group would step forward to say good-bye to the Sisters and to\nask their prayers. These would be men ordered to leave during the week\nas a draft for some battalion in the trenches. And the lads \u201cwould be\nremembered in the Sacred Presence there, where remembrances are sacred\nand each memory holds a prayer.\u201d Day and night, as the Sisters knelt\nbefore the Lord and offered their continuous prayers for a world that\nseemed to have forgotten Him, special prayers were said for those whose\nbadges hung on Our Lady\u2019s mantle.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XVI\n\nTHE BATTALION IS BROKEN UP\n\n\nWe were not in England three weeks when orders came for a draft of men\nto reinforce a battalion that had suffered severe losses at the front.\nIn a few days one hundred and fifty men left for France. We thought at\nthe time that reinforcements would soon come to us from Canada, but not\nmuch more than a week passed till we were called on for another draft.\nThis time the order was that three hundred and fifty men be sent to the\nEighty-seventh Battalion.\n\nThis second order came as a shock to us all. Many of the officers had\nbeen in the battalion for almost a year; they had watched it grow\nstrong and numerous and had helped to form, the thing most essential\nin a battalion, an \u201cesprit de corps.\u201d I had never thought of going to\nthe front except as a unit. The idea of our being broken up had never\nentered my mind, but before Christmas came our battalion had lost\nits identity as the One Hundred and Thirty-second Battalion, and the\nmajority of the men had gone to join different units at the front.\nIt was impossible for me to be with all my men, as there were no two\ndrafts in the same brigade; still, I thought that I might be permitted\nto go as chaplain to the brigade in which was the largest number of my\nmen, so I obtained permission to go to London to explain matters to the\nsenior chaplain. He was very kind, but he said I must await my turn;\nthere were other chaplains whose battalions had undergone the same\nprocess of annihilation as had mine. These must go first; work would be\nfound for me in England till my turn would come to go to the front.\n\nI returned to Bramshott Camp a somewhat wiser man as to the workings\nof things military. But as I sat in the cold first class compartment,\nwith my feet on a stone hot water-bottle (seemingly this is the only\nway they heat the cars in England) my mind was busy with many things.\nOne was that I never should have offered my services as chaplain had\nI foreseen the catastrophe which had befallen us. I had counted on\nbeing with my men till the last. Before leaving for overseas many of\nthe mothers of the lads had come to me and had told me what a great\nconsolation it was to them to have the assurance that a Catholic priest\nwould be with their sons. Now I was not going with them; still, I had\nbeen convinced that the lads would be well cared for spiritually.\n\nAt Bramshott I became assistant for a time to the camp chaplain, Father\nJohn Knox.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XVII\n\nTHE LITTLE SPANIARD\n\n\nI had not been given very much information at headquarters as to how\nsoon I might be sent to the front, for they did not know how soon the\ncall might come for chaplains.\n\nIn a few days the remnants of my battalion left Bramshott for a camp at\nShoreham-by-Sea--all save a few, who stayed as officers, servants or\nclerks in different branches at headquarters.\n\nOne afternoon I was sitting before Father Knox\u2019s tiny fire-place in his\nlittle room, talking of the Sunday church parades, when a very young\nsoldier entered, saluted, passed Father Knox a letter and then stood at\nattention. I did not notice the lad particularly, as Father Knox read\nthe letter in silence, for my eyes were on the small heap of glowing\ncoals in the grate before me, and my mind was busy on a scheme to get\nall the men in the camp at two church parades on the following Sunday.\n\nAs Father Knox began to write the answer, he looked up from the paper\nand asked, \u201cCatholic?\u201d\n\nThen for the first time the lad began to speak, hurriedly, and with\nforeign accent. His eyes took on a queer strained expression; his head\nseemed to crouch down to his shoulders.\n\nIt transpired that he was a Spaniard and had been brought up a\nCatholic, but after going to Canada had been accustomed to go to\nProtestant churches. He was now orderly to a Protestant minister and\nhad received a few books from him including a copy of the New Testament\nin Spanish, so at present, his religion was the \u201cLord Jesus.\u201d\n\nI had already turned from the fire and was watching the lad. It was the\nfirst time I had ever heard a Catholic speak so, and I felt a great\npity for him. But quickly the pity gave place to other emotions, for\nin reply to Father Knox\u2019s question as to what battalion he came over\nwith, he said \u201cOne Hundred and Thirty-second\u201d--my own battalion! Slowly\na dazed, nauseating feeling chilled me. Such a thing to happen! I was\nresponsible to God for this man\u2019s soul; and apparently he had lost his\nfaith!\n\nI questioned him a little, only to learn that now he was orderly to a\nBaptist minister and that it was he who had given him the New Testament\nin Spanish. I appointed an evening for the lad to come to see me. He\ncame and we talked for a long time, but he seemed to be strangely\nobsessed. The more we talked, the more I noticed the queer, strained\nexpression in his eyes, and when he left me that night I feared I had\nnot done very much towards reviving his faith. It was many months\nbefore I saw him again.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XVIII\n\nTHE GARRISON CHURCH HUT\n\n\nThe days passed quickly. New battalions from home came and took up\nquarters in camp, and to their surprise were broken up and sent in\ndrafts to France. Every night Father Knox or I remained on duty in the\nlittle garrison hut, that the lads might have an opportunity of going\nto confession before leaving for France.\n\nThe garrison church hut had been built by the military authorities for\nthe use of all religious denominations. It was used on Sundays by the\nCatholics, or, as the Army Equivalent has it, R. C.\u2019s, at seven o\u2019clock\nfor the Communion Mass for the men. The Protestant denominations had\nthe use of it all the rest of the day. There was a little altar on\nwhich the Anglicans offered their Communion service, but we never used\nthis. Father Knox had an altar of his own, on rollers, which was moved\nout in front of the other one before Mass and wheeled back after Mass.\n\nJust outside the entrance to the hut had been erected a large\nblackboard for announcements of services. Always on Saturday night\nthis board held the order of the Anglican services. We had never\ninterfered with this, as the Anglican is recognized as the official\nreligion of the British army. However, one Saturday evening as I came\nout alone from the hut I happened, in passing, to glance at the board.\nThe customary announcements were not there; instead, was written in\nbold white letters the order of Catholic services for the morrow. Not\nonly was the notice of the camp service given, but the Benediction at\nGrayshott Convent was mentioned also. For a few seconds I stood gazing\nat the sign, in great surprise. Soldiers passing along the little lane\npaused to read and then passed on. I knew Father Knox could have had\nnothing to do with it. Then, as I stood there in the night looking at\nthe announcement board, I smiled. \u201cTim Healy,\u201d I said, \u201cTim Healy!\u201d\n\nTim Healy was a lieutenant who had come over from Canada with an Irish\nbattalion. Like many another it had been broken up and Tim was waiting\nanxiously his turn at the front. He had been born in Ireland and was\na near relative of the great Tim Healy. The following afternoon I saw\nhim at the Convent of the Cenacle. I went across the room to where he\nwas sitting, and waited till he had finished his tea. Then, without any\npreamble, I said: \u201cMr. Healy, why did you erase the announcements on\nthe board outside the church and put the Catholic order on?\u201d\n\nTim forced an expression of innocent wonder into his face, which, I\nthought, was a little too elaborately done; but almost simultaneously\nappeared a pleasant twinkle in the eyes of him.\n\n\u201cNo, Father,\u201d he said, \u201cI didn\u2019t,\u201d then he smiled broadly and his eyes\ntwinkled merrily.\n\nI looked at him in great surprise, for I was almost certain that he had\ndone it. But Tim had not finished, and as his eyes continued to twinkle\nsaid quietly: \u201cBut I sent one of my men to do it. I hope he did it\nwell.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes,\u201d I said grimly, \u201cI think it was done well--if not too well.\u201d\nHowever, nothing ever came of it.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XIX\n\nTHE NEW SACRIFICE\n\n\nThings went much the same at Bramshott. Spring came, and for the first\ntime I saw the primroses, which are among the first flowers to bloom\nin England. They do not belong to the aristocracy for one sees them\neverywhere; along railway embankments, along the roadsides, near the\nhedge-rows, everywhere patches of the pretty little yellow flowers\nsmiled the approach of spring.\n\nThen one day when the spring birds, nesting in the great old English\ntrees, were cheering up the poor war-broken lads that lay on their\nlittle cots in so many military hospitals throughout the country--Vimy\nRidge had been fought, and many of the lads who had sailed with me had\nfallen that victory might come--word came that I was to join the Fifth\nCanadian Division, which was then preparing to go overseas.\n\nIt was a beautiful day when I left for Witley Camp where the Fifth\nDivision was quartered. The birds were chorusing their glorious\nmelodies from hedge and tree and field; but along lanes that should\nhave worn a peaceful country setting went clumsily great motor lorries\nin different ways connected with the war.\n\nWitley Camp was only six miles from Bramshott, so it did not take us\nlong to speed over the Portsmouth road through the beautiful Surrey\ncountry.\n\nI took up temporary quarters with my old friend Father Crochetiere, and\nslept on a table in his office. I was not very long there when another\nold friend dropped in to see me in the height of Father Hingston, S.\nJ. Both priests welcomed me very kindly and told me I was just in time\nto help in the remote preparation for a stirring event. They spoke\nwith great enthusiasm, and it was not long before I was made aware of\nthe cause. A Solemn High Mass was to be celebrated in the open air\nthe following Sunday, and the Catholic soldiers from all parts of the\ncamp were to attend in order to be consecrated to the Sacred Heart of\nJesus. There were more than three thousand Catholic soldiers in the\ncamp. The following Sunday morning I was up very early to help in the\npreparations.\n\nIt was a beautiful morning. The sun was up, clear, bright, and warm.\nThe air was very still. Though preparations, both military and\nreligious, had been most carefully made, there was discernible in the\nmanner of the priests who had worked so hard for the bringing about of\nthis great religious ceremony some signs of anxiety. They feared lest\nthere be a hitch in the deliverance of orders, so that all the men\nmight not be present. There was no need to fear, for at 9:30 o\u2019clock\nthree thousand Catholic soldiers drew up in the grove of pines on the\nborder of the lake at the northwest corner of the camp and all anxiety\ndisappeared. There were French Canadian lads from the Province of\nQuebec; Irish Canadian Rangers from Montreal; Scotch laddies, with\nfeathers in their caps, from Ontario and Nova Scotia; Indian lads from\nEastern and Western Canada.\n\nAn altar had been built against one of the very few oak trees that\nstood in the grove of pines, and above the cross that stood upon it,\na large picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus was nailed to the tree;\nsurmounting all was a canopy of larch and ivy leaves. Daffodils, tulips\nand larch stood out brightly among the candles on the white altar. All\nabout the carpeted elevation on which the altar had been built stood\nmany potted plants.\n\nAs the parade was drawn up beneath the trees, on the carpet of dry pine\nneedles and the last year\u2019s oak leaves, bands of different battalions\nplayed and the kilted laddies made music with their pipes.\n\nFather Crochetiere sang the Mass, with old Father McDonald, who had\ncome over as chaplain to a Scottish battalion, as deacon and the writer\nas sub-deacon. The choir of thirty voices which sang the Royal Mass so\nbeautifully was under the direction of Lt. Prevost of the One Hundred\nand Fiftieth Battalion.\n\nAnd so under the British oak where \u201cDruids of old\u201d once offered their\npagan sacrifices, the Holy Sacrifice of the New Law was offered, and\nCanadian lads knelt to adore. And there by the quiet lakeside the\nmiracle of God\u2019s wonderful love was wrought, and the promise made by\nthe Divine Master on the border of another lake, the day following the\nmultiplication of the loaves and fishes, was fulfilled. For many of the\nsoldiers had waited till this late Mass to go to Communion, and under\nthe beautiful sunlight that filtered through the trees they knelt to\nreceive the \u201cBread of Life.\u201d\n\nAfter Mass a short sermon was preached in English and French by Father\nHingston, S. J., chaplain to the Irish Canadian Rangers, in the course\nof which he explained clearly and beautifully what the ceremony of\nconsecration meant.\n\nThen Colonel Barr\u00e9, commanding the One Hundred and Fiftieth Battalion,\nread the Act of Consecration to the Sacred Heart of Jesus in French,\nand Major McRory, officer commanding the One Hundred and Ninety-ninth\nIrish Canadian Rangers, read it in English. Each soldier was then\npresented with a badge of the Sacred Heart.\n\nAnd just as of old the multitude who followed the Divine Master were\nblessed before they departed, so, after the Consecration to the Sacred\nHeart had been made, the lads knelt while Benediction of the Blessed\nSacrament was given, and then all was over. \u201cHe blessed them and sent\nthem away.\u201d\n\nAs I stood that day by the little altar near the lakeside, while bands\nplayed and the lads fell in preparatory to departing, I could not help\nthinking of the many different places where they had worshipped since\nthey had left Canada; and though I could not foresee the strange scenes\nthey would inevitably meet on the red road of war, which they would\nshortly travel, still I felt sure that one day would stand out in their\nmemories in bold relief--the day they made the Act of Consecration to\nthe Sacred Heart of Jesus,--the day when they knelt before God\u2019s altar\nbuilt in the open air under the trees by the lakeside--and Jesus passed!\n\n\n\n\nChapter XX\n\nTHROUGH ENGLISH LANES\n\n\nThe early summer in England, especially in Surrey, is very beautiful,\nand as the work was light we had many opportunities to walk through\nthe lovely country roads. But even prettier than the highways were\nthe lanes that led off from them and went winding, with their hedges,\nthrough copse and field, and quaint little red-brick villages, each\nwith its century-old, ivy-covered church that had come down from the\ngood old Catholic days. In some of them a statue of some saint still\nstood, and in many were ancient holy-water stoops and baptismal fonts.\n\nOften gigantic chestnut or oak trees, grouped near a quaint old\ngate, told us of the entrance to some baronial estate or castle;\nbut nearly always our only view of the estate was a piece of road\nwith very carefully trimmed box-hedge or a great blazing hedge-row\nof rhododendrons, and a small white board, attached to a gate-post\nor tree, which informed the passing wayfarer that there was \u201cNo\nThoroughfare.\u201d\n\nIt was very pleasant to steal away from the camp and the sounds of\nshouted orders, and practicing military bands and bugle notes, to the\nquiet country where the birds sang blithely and the strange notes of\nthe cuckoo\u2019s solitary call from some distant tarn or wood came sweetly\nto the ears; one forgot, for the moment, the thought of war and all\nassociated with it.\n\nI remember one afternoon I had taken a walk with Father Hingston and\nFather Crochetiere down a shady lane that wound, for the most part,\nthrough a high woodland, when we came suddenly to a small village of\nseven or eight houses. To our right was a long box-hedged foot-path,\nwinding through a field or two till it was swallowed up in a grove of\ntall, full-leafed beech and oak trees that stood presumably before a\nrich country seat. But we did not take the foot-path to the right.\nInstead, the priests,--both had been here before,--turned to the left\nand presently we had passed through a little gate into a very small but\nlovely rose garden. A tiny path, with a tiny boxwood hedge not more\nthan a foot high, led from the gate to the door of an old-fashioned\nwhite house. Just before the door was built a latticed portico, over\nwhich climbing roses grew. We were admitted by an elderly housekeeper\nand were asked to go upstairs.\n\nThere we found a priest whose age might have been forty-five and whose\nhair was just beginning to turn grey about the temples. He was about\nmedium height, rather slight, with an ascetic face. He was sitting\nin a low room which was very bare save for a table on which were\nsome morning papers. Across the hall was a room in which was a great\nold-fashioned fire-place with an ingle-nook. The priest\u2019s name was\nFather McCarty, but he spoke with a decidedly English accent. He was a\nmember of a religious community known as the Salesian Fathers. Knowing\nthat he had such a very small parish, I asked him if he found the time\nheavy on his hands. He replied that he did not; and that although he\nhad only three or four families in all, including the rich household\nof Capt. Rusbrook, whose large estate we had passed on entering the\nvillage, he was quite busy, as he was writing the life of the founder\nof his order, Don Bosco; he also from time to time helped the chaplains\nat Witley Camp.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXI\n\nAT PARKMINSTER\n\n\nThere was a different spirit in Witley Camp than there had been at\nBramshott; for in the whole division--twelve battalions of infantry and\nthree brigades of artillery, etc.,--was the one feeling of expectation\nof soon going overseas. Any day the orders might come.\n\nFather Hingston had made a retreat in London, and Father Crochetiere\nhad just returned from five days\u2019 rest and prayer at the wonderful\nmonastery of the Carthusian Fathers, at Parkminster. I decided to go\nthere.\n\nThe following Monday, late in the afternoon, I drove up the winding\ndrive, through hawthorn hedges, to the gates of the monastery.\nEverything seemed very quiet; no one appeared in garden or window. A\nbell-rope hung outside the blue-grey door. I pulled it quickly. From\nsomewhere within came a great clanging, and almost simultaneously a\nclatter of heavy boots on stone flags. Inside, a bolt shot back, and\nimmediately a white-garbed, white-bearded old brother stood before me,\nsmiling in the opening. He shook hands with me and bade me enter.\n\n\u201cWe have been expecting you, Father,\u201d he said, with that gentle\ncourtesy that one finds in a religious house. He took my grip,\nnotwithstanding every protest and led me along the rough, stone-floored\ncorridor to the Guest House, where I was given a large, airy corner\nroom, plainly though adequately furnished. Snow-white sheets were on\nthe bed--I had not seen sheets for a long time.\n\nThe old white brother told me to sit down,--that presently the Retreat\nMaster would come. Then he left me. I went over to a window and looked\nout. Just below was a large garden with rose-fringed walks, enclosed\nby a very high stone wall. Outside the wall green fields, fringed with\ndark trees, stretched far away. Beyond these, rolling Sussex downs,\nlooking greyish-blue in the summer haze, rose to meet the skyline.\n\nA strange peace was everywhere, and save for a slight nervousness that\nseemed to have come to me with the great silence of the house, I was\nglad that I had come.\n\nIn a little while a knock sounded on the door and the Retreat Master\nentered. He was not very tall, and rather slight, and though his hair\nwas grey he was not old. There was nothing very distinctive in his\nface, now rough with a three-days\u2019 growth of beard--the rule of the\norder is to shave every fifteen days--and there was not much color in\nhis cheeks. The eyes were small, grey and almost piercing. But there\nwas that same indefinable atmosphere of peace about him. It seemed\nas if he had stepped aside from the great noisy highway of the world\nto listen in silence to the voice of God. Yet, as he talked, the\nFather seemed to take a childish interest in all that I told him of\nmy experiences in a great military camp with officers and men of the\nworld. But away below the wonder that rippled over the surface of the\nspirit of the monk there seemed to be great depths of silence, and as\nI tried to fathom these depths, I felt a strange helplessness come\nover me. I could not understand this man who sat smiling simply and\ncordially, and at the same time seemed to be enveloped in an atmosphere\nnot of this world.\n\nBefore he left for the evening the Retreat Master pointed to a card\nthat hung on the wall. \u201cThe Order of Retreat,\u201d he said. \u201cYou will be\nable to follow it?\u201d\n\nI assured the Father that I would, and then he was gone for the night.\n\nMy retreat passed very quickly--I had only five days--and during that\ntime I forgot all about war and preparations for war. Every day for\nabout half an hour the Retreat Master came to my room and talked a\nlittle. He told me many things about the monastic life that I found\nvery interesting. Each monk, he explained, lived in a little brick\ntwo-story house which was attached to the great main corridor that\nformed a quadrangle about the church. The lower story was a kind of\nworkshop in which was a lathe and different kinds of carpenters\u2019 tools,\nand to it the monk descended in his free time to do manual work. A\nsmall garden, in between the different houses, was allotted to each\nmonk, where he worked for a while each day and grew vegetables for his\nown frugal board.\n\nOne day I told the Retreat Master that I had read a description\nof Parkminster in one of the late Monsignor Benson\u2019s novels, \u201cThe\nConventionalists.\u201d\n\nThe monk smiled reminiscently. He recalled the day that Mr. Benson--he\nwas an Anglican at the time of his visit--in company with another\nminister, had called. Mr. Benson had seemed very much interested. The\nother had made some strange remark. Monsignor Benson had never visited\nthe Monastery as a priest, nor had he ever brought any one there to\njoin the community. The monk assured me of this, and he had been Guest\nMaster for many years. Yet when I had read \u201cThe Conventionalists\u201d\nI had been almost convinced that the story related was a personal\nexperience. It may have been to some other monastery that the young man\nhad gone, although Monsignor Benson had said Parkminster.\n\nShortly before I left the monastery the Retreat Master came to have a\nlast chat. \u201cWhen you reach the front,\u201d he said, \u201ctell your men that we\nare praying for them day after day, night after night.\u201d\n\nI felt a strange feeling of security on hearing these words, but as I\nleft the monastery gates and turned to say farewell to the old monk, I\nfelt a distinct sinking of my heart. \u201cPerhaps,\u201d he said rapturously,\n\u201cyou\u2019ll be a martyr!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXII\n\nORDERS FOR FRANCE\n\n\nNot a week had passed after my retreat, when one morning a runner\nfrom divisional headquarters came into my hut, saluted and passed me\na paper. I was ordered to France. This was good news, for I had now\nbeen in the Army over a year. The battalion had been recruited to full\nstrength early in 1916, and I had hoped to be in France before the end\nof that year. It was now June, 1917.\n\nThe following morning I left Witley Camp for London, where I was to\nreceive further orders and equip myself with bed-roll, trench boots,\netc. At headquarters, in London, I learned that I was to go to No. 2\nCanadian Infantry Base Depot, at Etaples. From there, after a while, I\nwould be sent to the trenches.\n\nEtaples is a quaint little fishing village on the Canche River, about\ntwo miles from its mouth. Before the war it had been a famous resort\nfor artists; quite a colony had lived in the little town. Apart from\nits quaintness and the picturesque costumes of the townsfolk, its chief\ninterest for artists lay in its beautiful sunsets. It was a glorious\nsight to look down the Canche, widening between the jack-pine-crested\nsand dunes, as it flowed nearer the sea, to the great golden sun\nsliding down towards the merry dancing blue waves of the Straits of\nDover, slowly turning red and redder as it sank among the long pencils\nor banks of reddening clouds fringed with gold. When the sun would sink\ninto the waves the water would be crimsoned for miles, and for a long\ntime after the great red disc had disappeared the distant sails of the\nfishing boats made a very pretty picture as they moved silently over\nthe waves.\n\nEtaples, besides being quaint, was a very dirty little town. At any\nhour of the day one might see a good housewife come to the door\nand empty a tub of soapy water that had served its use into the\ncobbled-street, where it was mingled with other soapy waters that ran\ncontinuously along the gutters. Every morning piles of garbage appeared\nin the streets before the houses.\n\nDuring the war almost every house bore a sign nailed to the door upon\nwhich was written or printed the word \u201cEstaminet,\u201d which signified that\nwithin one might purchase wine, beer, coffee and other refreshments.\nSometimes accompanying the sign was a smaller one, bearing the English\nwords, \u201cEggs and chips.\u201d\n\nAll the narrow cobble-stoned streets that ran from every direction into\nthe village stopped at the large market square. Market days were twice\na week, and then it was difficult to find one\u2019s way through the crowds\nwho came to buy from the black- or white-hooded country women, whose\nmarket wagons, mostly drawn by donkeys, were laden with everything\nimaginable from farm, house, and field. It was a striking scene there\nin the old market square before the town hall. Soldiers from almost\nall the Allied armies could be seen there, while nurses from the great\nmilitary hospitals, about one-half mile from the town along the road\nthat followed the Canche towards Camiers and the sea, moved quickly,\nnearly always two by two, carrying small market-baskets.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXIII\n\nAT NO. 2 CANADIAN INFANTRY BASE DEPOT\n\n\nAt the No. 2 Canadian Infantry Base Depot I had the most wonderful\nopportunity of the war to study the Catholics of the allied\narmies--Irish, Scotch, Welsh, English, New Zealand, Australian and\nPortuguese. For here were depot camps for all these troops. Often there\nwould be as many as one hundred thousand men training at one time,\nbut after every engagement drafts would be called for up the line.\nThen they would be given their full equipment from the large ordnance\nstores at Etaples, and in the evening they would come to confession and\nCommunion. There were two large Catholic recreation huts, with a chapel\nin each. On Sundays folding doors were opened and the whole hut became\na chapel; hundreds of soldiers came to assist at the different Masses\nthat were said in each hut.\n\nIn the evening great numbers came to confession, and always crowds\nassisted at the early week-day morning Mass. Every evening priests\nwould be on duty in the little chapels hearing confessions and, if\nsoldiers had been called urgently and were leaving for the front,\ngiving Communion.\n\nIt was my lot for the most part to hear confessions in the Catholic\nhut to which came not only my own Canadian lads, but the Irish of the\nfamous Sixteenth Division: Connaughts, Leinsters, Munsters, Irish\nGuards, etc. It was wonderfully edifying to sit evening after evening\nand hear the confessions of these Irish lads. They would usually begin\nby saying, \u201cGod bless you, Father!\u201d They came in extraordinarily large\nnumbers every night and always stayed a long while to pray. The faith\nseemed to be part of their very being. Though they did not parade it,\nthese lads seemed scarcely to breathe without showing in some way\nthe love for their faith. When they met the Catholic chaplain in the\nstreet, they did not give him the salute they were supposed to give\nhim, in common with all other officers. They always took off their\nhats. They were the only soldiers who ever did this. I asked an Irish\nCatholic officer about it one evening. \u201cWhy, Father,\u201d he said, \u201cthey\nthink the military salute not good enough for a priest. It does all\nvery well, they think, for a general or a field marshal or the King\nof England, but it\u2019s not enough for a priest. They must take their\nhats off, although they break a military rule by so doing.\u201d \u201cGod bless\nthem,\u201d I said warmly.\n\nThe Queen of England visited the hospitals and military depots of\nEtaples while I was there. Happening to be near the Irish depot when\nshe was about to pass, I stood among the great crowds of soldiers that\nlined each side of the road. In about three minutes the Queen would\ncome along. Suddenly I heard the high, effeminate voice of an English\nofficer of superior rank calling out: \u201cTell that man to put on his\ncoat. See here, you!\u201d\n\nLooking in the direction towards which the colonel called, I saw an\nIrish soldier, minus his tunic, go galloping in his heavy military\nboots through a path that widened accommodatingly for him and closed\nbehind him, so that progress was almost impossible for the aristocratic\ncolonel, who perhaps wished to identify the man.\n\nI remember one evening after I had finished confessions in Oratory\nHut and had come back to the tent in my own lines, finding a young\nScotch officer sitting at the little deal table waiting for me. After\ntalking for awhile, he told me that for some time he had been wishing\nto become a Catholic, and that if I could spare the time he would begin\ninstructions whenever I wished.\n\nWe began that night, and a few weeks later I baptized him in the\nchapel of Oratory Hut. An Englishman--I think his name was Edmund\nHanley--stood sponsor. During the ceremony the chaplain of the\nPortuguese soldiers came in and knelt reverently. When all was over\nand we had offered congratulations, the Portuguese priest shook hands\nwith the neophyte; then he came over to me and gave me both his hands\nwarmly. Although he could not speak my language, nor I his, still we\nwere brother priests, and I was sure he knew the joy I felt over this\nnew sheep coming into the fold of Christ.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXIV\n\nTHE NEW ZEALANDERS\n\n\nOf all the lads of different nationalities who visited the little\nchapel in the evening and who came so often to Holy Communion in the\nearly morning, I think I liked the best the New Zealanders. They were\nnearly all tall, lithe men, dark-haired, with long, narrow faces, and\neyes that had a strange intensity of expression: perhaps one might\ncall them piercing. They were quiet-voiced men and spoke with rather\nan English accent. They were the gentlest, finest men it was my good\nfortune to meet in the army. They were excellent Catholics, many of\nthem daily communicants. The Maoris, the aborigines of New Zealand,\nwere treated by the white men with the same courtesy that they showed\none to another. The Maoris were the most intelligent looking men of the\nyellow race I had ever met. In fact, it was only by their color--which\nwas almost chocolate--that one could distinguish them from the New\nZealanders themselves. Those of the Maoris who were Catholics were\nexcellent ones.\n\nI recall one incident which impressed me very much with New Zealand\ncourtesy. I had come to a segregation camp, just outside the little\nvillage of Etaples, to arrange for the Sunday church parade of the\nsoldiers on the following day. The soldiers who were quartered in the\nsegregation camp were men who had come in contact with those suffering\nfrom contagious diseases. They usually stayed in this camp about three\nweeks. If after this period no symptoms of any contagious disease\nappeared they returned to their different units. The day I speak of,\nthree officers were sitting in the mess when I went to announce the\nservices, two Englishmen and one New Zealander. I told the officer in\ncharge that I should like to have the Catholic men paraded for Mass the\nfollowing day, suggesting to him to name the hour most suitable. He, an\nEnglishman, said eleven o\u2019clock. I was about to say, \u201cVery well,\u201d when\nthe New Zealand officer interposed gently but firmly. \u201cYou will have\nto make the hour earlier than that, Captain,\u201d he said. \u201cYou know the\nFather will be fasting till after his Mass.\u201d\n\nThe English officer looked at me quickly. \u201cWhy, Padre,\u201d he said, \u201cit\ndid not occur to me that you would be fasting. Certainly, we\u2019ll have it\nearlier. How about nine o\u2019clock?\u201d Nine would suit perfectly, I assured\nhim. As I was to say an early Mass for the nurses at 7:30, I would just\nhave time to move my altar to the dunes, where I was to celebrate Mass,\nbefore the soldiers would arrive.\n\nThe Mass was finished very early that Sunday, and there was no long\nfast. I was very grateful to the New Zealander for his thoughtfulness.\nAs I have said before, they were the gentlest, finest men I had ever\nmet.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXV\n\nTHE WORKERS\n\n\nThere was one thing about the natives of Etaples that impressed me\nparticularly, and that was the respect each artisan seemed to have\nfor his work. In the little village were candle-makers, bakers,\nboot-makers, makers of brushes, etc., and all these workmen seemed to\nbe interested in their work and to have a great respect for it. They\nworked slowly, patiently, and always thoroughly. I noticed the same\nspirit in the fields. Just beyond the hill and the giant windmill that\noverlooked the village, unfenced green fields sloped downward to green\nvalleys, then up over the hills again. Through this open countryside\nwound the white roads of France; and always the great main roads were\narched by ancient elms. Unlike England, not even a hedge divided the\nproperty of owners. Here every day crowds of farm laborers, mostly\nwomen and girls, came early to work. One noticed a total absence of all\nmodern farm implements. The women still used the old-fashioned reaping\nhook that was used long before the coming of Christ. What they cut they\nbound carefully into tiny sheaves. The women, for the most part, were\ndressed as the woman in Millet\u2019s picture, \u201cThe Angelus,\u201d from hood to\nwooden shoes. Here, again, the work was done patiently, quietly, and\nthoroughly. The modern idea of saving labor seemed never to have come\nto them. Sometimes when not very busy I would take a walk through the\nlong white roads, leading into a white-housed red-roofed village, the\nNorman tower of the little church piercing the tree-tops; then out\nagain through more green unfenced fields to another little village two,\nor three, or sometimes four miles away.\n\nOften while on these walks, I used to think of the rugged strength of\nthese sturdy French peasants who went so steadily and quietly about\ntheir work. They were strongly built people, well developed, and their\nfaces were deep red--I suppose from so much work out of doors.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXVI\n\nORDERS AGAIN\n\n\nI had come down to my tent one evening a little later than usual to\nfind a D. R. L. S. letter from the Chaplain Service awaiting me. D. R.\nL. S. meant \u201cDispatch Riders\u2019 Letter Service.\u201d I opened it quickly, as\na letter from headquarters, brought by a dispatch rider, might contain\nvery important orders. This was an order to report for duty at No. 7\nCanadian General Hospital the following day.\n\nI looked at my watch. It was nearly nine o\u2019clock. It was very dark\noutside and the rain was beating on my tent. No. 7 was at least two\nmiles distant, but I must see the chaplain before he would leave. I put\non my trench coat and stepped out into the rain.\n\nAs I drew near the hospital I was obliged to pass by a German prison\ncamp. I suppose my thoughts were wandering that night. At least the\nfirst thing I realized was seeing through the rain the bright blade of\na bayonet thrust at my breast; then I heard the voice of the guard:\n\u201cQuick! Are you friend?\u201d\n\nI stopped suddenly. I had not heard him challenge me the first time,\nwhich he surely must have done. I realized in an instant my position.\n\u201cYes,\u201d I shouted, \u201cfriend.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a good job you spoke, sir,\u201d warned the guard, and then he said,\nquickly, \u201cPass, friend.\u201d\n\nAlthough I had realized my position, I had not felt the slightest\nalarm, but now as I walked along in the darkness a strange fear\ntook possession of me, so that I shook almost violently. I have been\nchallenged often by sentries since that night, but it has never been\nnecessary to inquire more than once; nor have I ever been halted so\nsuddenly by a pointed bayonet.\n\nI found the out-going chaplain, Father Cot\u00e9, packing his bed-roll,\nand as he packed he gave me all the advice necessary to an incoming\nchaplain. The following morning he went up the line, and immediately\nafter lunch I left No. 2 C. I. B. D., where I had been most cordially\ntreated by both officers and men, and came to No. 7 Canadian General\nHospital.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXVII\n\nHOSPITALS AND TRAINS\n\n\nNo. 7 Canadian General was only one of a group of hospitals situated\nalong the highway that led from Etaples to Camiers. There were seven or\neight large hospitals in all, though only two were Canadian, the others\nbeing British. Although I was quartered at No. 7, I had also to attend\nthe other Canadian Hospital, No. 1. There were about 2,500 beds in No.\n7, and about 2,000 in No. 1.\n\nAt one end of No. 1, there was a marquee chapel-tent and at the rear of\nNo. 7 there was a low wooden chapel called \u201cChurch of Our Lady, Help of\nChristians,\u201d but this was used mostly by the British Catholics.\n\nThe military hospital in France usually consisted of a number of long,\nlow, detached one-story huts, built in rows, each row behind the\nother. Between the rows ran little lanes just wide enough to permit\ntwo ambulances to pass. There was a door in each end of every hut,\nso that it was very easy to go from one hut into the other. Each hut\nwas a ward; in some hospitals they were numbered; in others they were\nlettered. Down each side of the aisle, running from door to door, was\na row of beds--low iron beds covered with army blankets. In most of\nthe hospitals there were no counterpanes, but there were always clean\nwhite sheets and pillow-cases. At one end of the ward were two small\ncubicles, one of which was the nurses\u2019 office, the other a kind of\npantry and emergency kitchen, though nearly all the cooking was done in\nthe general kitchen, which was a special hut.\n\nInto these large, quiet wards, far away from the roar of the heavy\nguns, the crackle of machine-guns and rifles, the wounded lads came,\ncarried by train and ambulance.\n\nMany who will read these lines have seen the troop-trains, with their\nhundreds of khaki-clad lads leaning out from car windows, cheering,\nsinging, and waving, as they were carried swiftly by on their way to\nseaport or training-camp. Perhaps they have watched long companies of\nsoldier boys march up dusty roads, while flags waved and bands played\nand people cheered, to the lines of cars waiting for them. If so, they\nwill recall the great buoyancy of the lads--their gaiety as they passed\non their way to training-camp or port of embarkation for overseas.\n\nThis light-heartedness accompanied them across the sea and went with\nthem up through France as they journeyed in other troop-trains to the\nfront. And whenever thirsty engines stopped at watertanks, or when\na halt was made to exchange a tired engine, little French children\nassembled and gazed wide-eyed at the soldiers who had come from across\nthe seas. They wondered, too, what those words meant that some one on\nthe troop-trains always called out and which brought such a thundering\nresponse. Many trains went up along the same way through France and\nstopped, as others had stopped, and always some voice called out those\nwords, and always hundreds of voices roared back, \u201cNo!\u201d So in time the\nFrench children learned them, and whenever the trains slowed into a\nstation the little ones would run to the cars, and one of their number\nwould call out, \u201cHar we doon-hearted?\u201d Then, mingled with the laughter\nof the khaki-clad lads, would come thundering the answer, \u201cNo!\u201d\n\nAfter awhile trains bearing soldiers began to come down from the line.\nBut when the engines stopped at watering-tanks or stations the little\nFrench children that gathered about them noticed certain differences\nbetween these trains and the ones that went up to the front. Everything\nseemed very silent, save for the slow panting of the engine. On the\nside of every car was painted, in the middle of a large white circle,\na red cross. No groups of laughing faces appeared at open car windows;\nthough now and again the white, drawn face of some one lying in a berth\npeered out through the glass. Sometimes a white bandage was tied around\nthe head, and sometimes on the white bandage was a dark-red patch. No\none called out, \u201cAre we downhearted?\u201d\n\nTrains kept coming down from the front somewhat irregularly; silent\ntrains with red crosses painted on white circles on the sides of the\ncars. Then one day there was a slight change in the appearance of\nthese hospital trains. The red cross was still there, but painted near\none end, on the side of the car, was an oblong of red, white and blue\nabout three feet long and two wide. The little children knew well\nwhat this was--the tricolor of France. But they did not know what the\noblong of red, white and blue painted on the side, at the other end of\nthe car, represented. The disposition of the color was different, and\nthe formation of the colored parts was not the same. There were more\nstripes in this oblong, and the stripes were narrower and red and white\nin color. In the upper corner was a small blue square with many white\nstars on it. Then one day some one told the little children that this\nwas the flag of the Americans who had come from so far across the seas\nto help their fathers and brothers in the war.\n\nAs I write these words I recall the passing of the trains of France.\nThose that went up took light-hearted lads who leaned from car windows\nand sang and cheered as they went through French villages. And\nthe trains that came down, with red crosses on them, had for their\npassengers quiet lads who lay in berths, bandaged in every conceivable\nway. But although they suffered much, and although occasionally a low\nmoan escaped through pain-drawn lips, those wonderful lads were still\n\u201cnot downhearted.\u201d\n\nThey passed through many different hands after they were wounded and\nalways they were well treated. First, stretcher-bearers picked them up\nand carried them to the regimental aid post, which was usually a dugout\nin one of the support trenches. Here they received treatment from the\nmedical officer of the battalion and his staff. Then they were carried\nby other stretcher-bearers down the trenches to the field station,\nfrom which places motor ambulances took them to the advanced dressing\nstation where bandages were re-arranged or improved. Then they went to\nthe clearing station, where they remained for perhaps two or three days\nuntil there was a clearing for the hospital to which they were to go.\n\nAmbulances took them to the Red Cross trains and stretcher-bearers\ncarried them gently to berths in the cars, and then they began their\nlong journey to the base hospital--the big quiet hospital far away from\nthe roar of the guns. From time to time medical officers passed down\nthe aisle of the car, and sometimes a Red Cross nurse, clad in light\ngrey uniform, gave medicine to the wounded lads or examined a dressing.\n\nThe journey from the casualty clearing station to the base hospital\noften took many hours. It was usually evening when the long line of\nRed Cross cars came slowly into the smooth siding that had been built\nsince the war. The bugle call would sound and many hospital orderlies\nand stretcher-bearers would assemble, as, one after another, the big\ngreen ambulances, each one driven by a woman, came swiftly down to the\nsiding. Gradually their speed slackened, and they moved slowly down the\nline of hospital cars, in the sides of which doors opened. Then gently\nand carefully the wounded lads, wrapped in thick brown army blankets\nand lying on stretchers, were lowered from the cars and carried to the\nopen ends of the ambulances, where the stretchers were fitted into\nracks running their full length--two above and two below. As soon as\nthe stretchers were securely strapped the machine slowly moved off to\nthe hospital, which was just a few hundred yards away.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXVIII\n\nD I\u2019S AND S I\u2019S\n\n\nI remember the day I arrived at No. 7. The quartermaster allotted me a\nburlap hut in the officers\u2019 lines, just large enough to contain a low\niron bed, a rough table, made of boards from an old packing case, a\nchair (which was not there) and a little stove when it was cold enough\nfor one. I hung my trench coat on a nail and asked the two men who had\nbrought my bed-roll to place it where the chair should have been. I\ngave just one look around the hut, then went out again and up to the\nRegistrar\u2019s office, first to No. 1, then back to No. 7.\n\nEvery morning a list was posted outside the Registrar\u2019s offices,\non which were printed the names of the D. I.\u2019s and S. I.\u2019s; those\nDangerously Ill and Seriously Ill. For obvious reasons the Catholics\nof both classes were always prepared for death immediately. I found\na number of Catholics in a critical condition and I administered the\nlast sacraments to them. It was long after six o\u2019clock when I finished\nmy work. I was leaving No. 7 feeling a little tired, for I had covered\nquite a lot of ground on my visits, when I heard \u201cPadre\u201d called by one\nof the nurses, who was coming quickly behind me.\n\nI stopped until she came to where I was standing. She asked me if I\nwere the new R. C. chaplain. On being answered in the affirmative she\ntold me she had a list of men of my faith who should be seen by their\nchaplain immediately. She passed me her list as she spoke, and in a\nsecond or two I was comparing it with the names written in the little\nblack book that I had taken from the left upper pocket of my tunic. I\nhad seen them all: all had been \u201chousled and aneled,\u201d had been prepared\nto meet God. I told her so, quietly, and I showed her my little book.\n\nShe compared the names: then she looked at me keenly. \u201cMy!\u201d she said,\n\u201chow you Catholic priests look after your men!\u201d Then she was gone\nagain.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXIX\n\nDOWN THE HOSPITAL AISLE\n\n\nAlthough the emergency cases were attended at all hours by the\nchaplain, it was in the afternoon that the general visiting was\ndone. Each patient, when he had entered the hospital, had attached\nto the buttonhole of his shirt, or overcoat if he was wearing it, a\nthick waterproof envelope containing a card on which was written a\ndescription of the wounds he had received and the treatment that had\nbeen given them in the different stations through which he had passed.\nSometimes, though not often, there was a smaller card attached to the\nlarge one--but we shall speak of this card later. The nurse in charge\nof the ward kept the cards of her patients in her office. As the\nreligious denomination of the patient was always given on his card,\ntogether with the number of his bed, it was very easy for me to find my\npatients once I had written down the names from the cards.\n\nThe first question that I usually asked the men, after I had inquired\nabout their wounds, was how long it was since they were at Communion.\nNearly always it was a few days or a week, as most of them had gone to\nHoly Communion before going into the trenches, though sometimes it was\na month or two; and sometimes a man looked up at me steadily and said,\n\u201cTen years, Father,\u201d or perhaps fifteen, or perhaps more. Then I would\nsay, quietly: \u201cIt will soon be time to go again, won\u2019t it?\u201d Usually the\nman smiled, but generally he agreed with me. When I would meet a man a\nlong time away, I would make a note in my little book so that I might\nmake some special visits to him. Often, I had the great joy of seeing\nmen, a long time away from the sacraments, return to God.\n\nOne afternoon I stopped at the bed of a bright-eyed young Canadian\nwhose face lit up on seeing me, for he knew I was the priest. He had\nlost one of his arms above the elbow, so I began to talk to him of the\nwonderful artificial limbs that were being made for those disabled in\nthe war.\n\nThe lad just smiled quietly--he was not the least bit downhearted--as\nhe said: \u201cThey can\u2019t help me much in my line, Father.\u201d Then he fumbled\nwith his hand in the little bag in the small white locker that had been\nplaced near his bed, and when he found his pay-book he asked me to open\nit and read the newspaper clipping that was there. The head-line said,\n\u201cPat Rafferty Enlists,\u201d and underneath, in smaller print, was a second\nheading: \u201cChampion Light Weight Boxer of Western Canada Goes to the\nFront with the ---- Battalion.\u201d Then there were two short paragraphs,\nand below them was a picture of a young man in civilian dress. I\nexamined it a moment, and as I looked at the original I felt a wave of\npity well up within me. Yet the brave young soldier smiled.\n\nIt was not only Canadian soldiers who came to the hospital, for men of\nall the English-speaking armies were brought there. I always enjoyed\na talk with the Irish wounded; they had such a warm friendliness and\nreverence for the priest. It really was not necessary for me to\nprocure the number of their beds, once these men knew that it was the\npriest who was coming down the aisle, for I could have found them by\nthe eager, smiling faces that watched me as I came. They always got in\nthe first word; before I quite reached their beds I would hear their\ntruly Irish greeting, \u201cGod bless you, Father,\u201d and then as I would\nshake hands, they would ask me eagerly how I was--I had come to see how\nthey were. They always wanted a medal--they pronounced it more like\n\u201cmiddle\u201d--and it was a little one that they wanted. One day I spread\nout on the palm of my hand eight medals of assorted sizes, and told\na great giant to help himself. Among the medals was the tiniest one\nI have ever seen. The great finger and thumb did not hesitate for a\nsecond, but groped twice unsuccessfully for the tiny medal; finally,\nthe third time they bore it away, while over the large face of the\nIrish lad spread the delighted smile of a child.\n\nWhen I asked one of these lads which battalion he was in, expecting\nof course to be told the First or Second Munsters, or Leinsters, or\nDublins, etc., but that is what I never heard. This is what they would\nsay: \u201cFather Doyle\u2019s, Father,\u201d or \u201cFather Gleason\u2019s, Father,\u201d or\n\u201cFather Maloney\u2019s, Father.\u201d\n\nOne afternoon, just when I entered, my eyes fell on a bright face\nlooking up over the blankets. I knew he was a Catholic, an Irishman,\nfrom the Munster Fusiliers, though I judged from the manner in which\nthe large blue eyes regarded me that he was not so sure about my\nreligion. I thought that there was also a hint of battle in the glint\nof his eye, so I walked quickly over to his bed, without the faintest\nflicker of a smile, and said: \u201cLet me see now, you\u2019re a Baptist, aren\u2019t\nyou?\u201d\n\nThe blue eyes of the Munster lad blazed as he looked up at me. \u201cNo,\nsir, I\u2019m not! I\u2019m a Roman Catholic!\u201d he said, and as he panted for\nbreath, I said to him quietly: \u201cWell, now, I\u2019m glad to hear that. I\u2019m a\nRoman Catholic, too!\u201d\n\nThen swiftly the vindictive look faded out of the blue eyes of the\nIrish lad and a smile floated over his face as he said, somewhat\nshamefacedly: \u201cExcuse me, Father--I didn\u2019t know, Father--I\u2019m glad to\nsee you, Father,\u201d (pronouncing the \u201ca\u201d in Father like the \u201ca\u201d in Pat),\nand a big red, brown-freckled hand was shyly offered me. It was only\nthree days since Father Gleason gave him and all his comrades Holy\nCommunion, but he would be pleased, if it would not be too much trouble\nto His Reverence, to go again in the morning. I wrote his name in\nthe little book and promised to come in the morning with the Blessed\nSacrament.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXX\n\nTHE TWO BROTHERS\n\n\nI had been visiting the two brothers for over a week--indeed one of\nthem for over two weeks, before I knew they were brothers. One was\nin No. 1 hospital; the other in No. 7: one had been wounded in the\nchest or shoulder; the other in the knee. I carried messages one to\nthe other, and they looked forward eagerly to my coming, for it was\nthree years since they had seen each other. They used to anticipate\nwith great pleasure the day when they would be convalescent and could\nsee each other. Then one evening the lad who was wounded in the knee\ntold me that the following morning there was to be an evacuation for\nEngland and that he was among the number. Although he was glad to hear\nthis good news, still he regretted very much not being able to see his\nbrother before leaving. \u201cIt is so long since I\u2019ve seen him, Father, and\nhe is so near,\u201d he said wistfully.\n\nI looked at the young fellow for a few moments, wondering silently what\nI could do to bring about a meeting of the brothers. First, I thought\nI might obtain permission for the ambulance to stop at No. 1 on its\nway to the siding, and that the young fellow might be carried in on\na stretcher. But on second thought I felt it would be very difficult\nto obtain such a permission. Finally, I decided to ask the adjutant\nfor permission to have him taken up to No. 1 on a wheel stretcher.\nThe adjutant was very kind, granting my request. That evening the two\nbrothers met for the first time in three years and passed two hours\ntogether.\n\nThis little act of kindness did not pass unnoticed, for I learned\nafterwards that it had met with the warm approval of many in both\nhospitals--I suppose because it was just one of those little human\ntouches that everybody loves. But I could not help thinking of the\nnumerous other meetings in the early morning, or often at any hour of\nthe day or night, when through my ministrations two others were brought\ntogether, sometimes after a much longer separation than that of the\nbrothers. One would be some poor broken lad who sometimes was a little\nbashful or shy about the meeting; the other was Jesus of Nazareth,\nthe Saviour of the world. Not many concerned themselves about these\nmeetings, but--there was \u201cjoy among the angels.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXI\n\nAN UNEXPECTED TURNING\n\n\nIt was now November. The days were passing very quickly for I was\nkept busy; convoys were coming daily. Passchendael was being fought.\nI had to visit the D. I.\u2019s and S. I.\u2019s very often, for many were\nbeing admitted. One morning I stopped just long enough to prepare\nan Australian for death. He had been wounded through the throat and\ncould not swallow, so that it was impossible for me to give him Holy\nCommunion. I absolved him and anointed him quickly, then I told him I\nmust pass on as I had many more to visit. It was almost impossible for\nhim to speak, and he did so with great pain, but as he gave me his hand\nand his dying eyes looked at me, he made a great effort. \u201cCheerio,\u201d he\nwhispered. Truly these wonderful lads were not downhearted!\n\nDuring the month of November thousands of patients passed through the\nhospital. Everybody was working extremely hard. Sometimes during the\nnight, convoys arrived. The anaesthetist, who sat next me at mess, told\nme that he was beginning to feel that he could not continue very much\nlonger; for days he had been giving chloroform almost steadily, as\nthere were very many operations. We were both longing for a little lull\nin the work so that we might get a few hours\u2019 rest.\n\nThere were many places where the officers of the hospitals used to go.\nThere was \u201cThe Blue Cat\u201d at Paris Plage, a famous seaside resort about\nthree miles from Etaples, where they went to have tea and bathe in the\nsea. There was the village of Frencq, where a little old lady kept a\nsmall coffee house and made omelettes that were famous. Then there were\ntwo officers\u2019 clubs and an officers\u2019 circulating library at Etaples.\nI had been to the library at different times while at the base. There\nwas a large reading-room exceptionally well lighted, for it was a part\nof an old studio. Tea was served every afternoon from 3:30 to 6:00\no\u2019clock, at which a number of old English officers assembled. It was\nvery amusing to listen to them relating past experiences, in which\noften a good dinner was not forgotten. They treated the soldier-waiter\nas if he were one of their own personal servants, calling him often;\nand although there was but one syllable in his name (it was Brown) they\nmanaged to twist the last letter into a rather complaining inflection.\nI watched Brown a number of times, and although he came \u201con the double\u201d\nand stood head erect, looking at his nose, as all good butlers do,\nstill I thought I detected on more than one occasion a merry light in\nhis bright brown eyes, and he seemed to be exerting a little extra will\npower in keeping his lips composed.\n\nThen one day there came a lull in the rush of work, and being advised\nby one of the officers to take a little recreation, I obeyed.\n\nI recall that afternoon particularly. I went to the officers\u2019\ncirculating library, which was at the rear of the town hall, where I\npassed the afternoon very pleasantly looking through a delightfully\nillustrated edition of \u201cOur Sentimental Garden,\u201d by Agnes and Egerton\nCastle, whose home I had visited while at Bramshott. The quarto volume\ncontained many drawings of their pretty garden from different angles.\nIt was very restful sitting in the quaint old studio, through the great\nwindowed wall of which streamed the autumn sunlight.\n\nTowards five o\u2019clock tea was served by my old friend, the butler\nhumorist. Then as the sun went quietly down into the sea, far out, I\nwalked back to No. 7, feeling very much benefited by my visit, meeting\nhundreds of soldiers, nurses and civilians on the way.\n\nIt was dusk when I entered my little burlap hut. I lit the lamp, and as\nI did, the light flashed over an open letter on my newspaper-covered\ndesk. All the feeling of exhilaration which had cheered my return walk\nleft me suddenly, and an overwhelming, foreboding cloud came over my\nspirits; for the letter said: \u201cPlease come quickly, Padre, there is one\nof your men dying in Ward 3, bed 17.\u201d It was signed by the adjutant of\nNo. 1 hospital, and the hour of the day was marked on the letter. It\nhad been sent at 2:30. It was now 6:00 p. m. I turned down the lamp and\nwent quickly out of the little hut praying, as I ran up the road, that\nthe lad might be still alive. I walked down the ward, not noticing the\nfriendly faces that turned to greet me, as was their custom. The red\nscreens were around the bed. I moved them gently and stood quietly by\nthe lad\u2019s bed. An orderly moved a little to one side.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s dead, sir,\u201d said the orderly. \u201cDied just a minute ago.\u201d\n\nI put on my purple stole, gave the lad conditional absolution and\nanointed him conditionally. Then I stood for a long while looking on\nhis still white face, wishing with all my heart that I had not left the\nhospital that day. Then the orderly made a little movement and I turned\nand went down the aisle of the ward, repressing a great desire to burst\ninto tears; it was the first time, through my neglect, that I had ever\nmissed a call to the dying. In passing I talked to a few patients, but\nthere seemed to be a strange numbness in my brain, so that I did not\nfollow the words spoken by the occupants of different beds where I\nstopped; one or two ceased speaking and looked at me keenly.\n\nJust as I was about to leave the ward little Sister Daughney came in.\nShe stopped and spoke to me, and her words were as sweetest music to my\near.\n\n\u201cAh, Father,\u201d she said--Sister was from Ireland--\u201cI sent for you this\nafternoon for the lad who has just died. He would have been glad to\nsee you, Father, although there was no need; for he said he had been\nanointed and prepared for death just six hours before up in the C. C.\nS.\u201d\n\nI looked at the little sister talking so quietly and in such a\nmatter-of-fact way: while thundering in my ears was the desire to break\nforth into a great _Te Deum Laudamus_. She spoke to me of two or three\nnew patients who might develop more serious symptoms, then passed on to\nother duties, whilst I went up the lane to my little marquee chapel to\nkneel before the tabernacle and make known to God my fervent gratitude.\nAnd so, after all, I had passed a very pleasant day.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXII\n\nPRIVATE BELAIR\n\n\nThe days passed quickly, for they were well filled, and sometimes at\nnight the call would come; my door would open quite abruptly, awakening\nme, and the light from a small flash-light would dazzle my surprised\neyes, while a voice called, \u201cR. C. chaplain?\u201d I recall one night in\nparticular. I had been awakened by the orderly calling, to find him\nstanding at the head of my bed, his flash-light focused on a message\nwritten on white interlined paper that he held before my eyes. The\nwords read: \u201cCome quickly, Father, Wd 14, bed 7, Belair, gassed.\u201d It\nwas signed Sister Kirky, who weighed almost 300 pounds. In twelve\nminutes I was dressed and standing in the ward by Private Belair. I\nwas a little surprised to find him sitting up with just his tunic and\nboots removed. He sat in such a way that his arms rested over the\nback of his chair which he faced. He was panting terribly and was\nevidently suffering greatly. Every little while, when he seemed to have\nsufficient strength, he would begin to pray in whispered Latin, \u201cO bone\nJesu,\u201d then his voice would die out in a trembling whisper and the\nprayer would become inaudible.\n\n\u201cOh, Father,\u201d he whispered, \u201cI am--so glad--you came. All my life--I\nhave prayed--to have the grace.\u201d Then he began to pray again, and I\nmade ready to hear his confession. It did not take long for it cost him\nterrible agony to speak. Then I anointed him. I had not brought Holy\nCommunion, being so eager to reach him that I had not taken time to go\nup to the chapel called \u201cChurch of Our Lady, Help of Christians.\u201d My\nown marquee chapel had blown down a few days previous and I had removed\nthe Blessed Sacrament to the above-mentioned church. I told the sick\nman I was going to bring our Blessed Lord, but that it might take a\nlittle while, as very likely I should find the church locked and should\nhave to find the key.\n\nAlthough the ward had been but dimly-lighted it was extremely dark\non coming out, for it was raining; and in my haste I tripped over a\ntent guy-rope, taut by the rain, and fell on my hands and knees on the\ncinder walk. Then I walked on more carefully, rubbing tiny particles\nof cinders from my stinging hands. Just as I reached the chapel I was\nchallenged by the guard. This time I answered quickly: \u201cFriend. R. C.\nchaplain No. 7. Can. Gen. Hospital.\u201d I stood to be recognized. Then the\nguard spoke, but this time softly, and he peered at my rain-wet face.\n\u201cAh, Father,\u201d he said, \u201cit\u2019s you!\u201d It was one of the Irish lads from\nthe Sixteenth Infantry Base Depot who was one of the guards for the\nGerman prison camp opposite. He may have seen me saying Mass at Oratory\nHut, or perhaps he had spent a few days at the segregation camp.\n\nThe door of the little church was locked, and I did not know where\nto find the key. I knew that an English Redemptorist, Father Prime,\nchaplain to No. 26 British General Hospital, said Mass here every\nmorning; perhaps he might know where the key was kept. It was half a\nmile to Father Prime\u2019s little hut at No. 26, and I went very quickly,\npraying all the while for the poor gassed soldier that he might have\nthe great privilege for which he had prayed so much.\n\nFather Prime was very easily awakened and seemed glad that it was not a\ncall for him to go out in the rain. He had the key, and presently I was\nhurrying back to the little church.\n\nThe Irish lad, still on guard, as I returned bearing the Bread of Life\nto the dying soldier in the hospital, knelt on the rainy ground, and I\ncould just tell that he was bowing his head as the Saviour passed.\n\nThe poor fellow was still alive, though panting in great pain. He\nreceived Holy Communion most devoutly. I felt that I was in the\npresence of an exceptionally good man. In the afternoon he died.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXIII\n\nA LITTLE NONSENSE\n\n\nIt was hard work visiting the wounded, listening time after time to\neach one as he described the nature and history of his wounds, which\nin many cases were so similar. Often on leaving one hut only to enter\nanother, I have paused to look longingly out to the estuary of the\nCanche, where the sun would be sinking slowly, and breathe the strong,\naromatic air coming from the sea and the marshes that grew from the\nriver mud; then in again to great wards of poor broken lads and the\nantiseptic odors of the hospital.\n\nAlthough the spirits of the lads, on the whole, were bright and merry,\nand those who nursed them brought sunshine to their work, still one\nwould scarcely think of entering any one ward with the intention of\nbeing entertained. Yet frequently I have gone into a certain ward of\nNo. 7, Canadian General, with no other intention than that of being\namused. For in this ward were the malingerers, that is, the men who\nwere trying to \u201cput one over\u201d on the doctors. The soldiers called\nthem \u201clead swingers.\u201d The ingenuity of some of these men was really\nextraordinary. I have seen a case come through three or four different\nposts, diagnosed as measles, until finally the doctor in the stationary\nhospital saw that the man had used a preparation of some oil to bring\nout the rash, and had raised his temperature with cordite.\n\nThe first day I went into Wd. --, I was somewhat puzzled. I had not\nknown that this was the ward of malingerers, and so was surprised to\nfind so many healthy looking men in hospital. The nurse in charge\nlooked a little surprised when I entered and said smilingly: \u201cWell,\nPadre, what are you doing here? Nobody ever dies in this ward.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Sister,\u201d I said, \u201cas far as I can see now, every one has the\nappearance of being quite spruce.\u201d Then she said quietly: \u201cP. U. O.,\u201d\nnodding her head a little after pronouncing each letter. Then she went\ninto her cubicle to continue her work.\n\nThat evening at dinner I asked the doctor who sat nearest me what was\nmeant by \u201cP. U. O.\u201d He smiled, then said: \u201cIt means, Padre, \u2018Praxis of\nUnknown Origin\u2019,\u201d and kept smiling as he continued: \u201cWe sometimes meet\na case which really puzzles us, but nearly always, when you see \u2018P. U.\nO.\u2019 on a medical history sheet you can count on its being a case of\nmalingering.\u201d He did not say very much till we had nearly finished our\nmeal, then he said: \u201cWait, Padre, after dinner and we\u2019ll see \u2018Boots\u2019.\u201d\n\nThis was a nickname for the doctor in charge of Ward --, one of the\njolliest M. O.\u2019s in the mess. We found him in the ante-room, three\nor four others grouped around him; but instead of the customary\nbroad smile on his good-natured fat face, there was a look of real\nindignation. He was explaining to his smiling listeners something\nabout a few cases that had been sent to him; and as we drew near I\ncaught these words: \u201cDey had da hitch,\u201d--the doctor was a French\nCanadian--\u201cand dey were sent to my ward--height of dem! Sent to me, and\ndem wit da hitch!\u201d Every one was laughing and trying unsuccessfully to\nsuppress it.\n\nThen a young doctor interposed: \u201cAnd what did you do, Boots?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo?\u201d echoed the other. \u201cWhat did I do? I just took dare papers and\nsent dem up to the skin disease hospital. Dere\u2019s no room for men wit da\nhitch in my ward.\u201d\n\nThe mere thought of the indignity seemed almost too much for the good\ndoctor, so he paused for a little and his face grew red as he looked\naround on his smiling audience. Then he said: \u201cDa idea of sending men\nwit da hitch to me!\u201d He had closed his lips tightly and was nodding to\nhimself at the insult that had been offered his ward by having men with\nthe itch sent to it, when the doctor who had spoken previously spoke\nagain: \u201cYes, \u2018Boots,\u2019 the idea of sending sick men to your ward!\u201d\n\n\u201cBoots\u201d looked at him quickly, and suddenly the dark clouds were\ndispersed and the light of his broad, sunny smile spread over his\ngood-natured face. \u201cDat\u2019s hit,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat do dey want to send\nsick people to me for?\u201d\n\nThe others laughed and moved on, and presently I found myself making\narrangements with Captain \u201cBoots\u201d to visit his ward when his \u201cpatients\u201d\nwould be undergoing treatment the following morning. The only condition\nthe good doctor imposed was that I would not laugh. This I promised.\n\nThe following day, as I walked down the aisle of No. --, I realized\nhow hard it would be to fulfill the condition the doctor had made for\nmy visit. The men were undergoing \u201ctreatment\u201d; some held the handles\nof a galvanic battery in their hands, while their bodies squirmed and\ntwisted, but never for one instant did they drop the handles; others\nhad their feet on steel discs in tubs of water, while others underwent\nelectrical treatment in different ways. The doctor moved from bed\nto bed, inquiring with simulated solicitude as to the state of each\npatient, offering a word of encouragement to some poor fellow who\nwrithed under the current that passed through hands and feet.\n\n\u201cDat\u2019s right, my lad,\u201d the doctor would say encouragingly, \u201cjust keep\nyour feet on de disc.\u201d Perhaps it did not occur to the good doctor\nthat the man was powerless to take his feet off the disc! To another\nhe would say: \u201cDere, now, my lad, we\u2019ll soon have you in perfec health\nagain\u201d--and I would wonder how the strong, rosy-cheeked lad would look\nwhen in perfect health.\n\nI was not surprised to hear two or three lads inform the doctor that\nthey thought they felt well enough to go back to their battalions\nagain. The doctor would always agree with them. One fellow said, within\nmy hearing: \u201cHe might as well give us the chair at once!\u201d\n\nI remember coming out of the ward that first day, and when I was out of\nview, I stood in the lane and laughed and laughed. The fat doctor had\nbeen so funny, and also the poor fellows, squirming and twisting under\ntreatment that was not at all necessary for them.\n\nI made many subsequent visits to No. --. Whenever I would feel tired\nout from the more serious work of visiting the wounded, I would step\ndown the lane and listen for awhile to Doctor \u201cBoots\u201d passing up and\ndown the aisle giving his electrical treatment.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXIV\n\nTRANSFUSION\n\n\nAlthough the little wooden chapel called Church of Our Lady, Help of\nChristians was nearer No. 7, I always said Mass in the chapel at No.\n1. It was wonderfully edifying there in that little marquee chapel. I\ndon\u2019t know who had had it erected, for it was standing when I went to\nNo. 1, but I do recall the devout congregations of walking wounded in\ntheir hospital suits of light-blue fleeced wool; the hospital orderlies\nwho came so reverently; the white-veiled blue-clad nurses who came in\nlarge numbers. Two Masses were said on Sunday so as to accommodate\nthe different shifts of Sisters, and every Sunday evening there was\nBenediction and a short sermon.\n\nI remember one morning noticing that the hospital orderly who served\nthe Mass trembled while answering the opening responses. He was a tall,\nwell-built young fellow with light hair, and usually his face had the\nglow of excellent health; but when he passed me the cruets, I noticed\nthat his face had almost the pallor of death, and that although it was\na cold morning in early autumn little beads of perspiration stood out\non his white forehead.\n\nAfter Mass I asked him if he were not well. Then he told me quietly\nthat he felt extremely weak, having given a quantity of his blood just\na few days before to save the life of a wounded soldier who was dying\nfrom loss of blood. The wounded man was now recovering. It was not the\nfirst time he had given his blood, and, he said, as he smiled painfully\nand with the appearance of great weakness, he felt that it would not be\nthe last time.\n\nAs he moved about slowly and wearily, extinguishing the candles and\ncovering the altar, I felt a great admiration for this generous lad,\nand I thought truly there are other heroic ways of giving one\u2019s blood\nthan shedding it on the battlefield! It was quite a common occurrence\nin different hospitals to go through the process of transfusion of\nblood. The most necessary condition was that the blood of the donor be\nadaptable to the system of the patient.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXV\n\nTHE MINISTERING ANGELS\n\n\nThe nurses--\u201csisters\u201d we called them--throughout all the base hospitals\nwere most attentive to the wounded, without the slightest display of\nany maudlin sympathy; but they worked hard and long and one never heard\nthe least complaint from their lips. It was a common occurrence at No.\n7 to see a nurse being ordered away for a complete rest, made necessary\nby the terrific strain of her work.\n\nThe Catholic nurses were, on the whole, very faithful in the practice\nof their religious duties, many being weekly communicants. To\ncommunicate daily was not practicable for many, as they were on duty\nduring morning Mass. Often I have seen a nurse come with five or six of\nher patients to Holy Communion: some back-sliders that she had rounded\nup.\n\nOften, while giving Holy Communion to a soldier in the ward of a\nnon-Catholic nurse, I had been annoyed by the lack of any special\npreparations on the part of the sister for the administration of the\nSacrament. But one morning I found a spotlessly white cloth spread over\nthe small locker, a clean graduate glass of fresh water and a spoon.\nThere was also on the locker a folded white towel for the lad to hold\nwhen receiving Holy Communion.\n\nIt pleased me very much to see such care taken to prepare for the\ncoming of Jesus, and it was with deep gratitude that I went to thank\nthe sister in charge, after I had given the lad Holy Communion.\n\n\u201cSister,\u201d I said, \u201chow did you know how to prepare everything so well?\nIt was so clean, and everything necessary was there.\u201d\n\nThe good little sister seemed pleased that I had even noticed the\npreparations. Then she said: \u201cWell, Padre, I knew just what was needed\nfor I studied nursing in a Catholic hospital.\u201d\n\nAs I went out of the ward the thought struck me how fine it would be\nif only all the non-Catholic sisters would prepare for the Saviour\u2019s\ncoming as had their sister nurse, and as I thought I formed a little\nplan.\n\nThe following day I was notified by a non-Catholic sister to bring\nCommunion to a boy in her ward; and there and then I tried out my plan.\n\u201cSister,\u201d I said, \u201cyesterday morning I was called to Sister ----\u2019s ward\nto administer one of my lads who is dangerously ill, and I was very\nmuch surprised to find the table arranged as if it had been done by an\nR. C. Sister.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow did she have it arranged, Padre?\u201d she asked. Then I told her just\nhow things had been prepared. The following morning when I brought\nthe \u201cBread of the Strong\u201d to the poor wounded lad, I found, as on the\nprevious day, everything spotlessly arranged for the visit of the Guest.\n\nAfter that, whenever a non-Catholic sister told me that a Catholic lad\nhad need of my ministrations in her ward, I told her how well the last\nsister had prepared locker, etc., and invariably the following morning,\nwhen I went in silence to the bedside, I found that all things had been\nmade ready.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXVI\n\nMORE ORDERS\n\n\nDecember came. During the first week of that month I prepared my hut to\nstand the cold of the winter months and began to look forward to a time\nof relative repose after the past five months of strenuous work. The\nfighting was not to be so intense during the winter, therefore there\nwould not be so many casualties. I had been given a fine little coal\nstove, and I was beginning to enjoy coming into the hut at night to\nbe greeted by its cheerful red glow. There were worse places to dwell\nin, I told myself, than a burlap hut with a coal fire burning in it.\nI was looking forward to peaceful winter evenings with books to read,\nor perhaps a few hours writing, when one evening just before dinner a\nknock sounded on the door and an officer stepped into my hut. I had\nnever seen him before. He looked at me somewhat strangely for a second\nor two, then asked if I had not been expecting him, \u201cfor,\u201d he said,\n\u201cI am Captain Hawke, the new R. C. chaplain to No. 7 Canadian General\nHospital. You are to go up the line.\u201d\n\nFor just a second a faint dizziness came over me, and the vision\nof bright coal fires faded from before my mind and I thought, with\nconsiderable falling of spirits, of winter in the trenches.\n\nI shook hands with the new chaplain and then I told him I had not been\nexpecting him, and that so far no orders had come to me to report at\nthe front. Just as I spoke, however, another knock sounded on the\ndoor, and before I had time to open it an orderly entered and passed me\na D. R. L. S. letter: I was to report at the Seventy-fifth Battalion\nthe following day.\n\nSo on the morning of December 11th, 1917, I left No. 7 with real\nregret. I had always found the doctors very friendly and they had shown\nme many kindnesses. I had grown to love my work in the hospital, and\nthe peace and quiet of the little marquee chapel at No. 1 Can. Gen.\nafter the day\u2019s work was done. Now, I must break new ground!\n\nIt was a cold morning when I took my place on the seat of the ambulance\nalongside the driver. The waiters crowded about the door of the\nmess--the doctors had not yet come from their huts--and one of them,\nan old Scotchman wearing a glengarry, who had already seen service up\nthe line, stepped forward and patted me on the back and wished me \u201cguid\nluck.\u201d Then the ambulance leaped into high gear and we were off to the\nstation.\n\nThere were certain formalities to be gone through at the military\nstation at Etaples: certain papers had to be shown to the R. T. O.\nand instructions received from him. It did not take long to give my\ninstructions. I was to take the train on No. 9 track. I was to detrain\nat Calonne-Ricouart; there I would receive further instructions.\n\nThere was a great crowd of troopers on my train who leaned from car\nwindows and sang merrily as the train passed through French villages.\nThen, I remember, as we stopped at one village, I heard in the\ndistance the sound of the guns, and always as we advanced came clearer\nand clearer the deep booming. For the first time I heard sounds of the\nactual conflict of the World War.\n\nAn officer whom I had met on the train accompanied me to the\nstaging camp, which was but a short distance from the station at\nCalonne-Ricouart. I presented my papers at the little office. The\norderly room clerk looked at me quickly. \u201cWhy, sir,\u201d he said, \u201cyou\u2019re\nin luck! The Seventy-fifth Battalion is just a few yards up the road.\nBetter stay here for lunch, then I\u2019ll send a runner with you.\u201d\n\nI may have been lucky in finding the Seventy-fifth but there my\nluck ended for a few days: for when I entered headquarters of the\nSeventy-fifth, which was in an old chateau, I was told that there\nhad been some mistake. They had a chaplain, a Presbyterian, who was\nthen away on leave. The R. C. chaplain of the brigade was quartered\nwith the Eighty-seventh. The adjutant treated me politely, but with a\nlittle suspicion. He asked me for my papers. Then he requested me to\nbe seated. I did so, but with a feeling of vague uneasiness; now and\nthen an orderly clerk looked at me quietly though searchingly and then\ncontinued his writing.\n\nI wondered where the mistake had been, and where I was really to\ngo; but most of all I wondered at the suspicious glances that were\nflashed at me by different ones who came into the room. I waited for\na long time, almost two hours; once or twice I was questioned by the\nadjutant, and after each visit I wondered why he was questioning me so.\nThen the colonel came in, and he had not questioned me very long till I\nbecame aware that I had been suspected as a spy. I was asked to remain\nin the orderly room till more word might be received.\n\nI felt very much like laughing at my predicament, for I knew that it\nwould not be very long before headquarters would learn my history.\n\nIn about an hour I was told that I might take the battalion chaplain\u2019s\nbillet and that I was to stay with the Seventy-fifth till orders would\ncome. There had been some misdirection of orders.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXVII\n\nHELD FOR ORDERS\n\n\nI remained a week with the Seventy-fifth before any further orders\ncame. The battalion was resting after the terrible fighting at\nPaschendale. After dinner in the evenings we would gather before\nthe little open coal fire in our mess: the second in command, who\nwas a lieutenant-colonel, the doctor, the quartermaster, transport\nofficer, and chat pleasantly. They were very friendly, though at times\nexperiences were related; I think, for no other end than--in the\nlanguage of the army--to put my \u201cwind up.\u201d I tried not to let them\nsee how well they were succeeding. I found the medical officer, Dr.\nHutchinson, to be the friendliest of the officers. He was an American,\na young man with grey hair, whose home town was not very far from that\nof Irvin Cobb. The way he came to talk of Cobb was on account of one\nof his stories that he happened to be reading. I learned through the\npapers later on, that Dr. Hutchinson had won the Victoria Cross.\n\nThere was another officer in the mess with which I was quartered, who\nkept us all in a continual state of anxiety. He was a light-hearted,\nmerry, boyish fellow and just a wee bit reckless. It was on account\nof the cane he carried. Of course, all commissioned officers in the\nBritish army are supposed to carry a cane or a hunting crop, but not\nthe kind of cane the young officer in question carried. The cane was\nin reality a miniature breech-loading shot-gun which took a very small\ncartridge of very small shot. He had already wounded one man slightly.\n\nOne day while taking a walk out through the country from\nCalonne-Ricouart I saw for the first time the transport section of a\nbattalion of the French army. It was drawn up on the roadside, all the\nwagons, limbers, etc., were painted a grayish-blue color. The horses\nwere busy with their nose-bags, and the soldiers, in blue uniform, were\nstanding in little groups about limbers taking their dinner, which\nconsisted of cold beef, white bread and red wine. They were all small\nmen, most of them with long black, silky beards. They chatted among\nthemselves, and all along the village street French women and children\nlooked out from windows; I noticed tears in the eyes of some of the\nwomen.\n\nIt was a scene that had been enacted many times in the history of\nFrance. It was very interesting to watch those blue-clad soldiers of\nthe Old World standing in small groups in the little lane. Perhaps, I\nthought, in the many wars of France there have been many such halts in\nthis tiny village.\n\nI was walking along musing so, when for one reason or another I turned\nmy eyes from the transport column and looked down the road. Coming\ntowards me on horse-back was a trooper of the Canadian Light Horse.\nHe was a large, clean-shaven man under his wide-brimmed hat. He sat\nwith perfect ease in the saddle, and looked quietly over the French\ntransport section as he went. There seemed to be some indefinable\natmosphere about the man that made one think of great, illimitable\nspaces, of unrestricted freedom of movement. A few seconds previous\nI had been thinking of the romance of old France, but I had not been\nprepared for this inset. A breath, strong and clear, of my homeland\ncame to me, and I felt proud of my countryman.\n\nI used to say Mass every morning in the little church of the village,\nthe pastor of which was a very delicate looking young French cur\u00e9.\nTwo black-bearded French soldier-priests said Mass before me. Then at\n7:30, when the Masses were finished, the parish priest taught catechism\nto the children of his parish. Later, in many places where we came to\nrest, I saw early in the morning little children assembled in their\nparish churches for catechism.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXVIII\n\nTHE FRONT AT LAST\n\n\nI had been with the Seventy-fifth Battalion about six days when one\nevening the adjutant gave me a letter which contained orders to proceed\nthe following morning to Camblain L\u2019Abbey. It was well on towards\nevening when the large motor lorry, on the seat of which I sat next\nthe driver, pulled into the village of Camblain L\u2019Abbey. The old stone\nchurch stood on a hill, looking down over the town, and at the base of\nthe hill in a long, level field stood row upon row of one-story Nissen\nhuts, in which were the headquarters of different branches of service\nof the Canadian Corps.\n\nThe lorry stopped at the end of a large plank walk, down which I was\ndirected to walk till I should come to the headquarters of chaplain\nservice. This did not take very long, for presently I was standing\nbefore one of the huts, on the door of which appeared the letters C.\nA. C. S. (Canadian Army Chaplain Service). I knocked on the door and\nstepped in.\n\nThree military chaplains were sitting in the office; one who bore the\ninsignia of lieutenant-colonel, was signing some papers for a young\nchaplain who was a captain. The third chaplain, a major, sat in a far\ncorner eating nut-chocolate bars. I looked from one to another. I did\nnot know any of them. I had been expecting to meet Father French, who\nwas the senior Catholic chaplain of the Canadians in France. I made\nmyself known, only to find that all the chaplains were Anglicans, and\nthat Father French was absent on duty and would not be home for two or\nthree days.\n\nThat night I dined with many of the staff officers of the Canadian\nCorps, and slept in the quaint little presbytery of the French cur\u00e9\non the hill. The following evening towards sundown, in company with\nLt. Colonel McGrear, chief chaplain for the Church of England, I went\nto Carency, where I became attached for quarters and rations to the\nSixteenth Canadian Scottish, which was one of the battalions of the\nThird Canadian Infantry Brigade of which I was now R. C. chaplain. My\nother battalions were the Thirteenth, Fourteenth and Fifteenth. All,\nwith the exception of the Fourteenth, were kilted battalions, and each\none had its own band of bag-pipes.\n\nI was somewhat disappointed to find myself attached to the Sixteenth as\nthe Catholic chaplain who had proceeded me had been quartered with the\nFourteenth in which was an average of four hundred Catholics; in the\nSixteenth the average was about eighty. There was some military reason\nfor my appointment, so all I could do was to obey orders.\n\nWe left Camblain L\u2019Abbey and the motor went quickly over the well-kept\nroad. Soon the town, with all the houses still intact, was left far\nbehind, and presently, not far ahead, I saw a large sign-board attached\nto two posts about fifteen feet high. At the top, in large black block\nletters, were the words \u201cGas Alert,\u201d and beneath were words to the\neffect that from now on all troops must wear their gas masks \u201cat the\nalert.\u201d This meant that instead of carrying the mask at the side, with\nthe bag closed, it must be tied about the chest, with the bag open, so\nthat in a moment the mask might be raised to the face.\n\nA little nervousness came over me, for now on all sides were signs\nof great devastation--broken and torn buildings, crumbled walls,\nfields deeply marked with shell-holes; and the road became rough,\nfor it had been mended in many places after being rent by shells.\nLess traffic appeared along our way; everything seemed quiet. On our\nright, in the distance, I noticed what seemed to be a square forest of\nminiature trees, which, as we drew nearer, became regular in shape and\nequidistant from one another. As we came still nearer I noticed low\nmounds, \u201crow on row.\u201d What had seemed to be trees were crosses--a great\nforest of little low crosses--and between the rows and rows of crosses\nwere the long lines of \u201cthe little green tents where the soldiers\nsleep.\u201d We passed two or three other military cemeteries, then the\nruins of a small village or two, where many soldiers looked out from\ncellar windows or low huts built of pieces of broken stone and scraps\nof corrugated iron, with a piece of burlap hanging and weighted at the\nend for a door. Dugouts were built into the hill that sloped up from\nthe roadside. The silence of the whole countryside seemed uncanny. We\ncame up a little hill where, on our right a few hundred feet back from\nthe road, were perhaps a dozen corrugated iron stables, open at the\nsides, but with a partition the whole length of the hut running through\nthe middle. In the foreground was the basement of what had once been\na long, narrow dwelling-house. Here we stopped, for we had come to\nheadquarters of the Sixteenth Battalion, or, to give them their full\nname, the Sixteenth Canadian Scottish. They were a kilted battalion,\nhailing from British Columbia.\n\nThe colonel told me to remain in the motor till he returned from\nthe orderly room, which I did. In a few minutes he came back with\nthe adjutant and two soldiers. The adjutant welcomed me kindly; the\ntwo soldiers picked up my bed-roll and began to carry it towards\nheadquarters. I shook hands with the colonel as he said good-bye.\nThen I accompanied the adjutant to headquarters. I had arrived at the\nWestern Front.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXIX\n\nA STRAFE AND A QUARTET\n\n\nMy room was a partitioned off portion at the end of the cellar in which\nwas headquarters: there was no fire in it and the month was December.\nThrough cracks in the portion of the building that was above ground,\nblew the cold, wintry wind.\n\nThat night at dinner in \u201cthe mess,\u201d which was in the portion of the\ncellar adjoining my billet, I met a number of the officers--though\nthe majority were still in the line--and they were among the finest\nmen I had ever met. The commanding officer, Colonel Peck, one of the\nbest-loved men on the Western Front, was a huge man with a black\ndrooping mustache which gave him a rather fierce appearance, but there\nwas a look of real kindness in his eyes. He possessed the Distinguished\nService Order Medal, and later he won the highest decoration of the\nBritish army, the Victoria Cross. At that time, although we did not\nknow it till later, he had been elected a member of the Canadian\nparliament.\n\nWhen I returned to my billet I found a lighted candle sticking to the\nbottom of an upturned condensed milk tin; some one had been showing me\nan act of kindness. I had no sooner entered than there was a knock on\nthe door. A young soldier opened it and came in. He said he had come\nto open my bed-roll and prepare my bed. I looked at the berth, which\nwas a piece of scantling about seven feet long running the width of\nthe room, to which was attached two thicknesses of burlap about a yard\nwide that were fixed to the wall. I wondered how I was going to sleep,\nfor I was shivering then. Suddenly the young soldier ceased tugging\nat the straps, listened quietly for a second or two, then not looking\nat me, but keeping his eye fixed on the bed-roll, he said slowly and\nsolemnly, as if addressing some imaginary person in the bed-roll: \u201cAll\nis quiet on the Western Front.\u201d\n\nHe neither smiled nor looked at me, but continued his work.\n\nFor months I had read those words in the daily papers of England; but\nnow there was something so comical in the lad\u2019s manner of saying them\nthat I could not help laughing as he went on with his unpacking.\n\nBut it was not for long that \u201call was quiet on the Western Front.\u201d\nSuddenly I heard a far-distant rumble which had the rhythmic roll of\nsnare-drums, yet the sound was much stronger and it was increasing\nquickly in intensity and volume. Soon it was a great thundering roar\nwith a minor rattle. The earth seemed to be trembling.\n\nI looked at the soldier. \u201cA bombardment?\u201d I questioned.\n\n\u201cNo, sir,\u201d he said quietly, \u201cthat\u2019s just a strafe over on the LaBass\u00e9e\nfront. Those are our guns. Fritzy\u2019ll open up after they stop. You\nshould go outside and see it, sir.\u201d\n\nI stepped out, almost falling into a trench that was just outside my\ndoor. Away to the northeast for about a mile flitted short, sharp\nyellow flashes of light. Although the rumbling of the guns was so loud,\nI judged them to be five or six miles distant. Everything was quiet\nabout where I stood. It was a moonlight night and along the white road,\nas far as I could see, was a line of broken trees, with here and there\nthe irregular walls of a ruined village.\n\nPresently there was a lull, then complete silence; in the clear\nmoonlight, the devastated countryside gave one a weird impression. Then\n\u201cold Fritzy opened up,\u201d and although the rumble of his guns was not so\ndistinct, I judged that he was giving us about as much as we had given\nhim. I wondered how much harm would be done, and whether many of our\nlads would be killed. Then slowly the firing ceased and presently again\n\u201call was quiet on the Western Front.\u201d\n\nI was just about to re\u00ebnter my quarters when I received another\nsurprise. From a hut just a few yards away came sounds of singing. I\nlistened: it was a low, sweet song that I had never heard before--a\nquartet, and the harmony seemed perfect. I had never before heard such\nsweet singing. An officer came out of the mess and stood near me,\nlistening in silence. Then he said: \u201cThat\u2019s pretty good, Padre.\u201d I\nagreed with him, but I confessed I had never heard the song before.\n\n\u201cWhy, Padre,\u201d he said, \u201cthe name of that song is \u2018Sweet Genevieve\u2019.\nStrange you never heard it! Wherever men are congregated one will hear\nthat song. It\u2019s an old song, Padre. Strange you never heard it!\u201d\n\nSo I had heard two sounds that I had never before heard: one was the\nsound of a \u201cstrafe\u201d on the Western Front; the other was the singing of\n\u201cSweet Genevieve.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter XL\n\nTHE VALLEY OF THE DEAD\n\n\nWhen I re\u00ebntered my hut I found that the young soldier had opened my\nbed-roll and removed the few little articles that were in it. The\nbed-roll was arranged for the night on the burlap berth.\n\n\u201cYou haven\u2019t enough blankets, sir,\u201d he said. Then he was gone; but\nin about five minutes he was back again with two thick brown army\nblankets. After I had thanked him, he looked around to see if he could\nimprove anything before leaving for the night. Not seeing anything, he\nwas just about to open the door when he turned and said: \u201cIf old Fritz\ncomes over to bomb us tonight, sir, the safest place for you will be\ndown in the trench. It\u2019s a moonlight night and Fritzy likes to be out\nin the moonlight.\u201d\n\nThere was no bombing that night, but it was so extremely cold that\nI could not sleep. I spent the night changing from one position to\nanother in the hope of getting warm, but I remained awake till daylight.\n\nAbout seven o\u2019clock the following morning I heard a fumbling at the\nlatch of my door. I had just finished my prayers. I waited, for I knew\nthe door was not locked; then as the latch was raised the door opened,\nassisted by the foot of the one entering. First there appeared a large\ngranite iron plate of steaming porridge and a smoky hand holding it,\nthen a granite iron mug of something steaming, and another smoky hand\nholding it. Then appeared the kindly soldier of the night before, his\npleasant face a little begrimed, but smiling, the arm of the hand which\nheld the mug hugging to his side a small earthen jar of sugar with a\nspoon in it. I went to his assistance and soon we had the things spread\nout on an upturned ration box which had been the seat. Now it was the\ntable, and the bed was my seat.\n\n\u201cHow did you sleep, sir?\u201d asked the soldier. I told him. Then he said\nhe must try to find something to make a stove. He went on to tell me\nthat he and the cook had built one, but that it was not working well.\nHe held up his hands as evidence, and I looked at his face. \u201cThe\ncook is out there now,\u201d he said, \u201ctrying to cook the breakfast, and\nswearing, for there\u2019s more smoke coming out around the stove than there\nis going up the chimney.\u201d\n\nI poured from the earthen mug a little of the hot diluted condensed\nmilk over the steaming porridge, and the soldier told me to take all\nthe sugar I wanted as there was plenty. He stood beside me for a while\nwaiting to see if I would make any comment on the porridge. I had never\nbeen in the habit of eating any cereal at breakfast, but this morning I\nwas very cold and also very hungry. I tasted the porridge; it was hot,\npiping hot. It tasted slightly of smoke, but that didn\u2019t matter. \u201cIt\u2019s\nfine,\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cNot smoky?\u201d he asked.\n\nI assured him that if it was a little bit smoky it made no difference.\nHe went out again; but I had not quite finished the porridge before I\nheard another fumbling at the latch, and in a moment he appeared again\nwith another granite iron plate on which were two rashers of bacon and\na large slice of toast; in the other hand was a large mug of hot tea.\n\n\u201cIs this dinner?\u201d I asked.\n\nThe lad smilingly told me to eat all I could, that when a man loses\nsleep the best way to make up for it is by a good meal. He picked up\nthe empty porridge plate and the empty mug, leaving the sugar-bowl, and\nwent out again; but in about three minutes he was back with a jar of\ncompound jam, strawberry and gooseberry.\n\n\u201cHas the cook stopped swearing yet?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied the lad, \u201cI told him you said the porridge was good. He\nknew it wasn\u2019t, and when he saw your empty plate he smiled. He\u2019ll be\nall right now for awhile.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is the name of this place?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cCarency,\u201d he replied, \u201cin the Souchez Valley. Just across the road,\non the other side of the valley, is where the sixty thousand French\nsoldiers and civilians were gassed. Their own turpinide gas that they\nhad sent over against the Germans came back on them. The wind had\nchanged. There are some of the victims in the wood that have never been\nburied. The valley is called Valley of the Dead.\u201d\n\nHe went on to tell me of the great battles that had already been fought\nin the area where we now were. I learned that we were almost at the\nbase of Vimy Ridge.\n\n\u201cWhat is the difference between a \u2018strafe\u2019 and a \u2018bombardment?\u2019\u201d I\nasked him.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he said, \u201ca bombardment is usually all thought out beforehand\nand a lot of preparations are made for it and it usually lasts a long\ntime. A \u2018strafe\u2019 is just a firing that might start up any time, and\nit generally lasts only a few minutes. Sometimes a green hand in the\nline brings off a \u2018strafe\u2019 that might last half an hour with the loss\nof many lives and the cost of thousands of dollars. The first night in\nthe line every minute or two some fellow thinks he sees some one coming\nacross \u2018No Man\u2019s Land\u2019 and sometimes he \u2018gets the wind up\u2019 pretty bad\nand fires. Then old Fritz thinks some one is coming towards him and he\nfires back; then two or three of our fellows answer, and immediately\nold Fritz comes back stronger. Then the whole line opens up and the\nmachine-guns begin to rat-tat-tat, and an S. O. S. flare goes up for\nthe artillery, and presently the earth is rocking under a \u2018strafe\u2019 and\neverybody except one wonders who started it all.\u201d\n\nAs the lad then began to gather up the empty dishes, I made apologies\nfor having eaten so much; always my breakfast had been just a little\nbread and jam. His only comment was, \u201cSorry, sir, I didn\u2019t have a\ncouple of eggs for you.\u201d\n\nLong after he went out I kept thinking of the horrors of war; what\ncatastrophes might transpire through the changing of the wind or\nthrough \u201cgetting the wind up.\u201d\n\nAfter I had returned home from the war I was giving a series of\nlectures in a little town. In one of them I happened to mention the\nterrible tragedy of the turpinide gas. Many among my audience found\nit hard to believe that there had been so many victims. The following\nday the priest with whom I was staying asked me many questions about\nthe Valley of the Dead. A day or two later, as we were sitting in his\noffice, one of his parishioners came in on some business. I was about\nto leave the room when the priest motioned me to stay.\n\nWhen the man had finished his business, he looked at me and said: \u201cSo\nyou have been to the war, Father?\u201d\n\nI said I had been there.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d continued the man, who had come a long distance, \u201cI met a lad\nwho was through it all, and he told me he found the gas worse than\nanything. He said he was in a place, one time, where thousands and\nthousands had been froze stiff by a strange kind of gas. He said that\nthere was a church there, filled with people sitting in the pews, and\nthe windows were all up, and this gas came right in through the windows\nand froze all the people in the pews. They\u2019re all there yet, and if you\npay a quarter you can see them.\u201d\n\nThe man was most serious. I did not dare look at the priest till he had\ngone. For a moment the priest shook with laughter, then he said to me:\n\u201cFather, send for that returned man and make him your assistant. He can\ntell the story much better than you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d I said, \u201cconsidering that it was France, they might have made\nthe admission fee one franc instead of a quarter.\u201d\n\nHowever, my story had not been exaggerated.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XLI\n\nNEW FRIENDS\n\n\nShortly after the young soldier left there was another knock on my\ndoor, and as I stood up to go to open it I heard outside the voice of\na man speaking as if to a child. When I opened the door, there stood\na kilted officer over six feet in height, with the pleasant face of a\nboy. He was accompanied by a billy-goat, the mascot of the battalion.\nThe officer greeted me warmly and then looked at the goat, saying:\n\u201cShake hands, Billy, shake hands with the new Padre.\u201d So Billy and I\nshook hands, or rather, I shook Billy\u2019s raised hoof.\n\nIn the afternoon I took a walk along the Valley of the Dead. Away\nin the distance I noticed a large balloon far up in the air and,\nseemingly, two men standing in the large basket attached to it. It was\nthe first time I had ever seen a balloon and I was a little surprised\nto find that it was not round, but shaped like a sausage. It was a\ngreyish-khaki color.\n\nThe sun was just setting far away behind the broken trees when I walked\nback from Neuville St. Vaast; the sky was pink with here and there a\npencil of red clouds. Along the skyline flew three homing airplanes.\nAs I turned to see if any more planes were coming, I noticed the large\nballoon being hauled slowly down towards the earth.\n\nWhen I entered my little billet, I found the young soldier at work\nputting up a stove that he had found and patched with a piece of tin.\nI asked him what the great balloon was doing up in the air. He told me\nthat it was an observation balloon, and that the two men in the aerial\ncar were observing with field-glasses what was going on behind Fritz\u2019s\nline. The airplanes that I had seen wending their way against the\nwinter skyline were scout planes that had been patrolling the sky for\nhours. \u201cNow,\u201d he said, \u201cthey are going home to roost.\u201d\n\nBefore the stove was finished the Third Brigade interpreter--the men\nalways called the interpreter \u201cthe interrupter\u201d--came to visit me. He\nwas the first Catholic I had met since coming to the Sixteenth. He\nseemed very friendly and kind. The badge of his office was a sphinx.\nIt was Napoleon who designed this badge for interpreters--I suppose to\nremind them that although they would learn much that was occurring,\nit was part of their office not to divulge it. The interpreter\u2019s work\nwas made very hard at times by the good peasants of France. Sometimes,\nwhile marching through a rich farmland, a soldier lad would \u201cannex\u201d a\nhen, or a head of cabbage, or some grapes, or apples, etc.; then the\nirate owner would seek the interpreter and oblige him to conduct him or\nher before the proper military authorities, where compensation would be\ndemanded from the government.\n\nThe cook also came in to see me; he, too, was a Catholic and seemed\nto be a lad full of energy. I was surprised to learn that in private\nlife he was a tailor. Before he left, he made arrangements for going to\nconfession. Then, by some strange association of ideas, I asked him if\nhis stove still smoked. It was going much better now, he said.\n\nThat evening after dinner as I sat wiping my eyes with my handkerchief,\nwhen it was not being applied to my nose--for besides giving real\nwarmth, the new stove emitted a quantity of smoke--an officer knocked\nand came in, followed by two soldiers carrying his bed-roll. I had\nbeen expecting him, for in the mess just before dinner I had heard the\nofficers planning the allotment of sleeping space for the night. A\nnumber had been sleeping in their bed-rolls on the floor of the mess;\nand now two or three other officers were coming back from leave. I\nhad heard an officer say: \u201cWe\u2019ll put \u2018Wild Bill\u2019 with the Padre.\u201d The\nothers had agreed to this.\n\nI had been wondering who \u201cWild Bill\u201d was. I did not think the officers\nwere playing a practical joke on me, for I had always found officers\nmost respectful to the priesthood. But now \u201cWild Bill\u201d had entered, and\nas I looked through the slight smoke-screen, my eyes rested on one of\nthe gentlest-mannered men I have ever met. Without being in the least\neffeminate, he came quietly over and shook hands. I understood now why\nthey called him \u201cWild Bill\u201d for I recalled that at college one of the\nslowest moving lads I had ever met, had been rechristened \u201cLightning.\u201d\nI felt grateful to the other officers who had billeted \u201cWild Bill\u201d with\nme.\n\nHe slept in his bed-roll on the floor, after he had spread a rubber\nground sheet over it. Gradually the room became sufficiently warm to\nsleep in. The soldier had found some coal. And as the smoke died away\nI fell asleep and did not awake until morning.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XLII\n\nA LITTLE BURLAP ROOM\n\n\nThe following day was Saturday and I began to think of my duties for\nthe morrow. I had learned that the Thirteenth, Fifteenth and Sixteenth\nbattalions would remain in the trenches till Monday. I called at the\norderly room of the Fourteenth only to learn that they would be moving\nSunday. When I returned to my billet I found a letter from Father\nMacDonnell, telling me to call to see him at the Transport Section of\nthe Seventy-second Battalion. I did, and found a little man, dressed in\nScotch military costume--tartan riding breeches, round-cornered khaki\ntunic and glengarry cap. The Seventy-second was a Scotch battalion from\nCanada, but its chaplain was a Canadian from Scotland. He had been a\nmember of the Benedictine Monastery, at Fort Augustus, Scotland. He\nwas then busy composing a little work on the Holy Name, for he was\nanxious to establish the Holy Name Society among not only the Catholic\nsoldiers, but also all other denominations. This was accomplished\nlater with the co-operation of the general commanding officer of the\nCanadian Corps, Sir Arthur Currie. He was not a young man: his hair\nwas beginning to turn grey. I took him to be about fifty years old.\nHe wished me to work with him on Sunday. This I did, saying Mass in a\nlarge Y. M. C. A. tent, while he said Mass some distance farther down\nthe valley. I did not have many at Mass, but a good number came to\nCommunion. Most of the men were in the trenches.\n\nIn the afternoon, towards three o\u2019clock, I heard the inspiring strains\nof a military march coming up the Valley of Death. I knew the march\nwell. It was \u201cThe Great Little Army,\u201d one of the most popular marches\non the Western Front. I stepped outside and looked down the valley. A\nbattalion of infantry was marching back from the line.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the Fourteenth,\u201d said a young soldier standing nearby.\n\nI watched them carefully. The Fourteenth was one of my battalions. I\nhad heard of it before; it had been the sacrificed battalion in one of\nthe big battles. The men had advanced without support in order to give\nthe enemy the impression that we were stronger than we really were.\nThey had suffered terrible casualties, but their manoeuvre had met\nwith great success. I watched them till they disappeared round a turn\nin the road--Hospital Corner, I think it was called--and still I stood\nlistening to the band. Very likely I would meet these lads on Christmas\nDay--which meant within the week.\n\nI had no sooner returned to my \u201croom\u201d when the young soldier who had\nbeen so thoughtful of my interests came in. \u201cSir,\u201d he said, \u201cthe\ncolonel and all the headquarters\u2019 officers have gone to Chateau de la\nHaie; the battalion is going there tomorrow. I think you should take\nthe colonel\u2019s room before any one else gets it.\u201d\n\nIn ten minutes all my belongings were in the room just vacated by the\ncolonel. It was a warm room completely lined with burlap: ceiling,\nwalls and floor were covered with it. There was a small burlap-covered\ntable and a low bench, about three feet long, also with a covering of\nburlap, but above all else, there was a tiny stove with two doors that\nslid back so that one could see the fire burning in it. Since then I\nhave been in very much worse quarters on the Western Front.\n\nThe following morning I said Mass on the little table, and the cook,\nwho had now only four officers to provide for, came to Holy Communion.\nThe next morning the interpreter, with a young soldier who was being\ncalled home to Halifax to care for his wife and child who had just\npassed through the terrible disaster, knelt reverently in the little\nburlap room to receive their Lord.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XLIII\n\nCHRISTMAS AT THE FRONT\n\n\nWe had planned to have midnight Mass in one of the large moving-picture\nhuts at Chateau de la Haie, for here in reserve were four full\nbattalions: one belonging to Father MacDonnell, one to Father Murray,\na young chaplain whom I met just before Christmas, and two, the\nFourteenth and Sixteenth, belonging to me. My other battalions were\nonly about two miles beyond these, the Thirteenth at Petit Servans and\nthe Fifteenth at Grand Servans. But First Divisional Headquarters,\nwhich was then at Chateau de la Haie, reconsidered the matter. They\nthought the Catholic soldiers coming in at such an early hour might\ndisturb others who would wish to sleep; and, also, that there might\nbe too many lights used, so that some aerial Santa Claus from across\nthe line might wing his way above the camp, dropping a few Christmas\nbombs in passing. We then decided to have two Masses in the large hut\nat Chateau de la Haie and one in the church at Petit Servans. Fathers\nMurray and MacDonnell were to say the Masses at Chateau de la Haie and\nI was to go to Petit Servans.\n\nI found that not only had I to notify the men of my own battalions,\nbut also all the units in my area. As there were about ten other\nunits--labor groups, engineers, divisional trains, etc.--this took\nme quite a while. In fact, it took all Monday afternoon. But the\nfollowing morning, which was Christmas, when I turned around after\nthe gospel to say a few words to the lads, I felt more than repaid\nfor any inconvenience, including my four mile walk from Carency to\nPetit Servans before Mass, for the church was filled. All the seats\nwere occupied and the large space in the rear was packed with standing\nsoldiers--kilted laddies from the Thirteenth and Fifteenth, with their\nofficers; soldiers from the engineers; members of the labor groups;\nstretcher-bearers from the First Field Ambulance. With a full heart I\nthanked the Christ Child for bringing together all my Catholic men. It\nwas the first time in four months that I had been able to assemble such\na large number. At the hospital, naturally, the groups were small. And\nas I looked at the sea of faces, so reverently attentive, many bearing\nmarks of the terrible conflicts through which they had passed, I felt\na twitching at the throat, so that it was a few seconds before I could\nbegin to speak.\n\nIt was a long while that Christmas Day before I finished giving Holy\nCommunion, for nearly all the men in the church came.\n\nOn my way home I learned from Father Murray that the Fourteenth and\nSixteenth had attended Mass in a body in the moving-picture hut at\nChateau de la Haie, and that great numbers had gone to Holy Communion.\n\nMy Christmas dinner was a piece of dry roast beef, almost burnt, some\npotatoes, bread and margarine, with a little apricot jam and a cup of\ntea; that was all. Yet I think it was the happiest Christmas I ever\nspent, for, as I thought of that first wonderful meeting with those\nCanadian Catholic soldiers on the Western Front, I felt that in their\nmidst those words, written so long ago, \u201cThere was no room in the inn,\u201d\ncould not be said that Christmas Day.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XLIV\n\nBACK TO REST\n\n\nEvery morning for a week or two I was in the little church where I had\nsaid Mass on Christmas Day, and every evening while I was there men\ncame to confession. Then one morning the young soldier who had been so\nattentive to my wants, and whose name I had learned was George, came\ninto the burlap room in a state of evident excitement and said: \u201cWe\u2019re\ngoing back to rest, sir.\u201d\n\nI did not know exactly what \u201cback to rest\u201d really meant, but I judged\nfrom George\u2019s sparkling eyes that it was something very good. \u201cThat\u2019s\ngood news,\u201d I said. But one had to be a soldier of the line to realize\nwhat good news it really was. One must be actually in the trenches when\nthe word comes to comprehend fully what those words \u201cback to rest\u201d mean.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re going back to rest, chummy,\u201d somebody says, and the word is\nrelayed quickly down the front line trench. And tired-faced lads, many\nof them with faint, dark rings around their eyes, smile broadly as\nthey stand half-crouching in the muddy trench. Onward the glad tidings\ngo, whispered or uttered in low voices: \u201cOut to rest, Bo; the relief\u2019s\ncoming in tonight at half-past ten. Hooray!\u201d But the \u201chooray\u201d does not\nexpress adequately the feelings of the speaker. It must do, however, as\na loud cheer is not permitted in the front line trench.\n\nWhen it is dark, the relief comes in very quietly and takes over\nthe different posts; then, as quietly, the lads go down the support\ntrenches till they slope up to the great wide road that seems so\nspacious and airy after the deep, narrow trench they have been standing\nin for days. On they go, past long rows of broken trees that once were\nmajestic, full-leafed elms, then through masses of ruined buildings and\nbroken stone walls, with here and there a small corrugated iron hut or\nshack, built just lately. At times, not very far away, a long yellow\nflash, followed by a thundering report, tells them that our heavies are\nat work.\n\nSomebody begins to whistle, \u201cThere\u2019s a long, long trail a-winding,\u201d or\n\u201cOver There,\u201d then others catch the lilt, and in a few seconds hundreds\nare whistling to the swinging, sweeping thud of marching feet. When\nthey get a little farther on their way, the whistling ceases and a\nsong is struck up, though not too loudly. Above them are the silent\nstars peacefully shining. Away behind them shrapnel bursts savagely and\nsprinkles its death-bearing message. But that is far behind, and now\nthey are going out--out to rest!\n\nPerhaps they march all through the night, carrying their equipment and\ntheir heavy packs on their backs, and as the dawn comes, they notice at\nevery cross-road a great cross, and nailed to the cross the figure of\nthe Crucified--white, blood-streaked, the thorn-crowned head bent in\nthe agony of suffering, the face livid with pain and misery. And many\na lad under his weight looks up. He understands it all much better now\nthan when he first came to the front. Some breathe a little prayer.\nThey are going out to rest--but they will be coming back again!\n\nThey continue their march till the morning sunlight begins to brighten\nall the land and the roar of the guns has become but a faint distant\nrumble, then, perhaps, they sit on the roadside, or along the edge of a\nfield, the grass of which looks so fresh and green after the rolling,\nshell-torn No Man\u2019s Land they have been looking over for days, where\nnever a blade of grass could be seen; only the grey shell-pitted earth,\nwith here and there a line of white chalk which made one think of a\nwhite-capped, angry sea. Birds begin to sing in field and green wood,\nand from many field kitchens and little red fires built on the roadside\ncomes the odor of frying bacon.\n\nSome of the lads take off their packs and go to sleep on the roadside,\ntheir faces grey with the dust from marching feet. Much traffic goes\nby--khaki motor lorries, general service wagons, dispatch riders on\nmotorcycles. Then from the distance come the strains of a military\nmarch played by a brass band that is approaching; it may be \u201cColonel\nBogey\u201d that they play, or \u201cSons of the Brave,\u201d etc. It is the band of\nthe battalion coming to meet the lads and play them back to rest.\n\nWhen every one has eaten his bread and bacon and has finished his\npint of hot tea, they fall in, feeling much refreshed. Then there is\na rumble from the big drum and a rattle from the smaller ones and\nthe inspiring music of a military march breaks on the air. The lads\nstraighten momentarily under their packs, and there is a new swing\nto their tired feet. Perhaps they pass through many fields lined with\ntall elms. Perhaps they pass many French peasants, old and young, going\nto work in the fields, who smile pleasantly. They may go through a\nquiet little village or two till they come to a more flourishing one\nin which is a large chateau. Then the band, which for the last fifteen\nminutes has given place to a few buglers and drums, strikes up the\nbattalion\u2019s own march and the order comes ringing down the line, \u201cMarch\nto attention.\u201d Then the tired lads know that they are coming into rest\nbillets.\n\nThe organization in \u201crest\u201d is done very quickly. One battalion takes\nover from another, and in a very short time enamel signs are hung out\nof billets which tell where are the different officers and orderly\nrooms. If there is a cur\u00e9 in the village, and if it so happens that\nthe Catholic chaplain of the brigade is quartered with the battalion\nthat has come to rest here, a little sign hangs from the cur\u00e9\u2019s gate,\nbearing the words \u201cR. C. Chaplain,\u201d for the soldiers\u2019 priest is nearly\nalways billeted with the parish priest of the village; and on the\nchurch door a paper is tacked giving the hours of Mass, confession, etc.\n\nSometimes there is no cur\u00e9 in the village; perhaps he has been called\nto join the soldiers of France; perhaps at one time the village has\nbeen heavily shelled and he has followed his people. In this case,\noften it is necessary to renovate the little shell-torn church, but\nthis is quickly done. And in the morning, after Mass has been said, a\ntiny lamp burns in the church which tells the soldiers that the Master\nhas come and is calling them.\n\nAt twelve o\u2019clock the soldiers\u2019 work for the day, when they are out\nin rest, usually finishes, and they receive any papers and magazines\nthat may have come to them from friends across the sea. These are very\nwelcome arrivals, and so are the boxes of good things that sometimes\ncome from home. Then, as the lads sit under trees, or in front of\ntents, or in low hay lofts to eat their dinner, papers are opened and\nthose who have received boxes or parcels from home pass around candies,\ncake, etc., to those who have not, and so a very pleasant hour passes.\n\nThe afternoon is usually given over to games and athletic sports. If\ndifferent troops happen to be quartered together in the same village\nthe competition between the two becomes very interesting. Perhaps a\nbaseball game is arranged between American and Canadian lads, while\nEnglish lads look on, it must be admitted, with irritation. They cannot\nunderstand why one side should shout such things at the other; why they\nshould try to rattle the pitcher. To them it seems quite abusive, and\njudging from their talk, they are disgusted. \u201cCall that a gaime,\u201d one\nwill say, \u201cwhen one side keeps on \u2019ollerin\u2019 at the blighter bowlin\u2019\nthat ball, so\u2019s \u2019e caunt throw well?\u201d \u201cCall that sport?\u201d \u201cCall that\nfair ply?\u201d \u201cI carn\u2019t see where the fair ply comes hin when they tike\nsuch bloomin\u2019 hunderanded wys o\u2019 tryin\u2019 to win.\u201d His mate agrees with\nhim, and presently they move off to some other scene of amusement.\nMeanwhile, little French boys who have come to watch the baseball game\ngo racing about the field, imitating some of the plays in the game\nwhich is so strange to them, and as they go sliding to some imaginary\nhome-plate, one can hear such expressions as \u201cSafe!\u201d and \u201cHat a-boy.\u201d\n\nIt was early in the morning when we left Chateau de la Haie, for we\nwere not under observation and it was not necessary to move by night.\nWe assembled on one of the squares near a long, tree-fringed avenue\nwhich was one of the approaches to the chateau. For some time before\nwe fell in I heard from all quarters strange, unearthly noises, and\nin every direction I turned I saw, at quite a distance from each\nother, kilted figures walking up and down bearing their wide-branched\nbag-pipes, each one emitting the weirdest wails imaginable; they\nwere the pipers of the Sixteenth pipe band tuning up. However, when\nwe started off the sound was quite different, for the pipes and\nkettle-drums make merry marching music. I know of no other music that\ncan make tired men march so briskly and with such a swing as that of\nthe pipes. I had never before marched with any unit which seemed to\ndraw such universal attention as did the Sixteenth Canadian Scottish\nBattalion, and I think it was owing chiefly to the strange music of\nthe pipes and the uncommon uniform of the kilted laddies. For as we\nentered village after village, doors and windows began to open, and old\nand young and middle-aged French peasants quickly filled them, smiling\ntheir admiration as the pipers played and the soldiers marched. Little\n\u201cgamins,\u201d not content with regarding us, followed along at a trot,\nsinging and cheering; the more enterprising among them, picking up a\nblock of wood and an old ration sack and, tucking them under their left\narm while they spread out three or four pieces of sapling or old laths,\ngave an imitation of our brave pipers who played so valiantly. I began\nto think, after all, there might be some truth in the story of the Pied\nPiper of Hamlin.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XLV\n\nBRUAY\n\n\nOur destination was Bruay, a mining town of about twelve thousand\nsouls in the department of Calais, or, as the French write it, \u201cPas de\nCalais.\u201d We marched into the town at about two o\u2019clock and fell out at\nthe square.\n\nMy billet was in a miner\u2019s house. It was a very nice room with a stove\nin it, and as there was a coal mine just across the road, I did not\nwant for fuel. The transport mess, which was composed of the transport\nofficer, quartermaster, paymaster and chaplain, was billeted in a large\nhouse not very far away. We had a dining-room all to ourselves, but our\ncook operated on the same stove as did old Madame, who was the head of\nthe house.\n\nWe were obliged to pass through the kitchen on our way to the\ndining-room, and I found it a very pleasant passageway, especially in\nthe evening, for then it was crowded with happy faces. Old Madame and\nour cook both moved about the glowing stove where numerous pots and\nsaucepans, boilers and frying pans, hissed and bubbled and sizzled,\nchatting away as they worked; for our cook was a French Canadian. Four\nor five soldiers sat about in the dim lamplight and numerous children\nplayed up and down. Two young French boys, one about sixteen, the other\nfourteen, snow-white from head to foot, were often there; for old\nMadame had quite a large bakery on the premises, and these two lads,\ntogether with an old man whom we seldom saw, did the baking. Now and\nagain we saw two women, the mothers of the children, who attended the\nbake-shop, which was in the front of the house.\n\nI asked George one day how the cook liked his stove. I learned that he\nliked it very much, but that he had his own little troubles, sometimes.\nWhen he would have some deep red coals just ready for making toast, old\nMadame would inadvertently throw a shovelful of fuel on the fire; or,\nsometimes, when the water in the kettle had just come to the boiling\npoint and the cook was just about to make some tea, Madame would judge\nthat the kettle needed replenishing and would immediately pour in about\na pint of cold water; or, sometimes, a saucepan or some dish that\nneeded quick cooking was moved by Madame from the front to the rear of\nthe stove. \u201cHe finds it a little exasperating at times,\u201d said George,\n\u201cbut he\u2019s delighted with the billet.\u201d\n\nWe passed a very pleasant time in rest billets. Every morning we were\nawakened by the pipe band playing up and down the streets of Bruay.\nThe tune they played was that of an old Scotch song, \u201cHi Jonny Coup\nare ye sleepin\u2019 yet.\u201d I said Mass in the ancient church of the town,\nand while I did so the old cur\u00e9 taught catechism to a large number of\nchildren. While I made my thanksgiving a soldier-priest from one of the\nambulances said his Mass. He wore a mustache, but no beard, as did many\nof the French soldier-priests. It seemed strange to see a priest, robed\nin the vestments of Mass, wearing a black mustache.\n\nThere was an Irish chaplain at No. 22 hospital, and I arranged with him\nto say Mass for the Thirteenth and Sixteenth at Bruay the following\nSunday, while I went to Houdain to say Mass for the Fourteenth and\nFifteenth and some details which were quartered there. The church at\nHoudain was a beautiful old stone structure built on the crest of a\nvery high hill that overlooked the town. A long road zigzagged up the\nhill, breaking the steep ascent. The first time I went to the church\nthe old cur\u00e9, a large red-cheeked man, pointed out the different\nvillages far over the countryside. In one, the village of Arnette, he\ntold me St. Benedict Joseph Labre had been born, and in another--I\nthink it was Cauchy--General Petain, of the French army. I was\ninterested to learn that I was so near the birthplace of St. Benedict\nJoseph Labre, since my parents had given to me the same names, Benedict\nJoseph.\n\nI had a large crowd at Mass, and for the first time I had the pleasure\nof seeing the Fourteenth Battalion on church parade. They were a fine\ncrowd of lads; many came to confession that day. Every evening from\nfive till six I was on duty either at Bruay or Houdain, so that any one\nwho wished to come to confession might have the opportunity.\n\nI remember one evening at Bruay, while awaiting the arrival of a\nsoldier whom I was going to baptize and make a child of God, seeing a\nlittle girl with a shawl thrown over her head praying before a statue;\nnear her, on the floor, was a bag made of some netted material with\nquite a large mesh. In the bag were two large rolls of French bread,\nand of course through the mesh the bread touched the floor; but the\nchild paid no attention to this. She was rapt in prayer. I could not\nhelp looking at her from time to time, she reminded me so much of the\npictures of little Bernadette that were so common in France--except for\nthe two rolls of bread lying nearby in the dust. The little one prayed\nfor nearly an hour, and I don\u2019t think she turned her head once--not\neven to look at the bread!\n\n\n\n\nChapter XLVI\n\nFOSSE-DIX\n\n\nWe were in rest nearly two weeks when orders came to go back again to\nthe line. We left one morning immediately after breakfast and were\nreviewed on the march by General Sir Arthur Currie, commander of\nthe Canadians. Along the way we were greeted by the same outspoken\nadmiration as on our passing out. On a veranda in front of a little\nestaminet an old Frenchman, wearing the glazed, peaked yachting cap\nwhich was the most common head-gear among men in this part of France,\ntried to dance the \u201cHighland Fling,\u201d to the great amusement of half the\npeople in the little street and the voiced encouragement of the passing\nsoldiers.\n\nFosse-dix was a very small village; it cannot be found on the map,\nbut Sains-en-Gohelle can be seen, of which Fosse-dix was a suburb.\nWe were to wait here a few days in reserve before going into the\ntrenches; the Fifteenth and Sixteenth were here and the Thirteenth and\nFourteenth at Bully-Grenay. I was billeted with the cur\u00e9 at Fosse-dix\nand I found him a very pleasant little man and one of the most zealous\npriests I have ever met. From three neighboring parishes the pastors\nhad been called to the colors; so this little priest, who was none too\nrobust--otherwise, he, too, would have been called--tried to attend the\nshepherdless flocks, and succeeded remarkably well.\n\nIt was a mining district we were in: all over the countryside could be\nseen the high smoke-stacks of the blast furnaces. This was the part of\nFrance said to contain the most natural wealth, and the Canadians were\nproud that they had been chosen to defend it.\n\nOn Sunday I was to say two Masses: one at Fosse-dix at nine o\u2019clock,\nthe other at Bully-Grenay at ten-thirty. So on Saturday I went\naround to arrange for these, taking nearly the whole day to visit the\ndifferent units in the area. Bully-Grenay, unlike Fosse-dix, had been\nalmost totally demolished by shell-fire. The church had been damaged\nin places, though not too seriously; but when I came in sight of the\ncur\u00e9\u2019s house my heart turned sick. Nearly the whole of the second\nstory had been blown off, but the brave old priest still lived in the\nlower story. I picked my way through little piles of broken stone and\nplaster, with a few pieces of splintered wood amongst the debris. I\nknocked at the door and the old pastor himself opened it. He was a\nstout, white-haired, kind-faced man who smiled brightly as he shook\nmy hand. \u201cAh,\u201d he said, \u201cI have not seen you before! You are a new\narrival. Is it not so?\u201d\n\nI assured him that I had just lately come to the Third Brigade, but\nthat I had been on active service in France since early in the past\nsummer. \u201cAh,\u201d he said again, and he stood back and looked me over\nfrom head to muddy boots. Then he called his old housekeeper, and\nwhen she had come he said: \u201cHe has but just lately come,\u201d and the old\nhousekeeper looked at me quietly and smiled in a motherly way, then she\nwent to prepare a bowl of hot coffee for the \u201cnewly arrived.\u201d\n\nAs the old cur\u00e9 and I sipped the black coffee, I asked him about his\nlife; why he stayed there, etc. He told me that many times the little\nvillage had been shelled, and often the Germans had drawn very near\nits outskirts, but always he had stayed. They had struck his house\non different occasions. Many of his people had gone, but there still\nremained about eighty, all told; those, with their families, who were\nin different ways connected with operations of the mine. Some of his\nflock were obliged to stay here, and--well, he must not leave them\nshepherdless. So the old pastor remained.\n\nWhen we had finished our coffee, he rose to his feet. \u201cCome,\u201d he said,\nand I followed him through a tiny passageway into a darkened room, for\nall the panes of glass had been shattered in the window-frame and the\nopening had been boarded across, save a small opening where a piece\nof translucent paper had been pasted. It was a few seconds before my\neyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, but when they did I was\nscarcely prepared for what they viewed. In the middle of the room,\nreaching almost to the ceiling, rose a great pyramid of bags of sand;\nin one side was an opening, and in this, on the floor, was spread a\nmattress and some bedding; this was where the old man slept.\n\nAs I walked up the sunlit street after I had said \u201cau revoir\u201d to the\npriest and his kind housekeeper, I was filled with profound admiration\nfor the old pastor. I think it was the greatest admiration I have ever\nfelt for any man, and I quoted to myself: \u201cThe good Shepherd loveth his\nflock.\u201d\n\nThe following morning, as I stood in the shell-torn church of\nBully-Grenay after I had officiated for the lads of the Fifteenth and\nSixteenth at Fosse-dix, I found the church packed with the lads of\nthe Thirteenth and Fourteenth. There was scarcely room in the church\nfor them all. I said a word about the old pastor and--well, I don\u2019t\nthink it was often that the collection plate was so well filled at\nBully-Grenay as it was that morning.\n\nI returned to the church in the afternoon to hear confessions and\ngive Holy Communion, accompanied by Father MacPherson of the Fifth\nDivisional Artillery. We found the old pastor in the church teaching\ncatechism to the few little ones of his flock. They sat on the\nhigh-backed chairs which are also used as kneeling-benches by the\npeople of France. And whenever one or the other of us would come to\nthe altar-rail bearing the Bread of Life to a group of soldiers, the\nold white-haired Shepherd, with his little flock, would kneel, while\nthrough the roof, which had been pierced in many places by shells,\ntrickled the rain to drop on the floor beneath, carrying with it\npowdered plaster and flakes of calcimine.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XLVII\n\nTHE LITTLE CUR\u00c9 OF FOSSE-DIX\n\n\nEvery evening at 4:30 the cur\u00e9 of Fosse-dix gave Benediction in his\nlittle church for the school children and any of the village people\nwho could attend. After Benediction he usually said the beads, the\nLitany and a few other prayers, and before he finished my boys used\nto arrive for confession. As the confessional was in the rear of the\nchurch, facing the altar, I often saw the children coming down the\naisle. First, an old Sister of Charity, her wide white coronet flapping\non either side like two white wings, backed slowly down the aisle, the\nchildren coming two by two, facing her. Generally as they came they\nsang a beautiful hymn to the Sacred Heart, but I can only recall the\nlast two lines, which they always repeated. Translated, they would\nread: \u201cHeart of Jesus, heart of clemency, save, save France in the name\nof the Sacred Heart!\u201d The children would walk in perfect order till\nthey reached the door where the old fat Sister stood watching them.\nAlthough I could not see them then, I always knew when each couple had\npassed the good Sister; a scampering of feet and sometimes a little\nshouting were the signals.\n\nOne evening while the children were going out in the customary way,\nsinging their beautiful hymn, I noticed five or six soldiers in the\nFrench uniform of grey-blue. They remained quiet while the children\nwere singing the first stanza, but when they came to the lines I have\nquoted above, a great chorus sounded as soldiers joined with the\nchildren in imploring the Sacred Heart to save France.\n\nEvery evening, after coming from our mess, I stepped into the cur\u00e9\u2019s\nroom to have a chat with him. Sometimes I had a box of good things that\nhad come from relatives back in Canada, for our Christmas boxes were\nonly now beginning to arrive. I remember one evening opening a parcel\nwhile the little priest voiced his simple wonder at the strange things\nfrom across the seas. He had never seen chewing gum before, so I gave\nhim a few sticks of Spearmint. In a little while I looked at him, but\nhis jaws were motionless and the gum was nowhere to be seen.\n\n\u201cWhere is your gum, Father?\u201d I asked.\n\nHe looked at me keenly, not understanding my question, so I repeated\nit. Again he looked at me, but this time he answered me.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d he said, \u201cI swallowed it!\u201d\n\nThen, because I laughed heartily, I had to explain to him how the\npeople of the New World use gum.\n\nOne day while I was absent, working among the soldiers, a shell came\nwhistling over the village, bursting in the road near his garden\ntearing several holes in the brick wall of his house. When I returned\nhe took me out to see the havoc that had been wrought, pointing out\nwith minute care every place where a splinter of shell had struck. He\nseemed to be taking the whole thing so solemnly that I could not but\nbecome solemn, too; so I said to him, as I pointed to quite a large\nhole that had been torn through the frame of a ladder resting against\nthe house, supposing he had been walking there, and that the shell had\nburst in the road about that time, and his head had been bent a little\nas the piece of shell went through the ladder--I looked at him, shaking\nmy head ominously at the thought of what might have happened.\n\nHe looked at me quickly. \u201cOh, if!--if!--if!\u201d he said. \u201cOne could take\nParis and put it in a bottle--if--it would go in!\u201d\n\nHe had a pass from a British general which permitted him to stop any\nmilitary lorry going in his direction and take passage on it. It was\nalways a mystery to the military chaplains how he had obtained it.\nDuring the day he was off searching for chaplains whose men were in\nthe line and who could attend one or more of his shepherdless flocks\nthe following Sunday. At different times throughout the early spring\ncampaign I was able to help him with his work, and I always felt glad\nof the opportunity; for he was truly a man of God.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XLVIII\n\nINTO THE LINE\n\n\nThe following Sunday at Fosse-dix I gave the men a general absolution\nand then Holy Communion, for they were going in the line immediately;\nafter the service was over I asked them to leave me the addresses of\ntheir next of kin. Both Sundays, while at Fosse-dix, a young lieutenant\nserved my Mass. The address that he gave me was that of a Mrs.\nMaxwell-Scott, London, England. I asked him if this was his mother\u2019s\naddress and he said it was. Then I said, by way of a passing remark,\n\u201cI suppose you are a relative of Sir Walter Scott.\u201d To my surprise, he\nsaid he was. In the course of the week some little pamphlets arrived\nfor the soldiers, and as I was examining them I noticed that the name\nof the author of several was Mrs. Maxwell-Scott. The next time I met\nthe young officer I asked if the author of the Catholic pamphlets was a\nrelation of his. He smiled. \u201cMy mother,\u201d he said.\n\nAs not half my soldiers were in the trenches the first week, I did\nnot spend all my time in the line. There were confessions, and\nMasses to say for those who were out. But I recall quite vividly the\nmorning before I went in the line for the first time. I felt a great\nuneasiness, so that I could not stay very long in the same place. I\nremember particularly the last hour before the time to go arrived. I\ntook a clean sheet of paper, sat down at a table and made my last will\nand testament. This I folded and placed in my pocket Bible. Then I sat\nquietly for a while in the little room till George came to tell me\nthat a groom was at the door with my horse, and that I was to meet the\nofficer with whom I was to go at the mess.\n\nWe rode over through Bully-Grenay, then up through Grenay, where we\nleft our horses with the groom; from there on we walked through ruined\nbuildings till we came to a great open waste, zigzagged with long\nwhite trenches. I had always expected to find the trenches brown,\nbut here they were chalk-white. We passed Crucifix Corner, then left\nthe road and walked through a field or two above the trenches. I was\nwondering when my companion would go down into them, for we could now\nsee Fritz\u2019s line. We passed Loos, on our right, which was nothing but a\nfew shattered walls standing, and the slag heap of a ruined mine; then\non our left, a place called Hulluch. I was rather anxious to be down\nin the communication trenches; the countryside appeared very level and\nalways we were drawing nearer the German front line. My companion, a\nveteran of the Boer War, did not seem to feel the slightest timidity.\nHe had not spoken now for a few minutes and the silence was oppressive.\nAs far as I could see, the whole countryside was criss-crossed with\ntrenches; hardly a living person could be seen, yet in the twinkling of\nan eye the great gridiron before me could be alive with thousands of\nmen now burrowing in the earth like foxes. I began to wish that I, too,\nwere between two walls of friendly earth. Then the captain spoke:\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re under observation now, Padre. Fritz can see us walking along.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, why doesn\u2019t he fire at us?\u201d I asked, but what I really wished to\nsay was: \u201cWell, why don\u2019t we jump down into the trench and walk along\nit?\u201d but I did not say it.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he replied, \u201cwe\u2019re a little too far for good rifle shooting,\nand shells cost too much to be wasted on just two men.\u201d\n\nI drew a long breath, and felt grateful for the high cost of shells!\nThen I heard words that were like music to my ears: \u201cSuppose we step\ndown into the trench, Padre.\u201d\n\nI did.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XLIX\n\nCALLED UP\n\n\nAlthough the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Battalions were in the line,\nthe Thirteenth and Fourteenth were still in reserve and support, and\nevery evening I was on duty at Bully-Grenay or Bracquemont to hear the\nconfessions of these troops.\n\nI remember one evening while on my way from Fosse-dix to Bracquemont,\nwhere the Thirteenth was now quartered, hearing the strains of an\naccordion, and a number of male voices singing some French song.\nI stopped and looked back. Down the little street came a strange\nprocession. First, a young man, badly crippled from some hip trouble,\nlimped rather quickly for one so stricken. High above him, from a pole\nthat he carried, waved a large tricolor of France. Immediately behind\nhim, still wearing his soldier\u2019s uniform, came a French soldier who had\nbeen wounded. It was he who played the accordion. Then behind him, and\nspread out the whole width of the street, was a column of young men\nof about seventeen or eighteen years of age. All were bedecked in gay\ncolors--sashes of crimson or yellow or green, etc., around the waist\nand over the shoulders; streamers of different colored ribbons waving\nfrom their hats or caps. As they advanced, they danced some strange\ncontinental dance which now and again called for the crossing of feet,\nand sometimes the resting of the hand on the shoulder of a neighbor.\n\nWhen they drew opposite me the singing and dancing stopped, and they\nfell into a regular marching step, while the wounded soldier played\n\u201cFather of Victory\u201d march on his accordion. They passed me, marching\nbriskly and cheering irregularly. Doors flew open in the little village\nof Bracquemont as they entered, and mothers and sisters ran to them to\nsee the young lads as they passed.\n\nWhen I came out from the church that evening the lads were just coming\nback from the next town. Again they were singing their song and dancing\ntheir fantastic dance. Just as they neared the church, the Thirteenth\npipe band came behind them playing merrily. Hearing it, the lads\nquickened their step till it was almost in time with the Scotch music.\nOn they went, keeping ahead of the band, which was obliged to slacken\nits pace a little, but it did so accommodatingly.\n\nI stood near an old man watching the procession. Alongside us were\nthree middle-aged women who smiled as it passed; but I saw tears on the\ncheeks of one woman while she smiled.\n\nThe old man told me that this was the procession of the young men who\nhad just received their call to the colors. Tomorrow they would leave.\nOn my way back to Fosse-dix I was wondering why it was that a lame man\ncarried the flag; then suddenly it came to me that on account of his\nlameness he could not go to the war, and that very likely for this\nreason each class, when called, showed him the courtesy of appointing\nhim to lead the procession.\n\n\n\n\nChapter L\n\nBULLY LES MINES\n\n\nThe following week the Thirteenth and Fourteenth moved up to the front\nline from reserve and we went to Mazingarbe, only about four miles\ndistant from Fosse-dix. Here, again, I was billeted with a cur\u00e9; a\ncomparatively young man, who was very distant in manner, though most\nkind in helping me with my work and seeing that I had everything I\nneeded. His church had been hit several times and part of the sacristy\nhad been blown off; the parish was being shelled periodically.\nMazingarbe was the name of the town, but as there were two churches in\nit, within a mile of each other, the parish in which I was billeted was\nnamely Bully-les-Mines.\n\nHere I met for the first time, Father Madden, O. M. I.; chaplain to\nthe Second Brigade, and Father Lockary, chaplain to the First Brigade.\nThey gave me very good advice concerning the performance of my duties,\nfor both had been at the front for many months. Father Madden had\nbeen there longer than Father Lockary, and he wore the little purple\nand white ribbon of the Military Cross. I found my work very easy the\nfollowing Sunday.\n\nOn Monday morning, fully equipped with \u201csteel lid,\u201d trench boots, pack\non my back, I started for the trenches, where I remained till the end\nof the week. We had a little trouble getting up to headquarters, for\nFritz was shelling them when we arrived; but we managed to make it\nbetween shells. Headquarters was in the basement of what was once a\nhospital at St. Pierre.\n\nThe first night in the line I slept in a cellar which had been roofed\nover. On going from headquarters to this cellar I was accompanied by\nan orderly; suddenly I heard a report like a pistol-shot, and then a\nhissing, as of an extra large sky-rocket tearing its way up through the\nair. My companion caught me by the arm and told me not to move. Then\nthe hissing object turned, burst into a brilliant light and began to\ndescend very slowly, lighting up the battle front for almost a mile.\nThen the light went out and we went onward. \u201cA Verey light,\u201d said the\nCorporal. \u201c\u2018Old Fritz\u2019 must be getting \u2018windy\u2019. He\u2019s been shooting off\na lot of Verey lights on this front. Always stand perfectly still,\nPadre, when you see or hear a Verey light.\u201d\n\nI had a companion in the cellar, the medical officer of the Thirteenth,\nCaptain Cochrane, who was a Catholic and an American. All the wounded\nfrom the line were to pass through his hands. We did not have very many\nwounded.\n\nMy first visit to the Front Line trench was made the second day of\nmy visit. I went with the orderly officer for the day, Lieutenant J.\nMcIvor, M. C., who was the only Catholic officer in the Sixteenth. The\nchalk trenches were so similar, and so high, that I could not tell when\nI was in the Front Line. Mr. McIvor had been looking at me for awhile,\nthen he whispered: \u201cWe\u2019re in the Front Line now, Father. Old Fritz is\njust across the way.\u201d It seemed strange: above us shells, going and\ncoming, passed, making sometimes a soft, sweeping sound: at others, a\nshrill, whining noise. Everything was intensely quiet in the trenches.\nWe were so near the German line that the occupants could be heard\ncoughing, although I did not have the unique experience of hearing them\ncough.\n\nI stood up on the fire-step and peeped out over No Man\u2019s Land. Not a\nblade of grass could be seen, nothing but the grey earth, that had been\nchurned and riddled and tossed about by every missile of war. A little\nto my left a long green spar like a flag-staff stood up in \u201cNo Man\u2019s\nLand;\u201d a little beyond this, and behind Fritz\u2019s line, was a partly\ndemolished town.\n\nI saw all this in a second or two, then I felt a hand on my shoulder\nand a whisper came to my ear: \u201cNot too long, Father.\u201d\n\nI stepped down from the fire-step.\n\nAs we went back towards battalion headquarters, I asked the officer the\nname of the town I had seen.\n\n\u201cLens,\u201d he said.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LI\n\nTHE ONE THAT WAS LOST\n\n\nThe winter passed quietly, each battalion of my brigade moving from\nreserve to support, from support into the line, then back to reserve\nagain. And always in those little churches up near the line, whenever\nthere was a chaplain, confessions were heard from five o\u2019clock every\nevening. Here the work was most consoling, for my soldiers, moving\nabout the village in the evening time, used to find their way to the\nchurch and there make a little visit or go to confession and Holy\nCommunion. Often some would stay a long time praying. They had left\nmothers and fathers, wives and children, but the sanctuary lamp,\nburning softly, sent to them the silent signal, as it did at home, that\n\u201cthe Lord was in His holy temple.\u201d\n\nOften as I sat in the confessional in those little churches of France\nI thought of God\u2019s wonderful ways; of the ineffable graces that flowed\nso continuously to the souls of those lads. And many times, when the\nevening\u2019s work was done and the last soul shriven, I have left my\nconfessional and walked up the aisle to the altar-steps, and, kneeling\ndown, have thanked God with a full heart for having made me a priest.\n\nOn one of those evenings, after I had finished hearing confessions in\nthe church at Bully-les-Mines, I noticed an old soldier sitting in one\nof the middle pews. He must have been nearly seventy; his hair was\nquite gray. I waited in my confessional for a short time, thinking\nperhaps he might wish to come, but as he did not, I stepped out from\nthe box and began to walk up and down the aisle; and the old soldier\nstayed on. At last I stopped at his pew and asked him if he wished to\ngo to confession.\n\nHe said \u201cNo,\u201d and then went on to tell me that he had been to prayers\nthe night before, and that he had come back again thinking there\nwould be more prayers. But he repeated that he did not wish to go to\nconfession.\n\nI told him there would be the Way of the Cross the following evening,\nwhich was Friday. The cur\u00e9 was having Lenten devotions twice a week. I\nwas just about to leave the church then, as there was no one else to go\nto confession, when the old soldier spoke again.\n\n\u201cFather,\u201d he said, \u201cwould you like to talk to me?\u201d It seemed rather an\nunusual way to ask the question. Usually men said: \u201cFather, I\u2019d like to\nspeak to you a minute.\u201d However, if this man had anything he wished to\nsay to me, I was there to hear it and also to help him by any advice I\ncould. So I said that I would like to talk to him, if he wished.\n\nI then sat down beside the old man and slowly he began to speak.\n\u201cFather,\u201d he said, \u201cI don\u2019t want to go to confession--I haven\u2019t been to\nconfession for forty years. I\u2019ve led an awful life, Father. All that\ntime I have been trying to do without God. Lately, though, Father, I\nhave begun to think that I can\u2019t do it. Since I\u2019ve come to France I\u2019ve\nseen a lot, and I\u2019ve been thinking a lot. I\u2019ve come to the conclusion\nthat there is some power directing all things. For even to run a peanut\nstand there must be some one behind it to direct things. I believe in\nGod, Father--but I don\u2019t want to go to confession.\u201d\n\nHe stopped speaking for a second or two, and we sat in silence. Up\nbefore the tabernacle the little flame in the sanctuary lamp leaped a\nfew times. Then he spoke again:\n\n\u201cBut, Father, I have led an awful life!\u201d He began then and there\nto tell me the history of his life. I listened quietly, and as he\ncontinued telling me of forty years\u2019 estrangement from God, I prayed\nwith all my strength to the Sacred Heart of Jesus for grace to bring\nthis poor lost sheep back into the fold. Surely the Sacred Heart would\nhear my prayer. \u201cI will give to priests,\u201d He had said, \u201cthe power to\ntouch the most hardened heart.\u201d\n\nFor a long time I sat there and the old man continued to talk. Now and\nagain I would ask a question by way of encouraging him in his recital.\n\nAt last he finished, and his head moved a little from side to side,\nvery slowly, as he said: \u201cFather, I\u2019ve led an awful life!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d I said, \u201cand now if you will come with me into the confessional\nand ask God\u2019s pardon from the bottom of your heart for all those sins,\nI will give you holy absolution.\u201d\n\nIt was late that evening when the old man stepped out from the\nconfessional, but before he did he said to me: \u201cFather, if ever you\nwish to make known all that has gone on this night, either by writing\nor word, you have my permission to do so, for it might help some other\npoor soul.\u201d\n\nAll through his confession I had been praying for grace to know what to\ndo next. I wished to give him holy communion, for one never knew when a\nmissile of death might drop--just about that time a giant enemy shell\nhad crashed into the village so unexpectedly that I saw a red-faced\nofficer of the line turn a sickly white. And yet the old soldier had\nbeen such a long time away from the sacraments. But before he left the\nconfessional I had decided what to do. \u201cNow,\u201d I said, \u201cyou will just\ngo up to the sanctuary rail and pray a little and then I will give you\nHoly Communion.\u201d\n\nA few moments later I tip-toed softly out of the church and left the\nold man happy with Jesus of Nazareth, the Saviour of the world.\n\nFrequently, since I have come home, when I relate some of the wonderful\nways of the Master with these soldier lads people say to me: \u201cAh,\nFather, they came back to the sacraments because they were afraid.\u201d\n\nTo me, who have witnessed these miracles of God\u2019s grace, such words\nalways sound harsh, and I then try to explain to the people what these\nmen really went through. I describe the long vigil in the muddy front\nline trench during the cold, silent hours of the night, when there was\nmuch time to think. Perhaps for the first time in years some men began\nto do a little serious thinking. Under ordinary circumstances, when the\nvoice of conscience speaks, one has a thousand ways of deafening the\nears. In the trenches there was no means of silencing the still, small\nvoice. All things conspired to make one think seriously of death and\nthe fragility of human life. It was these thoughts mostly that brought\nso many men back to God. He spoke to them and they heard.\n\nI remember once having explained this state of things to an old woman\nwho had said to me that the men came through fear. I had done my best\nto convince her that the reason the men came was that they had grown\nserious under hardship. She looked at me calmly and knowingly, and\nsaid: \u201cThat\u2019s it, Father! They were afraid!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter LII\n\nA VAGUE UNREST\n\n\nThe spring was drawing near, and a certain vague feeling of unrest\nwas over the troops. Word was being passed about that old Fritz was\npreparing for something. On our side there were no visible preparations\nfor a spring offensive.\n\nAnd so the lads were restless. Very often, when the wind was favorable,\nlarge enemy toy-balloons floated high over our lines, and as the long\npiece of smouldering hemp attached to each balloon burned up to a\nknotted cord, a package of propaganda articles was released and a great\nflock of fluttering leaflets came slowly down through the air, falling\nat last among the troops in the back areas. Usually these articles\ntold of a big offensive that was to begin and went on to say that as\nthe Germans had no hatred for the Canadians, and as they saw no reason\nfor the Canadians taking part in this war, they advised them not to\ntake part in it any longer. I remember one batch of leaflets gave us\njust seventy-two hours to get out of the war. Although we laughed at\nsuch propaganda, we were undeniably restless. For instance, we were\nespecially watchful till the seventy-two hours had passed. We knew\nFritz was going to strike, but we did not know when or where.\n\nJust about the middle of March we moved out to Hersin, a little town\nabout three miles from Fosse-dix, to rest. I was billeted with the\ncur\u00e9, a most lovable man, to whose house was attached a large garden.\nThere were a few peach trees in the garden and they were already in\nbloom.\n\nWhile at Hersin I was able to help the cur\u00e9 of Fosse-dix by going to\none of his adopted parishes, Bouvigny, about five miles from where\nI was billeted. While taking breakfast with him, he showed me a\nsmall photo of the interior of the church at Bouvigny after a recent\nbombardment. Half the church seemed to be filled with broken beams and\npillars, and looking out from the debris, untouched in any way, was\nan almost life-size statue of the Blessed Virgin. I was struck by the\nserene, calm expression of Our Lady, but this seemingly miraculous\npreservation of statues and crucifixes was a common occurrence on the\nWestern Front.\n\nJust before I left a number of airplanes hummed by overhead, and\ncasually I asked the cur\u00e9 if he had ever been up in an airplane. He\nsurprised me by saying he had, during some great public event at Paris.\nWhen he had reached solid earth again after his flight, a society\nlady, standing nearby, had said: \u201cNow, my Father, you will know the way\nto heaven!\u201d He had replied, he said: \u201cYes, Madame, and whenever you\nwish to know the way to heaven, I will be very pleased to teach you it.\u201d\n\nThat was the last time I ever saw the little cur\u00e9 of Fosse-dix, for\non Thursday, March 21st, something happened and we were ordered back\nsuddenly to Mazingarbe. I remember the date very well for it was the\nFeast of St. Benedict and my birthday.\n\nThe unrest was no longer vague.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LIII\n\nTHE GREAT OFFENSIVE\n\n\n\u201cOld Fritz\u201d had struck at a vital part of the Allied front, planning\nnothing less than a separation of the French and British armies. He\nwas attacking on a sixty-three mile front. He had \u201copened up\u201d with a\nterrific bombardment; it was no ordinary barrage, but one he had been\npreparing for weeks. He had begun the bombardment at five o\u2019clock, a.\nm., and before noon had broken through the British line in many places.\n\nFor four or five days we waited in Mazingarbe; the whole First Canadian\nDivision was now standing to arms ready to go whenever they might be\nneeded. Every morning from four o\u2019clock till nearly seven the Third\nBrigade was \u201cstanding to\u201d on the square, fully equipped for battle; for\nit was always just before dawn that attacks were made. Fritz did not\nattack on our front, but on Wednesday, the 27th, orders came for us to\nmarch.\n\nI left Mazingarbe at about two o\u2019clock for our assembly area, which\nwas Chateau de la Haie. I arrived there about four o\u2019clock to find\nevery battalion of the Third Brigade quartered in the huts about the\nchateau. On learning that we were going to be here till ten o\u2019clock, p.\nm., I immediately went around to all the orderly rooms and announced\nconfessions. There was a tiny house on the grounds that had once been\na private oratory; the stretcher-bearers were quartered here, but on\nhearing that I wished to have the use of it, they very kindly gave\nit over to me for four hours. I heard confessions here for the time\nallotted, then when it was time for the occupiers of the hut to prepare\nfor departing I stepped outside, still wearing my purple stole, and\nstood under a tree, near which were tethered horses. There was a long\nline of soldiers waiting. Each man walked up, told his little story,\nreceived absolution as he stood there under the stars, then passed on\na few paces to say his penance, while the next in line moved up. For a\nlong time I stood there while soldiers, going and coming, passed along\nthe road near which the men were in line.\n\nAt midnight long lines of hooded motor lorries glided over smooth roads\nfrom three different directions towards Acq. On coming to the point\nwhere the roads crossed they came slowly to a stop; then thousands of\nsoldiers who had been sitting or standing along the roads began quickly\nto \u201cembus.\u201d\n\nWe waited for almost an hour, till the last lorry had moved off, then\nI fell in with the transport section. I could have gone in one of the\nlorries, but I wished to go with the transport section as then I might\nbe in a better position to watch the movements of the whole brigade.\n\nWe went south, marching all through the night. It was a beautiful\nmoonlight night. We went up hill and down hill, and always before us\nmoved the long irregular line of the transport. There were vehicles of\nalmost every description--limbers, general service wagons, \u201cmulligan\nbatteries,\u201d the \u201cpill cart,\u201d (which was a two-wheeled affair with a red\ncross painted on either side of the hood), mess cart, water cart, etc.\nWe passed through one silent moonlit village after another, sometimes\nhalting to rest awhile. Now and again an upstairs window opened\ncautiously, and a night-capped head peeped over the window-sill at the\nlong line of the transport resting in the village street. Towards the\ndawn we were passing through a beautiful countryside in which were\nmany old stone chateaux, built far back from the main road, with green\nfields bordered by high trees before them.\n\nFor the past six or seven days we had not been having very much sleep,\nand as daylight began to break I began to feel very weary; once or\ntwice while actually marching I fell asleep, only to be awakened by\nfalling against the man marching before me.\n\nOften during the night, as we reached the crest of some hill, we could\nsee the yellow flashes of shrapnel as it burst in the air, and always\nwe were drawing nearer. But with the dawn we seemed to have drawn\naway from the war area; for now there was neither sign nor sound of\nthe enemy guns. Whenever we stopped to rest, men would crawl into the\nditches or lie down near a hedge-row or an open field and go to sleep.\nOnce in a sunken road I noticed a number of cyclists sleeping; they\nwere leaning against the high banks which sloped upwards and away from\nthe road. There was just enough slope to the banks to see that they\nwere not standing. Their faces were almost black from the road dust. On\ntwo or three bicycles were strapped large wicker baskets, and in each\nbasket hopped about two or three carrier pigeons. These were to be used\nin an emergency.\n\nIn an open field a number of men from the transport sections were\npreparing breakfast, their horses drawn up on the side of the road,\nbusy with their nose-bags, and the odor of frying bacon was wafted on\nthe morning air. We did not breakfast, as we had no rations with us.\nTwo general service wagons with rations for the whole battalion were to\njoin us farther on.\n\nOnce, on leaving a quaint little village grouped about a small, perhaps\ncentury-old stone church, we caught a glimpse of a wide stretch of\ngreen countryside. We had been ascending a hill for quite a distance\nbefore coming to the village. The ground mists had cleared and the sun\nwas out. From different directions, but converging towards the same\npoint, were a number of white roads along which were moving or resting\nthe long, irregular lines of transport sections from many different\nbattalions. Just for an instant everything seemed to be changed. I\nthought I was back in my own peaceful country and that I was looking at\na wonderful assembling of gipsy caravans. Up in the clear air a small\nbird soared singing its blithe, carefree song. It was the first time I\nhad ever heard a lark. The joyous melody seemed but to emphasize the\nfantasy.\n\nThen suddenly my dream vanished and I was back to France, sitting on\nthe roadside on the 28th day of March, 1918, tired, sleepy and hungry,\nwondering at about what time we would meet the oncoming German army!\n\nWhen towards noon we entered a little town called Couturelle, word\nwas passed along the line that we were going to halt here. I had just\nfinished saying to George that I should not care to have to make the\nmarch over again when I noticed the quartermaster of the Thirteenth\nBattalion come galloping up the road, smiling and calling out: \u201cWe\u2019ve\ncome to the wrong place.\u201d He waved his crop to me as he passed, saying:\n\u201cWe have to go back to the Arras area, Padre!\u201d\n\nI looked in wonder at George. We had left the Arras front last night\ntowards midnight. I had just said I should not care to make the march\nover again. Now we were to do so!\n\nWe came to a halt in an open part of the village, and there we had\nlunch; perhaps I should say breakfast. After the meal I went down to\nthe little church to make a visit. When I came back all the men were\nsleeping. I then lay down in the ditch, put my haversack under my head,\nand although it was the 28th of March I was soon sound asleep. In about\ntwo hours we were awakened.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LIV\n\nAGNEZ-LEZ-DUISANS\n\n\nI did not walk back to the Arras front. I went in a lorry. As we drew\nnear our destination I was surprised to see so much traffic--but it\nwas all coming towards us. At every cross-road we were stopped by the\ntraffic police, just as one might be stopped in a large city. It was\nthe first time I had ever witnessed a retreat. Great stores were in\nArras belonging to the military and the British Expeditionary Force\ncanteens. Most of these stores were being removed, and the city of\nArras, as well as the country villages near it, was being evacuated.\n\nUp to this time I had seen the effect of war on combatants only. Now\nI was continually passing scenes that made me turn sick at heart; for\nall along our way came little groups of French peasants--mostly old and\nyoung women, and children, though now and again an old man was passed.\nSometimes a yoke of oxen, hitched to a large farm wagon, were guided\nto the right of the road by a woman or young boy. And sometimes an old\nwoman led a cow or calf, while an old man pushed a large wheel-barrow\nfull of bedding. Once, while we stopped at a cross-road, I tried to\nstudy the faces of those who passed. On no face did I see the marks of\nany great strain or fear. All were attired in their Sunday garments.\nNone of the children cried or seemed hysterical. All had a good color,\nand their large eyes looked solemnly about at the strange scenes\nsurrounding them; but not one of them hopped or jumped or smiled at us.\nThe expression in their faces was one that I noticed in those of the\nolder people. I can only describe it as one of stolidity. Here were\nthese people leaving homes where perhaps whole generations of them\nhad lived, going they knew not where, leaving behind them many things\nof value; but they must sleep on the way and the nights were cold,\ntherefore they had all brought bedding along with them. For the first\ntime since I had enlisted I recalled a short and succinct definition\nof war given by General Sherman. \u201cGeneral Sherman was right,\u201d I said\ngrimly.\n\nPresently we came into a little village, at the entrance of which was a\nlarge Calvary on the roadside, the great white figure drooping from the\ncross in agony. Tomorrow would be His day. Perhaps it was the continual\npassing of these wayside Calvarys that gave patience to the peasantry.\nI was glad when the driver told me that this was our destination.\n\nThe lorry stopped before a large camp of Nissen huts. A gentle mist\nhad been falling for the last hour or two, but now it was developing\ninto quite a drizzle. I walked across the muddy square, then down a\nlittle lane through rows of huts till I found my billet. In one part\nof the hut the rain was leaking through the roof, but I did not mind\nthis. There were no berths, but we had our bed-rolls and all that was\nnecessary was to roll them out on the floor. I had been sleeping on\nfloors now, from time to time, for over a year and I cannot say that\nit ever inconvenienced me very much. Just as I was leaving the hut to\ngo to the church to make a visit--for it was Holy Thursday--two Scotch\nHighlanders accosted me. They wished to know to which battalion I\nbelonged. When I told them, they became very friendly and told me that\nthey had just come from the Front. Fritz had pushed them back a little\nthat morning, but they had been holding him since dinner-time. This was\ngood news, and I hoped that Fritz would continue to be held.\n\nI had been praying before the lighted repository in the village\nchurch for a few minutes when I heard footsteps coming, then I felt a\nhand touch me on the shoulder, then a military chaplain walked by me\ninto the sacristy. I followed him. When he turned, I recognized him\nimmediately. It was Father Christopher Sheehan, an Irish chaplain whom\nI had met at St. Michael\u2019s Club, London, just about a year before. He\nhad come to London to receive the Military Cross from King George of\nEngland.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you know me, Father?\u201d he asked. I smiled and told him his name\nand when and where I had met him; also what I was doing there and when\nI had come. When I had finished his brown eyes lighted up pleasantly,\nas with the enthusiasm of a boy he began to tell me that I was \u201cin\nluck.\u201d For he was billeted at a convent school and had charge of all\nthe livestock on the premises. Then Father Sheehan went on to prove\nthat I was \u201cin luck;\u201d and as he enumerated all the articles he had\nat his disposal, I quite agreed with him. The Sisters had left him\nbottles and bottles of preserved pears, peaches, and strawberries, many\ndifferent kinds of vegetables and a large number of hares, etc. His\neyes sparkled with delight at the thought of being able to share his\ngood things with some one. He looked at his wrist-watch; it was nearly\nsix o\u2019clock. \u201cDinner-time,\u201d he said, \u201cFather, come!\u201d\n\nI followed him up the road, thanking God that I had fallen in with this\nwarm-hearted Irish priest. On the way he told me that the lad with him\nwas an excellent cook. I think the way the good things disappeared that\nevening was sufficient evidence of my appreciation of his culinary art.\nYes, gentle reader, it was Lent--but, then, you know it was war time!\n\nJust as we had finished George came in; but he was scarcely in till he\nfound himself seated at the table that Father Sheehan and I had just\nvacated, and presently the cook and George had set to work. They went\nat it earnestly, carefully, and methodically, giving it all attention.\nThe cook had prepared an enormous quantity of potatoes; an ordinary\nvegetable dish would have been too small to hold them all, so they\nwere piled high in a large white milk basin. Father Sheehan and I had\ndecreased the pile considerably, but now under the skillful treatment\nof George and the cook the remainder disappeared with extraordinary\nrapidity. It was good to watch the lads; they worked with such dispatch\nand so whole-heartedly. It was a wonderful example of the adage, \u201cWhat\nyou have to do, do it well,\u201d and I felt loath to leave when Father\nSheehan asked me to come with him to one of the class-rooms.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LV\n\nTHE REFUGEES\n\n\nFather Sheehan, opening the door of the class-room, stood back for\nme to enter. I did, and then fell back in surprise, for the little\nclass-room was almost filled with French civilians and piles of\nbedding. The seven or eight little children looked wide-eyed at me,\nbut they smiled brightly when they saw Father Sheehan. The older\npeople greeted me simply, as is the way of the French peasant with the\nstranger.\n\nThey were refugees from Dainville and were stopping at the convent over\nnight. Tomorrow, Good Friday, they were to continue their sorrowful\njourney. They were mostly women, though there was one old man among\nthem who did most of the talking. He seemed somewhat apologetic as to\nhis position. \u201cDo you think,\u201d he said to me, \u201cthat if it were not for\nthese women and children I would be here? I, sir, would stay to meet\nthe enemy. In 1870 I was a soldier in the army of France, and I was a\nprisoner of war, but now I must look after these women and children.\u201d\n\nI expressed my sympathy with the old soldier and asked him a few\nquestions about the Franco-Prussian war of 1870. When I had finished,\nhe looked at me keenly. \u201cYou, monsieur, you are an Englishman?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d I answered, \u201cI am a Canadian, chaplain to the Canadian soldiers.\u201d\n\nThe keen look in the old man\u2019s eyes became more intense as they\nsearched my face. \u201cAh!\u201d he said with a slow intake of breath. \u201cAh!\u201d\nhe repeated. Then he stood erect. \u201cThe soldiers of Canada are good\nsoldiers,\u201d he half-shouted.\n\nAs I bowed my appreciation of his praise, he turned and spoke to the\nwomen, but his words were uttered so rapidly that I could not catch\ntheir sense.\n\nPresently he turned to me again, and there was a bright, hopeful look\nin his eyes. \u201cAre the Canadians going to remain here?\u201d he asked. I said\nI thought we were, for we had come to stop the German advance. I did\nnot add \u201cif we are able,\u201d for I wished to give him courage. \u201cAh!\u201d the\nold man said again.\n\nThe next morning as I came down to the convent to breakfast I met a\ngreat number of refugees, only this time instead of leaving their homes\nthey were returning to them. Almost in the lead of the procession,\npushing a wheel-barrow stacked high with bedding came the old man that\nI had talked with the previous evening. He greeted me warmly, as did\nthe women; the little children smiled.\n\n\u201cWe are returning home,\u201d the old man said. \u201cI don\u2019t think the enemy\nwill advance any farther now.\u201d\n\nAs I left him and his companions and turned in towards the gates of the\nconvent, I felt a great gladness coming over me. Yesterday these poor\npeople were going out from their homes; but since then the Canadian\nlads had come and now were lined up between the homes of these French\npeasants and the enemy. These people knew the Canadian soldiers, so\nthey were going back to their homes.\n\nI felt proud of my Canadian lads.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LVI\n\nARRAS\n\n\nThat afternoon, accompanied by Father Sheehan, I went up to Arras to\nvisit my brigade, for most of the soldiers were billeted in the city.\nArras was being heavily shelled by the enemy. Long before we reached\nthe suburbs we could see the sudden spurts of black smoke rising in\nmany places from large buildings; and as we drew nearer we could hear\nthe dull, quick-echoing crash as shell after shell shrieked its way\ninto the great chalk buildings and exploded. Our own field artillery\nwas busy on the outskirts of the town, returning the German fire. A\nfine mist of rain fell.\n\nIt is extremely hard to describe the strange, unfamiliar depression\nthat came over one entering the city; for everything was silent,\nsave when a shell shrieked horribly and then burst, while almost\nsimultaneously came the sound of falling stone and mortar and the\ntinkle of broken glass. Nobody walked in the silent streets; and in the\ngreat empty dilapidated buildings there was no movement, save now and\nthen the flutter of torn window-blind or soiled curtain in some empty\nwindow-frame. In one part of the city blood was mingled with the rain\nwater that ran slowly along the gutter.\n\nWe came to the giant statue of Neptune, which faced us and divided\nour street. We followed the street which ran to our left, passed the\nMonument and presently were at the hospital of St. John, which was in\ncharge of some French nuns--I think they were of the Augustinian Order.\nThey had given over one large wing of their hospital to the Canadians,\nwho were using it as an advance dressing station.\n\nThere was a really beautiful chapel attached to this hospital, and\nthere was an English military chaplain quartered near it, who said\nMass there every morning. I arranged with him to have the use of the\nchapel on Easter Sunday to say Mass for my lads, but when on Saturday\nI went to Brigade Headquarters, which was in Arras, to announce the\nhours of service I was told that there would be no church parades, as\nthe shelling was so continuous that no congregating of the men above\nground would be permitted. The battalions of the Third Brigade were\nscattered in different billets throughout the city. I was very sorry\nI could not have the men for Easter Sunday, but since it would have\nendangered their lives, I recognized the wisdom of the order. Before\nI left the city that evening there was not the slightest doubt in my\nmind but that the brigade officers had acted with great prudence, for I\nwas the only one on the long road leading out of Arras, save occupants\nof an ambulance which came screeching up the road, passing me with\nterrific speed. When its sound had died away I became more than ever\naware of the shells that dropped so perilously near that I could hear\nthe splinters falling on the cobbles just behind me.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LVII\n\nEASTER SUNDAY\n\n\nSince I could not have a parade of my men at Arras I decided to do\nwhat good I could at Agnez-lez-Duisans. We had early Mass for the\ncivil population, and as their cur\u00e9 was serving in the army I acted as\nparish priest that morning. Following my ordination to the priesthood I\nhad been sent, as assistant priest, to a parish where French only was\nspoken. For three years I ministered to these people and when I had\nleft them I felt that I had a fair working knowledge of their language,\nthough when I first went among them, I received quite a shock. During\nmy classical course I had studied the French language for four years;\nmy theological course had been made at the Grand Seminary of Quebec,\nwhere the great majority of the students were French-Canadians. I had\nleft the Seminary thinking that I had an adequate knowledge of the\nFrench language; nevertheless, I took a whole week to prepare and\nmemorize my first French sermon in the little parish. I entered the\npulpit a little fearful, though when I found my words flowing with no\ngreat effort I warmed to the work. I went down to the altar feeling\nthat I had done fairly well; but after Mass, while receiving a Mass\noffering from a gentle old lady who had come into the sacristy leaning\non a cane, I asked her very simply how I had preached. I shall never\nforget the kindly look with which the old lady regarded me, as she\nsaid: \u201cIt was all right, Father, all right! We all knew what you were\ntrying to say.\u201d And I had been preparing for eight years! However, when\nI left these good people I think they used to know what I was saying.\nAnd this Easter morning, in far-away France, as peasant after peasant\ncame to me to confession, I recalled these golden days of my early\nservice for the Master when the first fervor of the young priest was\nstrongly aglow and all the world was at peace.\n\nOn Monday morning I took Holy Communion to an old woman who was an\ninvalid and could not come to the church. Everything was spotlessly\nprepared and all the people knelt reverently when I entered the house\nbearing the Divine Guest. I tried to tip-toe softly in my big heavy\nmilitary boots, but as they were built for marching on long roads I\ndid not succeed very well. It seemed very strange there in the soft,\ncarpeted room; two or three women knelt near the bedside; the feminine\ntouch was everywhere; for the first time since my enlistment I felt the\nlack of cassock and surplice. Somehow, I felt a little awkward. She\nwas an old woman, and her life must have been a very holy one. Simply\nand with great faith she received the Divine Guest and I knew Our Lord\nwould feel at home.\n\nWhen I was leaving one of the women pressed into my hand a five-franc\npiece. It was the first I had ever seen; but when I wished to return\nit, the woman seemed determined that I should keep it. I did--as a\nsouvenir.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LVIII\n\nTHE RONVILLE CAVES\n\n\nOn Wednesday morning while I was taking my breakfast in the mess of the\nSixteenth Battalion, George came in with a cup of tea and some good\nnews. All the battalions of the brigade were quartered in the Ronville\ncaves--over three thousand men underground. This was, indeed, good\nnews, for now I could do some work among the men, which I had been\nlonging to do.\n\nThe Ronville caves were just beyond the railway station, under the\noutskirts of Arras. Nearly all the buildings of the city, including the\nCathedral of Arras, were built of chalk. This chalk had been quarried\nfrom the depths of the earth, as near as possible to the city. When all\nthe chalk necessary had been excavated, lo! there remained the chalk\ncaves of Ronville--a series of caves at the end of short tunnels that\nbranched off from a great main tunnel miles in length.\n\nAfter breakfast I went down to the convent and found Father Sheehan\nseated in his dining-room. Yes, he knew well the situation of the\nRonville caves and would be only too pleased to accompany me to them.\nIn a few minutes we were on our way to Arras. We went through the city,\nturned to our right just before we came to the railway station, passed\nover the iron overhead bridge crossing the railway tracks, turned a\nlittle to our left, and presently we were walking through a quadrangle,\npitted deeply with old and new shell-holes, towards the entrance of the\ncaves.\n\nWe passed through the opening and almost immediately were in complete\ndarkness. We stumbled along for a little, I happening to be in the\nlead, then suddenly a long shaft of light shot silently ahead of me,\nilluminating the long white chalk corridor. Father Sheehan\u2019s small\nflash-light was at work. Then as we came around a curve in our road we\nheard from far down in the corridor a muffled complaint; our light was\nshining in the eyes of some poor oncomer; so immediately we were in\ndarkness again, though far down the corridor, seemingly attached to the\nwall, a light as from a candle glimmered. We advanced slowly, Father\nSheehan flashing his lamp intermittently on the ground just ahead.\n\nI visited all the battalions except the Thirteenth and had arranged\nto have the men come to confession and Holy Communion the following\nday, when we almost collided with two kilted officers in the Thirteenth\nBattalion tartan. One was the chaplain of the battalion, then\nCaptain Graham, M. C., (afterwards Major Graham, M. C., D. S. O.) a\nPresbyterian, a brave soldier and a thorough gentleman; the other was\na young Catholic officer who had but lately returned to his battalion\nafter having been wounded. They had been looking for me. Captain Graham\nintroduced the young officer, who was Captain E. Waud, and then left\nus. Captain Waud began very gently yet firmly to take me to task; \u201cYou\nhave not been giving us an opportunity lately to go to confession,\nFather,\u201d he said.\n\nI jumped interiorly, for this was the first time I had been accused of\nnot giving the men every opportunity of approaching the sacraments, but\nI liked that young officer then and there.\n\n\u201cWell, captain,\u201d I said, \u201cno later than last Wednesday night I stood\nunder a tree in Chateau de la Haie waiting for all the soldiers who\nmight come; the Fourteenth and Sixteenth showed up well, but many of\nthe Thirteenth did not show up.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d he said, \u201cwe were at a concert that evening!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d I returned, \u201cI had announced confessions before supper, and\nif the men missed the opportunity of going by attending a concert\nit was not my fault. However,\u201d I continued, \u201cI have just announced\nconfessions for tomorrow at all the battalion orderly rooms, excepting\nthe Thirteenth. I am on my way there now.\u201d\n\nThe young officer seemed very pleased, and promised to have all the\nCatholic soldiers of his company in New Plymouth cave the following\nmorning at ten o\u2019clock. \u201cGod bless you!\u201d I said to him. \u201cIf all my\nCatholic officers were as eager to come to confession, and bring their\nmen, as you are, my work would be made very much easier.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter LIX\n\nTHE BANQUET HALL\n\n\nThe following morning after breakfast Father Sheehan and I went down\non our bicycles to the parish church. Then each of us, wearing a\nwhite stole over our uniform, went to the little tabernacle and after\ngenuflecting silently, took from it one small military ciborium full\nof consecrated Hosts. Then silently we left the church bearing our\nprecious burden.\n\nWhen we entered Arras, which was now known as the \u201cCity of the Dead,\u201d\nwe found, as usual, empty streets and the contour of many sections of\nthe city fast disappearing under the unceasing bombardment of German\nguns.\n\nWe left our bicycles in care of the guard on the bridge near the\nentrance to the Ronville caves and walked through the quadrangle, which\ncontained many more shell-holes than it did on our previous visit. For\nthis reason our passage was made very quickly. The long main tunnel\nwas much better lighted, however, lighted candles being attached\nat intervals on either wall. We turned to our right and entered a\nsubsidiary tunnel, above the entrance of which was a sign-board bearing\nthe names of three or four different caves, New Plymouth was one to\nwhich the tunnel led.\n\nNew Plymouth was wide and low, and although one of the smaller caves,\ncould very easily accommodate comfortably five or six hundred men. At\none end farthest from the entrance was what proved to be an excellent\naltar table. The chalk had been quarried in such a manner that what\nappeared to be a large chalk altar remained. Father Sheehan and I\nlooked at each other in some surprise; then placed our Sacred Burden on\nthe altar, covered the two ciboriums with a small white cloth we had\nbrought, and lighted two candles which we placed on either side--we\nhad brought our pockets filled with small pieces of candles from\nthe church. We then sat down on our steel helmets, placed on piles\nof chalk, for already we could hear the sound of many voices coming\nalong the corridor. Presently a large crowd of men from the Fifteenth\nand Sixteenth entered the dimly-lighted cave, removed their caps,\ngenuflected before the altar and then knelt in little groups on the\nhard chalk floor, silent in prayer--for the Lord was in His holy temple!\n\nQuickly the men came to confession, and every ten or fifteen minutes\neither Father Sheehan or I stood up, went to the altar while some\nsoldier said the \u201cConfiteor;\u201d then as the little white cloth was passed\nfrom one soldier to another they received with deep reverence their\nLord. As each little semi-circle of men received Holy Communion, they\nmoved back into the more darkened portion of the cave where they knelt\nto make their thanksgiving.\n\nWe had been dispensing \u201cthe mysteries of God\u201d for nearly an hour when a\nlarge number from the Thirteenth came in and knelt down near me. Just\nbefore them knelt their young captain. He had done as he had said; all\nhis Catholic lads were with him. For a long time they knelt there on\nthe hard chalk floor, and as now and again my eyes fell on the earnest\nfaces of the lads as they prayed reverently, my thoughts would go back\nto the early ages of the church when the first Christians adored God in\nthe Catacombs of Rome.\n\nIn a little while I gave the young officer and his lads Holy Communion.\nAt the time there seemed to me to be some earnestness about the young\ncaptain--as if this communion were a great and holy preparation for\nsome event that I knew nothing of. While he knelt back in the gloom,\nsilently returning thanks to God, I could not help associating him\nwith the knights of old. Then when he had finished his thanksgiving,\nstrengthened by the coming of the Lord, he left the cave at the head of\nhis men, ready, like a true knight, for whatever was to come.\n\nAll day we worked in the Banquet Hall; all day long, with the exception\nof one or two short intervals, came the banqueters. At about half-past\ntwelve a soldier came quickly into the cave calling loudly, \u201cR. C.\nchaplain!\u201d I stood up and went in the direction from which the voice\nhad come.\n\n\u201cQuick, sir!\u201d said the soldier. \u201cThe M. O. of the Fourteenth says\none of your men is hit and for you to come quick.\u201d Without delay I\nfollowed my guide down the tunnel till we came to the medical aid post\nof the Fourteenth. There, lying on a table with the doctor of the\nFourteenth Battalion working over him was one of the Catholic lads of\nthe Thirteenth bleeding in many places from a number of wounds. He\nhad stepped out from the cave for a minute and had been caught in the\nenemy fire. \u201cIs it long since you\u2019ve been to confession, lad?\u201d I said.\nHe looked at me through clear eyes, though he was in great pain. \u201cJust\nabout an hour ago, Father,\u201d he said. The doctor whispered in my ear,\n\u201cHe\u2019s going, Padre,\u201d so I put on my stole and prepared the lad for\ndeath. I always carried the Holy Oils in my pocket. Just as I finished\nanointing the dying soldier one of his friends was admitted for a last\nword.\n\n\u201cWhat will I tell your people at home?\u201d asked the friend, who was a\nProtestant.\n\n\u201cTell them--\u201d he labored a little for breath--\u201ctell them,\u201d he repeated,\n\u201cI had the priest!\u201d\n\nShortly afterwards he was taken by ambulance to the Field Ambulance at\nAgnez-lez-Duisans, and the following morning he died.\n\nI returned to New Plymouth cave and there I found Father Sheehan very\nbusy, for the Fourteenth Battalion was now coming. We heard them\nquickly, however, as it was but a few days since they had come to\nconfession at Chateau de la Haie.\n\nThat evening, after the last man had left, Father Sheehan came over to\nme. \u201cFather,\u201d he said, \u201cwasn\u2019t it a great day\u2019s work?\u201d\n\nI could scarcely speak for the great joy I felt. There had been such\nconsolation throughout the whole day! Great things had been done for\nour Divine Lord, who had waited all day long in the dimly-lighted cave,\ngiving His deep, sweet peace to the souls of these lads of \u201cgood will.\u201d\nCenturies before He had come to another cave, when \u201cglad tidings\u201d had\nbeen announced to the shepherds.\n\n\u201cYes, Father,\u201d I said, \u201cit was one of the happiest days of my life.\u201d\n\nThen, simultaneously, we thought of the things of earth. It was time\nto go back to Agnez-lez-Duisans, for, with the exception of one slice\nof bread and margarine between us, we had eaten nothing since early\nmorning. It was now evening.\n\nThe following morning while at breakfast a letter from headquarters\nwas given to me by the waiter. I opened it quickly: It read, \u201cCapt.\nthe Rev. R. M. Crochetiere was killed in action April 2nd, near\nBailleulmont.\u201d This place was just a little to the south of Arras. Not\na year before he had sung the great open-air Mass at Witley Camp when\nthe Catholic soldiers had been consecrated to the Sacred Heart. Just\nyesterday he had gone home to the Sacred Heart to receive the reward of\nhis stewardship. I sat back from the breakfast table and wondered who\nwould be next. Then I went down to the convent.\n\nAlmost every morning I went down to the convent, for there was a lovely\ngarden there where I could walk up and down under the trees and read\nmy Breviary. Often as I passed through the court before the main\nbuilding, on my way to the garden, I paused before a beautiful statue\nof the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The base of the statue was surrounded\nby a wide circle of green lawn, bordering which was a fringe of\nforget-me-nots, planted very likely by the good Sisters as a symbol of\ntheir devotion to the Sacred Heart. Every morning the children whom\nthe Sisters taught before they went away came to the convent and asked\na young woman--a kind of lay-Sister who came daily to do some work\nabout the building--when the Sisters were coming back. \u201cVery soon,\nperhaps--tomorrow, perhaps.\u201d And the little ones would stay through the\nmorning and play till they were tired; then they would sit on the low\nbenches and sing in their sweet childish voices the beautiful hymns\nthat the Sisters had taught them.\n\nThe presence of the sky-blue, yellow-centered forget-me-nots always\nbrought to my mind the love of the Sisters for the Sacred Heart; the\nsound of the children\u2019s voices in the morning always brought to my mind\nthe love of the children for the Sisters.\n\nJust beyond the convent, on the other side of the Scarpe River, which\nhere was only about six feet wide, was a group of Nissen huts that had\nup to a few weeks before been used as a Casualty Clearing Station, but\nat the beginning of the German advance the patients and staff had been\nremoved. Now it was being used by a Field Ambulance for dressing wounds\nor some emergency operation of casualties from the Arras front. Father\nWhiteside, an English chaplain, was on duty here, though usually he\ncalled me when any of my Canadian lads came in. Across the road from\nthe Field Ambulance was a large military cemetery where regiments of\nweary soldiers rested softly, each under the shadow of a little white\ncross.\n\nIt was the following Sunday afternoon that I had my first burials in\nthis cemetery. At two o\u2019clock a procession of soldiers, mostly kilted\nladdies from the Thirteenth, came slowly up the long aisle of the\ncemetery: in the lead, following the pipe band that played the \u201cFlowers\nof the Forest,\u201d walked nine groups of six men, each carrying shoulder\nhigh, one of their late comrades who had answered bravely the last\ncall. One was an officer, the young knight who had passed his vigil in\nNew Plymouth cave. While leading his men out of the Ronville caves he\nhad been mortally wounded, passing away a few hours afterwards. Of the\ndead, only Captain Waud and the young soldier from the Thirteenth whom\nI had anointed in the cave, were Catholics.\n\nAnd often as I passed through the court before the main building of the\nconvent and paused to look at the sweet forget-me-nots fringing the\nlawn around the base of the statue of the Sacred Heart, I recalled the\ntwo who, among others, had remembered their Creator, and I felt now\nthey were not forgotten: \u201cTurn to Me and I will turn to thee,\u201d had said\nthe Lord.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LX\n\nTHE SHEEHANS\n\n\nWe waited at Agnez-lez-Duisans a few days longer, but \u201cold Fritz\u201d did\nnot strike on the Arras front, though all the world knows that he\ncontinued to gain elsewhere. Two or three times during the week, Father\nSheehan went up to Arras with a quantity of provisions to two Poor\nClare Sisters who lived on in the basement of their ruined convent in\norder to pay court to their King.\n\nIn the evening we were kept busy hearing confessions and giving Holy\nCommunion to soldiers in the parish church. One evening when we had\nheard the confessions of all the men present, I stepped into the\nsacristy to say a word to Father Sheehan, who was just going out to\ngive Holy Communion.\n\n\u201cAh, Father!\u201d he said in his gentle, friendly manner, \u201cI am glad you\ncame in. Will you please go down there to Pat and tell him not to go\nto Communion now. You see, Father, he was there this morning, and he\u2019s\nsuch a pious lad that when he sees the others going to the rails, he\nmight forget that he was there this morning and go up again.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right, Father,\u201d I said, but somehow or other I found great\ndifficulty in suppressing a strong inclination to smile as I walked\ndown the flagged aisle of the church. Pat--Father Sheehan had pointed\nhim out to me--who was intently reading his prayer-book, looked up\nkindly at me as I drew near. \u201cGod bless you, Father,\u201d he whispered, as\nI stooped over him and he disposed himself elaborately to listen. It\nactually pained me to keep from laughing as I prepared to deliver my\nmessage.\n\n\u201cPat,\u201d I said, \u201cFather Sheehan sent me to tell you not to go to\nCommunion again. He is afraid that you might forget you were there this\nmorning and go back again.\u201d\n\nPat just looked at his book and shook his head as he smiled\nindulgently. Then he looked at me, still smiling, \u201cShure, Father dear,\nI had no intention of going again!\u201d Then he said, as if to himself,\n\u201cGod bless Father Sheehan!\u201d\n\nPat\u2019s words were echoed strongly in my heart; for every one that met\nFather Sheehan would feel like wishing him the very best they could,\nand what is better than the blessing of God?\n\nJust about this time I received from my mother a birthday present,\nwhich had been delayed along the way. It was a large volume entitled\n\u201cCanon Sheehan of Doneraile,\u201d by Father Heuser. I had long enjoyed the\nworks of the gentle Canon, and I had always felt that I owed a lot to\nthis seer and prophet. I had long wanted to read the life of one who\nhad made many such unerring prophesies as the following some twenty\nyears before the signing of the Armistice:\n\n\u201cMeanwhile, the new Paganism, called modern civilization, is working\nout its own destruction and solving its own problems. There are\nsubterranean mutterings of a future upheaval that will change the\nmap of the world as effectually as did an irruption of Vandals or\nVisigoths. In the self-degradation of women; in the angry disputes\nbetween Labor and Capital; in the dreams of Socialists, and the\nsanguinary ambitions of Nihilists; in the attitude of the great\nPowers to each other, snarling and afraid to bite; in the irreverence\nand flippancy of the age manifested towards the most sacred and\nsolemn subjects, in the destructive attempts of philosophers, in the\nelimination of the supernatural, in the concentration of all human\nthought upon the fleeting concerns of this life, and the covert,\nyet hardly concealed, denial of a life to come; in the rage for\nwealth, in the almost insane dread of poverty--and all these evil\nthings permeating and penetrating into every class--there is visible\nto the most ordinary mortal a disintegration of society that can\nonly eventuate in such ruin as have made Babylon and Nineveh almost\nhistorical myths, and has made a proverb and by-word even of Imperial\nRome. Where is the remedy? Clearly, Christianity; and still more\nclearly the only Christianity that is possible, and can bear the\nsolvent influence of the new civilization. Nothing but the poverty\nof Christ, manifested in the self-abandonment of our religious\ncommunities; the awful purity of Christ, continued in a celibate\npriesthood and the white sanctity of our nuns; the self-denial and\nimmolation of Christ, shown again wherever the sacrificial instinct\nis manifested in our martyrs and missionaries; the love of Christ, as\nexhibited in our charge of the orphaned, the abandoned, the profligate,\nthe diseased, the leprous and insane--can lead back the vast masses\nof erring humanity to the condition not only of stability, but of\nthe fruition of perfect peace. For what is the great political maxim\nof government but the greatest good to the greatest number--in other\nwords, the voluntary sacrifice of the individual for the welfare of\nthe Commonwealth? And where is that seen but in the ranks of the\nobscure and hidden, the unknown and despised (unknown and despised by\nthemselves above all) members of the Catholic church.\u201d\n\nI took the book down to the convent to show it to Father Sheehan. To\nmy question if he had ever met Canon Sheehan, looking at me in that\nquizzical half smiling way that one regards a questioner when the\ninformation to be given far exceeds that asked, he said: \u201cYes, I have\nmet him. I knew him, and he was my cousin.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXI\n\nECOIVRES\n\n\nApril was passing quickly. Very early in the morning, from the old\ntrees about the convent, one heard the sweet, clear call of many birds;\nthe leaves were unfolding; the fresh, revivifying odors of new grass\nand early spring flowers were in the air. All around us were signs\nof destruction by the ingenuity of man; yet nature was steadfastly\nfollowing her laws, restoring, expanding, and quickening to new\nlife--and cheering wonderfully many tired and war-weary men.\n\nOn all sides Fritz was making advances, but we were holding him at\nArras. I made frequent visits to this City of the Dead, and every time\nI passed through its gates--Arras is a walled city--an appalling sense\nof loneliness gripped me. Only seventy people of the thirty thousand\ninhabitants remained; and to see, now and then, a solitary civilian\nmoving along the street, or about some shattered dwelling-place, only\nemphasized the awful stillness. I visited the ruins of the great\ncathedral and saw the statue of Our Lady standing unscathed in her\nlittle side chapel. I walked through the corridors of the shattered\nseminary, where for many years young Frenchmen had walked silently,\nlistening to the voice of the Spirit of God, forming them for the work\nof the holy ministry. The young men who should now be here were in the\ntrenches, clad in the light-blue uniform of the soldiers of France.\n\nNot far from the seminary, in the basement of their shattered convent,\nlived two Poor Clare nuns who had remained to adore our Divine Lord\non the altar. I do not know how it had been arranged, but there was\nPerpetual Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament in that poor cellar.\nPerhaps it was for this reason that the Canadians held Arras. It was\nto these holy women of France that Father Sheehan made many visits,\ncarrying pieces of meat, rolls of bread, etc. The quartermaster of the\nunit from which he drew rations was an Irishman, and many of the lads\ngladly stinted themselves so that he could lay by a little food for\nthe Poor Clare Sisters at Arras.\n\nThen, one day just after lunch, orders came to move. We were not going\nvery far away--only to the little village of Ecoivres at the base of\nMt. St. Eloi, about five or six kilometers distant. I stayed with\nFather Sheehan for tea, and at four o\u2019clock left alone for Ecoivres.\nI had never been there before, but Father Sheehan had given me minute\ndirections and I knew I would have no difficulty finding the large\nchateau of the village.\n\nI had not gone more than a mile on my way when I noticed shells\ndropping into many of the little villages that lay scattered over the\ngreen countryside before me. I must pass through two of these villages\nbefore arriving at my destination. I suspected some big attack on the\npart of the Germans, as it was their invariable custom to shell heavily\nthe back areas In order to prevent us from bringing up fresh troops.\nAs I was revolving in my mind how pleasant it was going to be for me\nto run the gauntlet of fire, I heard the terrifying shriek of a shell,\nand as I turned, was just in time to see a great black shell burst only\na few feet behind me. A group of men had been standing on the roadside\nbut not one was hit. I stood for a few moments dazed by the suddenness\nof it all, my ears ringing from the terrible explosion, while teams\ndrawing general service wagons galloped noisily by and men ran like\nstartled hares towards points of safety. Presently I continued my walk,\nevery nerve tense, expecting another shell-burst. None came, however.\n\nI passed through the two villages and no shell dropped near me till\nI came to the outskirts of Ecoivres, then shell after shell came\nscreaming through the air, exploding in the high bank that sloped\nup from the roadside. A few soldiers coming behind me on bicycles\ndismounted and crouched low as each one tore its way across our road. I\nfelt sick, dazed and frightened and whenever the others crouched, I did\nalso; but we reached the little town in safety.\n\nI passed the church, which was untouched, though many stone buildings\nabout it were almost completely demolished. Then I came into the court\nbefore the chateau, where a great number of soldiers were quartered.\n\nIt was an old chateau, the ancestral home of a long line of French\ncounts, which had been commandeered early in the war. The present\nowner, however, still had a room or two allotted to him. I went up an\nold winding stairway and walked from the landing along the hall till\nI came to a great wide room where a number of officers of different\nbattalions of my brigade stood talking in little groups. They greeted\nme with true military friendliness, but I could see that they were\nrestless and ill at ease. Fritz had struck again and broken the British\nline, taking many prisoners and great quantities of supplies. And as\nthe officers talked, shells screamed into the village.\n\nJust before dinner George came to the mess and his face lighted up when\nhe saw me. He had come before me by a different route, and some of his\ncompanions--although none of our own brigade--had been killed, together\nwith a number of horses. There was in George\u2019s eye that hurt, dazed\nlook that I was to see so often in the eyes of men when the shells\nscreamed by and took toll of their companions. George told me I was to\nbe billeted in a large room with a number of other officers. While he\nwas speaking, however, the billeting officer joined us to say that he\nhad a fine billet for me; it was a little hut outside in the grounds.\nIt had been reserved for the colonel, but as he wished to remain in\nthe chateau, the billeting officer, remembering that I preferred, when\npossible, to have a billet alone, so that the men might the more easily\ncome to see me, had given me the little hut.\n\nAfter dinner, which was late that evening, I went down through the\nchateau grounds, crossed a bridge over a small river that ran through\nthem and followed the road until I came to a little burlap hut built\non the river bank under the willow trees, that had just hung out their\nfresh green draperies. And as I stood surveying my billet, I became\naware that the shelling had ceased; the stars were coming out; just the\nfaintest rustle sounded among the tree-tops; there was a very pleasant\ntinkle and gurgle from the running water; from all around the wide\ngreen grounds came the low murmur of talking from groups of soldiers\nbivouacked here and there under the trees. George came up presently\nwith four or five letters and a box of caramels that had come with the\nCanadian mail. It was one of those strange interludes that came fairly\noften during the campaign, when one actually forgot for a little while\nwar and its gruesomeness.\n\nIn the morning, after a very pleasant night\u2019s sleep by the softly\nrunning waters, I went down to the parish church to say Mass. The cur\u00e9\nwas a large man and very kind; evidently the billeting officer had\ntried to place me with him, for he took great pains to explain to me\nthat his house was extremely small, and already it was full on account\nof the presence of some of his relations who had been evacuated from\nthe Arras area.\n\nI told the cur\u00e9 how pleasantly I was situated, and that the softly\nrunning water had sent me to sleep. He smiled, helped me to put\non my vestments and then served my Mass. After Mass, as I made my\nthanksgiving before the altar, I noticed on the Gospel side a large\nalcove. In it were five or six prie-dieux, and a communion rail ran the\nwidth of it. It was somewhat similar to a box in a theatre. On the wall\nin the alcove opposite to where I knelt was a large copper slab bearing\nthe inscription:\n\n To the Memory of\n M. Edward Mary Alexander\n Viscount of Brandt of Calometz\n Died in his castle of Ecoivres\n the 9th. October 1894\n R. I. P.\n\nI concluded that this was the part of the church where the people\nof the chateau came to assist at Mass in the old days before France\nprinted on her coins \u201cLiberty, Equality and Fraternity.\u201d I saw the\npresent owner of the estate a few days later, and I wondered if he sat\nin the alcove to assist at Mass on Sundays. He was a tall, heavily\nbuilt man in old rough clothes, and looked more like a laborer one\nwould see sitting idly about the docks. He had a large, heavy red face\nand a thick black mustache. When I saw him first he stood facing a\npointed bayonet--though he kept at least three feet from the point--and\nan angry sentry at the entrance to the chateau was telling him in\nEnglish that he could not enter. The owner of the chateau, still more\nangry than the guard, shouted in French that he would enter; that these\nwere his grounds, though his manner of putting in practice his words\nresembled more the advancing of a horse on a treadmill. I was about\nto offer my services as interpreter and general peace-maker when an\nofficer approached the angry guard and told him that it was the owner\nof the chateau whom he was keeping from entering. The guard sprang to\nattention, and as the angry owner entered his grounds looked after him\nsheepishly. \u201cWell, Holy Moses!\u201d he exclaimed.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXII\n\nECURIE WOOD\n\n\nI had expected to stay at Ecoivres for Sunday, and I had arranged with\nthe cur\u00e9 for the soldiers\u2019 Mass, but on Saturday orders came for us to\nmove to Ecurie Wood. It was not very far away, about three miles. My\nbillet here was a corrugated iron hut, barricaded without on all sides\nwith sand-bags piled about three feet high and two wide. There was\nno floor other than the natural earth. The seat of a general service\nwagon, that very likely had succumbed to Fritz\u2019s shelling, had been\nconverted into a very serviceable chair; on a high bedding of mud and\nrocks was placed horizontally an empty five-gallon gasoline tin, from\nwhich pointed heavenwards, through the low roof, some homemade stove\npipe. There was no door on this improvised stove. When I entered the\nhut a fire of charcoal and small pieces of wood glowed in the opening\nof the tin, which the chair faced. There was no church near us, but\nthere was a large moving-picture hut just about two hundred yards away\nwhere Mass was said on Sundays; and only fifty yards from this was a\nsmall square tent, with the words \u201cCatholic Chapel\u201d painted in black on\nit, where a priest was on duty every evening to hear confessions. As\nthere was no church near where the Blessed Sacrament was reserved, I\nnow began to carry Our Lord with me. On Monday I consecrated about two\nhundred particles in my small military ciborium, and always, day and\nnight, in the pocket of my tunic was the little ciborium where Jesus\ndwelt. And in the evenings I used to go down to the chapel-tent, place\nthe ciborium on a corporal spread out on the rough board table and,\nsaying a short prayer, sit on an empty box to hear the confessions of\nthe men who came. We were in a very exposed territory and shells were\ncontinuously dropping into our area. Sometimes the shells would come\nso near us that I would sit on my box, or kneel before the Blessed\nSacrament, trembling, expecting each moment to be my last.\n\nA great number of men were assembling in the Ecurie Wood area, and I\nbegan to meet many old friends. Some of the lads who had come overseas\nwith me were in battalions quartered nearby; and just over the hill, in\nthe military cemetery of Roclincourt, Lt. Lawlor, one of my Catholic\nofficers and a very gallant soldier, slept softly under his white cross.\n\nThe work at Ecurie Wood was very consoling: wonderful things happened\nin that little white chapel-tent. One night a great giant of a man\nstepped in, and without any introduction said, simply: \u201cFather, I want\nto be christened.\u201d I could not help laughing, for in my mind always\nassociated with the word \u201cchristen\u201d were thoughts of tiny, white-clad\nhelpless babies being carried to the baptismal font. But the big giant\ndid not laugh. It was a very serious matter for him.\n\nI asked him to which religion he belonged. He said he belonged to none,\nbut that his people had been Presbyterians. I commenced instructions\nand in a short time I had the great pleasure of baptizing him in the\nlittle tent.\n\nSometimes men would come back to the sacraments after years of absence,\nand it was wonderful to watch the effects of Divine Grace in their\nsouls. Often they would come back to the tent to have a chat and to\nspeak of some fellow with whom they were trying to share their own\ngreat happiness. Frequently a returned prodigal would say to me: \u201cNow,\nFather, I have a lad outside who hasn\u2019t been to his duties for many\nyears. I got him to come down tonight. I\u2019m just telling you this,\nFather, for he\u2019s got the \u2018wind up\u2019 pretty bad, but I know you\u2019ll take\nhim easy, Father.\u201d Then perhaps a big, slow moving, puzzled figure\nwould step into the tent, looking around mystified, not knowing what to\ndo next. Then I would beckon him to come and kneel down, and then--I\nwould \u201ctake him easy.\u201d\n\nOne night, when I was sitting on my box, a large one placed near me,\nagainst which the men might kneel when telling their little story, a\nman came rushing in and knelt so suddenly that he knocked over the\nlarger box, and then fell on it as it reached the ground.\n\nI stood up quickly, taking off my purple stole as I did so, and as\nthe poor fellow got slowly up I said: \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter? What\u2019s the\nmatter?\u201d\n\nHe looked at me in a dazed sort of way, and then over his shoulder\ntowards the open flap of the tent. \u201cI\u2019m willing to go, Father,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cI think you\u2019re a little too eager to go,\u201d I said. \u201cThere\u2019s no need,\nyou know, to knock over that box. I put that there for men to kneel\nagainst.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he replied, \u201cI\u2019m willing to go, but I want a little time to get\nready. It\u2019s a long time since I was here before, and I need a little\ntime to overhaul my mind.\u201d\n\nI could not help laughing, though I felt there was something wrong\nsomewhere. \u201cWell,\u201d I said, \u201cwhat made you come in if you were not\nprepared?\u201d\n\nAgain he looked over his shoulder, and as he did the truth began to\ndawn upon me. \u201cFather,\u201d he said, \u201cI was pushed in.\u201d\n\n\u201cKneel down,\u201d I said, \u201cand take all the time you need, and when you are\nready just call me. I am going outside for a while.\u201d\n\nI went out and in a few minutes three figures came noiselessly over to\nwhere I was standing. \u201cIs he going to go, Father?\u201d one of them asked.\n\u201cHe is,\u201d I replied, \u201cbut he needs a little time to prepare. Why did you\nsend--I should say push--him in before he was ready to go?\u201d\n\nThey then told me that it was fifteen years since the man had been to\nconfession, and that he had been bragging about not having been there\nfor that length of time. One of the number had told him three days\nbefore to prepare and on account of this they had thought him ready to\ngo.\n\nI think, on the whole, these lay apostles did excellent work; still,\nnow and then, there was an example of perhaps too great zeal. Father\nMiles Tompkins relates a story which perhaps showed a little overzeal.\nHe was walking with Father McGillvary one day up and down before a\nlittle church of a village where troops were quartered when he noticed\nthree khaki-clad figures coming towards them. His first thought was\nthat some poor fellow had imbibed too freely of \u201cvin blink\u201d--the\nsoldiers\u2019 name for the white wine--and that two charitable comrades\nwere escorting him to his billet. When, however, the soldiers drew\nnearer, he saw that the man was not intoxicated, though somewhat\nindignant at being hustled so unceremoniously by two comrades who\ndid not bear the insignia of military police. When they were within\nspeaking distance Father Tompkins asked one of the escort what was the\nmatter. \u201cFather,\u201d they said, as they looked at their struggling victim,\n\u201cthis fellow wants to go to confession.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Father Tompkins, \u201che does not look very much as if he\nwanted to go!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXIII\n\nTHE DIFFERENT DISPENSERS\n\n\nThe Thirteenth and Fifteenth Battalions were at Anzin, a small village\nabout three kilometers distant from Ecurie Wood. There was a little\nbrick church here with a great hole through the base of its tower. I\nused to go down there on my bicycle early Sunday mornings and hear\nconfessions while Father Pickett, of the First Divisional Artillery,\nsaid Mass for my lads. Then I would ride back to Ecurie Wood and say\nMass at half-past ten for the Fourteenth and Sixteenth. There were\nnow three other priests quartered at Ecurie Wood and these would hear\nconfessions during my Mass. In the evenings the priests would assemble\nin my hut--for, it seemed, I had the best billet in the area--and talk\nover many things. It was not often so many chaplains were together,\nand I, for one, enjoyed these pleasant evenings in the little hut\nbefore the blazing fire. It was a very dangerous area, however; shells\nwere dropping all over the camp and there was great loss of life. One\nmorning on awakening from a very sound sleep a shell came shrieking\nthrough the air, then the deafening explosion as it struck just outside\nmy hut. I waited, scarcely breathing, for the next, but no more came.\nWhen I was dressed, I stepped off the distance from my hut to where the\nshell had struck. It was just thirteen steps. They were beginning to\ncome very near!\n\nThose gatherings of chaplains in my corrugated iron hut there on the\nWestern Front were unique. I often used to think of it in the evenings\nas we talked, or when some chaplain read excerpts from a Canadian paper\nthat had come from home. It was this--that while we talked away so\ncasually about the ordinary daily affairs of the world, in the pocket\nof every one present dwelt humbly Our Eucharistic Lord in his little\nhome, the ciborium.\n\nOne afternoon while I was sitting in my hut, alternately reading my\nbook and looking into the fire, a knock sounded on the door and a\nyoung officer walked in, smiling broadly. He was a lieutenant in the\nartillery. I had known him when he was a little boy and I was in senior\nphilosophy at college. I had not seen him for ten years till I met him\nat the front. After we had talked for a while, he asked me if he could\ngo to confession.\n\nI put on my purple stole and sat down on the large general service\nwagon seat, while he knelt down on the earth floor--over which at times\nI saw worms moving--and he began his little tale. Often, in our old\ncollege days, when I was walking slowly on the track of the athletic\nfield he had come running up quickly behind me, given me a punch on\nthe back, and then had skipped ahead of me, smiling pleasantly as he\nwaited for me to catch up to him. Now he knelt humbly on the earth\nand confessed his sins, and I, with all the powers of the priesthood,\nabsolved him!\n\nIt was with great joy in my heart that I arranged my little portable\naltar on a box, spread out the clean white corporal and gave him Holy\nCommunion.\n\nAfter I had closed the altar and the young lieutenant had finished his\nthanksgiving, we sat on the seat. He was the first to speak. \u201cFather,\u201d\nhe said, \u201cthese are strange times we are living in.\u201d\n\nI agreed with him, and among other things thought of the shell that had\ndropped just thirteen steps from where we sat; but he was not thinking\nof shells.\n\n\u201cThree weeks ago,\u201d he said, \u201cI was in Rome on leave, and on Easter\nSunday all the Catholic officers in the city had permission to assist\nat Mass in the Sistine Chapel and receive Holy Communion from the\nhand of Pope Benedict XV, amidst great splendor and solemnity. Today,\nkneeling on the earth, I received Our Lord in this little corrugated\niron hut on the Western Front!\u201d\n\nI did not speak for awhile; some strange emotion held me silent as I\nvisualized the two scenes. Easter in Rome, in one of the most beautiful\nchapels in the world, the Pope in the richest vestments, assisted by\nmany priests, giving Holy Communion. Then, a small, dark hut, with not\neven a window in it, and no covering over the clay floor, the priest in\na wrinkled khaki uniform and heavy trench boots, his only vestment a\nsmall white stole worn over his tunic--yet, in each case Jesus had come\nto the young officer!\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXIV\n\nINCAPACITATED\n\n\nThe work at Ecurie Wood was most consoling, but the shelling was\nincessant and we were having many funerals in the military cemetery\ndown the hill at Roclincourt. The Fourteenth Battalion suffered most.\nEarly one morning a shell burst in the headquarters hut, wounding the\ncolonel, killing the second in command and the adjutant, and disabling\nother officers and privates. The whole camp was under observation and\nFritz was doing deadly work.\n\nOne Sunday morning, as I prepared for the Holy Sacrifice, I seemed to\nfeel much better than I had felt for some time; and as I preached,\nthe words came quickly and without any great effort. I wondered why I\nshould feel so well. But after Mass, as I walked back to my hut after\nhaving seen so many of those wonderful lads receive Holy Communion,\nI raised my hand to my forehead; it was very warm and the day was\ncool--in fact, a fine mist of rain was falling. I now began to feel\nslightly dizzy and more inclined to rest on my camp bed than to drink\nmy cup of tea.\n\nGeorge came in, looked at me once, placed the cup of tea beside me on\nthe seat, looked at me again, and then told me I didn\u2019t look very well.\nI told him I did not feel very well. Both agreed that I would be better\nin bed, so I went.\n\nThe corporal of the stretcher-bearers came in, shook his little\nthermometer, looked at it, shook it again, then told me to open my\nmouth. He placed it under my tongue. Then, while I looked at the\nceiling of the hut, he waited.\n\n\u201cOne hundred and two,\u201d said the corporal.\n\n\u201cIs that high?\u201d I asked, for I could not remember ever having my\ntemperature taken before.\n\n\u201cHigh enough,\u201d he said. Then he told me I had a malady that was\nbecoming very prevalent in the army. He did not know what to call it.\nLater, it was called the \u201cflu.\u201d\n\nI remained in bed for nearly a week, and it was one of the finest weeks\nI spent in the army; so many officers and men came into the little hut\nto see me. I was just beginning to understand the charity of the army.\n\nJust as I was getting about again the Fifty-first Division of Scotch\nHighlanders came into our area. This was the division that had met\nalmost every advance of the enemy, so that even the Germans themselves\ncould not but admire them. A sergeant in one of the battalions of the\ndivision possessed a paper for which he had refused six pounds: for the\npaper had been dropped into their lines from a German airplane, and\nthis is what was written on it: \u201cGood old Fifty-first still sticking\nit! Cheerio!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXV\n\nANZIN AND MONCHY BRETON\n\n\nThe Fifty-first \u201ctook over\u201d from us and we went to Anzin. Here it was\nmuch quieter and the battalion prepared to rest. I took charge of the\nvillage church, for I was the only chaplain in the area. The first\nday I swept it out and dusted the altar and sanctuary rail. The next\nmorning I said Mass, and after Mass a little sanctuary lamp twinkled\nsoftly before the altar. The Guest had come!\n\nThere was a beautiful statue of Our Lady in the church, and as it was\nher month I decorated it as well as I could. A long walk by the Scarpe\nRiver, which flowed its narrow though very pretty way through Anzin,\nbrought me to the grounds of what had once been a very fine country\nresidence, now terribly battered from shell-fire. The road that led to\nit sloped up from the river, and as I walked along it, this beautiful\nMay day, from the dark recesses of the trees came the repeated solitary\ncall of the cuckoo. I stopped to listen. The whole countryside seemed\nvery quiet and peaceful, save for the faint rumble, from far away, of\nour guns.\n\nThough the grounds were pitted in different places with old\nshell-holes, many flowers grew in the garden. I picked some white\nlilacs, although the season for these was now growing late, and a large\nbunch of Parma violets. It was very quiet and still there in the old\nFrench garden, but I could hear German shells whining through the air\nand dropping in a little village not very far away.\n\nSomewhere along the line battles were being fought, and I supposed\nthe British were losing ground and that many men were being taken\nprisoners. Up to this time we Canadians had not lost any men as\nprisoners and had given no ground except a mile in depth near\nNeuville-Vitasse when we found ourselves placed in a very dangerous\nposition by the general retreat of British troops, which in some places\nwas more than twenty miles in depth.\n\nTowards the end of May good news came to us. We were going back to\nrest. And it was to be a long rest, among green fields, far from the\nsound of the guns and the sights of the battlefield.\n\nIt was Saturday when we arrived in our rest billets after a long march\nthrough a peaceful countryside. My battalions were scattered in four\ndifferent villages and I was very busy Saturday afternoon arranging\nfor Masses. Up to this time our rest billets had been always in mining\ntowns or districts, but now we had come to one of the most beautiful\ncountrysides I had ever seen. Open, unfenced farmlands stretched before\nus, while here and there clumps of ancient wide-spreading trees, almost\nhiding from view the little white-walled, red-roofed houses beneath\nthem, rose as dark-green islands in a light-green sea. The memory of\nthat Saturday afternoon is very vivid with me yet. It had been a warm\nday and the long, dusty march had been most fatiguing. I was finding\nsome difficulty in arranging hours for Masses, and towards three\no\u2019clock I dismounted from my bicycle, sat by the roadside and wiped\nmy forehead. Everything was intensely quiet; a Sabbath-day stillness\nwas over all the land. It seemed more like a beautiful dream than a\nreality. For months I had been in the gruesome atmosphere of war,\ngazing on broken villages, torn roads and ruined farmlands, walking\nalways in danger and \u201cin the shadow of death\u201d through a country utterly\ndesolate, and foully marred by the ingenuity of men. Now my eye was\nbeing filled with the beauty of all things around me, of the wonderful\nthings of God.\n\nI picked a wild flower of a variety that grew in profusion along the\nroadside. It was about one-third the size of a morning-glory and\nsomewhat similar in shape. It was white, and so delicate that it seemed\nalmost transparent. As I gazed on its wonderful formation, my mind\ndwelt on God and all the beautiful things He had created; then my\nthoughts were of the soul and then of my men. Presently the plan of my\nsermon for the following day was mentally outlined.\n\nIt was twelve o\u2019clock Saturday night when I finished my work.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXVI\n\nA NEW SHEEP\n\n\nI awoke the next morning to the sweet sounds of singing birds; to the\nglorious view of fresh green fields and peaceful lanes. I rode about\nthree miles on my bicycle to a hamlet called Bailleul-aux-Cornailles\nwhere I said Mass at nine o\u2019clock for the Thirteenth Battalion,\nwhich was quartered here, and a great number of the French civilian\npopulation. The cur\u00e9 of the parish was a soldier in the French army and\nwas on duty in a large military hospital at St. Paul, about fifteen\nmiles away. I made arrangements to be at the parish church certain\nevenings in the week for confessions. After this Mass I rode four miles\nfurther to Ostreville, where I said Mass for the Fourteenth, which\nwas quartered here. The men were all there when I arrived. I found\nthem sitting in the cemetery under century-old trees or along the low\nstone fence. I preached the same sermon that I had preached for the\nThirteenth and it made a remarkable impression upon them. First I\nspoke to them briefly of the awful scenes we had been witnessing for\nsome time; then I dwelt on the wonderful beauty and peace all around\nus. God had made the whole world beautiful; we had seen how foully men\nhad marred it. But God\u2019s masterpiece of beauty was our own soul, and\neach one of us knew just how much we had marred that beauty. Then I\ntold those lads that perhaps there were some amongst us who had stained\ngreatly their immortal souls, who had done things for which certain of\ntheir friends might despise them, might turn them down. But God, in His\ninfinite love, would not turn them down. God was ready to receive them,\nto blot out all their iniquities, to cleanse them, to make their souls\nbeautiful again. As I continued, I saw a wonderful sight. I saw tears\nin the eyes of big, strong men, I saw them bowing their heads as they\nreached for their khaki handkerchiefs. It was one of the strangest and\nsweetest experiences I had in the war.\n\nAfter Mass, when I had got just beyond the village, I dismounted,\nsat on the side of the road and began to eat the luncheon I had\nbrought--some sandwiches of cheese and jam and a water-bottle full\nof cocoa. Rye was growing all about me, and it was yet dark green in\ncolor. After I had finished my luncheon, I stood up to measure it, and\nfound that it was almost as tall as I. It must have been at least five\nfeet in height. Two or three weeks later I walked along a path through\na field of rye which was so high that I could see only the stalks on\neither side of me and the heads just above me.\n\nOn Monday I learned that we were out for a long rest. Our program\nincluded drilling in the mornings and games in the afternoon. From\nthe nature of the drilling it was clear to all of us that we were\ntraining for an attack on Fritz. Part of the morning the men followed\nthe tanks that clanked their ungainly way through beautiful fields of\nrye and wheat. We did not know till August why they were so ruthlessly\ndestroyed.\n\nOne evening while I was sitting in the very small room which was my\nbillet, a stout, red-faced soldier in a rather soiled uniform came in\nto see me. He saluted and I waited for him to state his business.\n\n\u201cFather,\u201d he said, \u201cI should like to become a Catholic.\u201d\n\n\u201cGoing to be married?\u201d I questioned.\n\nAn amused smile stole quietly over his face as he replied: \u201cNo, Father.\nI am already married and have five children.\u201d\n\nThen it was my turn to smile. I had judged him to be about twenty-two\nor twenty-three, but now I noticed that his hair was turning grey about\nthe temples. I asked him to sit down, which he did, after removing his\nmilitary cap. Then I saw that he was quite bald.\n\nWe commenced instructions, and as the days went by I found him very\nquick to understand the different things I explained. Now and then he\nwould ask such intelligent questions that I would start involuntarily.\nAt last I asked him what he did in civil life.\n\n\u201cI am a solicitor, Father,\u201d he said quietly. I was very much surprised.\nIt had never occurred to me that the soldier sitting before me in\nhis greasy uniform was a lawyer. On June 7th, in the little church of\nMonchy Breton, I baptized him and received him into the church.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXVII\n\nNOTRE DAME D\u2019ARDENNES\n\n\nThe soldiers greatly enjoyed the rest in this lovely district. It was\nvery pleasant to bicycle through the country lanes to quaint churches\nwhere Catholic lads waited in the evening to go to confession.\n\nWhen I heard confessions for the Thirteenth at Bailleul-aux-Cornailles,\nI often stopped in the presbytery for tea. The mother and father of\nthe cur\u00e9 lived there. Perhaps I should not say tea, for it was always\nmilk and bread and honey that the kind old people gave me. They had\ntheir own apiary in the beautiful garden. The priest\u2019s old father was\nvery interesting and I enjoyed greatly the stories he told me while he\nsipped his wine and I drank my milk from the large white cup. He had\nlived in Arras before the war and was eager to hear what I had to tell\nhim of my experiences there. I recall how anxiously he inquired about\nthe church of Notre Dame d\u2019Ardennes, whether it had been struck. I did\nnot know all the churches of Arras by name, but I was very sorry to\nsay that I thought nearly every one had been struck by the Germans. I\ncould recall but one, which I had passed frequently on my way to the\nrailway station (Gare du Nord), that had not been struck. I went on to\ndescribe it--a large red-brick building.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s it! That\u2019s it!\u201d he cried. \u201cIt\u2019s the Church of Notre Dame\nd\u2019Ardennes.\u201d The old man\u2019s eyes brightened as he spoke.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d I said, \u201cif that is the Church of Notre Dame d\u2019Ardennes, you\nneed not worry, for it is still standing intact.\u201d\n\nThe old lady, who sat near me, her hand near enough to the jug of milk\nto replenish my cup almost as fast as I made room in it for more milk,\nexchanged looks with her husband, and although neither spoke for a\nwhile, there was such significance in their glances that I felt eager\nto hear the history of Notre Dame d\u2019Ardennes. I did not have to wait\nlong, for presently the old man began to speak. As I listened, I held\nthe palm of my hand spread wide over the top of my cup, for there was\nstill plenty of milk left, and the kind old mother of the priest was\nbeaming with hospitality; but I felt I could not drink all the milk in\nthe jug!\n\nDuring the fourth century--to be exact, in the year 371--there had been\na severe famine in Arras. The people, being very pious, had recourse\nto prayer and in answer to their supplications manna fell from heaven.\n\u201cThe sacred Manna,\u201d as it was called, was gathered by the people and\nfor a long time some of it was kept and venerated by the people of\nNotre Dame d\u2019Ardennes. Then there was \u201cthe holy candle,\u201d kept in the\nChurch of Notre Dame d\u2019Ardennes. During a severe epidemic in the year\n1105 this wax candle had been sent from heaven to Bishop Lambert. After\nit had burned for some time, the plague stopped.\n\nI had seen many strange things on the Western Front, so that I wondered\nnot that Notre Dame d\u2019Ardennes was unscathed.\n\nDuring those beautiful June days from after Mass till three o\u2019clock, p.\nm., I had not much to do. I usually read books or wrote a little, while\nI sat under the tall trees in the open field behind the house where I\nwas billeted. One afternoon while I was reading under the trees a young\nofficer in the tartan of the Sixteenth came up to see me. He was a fine\nlooking young fellow and had but lately returned to the battalion after\na long absence. He was very downhearted and, although not a Catholic,\nhad come to have a talk with me. (Non-Catholics often came to have a\ntalk with me.) He was a captain and had come back expecting to hold his\nold position in the battalion. But, at times, promotion is rapid in the\narmy and he found that men who were his subordinates when he went away\nwere now of equal or superior rank. His position was now held by one\nwho had come through many conflicts. There was no work for him to do.\nHe felt a stranger among these new officers. He was returning to the\nofficers\u2019 reserve.\n\nI listened quietly till he had told me all his troubles. Sometimes\nit is a relief to have some one listen when one\u2019s heart is weighed\ndown, but I am afraid I did not say very much that could help him. Had\nI possessed the gift of foresight, I could have told this anxious\nyoung officer that before three months the officers\u2019 ranks would be so\nthinned that orders would come to him to report for duty immediately\nat the front. But I did not know then that about the end of September\nI was to meet him again, coming up a shell-swept road in a terribly\ndevastated countryside, with the eager smile of a boy on his fine young\nface.\n\nJust beyond where I was billeted stood a large wooden structure that\nwas being used by the Y. M. C. A. as a moving-picture theatre. In\nthe army the name given to these places of amusement was \u201ccinema.\u201d\nDuring the day the concert party of the Sixteenth was practicing a\nplay, entitled \u201cA Little Bit of Shamrock,\u201d one of the chief characters\nof which was a priest. George had spoken to me of the play, for he\nhad seen one or two practices. Now, I had seen a play staged by this\nvery cast some time before in which was portrayed a minister, a most\neffeminate character, whose chief mission, it seemed, was to display a\nvery great ignorance of life in general. The amusement for the audience\nwas furnished by him as often as he was shocked or scandalized. The\nactor who had taken the part of the minister was now to take the part\nof the priest.\n\nI went to the director of the company, who was an officer from the\nSecond Division, and told him quietly that I had seen the play his\ncompany had put on before, and that I had not admired his clergyman,\nthough I thought the actor had done excellent work. I hoped the\ncharacter of the priest in the forthcoming play would not be like that.\n\nThe director looked at me, and I liked the bright smile that spread\nover his pleasant face. \u201cDon\u2019t worry, Padre,\u201d he said. \u201cI think you\nwill like Father O\u2019Flynn. I have a lot of friends who are priests. I\nlike them. I always like to talk to priests of your church, Padre. They\nare--they are--oh,--so _human_, Padre.\u201d And then he smiled a guileless\nsmile, so that I understood that by \u2018human\u2019 the young officer had meant\nsomething complimentary.\n\nMany days were to pass before I should see the play.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXVIII\n\nTHE PROCESSION\n\n\nSunday within the octave of Corpus Christi was a beautiful day. Just\nbefore I began Mass for the Thirteenth at Bailleul-aux-Cornailles the\nfather of M. le Cur\u00e9 came in to see me. The usual great procession\nof the Blessed Sacrament had been planned, but word had come from\nthe parish priest that he could not be present for Mass, and that\nvery likely he would not be able to reach the church in time for the\nprocession, which was to start at half-past three in the afternoon. If\nM. le Cur\u00e9 could not come, would M. l\u2019Aumonier have the goodness, if\nit would not inconvenience him too much, to carry _le Bon Dieu_ in the\nprocession?\n\nI assured the good people that I would be only too pleased to have the\ngreat honor of carrying the Blessed Sacrament in their procession. They\npromised to send a messenger to let me know whether or not the cur\u00e9\nwould come for the procession, as they would have definite word by\ntwelve o\u2019clock.\n\nAt one o\u2019clock, while I was taking lunch, a messenger arrived from\nBailleul-aux-Cornailles saying that M. le Cur\u00e9 could not come for the\nprocession, and that the whole parish respectfully requested me to\ncarry the Blessed Sacrament.\n\nWhen I reached the village for a second time that day, I found all\nalong the way evidences of great preparations. On each side of the\nroad approaching the church, for a long distance, at intervals of\nabout twenty feet, saplings of different trees had been placed so\nthat they appeared to be growing there. Little girls, robed in\nwhite, were flitting along the road, some carrying banners, others\nholding decorated baskets of cut flowers. From one side of the road a\nnarrow lane, arched darkly by old trees, led to a brightly decorated\naltar under a large Calvary. Just opposite the orderly room of the\nThirteenth, where the road turned down to the village church, a high\ngreen arch had been erected, and on either side appeared in silver\nletters the words, \u201cPanis Angelicus.\u201d Alongside the arch was built\nanother repository. While I was admiring this, for there was yet much\ntime, the adjutant of the Thirteenth came down from the orderly room\nand asked me the meaning of all the great preparations.\n\nWhen I explained as briefly as possible what was going to take place,\nhe seemed surprised that I was going to take part in the procession.\nHe wondered how it happened that I should know what to do among these\nstrange people.\n\nThe people were strange, but the religion was not.\n\nAt half-past three, sharp, the procession left the church. It was\nled by a white-surpliced, red-cinctured sanctuary boy, carrying the\nprocessional cross. Behind him walked about a dozen confr\u00e8res similarly\nclad; then came the young boys of the parish, with white ribbons on\ntheir arms. A lad perhaps eleven years of age followed, clad in the\nskins of animals and carrying a small cross on which were the words\n\u201cEcce Agnus Dei.\u201d The little girls, in snow-white dresses, came next,\nand a few feet behind the column walked a young girl of perhaps\nfifteen or sixteen, wearing a long cream-colored dress with white,\ngold-bordered wings coming out from her shoulders; a band of gold\nencircled her head, to which was attached a gold star which shone above\nher forehead; her right hand was raised and the index finger pointed\nalways towards the sky. Then came four young girls in white carrying\non a pedestal the statue of Our Lady, and four others, bearing on high\nthe statue of the Sacred Heart. The women of the parish, most of them\nwearing a kind of light-blue badge, were next, followed by the men of\nthe parish, with here and there the blue uniform of a French soldier\nhome on leave. A few khaki-clad lads also walked, but I think they were\nstrangers. (I wondered where my lads of the Thirteenth were.) Then came\nthe choir of middle-aged men singing hymns that today were being sung\nover all the world, \u201cLauda Sion Salvatoris,\u201d \u201cPange Lingua\u201d and \u201cPanis\nAngelicus.\u201d Behind these walked six little girls strewing flowers in\nthe way and two sanctuary boys swinging censers. Lastly, came four old\nmen, no caps on their venerable heads, bearing on high the white and\ngold canopy over Jesus Host in the great gold monstrance, carried by a\nCanadian priest in the beautiful Benediction vestments.\n\nThe vari-colored procession went slowly down the village street,\nbanners carried aloft and the beautiful old Eucharistic hymns sounding\non the summer air, while very old people and others who for one reason\nor another could not take part in the procession knelt reverently in\nthe dust on the roadside, as Jesus passed.\n\nThen something happened that had never before happened in that little\nvillage during a procession of the Blessed Sacrament. Lining each side\nof the road for quite a distance were men of the Thirteenth Battalion,\nCatholic and Protestant, and as the procession moved slowly along in\nall the sweet simplicity of the deep faith of these French peasants,\nthe soldiers stood reverently to attention.\n\nI felt proud of these lads. We had met together in many strange places;\nbut I am sure I shall never forget those gay, light-hearted lads\nstanding so quietly and reverently as we passed--Jesus and I!\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXIX\n\nON LEAVE\n\n\nI had now been in France about one year and had had no \u201cleave.\u201d During\nthis period of the war officers were entitled to leave every six\nmonths. I had not applied when the first six months were up, as I was\ntoo busy at the time. Now I had applied and daily I was awaiting my\nwarrant. The Sunday following the procession I had just returned home\nafter Mass when a runner from headquarters arrived to tell me that my\nwarrant had come from brigade headquarters and that if I would call\nat the battalion orderly room and sign the necessary papers, I could\nprocure it.\n\nI left a little place called Tinques at five o\u2019clock and although\nthe distance was only fifty miles, it was six o\u2019clock the following\nmorning when we arrived at Boulogne. The \u201cPullman\u201d was of the side-door\nvariety; sometimes it held eight horses and at other times forty men.\nIt seemed to me, as we sat so closely packed on the floor of the car,\nas if there were more than forty of us. I sat the whole night long with\nmy chin almost resting on my knees. It would not do to stand, for the\nspace thus made would be quickly filled, so that it would be almost\nimpossible to sit down again. Although many miles away from the sound\nof the guns and cheered, furthermore, by the thought of fourteen days\u2019\nleave, I have always felt that that night-ride was one of the hardest\nof the war, for sitting in that cramped position became actually\npainful. I longed to stretch my limbs, but this was impossible. It\nwas cold in the car, for the doors were kept open so that we could\nhave air. It is almost incredible how that boxcar bumped us about. But\neven through these hardships we were compelled to laugh from time to\ntime at some witty joke or at some incident that was funny, though not\nmeant to be so. Once quite an altercation arose between an officer and\na private; the officer was accusing the soldier of actually putting his\nfeet in the officer\u2019s face. The soldier thus accused was protesting in\na very high-pitched voice: \u201cThey ain\u2019t my feet! They ain\u2019t my feet!\u201d\n\nEverybody was laughing. Then came the gruff voice of the officer,\ndemanding: \u201cWell, whose feet are they?\u201d But nobody seemed to know whose\nfeet they were.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXX\n\nST. MICHAEL\u2019S CLUB\n\n\nSt. Michael\u2019s Club, 38 Grosvenor Gardens, London, was an ideal hostel\nfor priests, as it was open only to men in Holy Orders. Before the war\nit had been the city residence of Lady Lovat. But shortly after the\ncommencement of hostilities it had been rented from her by the Duchess\nof Norfolk and very kindly given over as a club for priests.\n\nThough there were many chaplains in the building when I arrived, I was\nlucky enough to secure an airy room. I actually felt like a boy as I\ntook off my haversack and flung it on the bed, after the hall porter\nhad left the room. It seemed so good to think that for fourteen days\nthe danger of being shot or blown up by shell was very remote. Then\nthere were many friends and brother priests in the house, and outside\nthe door was London, and in London there were lots of bookshops, and to\na booklover this meant bliss. The cathedral was but ten minutes\u2019 walk\nfrom the club, but we had our own little chapel in the building, and\nthe chaplains had the privilege of saying Mass there.\n\nIn the smoking-room, which was on the ground floor, there were many\nlarge and deep-cushioned armchairs that were very comfortable. There\nwas a big open fire-place and whenever the weather was damp or gloomy\noutside in the London streets a bright fire burned in it; one could\ncount on there being a fire very often. Sometimes in the evenings it\nwould be very quiet in the great wide room, as the priests sat around\nreading the evening papers, the only sounds being the occasional\ncrackle of a newspaper, as it was turned, and the purring of the fire.\nFrom outside could be heard faintly the dull roar of the city, made up\nof a medley of sounds: the rumbling of great elephantine busses that\nbumped along the streets; the whir of hundreds of taxis spinning along\nover the pavement, the rattle of wagons and squeaking of innumerable\nhorns. Now and then the house would shake very slightly, though\nperceptibly, as far below the basement the cars of the underground\nrailway whizzed through the tubes.\n\nI stayed at the club for four or five days and enjoyed very much the\ntime spent there. Bishop Fallon, a Canadian prelate, whose diocese was\nLondon, Ontario, was staying at the club. He had but recently returned\nfrom a visit to the Canadian soldiers at the front and was soon to go\nto Rome. I met there, also, the chaplain-general to the New York state\nforces, Monsignor James N. Connolly. He was a most lovable man and I\nenjoyed talking to him in the evening. He was vicar-general to the\nCatholic chaplain-bishop. He gave me his address, Hotel Castiglione,\nParis, and told me to call on him if I ever visited that city.\n\nStaying at the club were Irish, English, Scotch, American, Australian,\nNew Zealand and Canadian priests. And of all the chaplains I found the\nAmericans the finest. They were lovable, friendly, broad-minded men;\none needed only to be in the room a few seconds till he was on speaking\nterms with the American priest. There was a certain friendliness about\nhim that was irresistible. \u201cI\u2019m Father Whalen, from Dubuque, Father,\u201d\nor, \u201cI\u2019m Father Joyce from naval headquarters in London, Father,\u201d or,\n\u201cI\u2019m Father Waring from New York City, Father,\u201d would greet you on\nmeeting for the first time one of these priests. Whereas an English\npriest would look at you coldly, and perhaps say in a chilly voice:\n\u201cGood-evening, Father.\u201d\n\nFather Knox came up from Bramshott and invited me down. He said he\nhad a surprise for me. I wondered what it was. Shortly after seeing\nFather Knox I received an invitation to spend a few days at Anthony\nPlace, Hindhead, Surrey, the country home of Agnes and Egerton Castle,\nco-authors of many books. Hindhead was only about three miles from\nBramshott. I had visited Anthony Place while there. I promised Father\nKnox to visit Bramshott from Hindhead.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXI\n\nPARKMINSTER AGAIN\n\n\nFather Knox returned to Bramshott the following morning and in the\nafternoon I left for Parkminster. The life at the front had been one\nof such excitement and turmoil and frequent changes that I longed for\nquiet and peace. The very day I left for Parkminster Bishop Fallon\nand party left by auto for Oxford University. They had invited me\nto accompany them, but I had already made arrangements to revisit\nParkminster and did not wish to change my program. I shall always\nfeel sorry, however, not only that I missed seeing Oxford University,\nbut also that I lost the opportunity of meeting a number of priests\nwhose names were then famous in the literary world, among them Fathers\nMartindale, Plater and Ricaby.\n\nIt was a beautiful afternoon when I walked up the winding drive\nthat led to the gates of the monastery. This time I was greeted as\nan old friend. But the aged monk who had been Retreat Master on my\nformer visit did not appear this time. He had been succeeded by an\nalert young English priest who, I think, had but lately come to the\nmonastery. I missed greatly the dear old priest with whom I had made my\nformer retreat.\n\nThis time I did not settle down to the deep quiet of the monastery. The\nyear at the front had done its work too well, and I now experienced\nthe effects of that tension which all who have taken part in the World\nWar know so well. A strange restlessness possessed me, and I felt a\ndistinct relief when my time was up. But a little surprise was awaiting\nme.\n\nI was told, when about to leave, that the prior wished to see me, and\nso I waited in the parlor till he came. He was a very tall man and I\nthink had he followed the routine of life that ordinary mortals follow\nhe would have been fat. But now he was slight. He was from France,\nbut had been at Parkminster a number of years. He enquired about my\nwork and I related some of my military experiences. He took a great\ninterest in all I told him, and agreed with me that the war, terrible\nas it was, was bringing many souls back to God. When I told him of the\nprocession of the Blessed Sacrament at Bailleul-aux-Cornailles his eyes\nopened wide and he looked at me strangely, so that for a second or two\nI became just a little perturbed.\n\n\u201cWhere,\u201d he asked quickly, \u201cdid this procession take place?\u201d as if he\nfelt he had not heard aright.\n\n\u201cAt Bailleul-aux-Cornailles,\u201d I repeated.\n\nThen he sat back in his chair and the tense look went out of his face\nand he regarded me smilingly. \u201cWhy,\u201d he said, \u201cthat is my own parish.\nIt was there I was born!\u201d\n\nIt was now my turn to be surprised, and I am afraid I did not pay very\nmuch attention to his words as he continued speaking. I just sat there\nquietly wondering at the strange things that take place up and down the\nways of the world.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXII\n\nANOTHER SURPRISE\n\n\nFrom Parkminster I went to Hindhead and I was delighted with the\ncordial reception given me by Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Castle. Their home,\nalmost hidden from the road, looked down into a valley, and then away\nacross a moor that stretched up and over a long, high hill.\n\nI was not the only guest in the house. There was a private chapel\nupstairs, and they had been given the rare privilege of having the\nBlessed Sacrament reserved in the little tabernacle. Here I said Mass\neach morning for the household, and nearly all went to Holy Communion.\n\nThe following morning I went up to Bramshott to see Father Knox. He had\nnow a beautiful chapel built near the C. W. L. hut, under the patronage\nof St. Peter and St. Paul; so now the Catholics were no longer obliged\nto use the garrison church hut. After I had talked with him for a\nwhile, he told me to go alone to the hospital, which was just a few\nhundred feet away. Somebody wished to see me in Ward 18, bed 20. \u201cYou\nwill see what you will see,\u201d said Father Knox enigmatically, as he\nfollowed me to the door.\n\nThis is what I saw after I had entered Ward 18 and had walked a few\nsteps down the aisle. A young fellow was sitting up in bed 20, his\nfinger marking the place in a little black book with red edges, his\neyes smiling a friendly greeting. But who was he? I approached still\nnearer. Then I recognized him. It was the Spanish lad who had come to\nFather Knox\u2019s room about one year and a half before to tell him that he\nhad lost the faith and was no longer a Catholic.\n\nHe seemed glad to see me and held my hand after he had shaken it. I\nalso was very pleased to see him, for the strained look that I had\nnoticed when I first met him had gone from his eyes, and instead there\nwas a look of real joy there. The little book he held in his hand was\n\u201cThe Imitation of Christ.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is all right! It is all right!\u201d he kept repeating, as he smiled up\ninto my face. \u201cI have gone to communion. I have made peace. I am very\nglad.\u201d\n\nI, too, was very glad. I had thought of him often and had asked other\npriests to bring him back. And here he was now, safe in his Father\u2019s\nhouse! The strayed sheep had come back into the fold. Not for a long\ntime had I felt so happy! I remember now, as I returned to Anthony\nPlace that day, while walking along a secluded part of the way,\ntwirling my cane around my fingers as the drum major does at the head\nof a procession.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXIII\n\nBACK TO THE BATTALION\n\n\nThe men were never told on coming back from leave where they might\nfind their battalion; and when the troops were on the move often a\nsoldier was put to very great inconvenience trying to reach his unit.\nI, however, was in great good luck, for just at the base of Mount\nSt. Eloi, while the train stopped, I noticed some of the soldiers of\nthe Sixteenth standing near by. I called one of them and asked the\nwhereabouts of the battalion.\n\n\u201cJust over here in Ecoivres, sir,\u201d he said. I stepped out of the train\nand in twenty minutes was sitting in the transport mess talking of my\nleave.\n\nI had found my friends in England somewhat downhearted, which was but\nnatural considering the great losses the British army had sustained\nduring the recent German advances. On all sides one heard only gloomy\nforebodings as to future attacks. But back again among the gruesome\nscenes of devastation and ruin, I was struck more than ever by the\nbuoyancy and light-heartedness of the troops. Here were no gloomy\nforebodings, but on all sides were friendly faces and the air was merry\nwith sounds of whistling, singing, bugle calls, practicing bands, and\ngood-natured banter. Of one thing I felt sure--old \u201cMajor Gloom\u201d did\nnot belong to the Third Canadian Brigade!\n\nAfter I had talked awhile with the quartermaster and transport officer,\nmy mail was brought in. It was very large, the accumulation of two\nweeks. It was a long while before I had finished reading all the\nletters. The transport officer had gone outside, but the quartermaster\nwas in the room adjoining the mess, from which came now and then little\nexplosions of partly suppressed laughter. And whilst I read my letters\nI wondered what was the cause of the mirth. In a little while the\nquartermaster came out of the room and stopped in passing to ask me if\nI had ever read \u201cSeventeen\u201d by Booth Tarkington. Indeed, I had, and I\nwondered no longer why sounds of laughter had drifted out to me.\n\nAmong my letters were a few edged in black. One of these, heavily\ncrossed by a blue pencil, was registered, and when I opened it a\nten-dollar bill dropped to the table. I had been accustomed to\nreceiving many letters edged in black, answers to those I had written\nto next of kin at home, telling them of the death of dear ones, and how\nthey had been prepared to meet God. It was not often, however, that\nthey came registered. But as I read the letter I forgot altogether that\na ten-dollar bill had dropped from it and was now lying on the table.\n\nThe letter was from the wife of Captain Waud, the young officer who had\nfallen at the head of his men--he who had knelt so reverently with them\nto receive Holy Communion that day in New Plymouth Cave. It was not\nonly a beautiful letter, with a deep note of Catholic faith sounding\nthroughout it, but it told me something of the young officer that I\nhad not known. He had not always been a Catholic. I learned from the\nletter that he had been wounded previously. \u201cYou know, he did not have\nto go back to France,\u201d wrote Mrs. Waud, \u201cbut duty called, so I let him\ngo with as brave a heart as I could, and brought my little son home.\nI had prayed so that my husband would be spared to me, but indeed God\nknows best and He is helping me now. Everything of that last day is\ncomforting and very beautiful. And although the heartache and longing\nwill not leave, I feel that I have a great deal to be thankful for. I\nam enclosing a little offering for whatever lies near your heart. It\nis little and I wish it were more. I thank you for all you have done\nfor my husband, and indeed I will pray for your lads. Trusting that you\nwill remember me, and that God will give me the grace to do my duty as\nworthily as my husband did his, I am, gratefully yours, Ruth Waud.\u201d\n\nFor a long time I sat there thinking of the letter I held in my hand,\nand then of other letters that had come to me from time to time. And\nI thought how many women there must be over the world bearing great\nsorrows, but the eyes of the world were not focused on these! They\nwere on the battalions that had marched away to the war while flags\nfluttered and bands played and people cheered. They watched the papers\nfor accounts of great deeds of arms. But whenever I read such letters\nmy thoughts would go back to the roads over which the soldiers had\nmarched so bravely away, and I would see figures leaning over gates,\nwhite handkerchiefs held to eyes that had strained down the white\ndusty road over which their soldier sons or husbands had marched away.\nThey would go back into silent rooms where so many little things\nwould remind them of their men. Then, as the days would pass, to many\nwould come words to chill the heart and make homes desolate: \u201cKilled\nin Action.\u201d Whenever I wrote to these poor mothers or wives, I would\nsee a great lonely hill, on which stood a cross whereon was nailed a\nscourged, thorn-crowned Figure whose eyes rested with great pity on one\nwho stood below--the Mater Dolorosa. It was on her feast, the Feast of\nthe Seven Dolors, that the bishop had decided I should go to the war,\nand perhaps it was she who helped me to write the letters of sympathy\nthat brought comfort to so many sorrowful hearts. With the ten-dollar\nbill I bought comforts for the men.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXIV\n\nNO MAN\u2019S LAND AGAIN\n\n\nI was billeted in a little hut with the billeting officer. It was a\nvery tiny hut, with two berths in it, one above the other. As I was on\nleave when the battalion came to Ecoivres, no provision had been made\nfor me, so I was obliged to share the billeting officer\u2019s hut which\nhe so kindly offered. He was a genial companion, but he used to sit up\nvery late at night puzzling over a chess-board. He was playing a game\nof chess with a partner who was actually residing in England, and every\nnight, after great puzzling over the board, he was obliged to write the\nresult of his efforts to his partner in England. One evening--I suppose\nit was his partner\u2019s turn to play and it was for this reason that\nhis chess-board was idle--he took his Bible from his table and said,\nnaively: \u201cNow, Padre, I won\u2019t try to change your views, and you won\u2019t\ntry to change mine, but just take your Bible, and I will read certain\npassages from mine, and you will read the same passages from yours.\u201d\n\nI could not help smiling, as I reached for my Bible, at the thought of\nthe billeting officer not wishing to change my views, for these words\nhad just come to my mind: \u201cUpon this rock I will build My Church.\u201d\n\nI can\u2019t recall the texts he picked out and asked me to read from my\nBible, but I remember that each one seemed contrary to the teachings\nof the Catholic Church on the subject treated. As every one familiar\nwith the Douai-Rheims version of the Bible knows, there are little\nnotes on texts that might be disputed, giving the true meaning and also\nreference to other texts which would prove the teaching. Glancing at\nthe footnote, I would give the true interpretation and then refer the\namateur exegete to the other texts. In a little while he closed his\nBible. \u201cWhy, Padre,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cyou know the whole Bible by heart!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d I said modestly, as I suppressed a desire to smile, \u201cI don\u2019t\nthink I know it by heart, but you know it is my business to teach the\ntruths that are in it,\u201d--but I did not mention the foot-notes!\n\nThe following morning the billeting officer came hurriedly into the\nroom. \u201cPadre,\u201d he said, \u201cwe are leaving here tomorrow night for the\ntrenches. We\u2019re taking over the line in front of Monchy.\u201d\n\nFor just a second or two a peculiar numbness seemed to spread through\nevery nerve in my body: it was nothing new, however, for years before,\nwhen a boy at the public school, after the teacher had opened the\ndrawer in her desk and removed a black, snakelike piece of leather, and\nhad said quietly: \u201cBennie Murdoch, come up here,\u201d this strange numbness\nhad come over me together with a slight contraction of the muscles of\nthe throat.\n\nBut it quickly passed, and after I had swallowed once or twice to make\nsure of my throat, I said the obvious thing: \u201cWell, that means another\nmove!\u201d\n\nGoing into the trenches was not the only hard piece of work I had to\ndo. A very difficult task was before me, though I did not know it till\nI went up to the mess for lunch. Three or four letters were lying near\nmy plate. One envelope was much larger than the others and bore in the\nupper left-hand corner the words \u201cAssembly Chamber, State of New York,\nAlbany\u201d and beneath, was the address of Joseph V. McKee, 890 East 176th\nSt., New York City, the brother of one of my \u201cCanadians\u201d who was an\nAmerican by birth, and had lived all his life in the United States.\nThere were many such, in the Third Brigade--Private McKee was in the\nFifteenth Battalion. I knew him well and he was one of my very best\nCatholics.\n\nI opened the letter and began to read it, and as I did I felt that I\nwas turning sick. The letter contained a request that I please notify\nPrivate McKee that his mother had departed this life.\n\nAfter lunch I left on foot for Anzin, for I had learned that the\nFifteenth Battalion was quartered there. It was a distance of only\nthree miles, yet it was one of the hardest journeys I ever made in\nFrance. Life at the front was very hard for these lads, but it was\nalways brightened by the hope of finally seeing the dear ones at home.\nIt had not been very long before, that Private McKee had spoken to me\nof his mother. One of the loveliest things in this world is the love of\na good man for his mother. Every step was bringing me nearer the lad,\nand I so dreaded the thought of telling him! My head began to pain,\nand I went back in memory to the first time I was called on to break\nsorrowful news. I had been a priest just a little over a year when one\nnight the telephone bell rang, and a trembling voice told me one of my\nmen had been killed by a falling log. There were fifteen men in the\nsmall railway station where the voice was coming from; they were only\nabout two hundred yards from the house where lived the widow of the man\nthat was killed, and I was six miles away. Yet not one would break the\nterrible news. I was implored to come.\n\nI shall never forget that night. A full moon was throwing its light\nover all the white land, darkened here and there by a clump of green,\nwhite-patched trees, but the thought of what I had to do had numbed me\nto all sense of beauty. And as I drove along even the horse seemed to\nfeel what terrible work had to be done, for once he actually stopped\nin the road and I had difficulty in starting him; yet I could see no\nreason for his having stopped.\n\nAs I walked along, dreading all the time what was before me, I noticed\nthat the soldiers who were quartered along the road wore the purple\npatch of the Fifth Division. They were artillerymen. Then a sign on a\ndoor of a shell-torn house told me that an R. C. chaplain dwelt within.\nI inferred that it was Father McPherson, the Fifth Divisional Artillery\nchaplain, one of the holiest priests in France; often I had seen him\nkneeling down in a dugout or some poor billet reading his Breviary.\n\nI knocked on the door and was shown up to Father McPherson\u2019s room, and\nthe sight of his pleasant kindly face did me good. I told him of the\ntask I had to perform. He spoke sympathetically and invited me to call\nin on my return and have tea with him.\n\nAfter leaving Father McPherson, the thought of what I had to do did not\nweigh so heavily. Perhaps it was that the prayers of the good priest I\nhad just left followed me.\n\nThey told me at the Fifteenth Battalion orderly room that Private McKee\nwas quarantined,--the \u201cflu\u201d was now becoming quite prevalent among the\nmen. I found him sitting in a bell tent, one of a group pitched in a\nlarge garden of a chateau. I called him, and when he came we walked up\nand down a long garden path under the trees while I broke as gently as\nI could the terrible news I had for him.\n\nHe took it well--took it bravely and quietly like the good soldier\nhe was, with great submission to the holy will of God, like the good\nCatholic his dear mother had brought him up to be. I talked with him a\nlittle while, and when I left I asked Our Lady of the Seven Dolors to\nstay with the lad and to comfort him.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXV\n\nNO MAN\u2019S LAND\n\n\nThe following day we took over the line just before Monchy. The\nquartermaster, transport officer and I had a nice little mess at\nBerneville, near Arras. I was billeted with the cur\u00e9 of Berneville and\nhe proved a friendly old man. His old sister was housekeeper for him.\nShe was very kind, and George received many cups of hot coffee.\n\nIt did not happen very often that battalion headquarters were in the\nfront line trench; yet it so happened when we were at Monchy. Indeed,\nthe first night, on going up to the trenches, I actually walked through\nNo Man\u2019s Land in order to reach headquarters\u2019 dugout. It was a part of\nthe line that we had retaken from the Germans, and for this reason the\nopening of the shaft leading down to the dugout faced the German front\ninstead of our own back area.\n\nThe second night I spent in the line at Monchy I was awakened suddenly\nby a terrific bombardment by the Germans. The dugout was shaking from\nthe concussion of the shells bursting on the ground above us. I had\nbeen sleeping fully dressed and with my trench coat on; for although\nit was July it was very cold underground. My bed was a berth of\nmeshed wire stretched between rough scantling--nothing else, not even\na blanket; my pillow was my haversack. When I awoke I was trembling\nviolently, I was not sure whether through cold or fear. Yet after I\nstood up and walked up and down a little while talking to the officers,\nI ceased to tremble.\n\nThe Germans were putting on a box barrage, that is, they were\nbombarding us in such a way that the shells were dropping behind us,\nand to our left and right, so that we could not retreat and no troops\ncould come to our aid. The only way open to approach us was from the\nGerman trenches opposite, by way of No Man\u2019s Land. This was the way the\nGermans would be coming presently, either to order us up or to throw\nbombs or tubes of amenol down to blow us into minutest fragments. We\ntalked quietly as we waited there at bay; but we were all a little\nnervous. I shall never forget those minutes we spent there, caught like\nrats in a trap.\n\nWe waited and waited; the very atmosphere of the dugout seemed heavy\nand sickening. Then suddenly the bombarding ceased. Surely, Fritz\nhad not changed his mind; yet it was always under cover of his own\nartillery fire that he made his advances or raids. We became a little\ncheerful. Finally, after half an hour of quiet we concluded that for\nsome unknown reason Fritz had decided not to come. Then, our hearts\nfilled with relief, we sat about the candle-lit dugout chatting like\nhappy boys on their way home for vacation.\n\nThe following morning, with God\u2019s beautiful sunlight over all the land,\nI stepped out into No Man\u2019s Land with Colonel Peck and we took a little\nwalk. Beautiful red flowers resembling in size and shape the sweet pea,\nonly they were short-stemmed and in clusters, grew near an old pile of\nstones. It was the first time I had ever seen flowers growing in \u201cNo\nMan\u2019s Land,\u201d and I began to pick a few. The colonel, however, told me\nto hurry. Indeed, it was no place to loiter, for although No Man\u2019s Land\nwas very wide here, one could see the parapets of the German trenches.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXVI\n\nCAMBLIGNEUL\n\n\nHere we came for a week\u2019s rest after our turn in the line. We little\nknew then what strenuous days were before us, nor what terrible toll\nwas to be taken of our ranks before we would rest again. It was a very\npretty countryside, though not so open as the area we had occupied in\nJune.\n\nIt was now the end of July, and although my troops were scattered over\nvery wide areas I managed to do good work with the Thirteenth and\nFourteenth. Indeed, one evening I found one hundred and twenty-five\nlads of the Fourteenth waiting for me in a quaint little church at a\nplace called Chelers, or Villers-Chatel. This was indeed extraordinary\nfor an evening during the week, when there was no hint of our soon\nleaving for the front line. The Fifteenth and Sixteenth had not been\nhaving a very good chance of late to go to confession. Whenever the\nfour battalions were separated, I always gave the Thirteenth and\nFourteenth the preference for Masses, as there were more Catholics in\neither one of these than in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth together. These\ntwo latter battalions were often obliged to attend the village Mass\nsaid by the cur\u00e9 of the parish in which they happened to be.\n\nAugust came, and the rich promise that was over all the land in June\nwas now being fulfilled: great brown stacks of hay, like dark hillocks,\nstood over all the green land, and here and there were large golden\npatches of rye, weighed and bent low with the full kernels, so that now\nthey were not much higher than my waist. In fields and gardens were low\nbivouacs, about three feet in height, where soldiers slept at night.\n\nCambligneul was a very small village and had no resident priest but was\nserved from Camblain L\u2019Abbey, which was only about a mile and a half\ndistant. I was billeted in a farmhouse not far from the church. The\nold lady of the house resembled very much the wife of the captain in\nthe \u201cKatzenjammer Kids.\u201d\n\nOne rainy afternoon the old lady made bread, and as I had never seen\nbread made in France, I was very interested in the process. It was a\ndifferent one than that employed in country houses at home. The old\nlady mixed the dough in a large trough-like affair that resembled a\nhalf-barrel that had been cut horizontally on a wood-horse. Into this\nwas poured a great quantity of flour and water which the capable arms\nof \u201cmamma Katzenjammer\u201d worked quickly into dough. When it was kneaded\nsufficiently, an iron door was opened in a large brick oven, and from\nit a few embers were quickly drawn. This part of the process surprised\nme very much as I did not know that a wood fire had actually been made\nin the oven. Then the old lady took a long-handled flat wooden shovel\nthat stood near the kneaded dough, which had not been set to rise,\nbut had been placed on paper in flat wicker baskets. She picked up\neach basket and upset the dough on the shovel; each basket contained\njust enough dough to cover the shovel and still be about two inches\nin thickness. The shovel was pushed far into the oven and then with a\nquick jerk by the experienced hands of old Madame, was drawn out empty.\nWhen all the dough in the baskets had been put in the oven the door was\nclosed and, if I remember rightly, it was two hours before the oven was\nopened again. It was George who came to tell me that Madame was going\nto open the oven. I went out just in time to see the old lady pull to\nthe front of the oven, by means of a long-handled hook, the great flat\nloaves of dark-brown bread: there were fifteen loaves in all, about\none foot and a half in diameter and two inches deep. It was very good\nbread, as I discovered when I tasted some the following day.\n\nBefore the following Sunday orders came to march. First we went to\nBerneville, and on Saturday, after I had arranged for church service\nfor Sunday, we were moved to Lattre-St. Quentin. The other battalions\nwere quartered in the same area. It was late Saturday night when I\nfinished organizing for Sunday; but the services were not to be. More\nmarching orders came. We were to leave in the morning at five o\u2019clock\nfor Avesnes-le-Compte, where we were to entrain, destination not given.\nThe hour had struck; big things were before us.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXVII\n\nA NEW FRONT\n\n\nIt was half-past three Sunday morning when I awoke. I dressed quickly,\nwent down to the little church and said Mass. When I left the church\nthe road was filled with soldiers moving in different directions,\ncarrying mess tins of steaming porridge, across the top of which was\nplaced some bread and butter with a strip of fried bacon; in the other\nhand was the cover of the mess tin filled with hot tea. They were all\njoking and in excellent spirits; yet before the following Sunday--\n\nWe entrained between eight and nine o\u2019clock and all day long there was\ngreat speculation as to our destination. Some thought that the division\nwas returning to the Ypres salient; others guessed that we were on our\nway up to the North Sea coast. Later in the day it was rumored that we\nwere going to Etaples, where there was to be more drilling. For awhile\nit seemed that we were returning to the area about Etaples. But towards\nevening we knew the truth; we were coming into the area on the Somme.\n\nIt was late in the evening when we detrained, and to this day I do not\nknow the name of the place. We took supper and then began to march.\nWe crossed the Somme River and then in the darkness went through what\nseemed to be a very pretty country, one more wooded than I had yet seen\nin France. And as we went on and on under ancient wide-spreading trees,\nI began to wish it had been daylight, for surely it must have been some\nfamous forest of France.\n\nThere had either been some confusion of orders or else our guides did\nnot know the way, for we spent the whole night marching over dark\nroads, through quiet villages and dense forests. One little scene\nstands out in my memory quite vividly. We had been marching for a long\ntime when the order came ringing through the darkness: \u201cFall out!\u201d The\nmen fell out and immediately began to sit around on the damp earth; a\nfine mist of rain had been falling for some time. Permission was given\nto smoke, and presently hundreds of tiny red circles glowed in the\ndarkness of the forest.\n\n\u201cWhere are we now?\u201d some one asked. Of course he was bombarded with\nreplies, but none of them proved correct; indeed, many went very wide\nof the mark as they meant to do, for they were names of Canadian towns\nor countries.\n\nPresently I noticed the white circle of light from a flash-lamp\nmove over a field map spread out on the ground, and in the relative\nsilence that had now ensued I listened intently, as the low murmur of\nthe voices of the officers regarding the map came to my ears. They\nmentioned the name of some place but I did not catch it; then one\nofficer spoke louder, so that I heard quite distinctly: \u201cIt\u2019s Picardy\nwe are now in, Picardy.\u201d\n\nHe stopped speaking, and from the opposite side of the glade came the\nsound of a murmured conversation. It ceased, and in the silence a\nwonderful clear voice began to sing softly, yet not so low but that all\ncould hear, the song \u201cRoses are Blooming in Picardy.\u201d I had never heard\nthe song before. It seemed fitting for that young soldier to be singing\nthere in the damp forest while his companions listened and joined in\nthe chorus. I suppose for many of those brave young lads who sang the\nwords had a special significance.\n\nWe kept marching slowly, and resting; five o\u2019clock showed on our wrist\nwatches. Then we came to our halting-place.\n\nIt was a strange little village to which we came. Perhaps I should not\nsay that it was \u201cstrange,\u201d for it was built like all other farming\nvillages of France, but the people were strange: they had never seen\nCanadian soldiers before, and only rarely since the beginning of the\nwar had they seen the soldiers of their own country. All the people\nturned out to see us as if a circus had come to town. The soldiers were\ntreated with very much more consideration than they had been accustomed\nto, and the prices in the village stores were extremely low.\n\nI slept a few hours and then took my bicycle and went out to try to\nfind the Fifteenth Battalion. I could get no information from the\norderly room. Everything was being done with the utmost secrecy; we\nmight move at any time. But George, ever-faithful George, told me he\nhad seen the Fifteenth transport officer going to a little village said\nto be only three miles distant. I started, but found progress very\ndifficult once I had left the village. The gentle mist of rain that had\nbeen falling through the night had increased towards morning and caused\nthe wet, oily clay to adhere to the tires of my bicycle; sometimes the\nwheels skidded, and sometimes I was obliged to dismount and remove the\nclay that clung so tenaciously to the fork above the front wheel. Once\nI saw a number of the Thirteenth going towards a village on my right.\nAfter I had passed them I became worried. I was not sure of finding the\nFifteenth but I felt that I could reach the billets of the Thirteenth\nby following the lads I had just seen. I continued a little farther on\nmy way, still thinking of the Thirteenth. I dismounted, turned, and\nbegan to ride in the direction the Thirteenth soldiers had gone. I\nhad not gone far, however, when I began to think that after all the\nFifteenth had much greater need of my services than the Thirteenth; for\nall I knew then, we might be in the line that very night. I stopped\nagain in the road and stood by my bicycle. Never in my life had I\nfelt such indecision, but it was serious work I had to do--perhaps by\ntomorrow many of the lads would be killed. And here was I standing in\nthe road almost in a panic--doing nothing!\n\nI now began to pray to the Little Flower. I had never prayed to her\nbefore; the Blessed Virgin had always looked after all my wants. I\nremounted and presently I was going down a long hill very swiftly,\nfinding great difficulty in managing my wheel. Just when I was half-way\ndown I met a runner of the Sixteenth. He had passed me before I could\nstop, so I turned my head a little to call to him. The next thing I\nknew I had shot completely over my machine and was on my hands and\nknees on the road, a severe pain in one of my knees. The runner turned\nquickly, a look of concern in his eyes; but I had twisted my face into\na smile and his face brightened.\n\nHe pointed out a clump of trees on the opposite hill and told me I\nwould find the Fifteenth there. I did, and gave some of them Communion.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXVIII\n\nBOVES\n\n\nI returned to the Sixteenth and succeeded in giving Holy Communion to\na few soldiers, among whom was the solicitor whom I had baptized at\nMonchy Breton. But I was by no means pleased with my day\u2019s work, for I\nhad not gotten all the Catholics in each battalion.\n\nAt six o\u2019clock we left this area, and towards morning, after marching\ncontinuously, were met by a long line of busses that brought us through\nthe city of Amiens to within three or four miles of Boves. We marched\nfor nearly two hours and about ten o\u2019clock came into the city of Boves,\nfrom which all the inhabitants had gone.\n\nI was very tired and hungry, but I had not broken my fast, for I wished\nto say Mass, if I could find time, in order that I might offer it for\nthe success of my work among the soldiers.\n\nI easily found the church of Boves, and just as I entered, met a\nchaplain of the French army coming out. I saluted and told him who I\nwas. He was a friendly priest and had one of the kindest faces I have\never seen. We talked for a little while, then, as there was no parish\npriest at Boves, he came back to the sacristy to show me where to find\nthings. Then he served my Mass.\n\nI had lunch in the mess of the French chaplain, after which I went out\ninto the highways and byways seeking my men. I had excellent news. The\nwhole Third Brigade was billeted in the city. This was the first time\nsince March 28th that I could remember having all my units together.\nNot content with announcing confessions at the orderly rooms of the\ndifferent battalions, fearing there might be some miscarriage of orders\nand that some of the men might not be notified, I went all over the\ncity visiting them. It had not been very long since the majority had\ngone to confession, yet I wished to give every one an opportunity. I\nhad learned at brigade headquarters that the battalions would not go\ninto the trenches till ten o\u2019clock that night.\n\nAt five o\u2019clock, when I entered the church of Boves, I was somewhat\nnervous. At Mass that morning I had forgotten to look in the ciborium\nto see how many consecrated Hosts there were. I went straight to the\naltar, opened the tabernacle door, took out the ciborium and opened\nit. As I feared, there would not be enough Particles for one-tenth the\nnumber I expected! I closed the door softly, saying a little prayer\nas I did so, and walked back to the confessional in the rear of the\nchurch, for the men were beginning to arrive.\n\nI had not reached the confessional when I noticed the French chaplain\ncoming into the church. I went to him quietly and made known to him\nwhat I had learned from my visit to the tabernacle. He was sympathetic\nand immediately began to think what we could do. First, he thought of\nsaying Mass, although it was then five o\u2019clock in the afternoon and he\nhad broken his fast; it seemed, however, to each of us that he would\nbe quite justified in so doing. Then suddenly he remembered a convent\nchapel, about seven kilometers distant, where he felt sure there would\nbe a ciborium with a sufficient number of consecrated Hosts. He said he\nwould go on horse-back. Seldom have I felt more grateful than I did to\nhim that night.\n\nI began to hear confessions and the lads came in great numbers. Soon\nthe light became dim in the great church and lads who had come first\nbegan to be a little restless: they wondered why I did not give them\nHoly Communion.\n\nIt was now becoming so dark that I could just distinguish the crowds\nof kneeling soldiers. I was hearing confessions very quickly. Once a\nfellow knocked on the confessional door and told me he hoped I would\nsoon give communion, as he had some things to do before going into the\nline. He had now been waiting a long time, he said. I asked him if\nhe could wait a few minutes longer, as time was so precious and such\ncrowds of men were coming that I did not wish to leave my confessional\nfor a minute. I was praying between the drawing of slides for the\nappearance of the French chaplain. No soldier had yet left the church,\nyet I feared they might. Then away up in the sanctuary I noticed a\nlittle flame flash out in the darkness and then move quickly to one\nside of the tabernacle, where it touched the responsive wick of a\ncandle and another gleam of light shot up, then, on the other side of\nthe tabernacle, the other candle flashed. As I heard the slow moving of\nmany feet towards the altar-rail, I thanked God.\n\nFor a long while the priest, after placing two lighted candles on the\nsanctuary railing, moved up and down between them dispensing the Bread\nof the Strong to those Canadian soldiers. When all who were ready had\nreceived, he put the ciborium in the tabernacle and knelt to pray till\nI had prepared more lads for him.\n\nI did not move from my confessional till after ten o\u2019clock, and it was\nafter this hour before I left, for still men came. They were now coming\nfully equipped for battle, hoping to catch up with their companions,\nwho must have already left.\n\nWhen the last man had been shriven, the chaplain came down to have a\nlittle talk with me. I was almost overcome as I thanked him for what he\nhad done, for I was now beginning to be very tired.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he said, with a beaming face, \u201care you happy? Are you happy?\u201d\n\n\u201cHappy?\u201d I repeated. \u201cIndeed, I am, for wonderful things have been done\ntonight for God!\u201d\n\nAs I walked down to my billet that night I was swaying, as I went, from\nsheer exhaustion; I tried to recall when it was that I had a night\u2019s\nsleep. It seemed months, yet it was but a few days. My billet was\nupstairs in a house that had not been struck by enemy fire.\n\nGeorge met me at the door and told me to go to my room, that he would\nbring my dinner. I stumbled upstairs, for I was weak with hunger and\nfatigue. I sat in a chair and was almost falling asleep when George\ncame in with a large granite plate filled with roast beef, mashed\npotatoes and green peas. He had kept it hot for me. I picked up the\nknife and fork and they seemed heavy. George began to arrange my bed.\nNew strength came as I ate the excellent food--we were always well\nfed before a battle; in fact, the men could always foretell a battle\nby the quantities of strawberry jam they received two or three days\npreceding action. I had not finished the meat and vegetables when the\ncook himself came up with some strawberry jam, little cakes and a huge\ngranite mug of hot cocoa. When I had finished the cocoa, I can just\nremember George saying: \u201cHadn\u2019t you better take off your boots, sir?\u201d\nAnd the next thing I knew it was broad daylight, and as I looked at my\nwrist-watch the hands pointed to half-past ten a. m. I had slept about\nten and one-half hours.\n\nI had learned the preceding night that the battle would not begin till\nvery early in the morning of August 8th. It had taken, I supposed, the\nwhole night for the troops to assemble. Very likely they would sleep or\nrest today. There was no need for me to go up till evening.\n\nI looked about the room. The dinner dishes had been removed and so had\nmy boots, but with the exception of boots and leggings I was completely\ndressed. It did not take me very long to put on my boots and shave, yet\nit was twelve o\u2019clock when I came out of the church of Boves after I\nhad said Mass.\n\nThat evening, August 7th, I went up to Gentelles Wood.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXIX\n\nTHE BATTLE OF AMIENS\n\n\nIt was a wonderful sight that met the eye as George and I left Boves\nthat evening and turned our steps towards the battle-ground. The\nartillery had assembled, and on all sides were great guns in cuttings\nof embankments or hidden in woods, or camouflaged in the open. At\ntimes the roads were blocked with the heavy lines of traffic, but as\nwe drew nearer the line the movement was not so great; yet coming\nthrough fields and woods were the huge, clanking tanks. There must\nhave been at least one hundred of them careening along up hill and\ndown dale. Nothing seemed to be able to stop their unwieldly bulk.\nI learned afterwards that great bombing planes had swooped low over\nFritz\u2019s trenches, making a great noise so as to deaden the sounds of\nthe assembling tanks.\n\nI did not sleep at all that night. Indeed, very few slept, for during\nthe night the troops were taking their place for the assault and it was\nnot till 2:10 a. m. that the assembly was complete.\n\nAt 4:10 a. m., August 8th, a terrific crash of heavy and light guns\nbroke the silence of the dawn on a twenty-mile front. I had never\nbefore been in a great battle and was not prepared for action on such\na stupendous scale. The earth seemed to be rocking. The full-leaved\ntree-tops of Gentelles Wood behind us twisted and broke, as shells from\nour back areas shrieked their way towards Fritz\u2019s line.\n\nI stood for awhile waiting for Fritz\u2019s \u201ccome back,\u201d but the Germans had\nbeen so completely surprised by the unexpected bombardment that their\nartillery gave but a very faint-hearted reply. On seeing this we felt\nthat victory was assured. I did not have long to watch the tide of\nbattle, for presently a long line of stretcher-bearers, their burdens\nraised shoulder high, told me my work was to begin.\n\nAll day long I walked up and down among the wounded, hearing\nconfessions, giving Holy Communion, anointing those mortally wounded,\nand taking messages for dear ones at home. Among the dying were many\nGermans, and a number of these were Catholics. I knew only one sentence\nin German: \u201cSind sie Katholisch?\u201d \u201cAre you a Catholic?\u201d but it was\nsufficient, for I understood when the reply was \u201cYes,\u201d or \u201cNo.\u201d When\na German would say he was a Catholic, I would put on my stole, open\nmy little ciborium, hold up the Sacred Host, and then I would look at\nhim. Always his two hands would fold, and I would wait kneeling by his\nside till he had finished his act of contrition; then I would give him\nHoly Communion. It was a beautiful sight to see the tears of gratitude\ncome into the eyes of those dying Germans after they had received their\nLord; and after I had anointed them, invariably they reached out and\ngripped my hand before passing out. Many lads were ushered up to the\ngates of heaven that day.\n\nThe following morning George and I went up to Caix. My own brigade was\nnow out of the fight for a while, but I was following with the Second\nField Ambulance. For a long time we waited on the side of the road, as\nthe place we intended to hold for an advanced dressing station had not\nyet been taken. About 1:10 p. m. I stood on a hill and watched the men\nof the First Brigade come up into action. An Irish chaplain whom I had\nonce met at St. Michael\u2019s Club was riding behind them. He told me that\nhe had just given them a general absolution.\n\nAll that afternoon, and late into the evening, I worked with the Second\nField Ambulance. A great number of wounded passed through. Once some\nenemy airplanes swooped low and dropped bombs amongst us, but they\nfailed to kill any one. We were now in open warfare, and for the first\ntime I saw the cavalry in action. They came cantering across an open\nfield, their spears, held at their sides, pointing heavenwards, ribbons\nfluttered from the long handles, and the burnished points flashed in\nthe sunlight.\n\nThat evening I was relieved by Father Locharay and I found a small\ndugout where I got a few hours of sleep.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXX\n\nAT THE WAYSIDE\n\n\nEarly in the morning George and I left to find the Sixteenth which\nhad passed through in the evening. We anticipated some trouble, for\nto find one\u2019s battalion after an attack is not the easiest thing in\nthe world. However, we saw the Sixteenth Battalion water cart in the\ngreat procession that filled the road before us, so, keeping our eyes\non it, we slipped in behind a transport wagon and followed along on\nthe right side of the road. We went slowly, and at times halted for\nfive and sometimes ten minutes. Now and again some of the horses in the\nprocession, as we passed dead horses on the side of the road, would\nbegin side-stepping in their fear, and this would interfere somewhat\nwith the progress of the line.\n\nWe had been walking with many halts for over an hour, and I remember\nhow surprised I was that our soldiers had advanced so far. All the\nmarks of the advance were along the way: broken war-wagons of every\ndescription, dead Germans and dead Canadians, deep shell-holes,\nshattered buildings, and always in the air mingled with the dust that\nrose from the busy road were the odors of gas and sulphur.\n\nWe had been walking on the right of the procession, and to this day I\ncannot say why I decided to change my place. For no reason that I can\nremember I stepped in front of a team of mules hitched to a general\nservice wagon and crossed to the left of the road. Then I noticed two\nsoldiers approaching carrying a wounded comrade on a stretcher. I am\ncertain that if I had not crossed to the left of the road I would not\nhave noticed them.\n\nJust as the lads came alongside me they halted and I heard one say: \u201cHe\nain\u2019t dead yet.\u201d Then gently they lowered their burden to the road in\norder to take a short rest.\n\nI stepped over to the wounded lad and a glance told me that he had not\nmuch longer to live. I knelt quickly on one knee and pulled out the\nlittle round identification disc attached to the string around his\nneck. I looked at it and saw the letters \u201cR. C.\u201d\n\nI remember throwing off my shrapnel helmet (\u201ctin lid,\u201d the lads called\nit) and it rattled on the hard road, though the noise was deadened by\nthe rumble of the passing traffic. Then I spoke to the lad, telling\nhim I was a Catholic priest. Finding him conscious, I told him to make\na good act of contrition for all the sins of his past life and that I\nwould give him absolution. Then, as the great procession went lumbering\nby I pronounced the words of absolution, and anointed him there on the\nroadside. In a little while he passed away peacefully.\n\nI copied from the little leather disc his name, number and battalion:\nPrivate W. J. Daze, No. 788567, Third Canadian Infantry Battalion. A\nfew days later I got his mother\u2019s address from the Third Battalion\norderly room and wrote her, telling how grace had come to the lad.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXXI\n\nIN AN APPLE ORCHARD\n\n\nWe remained on the Amiens front nearly three weeks, and we were lucky\nenough not to have much rain, for we were in trenches where there were\nno dugouts.\n\nThe transport mess was in an apple orchard, one of the great old\norchards of Picardy where in days before the war, happy peasants picked\nthe apples to make the golden cider.\n\nThere were many troops quartered in this orchard, as the trees offered\nshade and screened us fairly well from the ever baleful eye of enemy\nairplanes. Yet almost every evening we were bombed. We would hear\nthe signal of his approach long before the whir of his motor became\naudible. We would be sitting in groups, sometimes around little fires\nof wood or charcoal, talking in low voices, when suddenly there would\ncome three shrill blows of a whistle, the kind used by referees of\nfootball matches. Instantly water would be poured on fires, or a few\nshovelfuls of earth would be thrown over the bright embers, and then\na hurrying and scurrying to trenches; the sounds of laughter and\npleasant talk would die away with the hissing of the expiring fires.\nThen profound silence, save for the champing of horses tethered at one\nend of the orchard under the trees. Presently from far up in the sky,\ncoming nearer and nearer, would sound that peculiar err-rum, err-rum,\nerr-rum, which left no uncertainty in our minds as to whose airplanes\nwere approaching.\n\nSometimes they would go far beyond us and we would hear the terrific\ncrash and explosion as their bombs dropped in our back areas; sometimes\nthey would drop near our own lines and we would lie there waiting.\n\nFrom a certain point in the orchard we had a very good view of many of\nour observation balloons, far in our rear. I remember one day, while\na group of us were sitting talking, suddenly hearing from high in the\nair near one of our balloons the quick rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire.\nImmediately all eyes were raised in time to see a German airplane swoop\ndown from a bank of clouds perilously near our observation balloon. The\nenemy was firing from his machine-gun, for every three or four seconds\nwe could see the flash of phosphorous as the tracer bullet sped through\nthe sky. If one of those touched the great silk bag of gas--it did, and\nalmost simultaneously there was a burst of dark-red flame, fringed with\nblack, waving out from the balloon. There was a cry of consternation\nfrom many voices in the orchard as two figures were seen to jump from\nthe aerial car of the balloon. We held our breath. Then with a spring,\none after the other, the white parachutes opened, and we breathed a\nsigh of great relief as they came gracefully to the earth.\n\nOur observation balloons must have been doing excellent work, for after\nthis Fritz was very busy bringing them down. One afternoon the same\nairplane actually brought down, one after the other, five balloons.\nThen, as it started on its return flight, it seemed to be flying very\nlow. Immediately every machine-gun in the area began firing on him.\nThere must have been thousands of bullets soaring towards the speeding\n\u2019plane; but it is very difficult to judge, from the ground, distances\nin the air.\n\nSuddenly the machine stopped in its course and came spiralling\nslowly downwards. A great cheer burst from hundreds of throats and\nsimultaneously the machine-guns ceased to fire. There was complete\nsilence in the camp as we watched the falling airplane. But we had\nreckoned without our host; for suddenly it ceased to fall, then like\na lark shot gracefully up, up, till it reached a safe distance. Then\nwith admirable audacity it looped the loop, and finally winged its way\ntowards home.\n\nWhat did we do, gentle reader? For a few seconds, overcome with\namazement, we stood there gazing skywards, then from all over the area\nthere were sounds of clapping hands as we good-humoredly applauded \u201cOld\nFritz.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXXII\n\nA STRANGE INTERRUPTION\n\n\nEvery morning I said Mass in the part of the trench where I slept,\nwhich was covered overhead with a piece of camouflaged burlap, spread\nacross pieces of scantling. The trench was so low that I was obliged\nto dig a hole in the ground, so that I could stand upright at my\nlittle portable altar. One morning while I was saying Mass, a little\nfox-terrier, belonging to George and the transport cook, began walking\non the burlap above my head. As the burlap was taut, the small paws\nmade a kind of drumming sound above me. Both George and the cook,\nalthough they were non-Catholics, wished to show every respect to the\nchaplain; knowing I was saying Mass, they began to call off the dog.\nThe little fellow, however, was stubborn and wished to remain on the\nburlap. I think that the cook and George then got sticks and tried to\npoke him off, for I could hear him dancing up and down as the points\nof the sticks tapped the burlap roof. It was a long time before he\nwas captured, and it was at the cost of so much extra noise that I\nthink it would have been better had they left him to follow his own\ninclinations--but the lads\u2019 intentions were good.\n\nNew drafts now began coming to the battalions to reinforce the ranks,\nbroken in the Battle of Amiens. One afternoon the adjutant told me that\na draft of seventy men had come and that they were going into the front\nline that night. The senior chaplain of the division, Canon Scott, an\nAnglican clergyman, was going to address them first, after which, he\nsaid, if I wished I might say a few words to them.\n\nI went to the orderly room, where I learned that thirteen out of the\nseventy soldiers were Catholics. I waited a long time that evening\nfor the Canon to finish. When, at last, he had ceased speaking and\nhad invited those who wished to attend the communion service to step\nover to the side of the lines, I spoke to the men. My talk did not\ntake very long. I first asked the Catholics to fall out. Immediately,\nfrom different sections in the ranks, thirteen men stepped out before\nme. I told them that as they were going into the front line and did\nnot know what might be before them, perhaps they would wish to go to\nHoly Communion. I told all who wished to do so, to follow me down into\nthe trench where I would hear their confessions and give them Holy\nCommunion. I turned and proceeded towards the trench. Thirteen men\nfollowed me.\n\nThat night, after I had wrapped myself in the blankets of my bed-roll,\na lieutenant, a middle-aged man who was sharing part of the trench\nwith me, came down to retire for the evening. As he lay smoking a last\npipe before drawing the curtains of sleep, I was surprised to hear him\ngive utterance to this monologue: \u201cSelf-esteem! Self-esteem! Too much\nself-esteem. That\u2019s what\u2019s the matter!\u201d\n\nI wondered to whom he referred, and after waiting a few seconds to see\nif he had any more to say, I asked him if he were speaking to me. \u201cNo,\nno, Padre,\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cI\u2019m thinking of those fellows this evening.\nDid you see them when Canon Scott invited them out to the communion?\nOnly about half a dozen went, out of all the crowd. Self-esteem,\nself-esteem--that\u2019s it!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d I replied, \u201cI didn\u2019t notice. I asked my men--I had only\nthirteen in the draft--if they wished to go to the sacraments of their\nchurch, and immediately the thirteen followed me down to the trench.\u201d\n\nHe looked at me keenly and there was not the slightest rancor in his\nvoice as he spoke again: \u201cThat\u2019s it, Padre! That\u2019s it! Of course your\nmen would go! That\u2019s to be expected.\u201d A kind of musing note came into\nhis voice, as he continued: \u201cWhat is the secret? What is the secret?\nThey don\u2019t fear you. Indeed, they love you.\u201d\n\nI told him as clearly as I could the secret, and as he continued\nsmoking quietly, I felt how truly he had spoken of our Catholic lads.\nHow they loved the priest, how on battlefield or muddy trench their\neyes lighted with love as the priest drew near. No wonder thirteen men\nfollowed me down to the trench: they knew what I could do for them.\nThey knew in a few minutes they would be friends with Christ; that He\nwould visit them, abide in their souls. They were so absorbed in the\nsublimity of what was to take place that no thought of what others\nmight say flashed across their minds. There was no human respect there.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXXIII\n\nBOVES AGAIN\n\n\nThe first Sunday on the Amiens front we had no church parade. But the\nsecond Sunday we managed to have one for the lads out of the trenches.\nWe had Mass on a wooded hill that had been heavily shelled during the\nweek by the Germans, though they left us quiet on Sunday.\n\nThere was a huge crippled tank on the hill, and workmen were busy\nrepairing it. I found a rough table placed against the tank, and on the\ntable a portable altar already set up for Mass; grouped about this\nwere some men from other brigades and a few of my own men, with a draft\nthat had come for the Thirteenth. Father MacDonnell had just finished\nMass. He and Father Fallon heard confessions, and the workmen repaired\nthe tank, while I offered up the Holy Sacrifice for the men.\n\nThe following Friday evening, after a long, weary march, we came back\ninto Boves. It was a different looking city from the one we had entered\nalmost three weeks before. On the outskirts, high on a hill, dozens of\ngreat marquee tents rose in the darkening twilight, and from a large\nflag-staff waved, on a white background, the red cross: it was one\nof our Canadian clearing stations that had moved up. We came around\na turn in the road and there, standing in a group, were the nurses,\norderlies, and many patients from the tents on the hill. They cheered\nand cheered as the lads marched by and the nurses fluttered their white\nhandkerchiefs, while the band played a merry march. Down the street of\nthe city the merry pipers piped our way, while house after house opened\nits doors wide and the good French people who had returned, whole\nfamilies of them, came out and cheered us as we passed up the street. I\nhad a fine billet in the class-room of a school just next door to the\nchurch; yet it seemed somewhat stuffy and closed in after having lived\nfor almost three weeks in an apple orchard.\n\nThe following morning, after I came in from Mass, I noticed the cook\nstanding on the outer sill of the window, looking closely at the\ngrape-vines which grew up the sides of the building; many bunches of\nwhite grapes grew among the thick green leaves. A few minutes later,\nas I sat down to breakfast, George walked in with a great cluster,\nalmost as large as a pineapple, on a dish and placed them near my plate.\n\nAll day long I was hoping to have the opportunity of having my men to\nconfession before leaving Boves, for it was being rumored about the\ncity that we were on our way back to the Arras front where we were to\ntake part in other big battles. I could not learn from headquarters at\nwhat time we were to leave, but I surmised it would be early Sunday\nmorning. I was praying the Blessed Virgin to let me have the men, but\nat seven o\u2019clock p. m. it seemed certain that we were to move early in\nthe morning.\n\nAt eight o\u2019clock the quartermaster came to me, saying: \u201cThe move\u2019s off,\nPadre. We don\u2019t leave here till tomorrow evening.\u201d\n\nI called George, and soon he and I were out organizing a church\nparade of all the troops in the city. I called at the C. C. S. on the\nhill, thinking there might be a chaplain there who could help me with\nconfessions. I learned that there was a Catholic chaplain attached to\nthe unit, but that at present he was absent on leave.\n\nI heard confessions for about an hour before Mass, but as the time\nfor Mass drew near it became evident that I would not be able to hear\none-quarter of the great throng of khaki-clad lads that filled the\nchurch; all the pews were filled and many were standing. When the hour\nfor Mass had come, even the large sanctuary was filled with soldiers,\nsome of them wearing the blue uniform of France.\n\nI was just about to leave the confessional to say Mass when I heard\nsome one knocking on the door. I looked up quickly: there stood Father\nMacDonnell in his Scotch uniform. I was so overjoyed that I stepped out\nquickly and cried: \u201cThe Blessed Virgin sent you here!\u201d\n\nHe looked at me with his shrewd, kind eyes, and there was not the\nshadow of a smile in them as he said: \u201cNever mind, now, who sent me\nhere. What can I do for you?\u201d\n\nI asked him which he preferred, to say Mass or to hear confessions. He\nsaid he had already said Mass and had taken his breakfast. So I asked\nhim if he would kindly hear confessions.\n\nI walked up the aisle towards the altar, past row and row of those\ngreat-hearted Catholic lads, and as I went I thanked the Blessed Virgin\nfor what she had done. But it was a little too early: she had not yet\nfinished answering my prayers, for just as I entered the sanctuary\nI noticed one of the French soldiers sitting on a bench reading his\nBreviary. I touched him on the shoulder and asked him if he were a\npriest.\n\nHe was.\n\nThen I asked him if he would hear the French confessions, for more than\nhalf the men of the Fourteenth Battalion were French. He closed his\nBreviary, after he had marked the place with a colored ribbon. Then he\nbowed and said he would.\n\nAbout two years after the Armistice had been signed I was travelling\nin New Brunswick when a young man came down the car to shake hands\nwith me. He had been one of the officers of the Fourteenth Battalion\nassisting at Mass in the church at Boves that Sunday. After we had\ntalked a little while, he remarked: \u201cFather, I have often thought of\nthat Sunday at Boves. It seemed to me a beautiful thing to see officers\nof high rank going over and kneeling down at the feet of one clad\nin the uniform of a French private of the ranks to have their sins\nabsolved.\u201d\n\nJust before Mass I announced that during the celebration of the Holy\nSacrifice Father MacDonnell would hear confessions in English while\nthe French Father would hear the French confessions, and that after\nMass, if there were still some who had not gone to confession, the two\npriests would continue to hear and I would help them. I added that\nconfessions would be heard and communion given again that afternoon.\n\nI said my Mass slowly and preached about twenty minutes. During\nmy sermon I saw something that gratified me very much. Among the\nofficers of one of the battalions was one whom I had never seen at the\nsacraments. I had approached him some time before, and had met the\ngreatest rebuff I had ever received from a Catholic: he told me quite\ngruffly that he had no time for that kind of thing. His words had\nactually struck me dumb for a few seconds, so that I walked away from\nhim without saying anything further. But as I preached that Sunday at\nBoves, looking out over that sea of reverent faces, I saw the officer\nstand up and walk reverently to the confessional, and when I gave Holy\nCommunion I saw him at the rails.\n\nAs I write these words there stands on the little table before me a\ntiny plaster statue of the Immaculate Conception. Since I began writing\nthis story it has been always present on the table. It was given to\nme by a soldier of the Fourteenth Battalion just after the Battle of\nAmiens. Cut into the base of the statue is the one word \u201cBoves,\u201d and\nthe dents made by the letters are filled with the red clay of France.\nI will keep this statue always, for it brings back memories of a town\nwhere great things were done for God among my Canadian soldiers, and of\nher who brought these things about.\n\nThat evening, as I entered the class-room that was my billet, two\nfigures looked up quickly: one was George, who had a right to be there;\nthe other was one of the assistants in the veterinary section. There\nwas a very strong odor of iodoform in the room. On a bench between\nthe two soldiers was my wash-basin filled with some solution, and\nthe little dog, who had broken his paw, was having it washed in the\nsolution.\n\nI said nothing. I was not even cross, for I knew how difficult it was\nto procure a vessel in which to wash dogs\u2019 broken paws.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXXIV\n\nTHE BATTLE OF ARRAS\n\n\nOur journey was uneventful, save that we were derailed at St. Paul; no\none, however, was killed. All along our journey we spoke of the Battle\nof Amiens, \u201cthe greatest isolated victory to the credit of Canadian\narms.\u201d It had taken but five days to free Amiens and its railway.\nThe allied troops engaged in the battle were one American division,\nfive Australian divisions, four Canadian divisions and four English\ndivisions. There were also four hundred tanks and three British cavalry\ndivisions. These troops had met and routed twenty German divisions, and\ntaken twenty-two thousand prisoners and over four hundred guns. The\nline was advanced twelve miles from points held at the hour of attack\non August 8th.\n\nOf these totals the Canadians claimed ten thousand prisoners, nearly\none hundred and seventy guns, one thousand machine-guns, over one\nhundred trench mortars, and great quantities of other materials. They\nhad freed over sixty miles of territory. They had been the apex of the\nwedge that attacked. It was, indeed, a great victory! Later, I read in\nHindenburg\u2019s account of the war, entitled \u201cOut of My Life\u201d (Harper &\nBrothers, New York), the following:\n\n\u201cI had no illusions about the political effects of our defeat on August\n8th. Our battles from July 15th to August 4th could be regarded, both\nabroad and at home, as the consequence of an unsuccessful but bold\nstroke, such as may happen in any war. On the other hand, the failure\nof August 8th was revealed to all eyes as the consequences of an open\nweakness. To fail in an attack was a very different matter from being\nvanquished on the defense. The amount of booty which our enemy could\npublish to the world, spoke a clear language. Both the public at home\nand our allies could only listen in great anxiety. All the more urgent\nwas it that we should keep our presence of mind and face the situation\nwithout illusions, but also without exaggerated pessimism.\n\n\u201cThe military situation had certainly become serious. Of course the\nposition on the part of our front which had been attacked could be\nrestored, the lost war material made good, and fresh reserves brought\nup. But all this did not exhaust the effects of our defeat. We could\nonly expect that, encouraged by his great victory, our enemy would now\nopen similar attacks at other points.\u201d (Vol. II, pp. 217 and 218.)\n\nThis is just what we did. On August 26th the Second Canadian Division\nhad opened the Battle of Arras and, as we hastened towards them, were\nin the thick of the fight.\n\nWe detrained at Aubigny and were taken from there to Arras in busses.\n\nDuring the night of August 28th we moved up from the ruins of Arras\nto relieve the Second Division. We had been waiting in reserve at\nArras. Already the Second Division had been gaining victories. Before\nSeptember 1st we had gained a minor engagement or two.\n\nOn the morning of September 1st I received word that we were preparing\nfor a great attack; we were to break the Drocourt Qu\u00e9ant line. The line\nhad been accounted impregnable, for the whole system was the result of\nyears of patient toil on the part of the Germans. In the attack, the\nCanadian Corps was to be the battering ram of the advance.\n\nThe night of September 1st was very dark, and rain fell as the men\nassembled for the attack. Zero hour was to be 5 a. m. Captain Shea,\none of the medical officers of the First Field Ambulance, with whom I\nwas going to work the following day, found a square hole in the ground\nabout two feet deep, and he and I rolled ourselves in our blankets\nand tried to sleep. The Germans were shelling this area very hard and\nshells were dropping all about us, and the rain upon us. Every little\nwhile I could hear the doctor, who was a very devout Catholic, give\nvoice to the following soliloquy: \u201cThink of a priest lying out in the\nmud a night like this! What awful times we are living in! I wonder\nwhat his people at home would say if they could see him now. A priest\nsleeping in a mud-hole!\u201d\n\nThen, perhaps, a shell would drop very near us and I could hear him\nsay, optimistically: \u201cWell, the worst we can expect is to be buried\nalive!\u201d\n\nI could not help laughing as the doctor continued. Everything seemed so\nstrange to him, for he had but lately come to the front. And I had now\nbeen long enough in the army to take things as they came.\n\nAt five o\u2019clock a. m. the earth began to thunder and rock as the\nterrible barrage began that was to sound the death-knell of the\nDrocourt Qu\u00e9ant line. We watched the men advance, then we were busy\nwith the wounded. A great number passed through our hands, including\nsome Irish lads from the Naval Division on our right. It took but\nan hour or two for the Canadians to break the Drocourt Qu\u00e9ant line\nwhich had been considered impregnable. Passing through the trenches\nand over the battlefield that day, I marvelled at the system of deep\ntrenches from which led great dugouts lighted with electricity. We\nencountered many wounded Germans lying in shell-holes, and dispatched\nGerman prisoners to bring them to the Field Ambulance that had now been\nestablished near Cagnicourt.\n\nWe had not been shelled very much that day, but two or three days\nbefore, in one of the minor engagements, the shelling had been\nterrific. George and I had run the gauntlet of shell-fire known as a\n\u201ccreeping barrage.\u201d Wall after wall of bursting shells had swept over\nus, killing nearly all our companions. George and two privates and I\nwere the only ones out of fourteen who were not casualties.\n\nTowards evening, as I was anointing some German wounded, one of our\nprisoners, an officer, stepped over and began to speak to the lad\nto whom I was administering. The officer told me in French that he\nwould interpret, as he was a Catholic. I asked him to try to dispose\nthe dying soldier for absolution. He did, and then helped me while I\nanointed the lad.\n\nWhen I was through I thanked the officer for his aid and remarked\nthat he seemed well grounded in his religion. He smiled a little at\nthis, as he said: \u201cI should be, for I am an ordained deacon.\u201d I was\nstill talking to this young ecclesiastic when I heard a friendly call\nfrom a stretcher, and, looking in that direction, I saw it was Lt.\nMaxwell-Scott--he who had first served my Mass at Fosse-dix. It seemed\nyears ago. He was wounded, though not seriously.\n\nThe following day I waited, with an Anglican chaplain from the Third\nBrigade, till all the dead were brought in from the battlefield. Among\nthe officers of the Sixteenth were two or three of my dear friends. One\nwas the gentle officer who had slept in my billet at Carency, months\nbefore--the one who had been called \u201cWild Bill;\u201d even in death there\nwas a gentle expression on his kind face. We buried one hundred and\ntwenty-five that day, and called the place \u201cDominion Cemetery.\u201d\n\n Few and short were the prayers we said,\n And we spoke not a word of sorrow,\n But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead\n And bitterly thought of the morrow.\n\nWe remained in this area till September 4th, and each night we were\nbombed almost continuously. It was terrible and there were many\ncasualties. One could scarcely count the airplanes. We could hear them\ncoming from a great distance and each moment drawing nearer and nearer.\nWe would lie on the ground unprotected--nothing between us and the\nairplanes but the thin sheets of our bivouacs. When they would arrive\nover our camping ground, great lights resembling arc light would drop\nslowly down, lighting up the entire area. Then would come in quick\nsuccession the awful crash of bursting bombs. Often I have gripped the\ngrass beside me with both hands, as I lay there waiting to be blown\ninto a thousand fragments. Then, one fleet of \u2019planes having exhausted\nits supply of bombs there would be relative silence till the next was\nheard approaching. During the interim, slowly, silently, and anxiously,\nour searchlights swept the sky, the great long shafts of light crossing\nand recrossing each other.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXXV\n\nBERNEVILLE AGAIN\n\n\n\u201cWhen they had a day or two of good sleep, regular meals and rest,\nthey seemed quickly to forget all they had suffered, even their mental\ntorture. Of course, for this purpose the rest had to be real rest,\nundisturbed by enemy shells and bombs, and, if possible, somewhere\nwhere the thunder of the guns could not be heard.\u201d\n\nI quote these words from the second volume of \u201cOut of My Life\u201d by Von\nHindenburg, for they apply to all soldiers. The Germans had retreated\nto the opposite bank of the Canal du Nord, where they were prepared to\ndefend themselves stoutly. To carry a position like the Canal du Nord,\ncareful plans must first be made. Our troops were tired, and they\nneeded a rest; therefore, on being relieved we came out to the areas\nabout Arras and the Sixteenth came to Berneville.\n\n\u201cThe operations which broke the Drocourt Qu\u00e9ant Line closed with the\ndeparture of the victors. These men had accomplished great deeds. They\nhad won a great moral victory, which had far-reaching effects. They\nhad conquered a trench system of which the world had spoken with bated\nbreath in one triumphant rush. Many material things had passed from the\nenemy\u2019s possession into theirs. Among these should be numbered eight\nthousand prisoners, sixty-five guns and four hundred and seventy-five\nmachine-guns. Their line was only seven miles from Cambrai.\u201d (From \u201cThe\nCanadians in France,\u201d by Captain Harwood Steel--Copp Clark Co.)\n\nThe above quotation was written of us. So we came out to Berneville\nto rest. Those days of September were very pleasant at Berneville.\nRoses still bloomed in the garden of the old cur\u00e9, with whom I was\nagain billeted; grapes were plentiful all over the countryside. They\ngrew in the garden of the old house where we had our mess and often\nthey were served at our meals. Every morning when I came back from\nbreakfast to my billet I found on the table a large yellow, red-cheeked\npear. These little acts of kindness of the old cur\u00e9\u2019s sister used to\naffect me almost to tears. I think the awful strain of battle was\nbeginning to affect us all. I said Mass every morning in the church\nand a young fellow from the Fifteenth--which was also quartered in\nBerneville--used to serve it. Every morning he went to Holy Communion.\n\nThe old sister of the cur\u00e9 seemed very much interested in the young\nman, for she also attended my Mass and received Holy Communion daily.\nShe used to talk to me about him and say he must be a brother from some\nreligious community. So one morning I asked the lad his name. He was\nJames Diamond, and his home was in Philadelphia--another of my Canadian\nlads who hailed from the United States. He was not a member of any\nreligious community though he had two brothers who were priests. I told\nthe old lady this, and although she was somewhat disappointed to learn\nthat the young man was not a religious, still she was delighted to know\nthat he had two brothers who were priests.\n\nI visited my battalions every day and we had confessions every evening.\nThe men came in great numbers. Although we were in rest, the lads knew\nby the training they were undergoing that another attack was imminent.\n\nDuring the day I often walked up and down the old rose garden of the\ncur\u00e9. It was a beautiful old garden with high stone walls, against\nwhich pear trees and peach trees had been trained to grow so that\nthe branches spread out against the wall. There were roses here of\nalmost every variety. Often, as I walked up and down the paths of the\ngarden reading my Breviary, I stopped and gazed for a long time on the\nwonderful beauty before me. Soon we would be into the war again!\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXXVI\n\nLETTERS OF SYMPATHY\n\n\nDuring these days of rest I devoted a large portion of every morning to\nwriting letters of sympathy to relatives of those who had fallen in the\nrecent attacks. I had many of these letters to write, and I always went\nto work with a heavy heart; but it was always very consoling to receive\nthe wonderful replies that came. I quote from a few that I managed to\nkeep, although the reader will learn later that I lost nearly all my\npossessions before the end of the campaign.\n\nThis one comes from Morningside Avenue, New York:\n\n Reverend dear Father:\n\n Your comforting letter has just been received. Father, words would be\n useless to try to express what relief and consolation your message\n brought, for naturally my heart ached, wondering whether my poor son\n had an opportunity to offer up his repentance before God took him.\n\n The cross is indeed a heavy one to bear, but with the knowledge\n contained in your letter and the fact that his sacrifice was made for\n so glorious a cause, I shall reconcile myself to the will of Almighty\n God, and pray for the repose of his soul.\n\n My daily prayers shall indeed be offered for you, Father, who brought\n such happiness to my heart, and for your many soldier boys.\n\n Very sincerely yours,\n\nThe next is from Frontenac Street, Montreal:\n\n Reverend and dear Father:\n\n Words fail to convey how soothing was the intelligence that previous\n to his last attack my son had had the happiness of receiving our\n dear Lord, and that after he had paid the \u201cSupreme Sacrifice\u201d he\n had one of God\u2019s representatives near him. In life he was devoted to\n religion, in death he must assuredly be happy with God. But to us\n who are left it has been a crushing blow, and especially to me, his\n mother, to whom a kinder and more dutiful son never was given.\n\n Our Lady of Sorrows is certainly the one to turn to in this hour\n of trial, for she likewise gave up her son. So, like her, I shall\n endeavor to carry my cross, but I fear it shall not be carried so\n well.\n\n And now, dear Father, allow me to extend to you my most sincere\n thanks. You will always be remembered in the prayers of his sorrowing\n mother.\n\nThe next is from Grimsary, England:\n\n Dear Father Murdoch:\n\n I should feel I was neglecting a great duty if I did not write a line\n to thank you for your kindness in informing us of my dear brother\u2019s\n death. R. I. P. It was indeed a great consolation to know that he\n received Holy Communion before going into battle, also to know that\n he was buried in a cemetery. We shall be ever grateful to you for\n your kindness and for your prayers.\n\n With every best wish for your safety, I am,\n\n Yours sincerely,\n\nThe next is from Gilford P. O. Co. Down, Ireland:\n\n Dear Rev. Father:\n\n It is with a sad heart I write to thank you for your consoling letter\n to my mother concerning the death of my poor brother. Your letter\n gives us all strength to bear our heavy burden of sorrow. It is hard\n to think that he has really gone from us. But God\u2019s will be done! We\n all lift our hearts in thanksgiving to know that he was prepared to\n die. He was a good boy, and his youngest sister will miss him. My\n mother is in great sorrow at the loss of her only son. She has had\n great trouble, as my father died when we were very young. But God\n will give her strength to bear and persevere until we shall all meet\n never to part.\n\n Dear Rev. Father, I will close this letter now and I wish you to know\n that all of us will never forget you in our prayers. And I earnestly\n implore of God to reward you for all you have done for my poor\n brother and for us, and that our Most Holy Mother will intercede for\n your safety through this suffering you are enduring.\n\n I am going to confession and Communion Sunday for your intentions.\n Always remember that there are three hearts raised to God night and\n morning imploring His blessings and mercy for you.\n\n Thanking you again, Father, I wish to remain your grateful friend who\n will never forget you.\n\nThis one from a non-Catholic:\n\n Rev. B. J. Murdoch,\n\n Dear Sir:\n\n I received your very kind letter today. Thank you so much for\n writing. Although I am not of the Catholic faith, I know just how\n much he would value your services before going into battle.\n\n God sends us a cross to bear, no matter what faith we own. I will\n remember you and the other soldiers who are fighting in my prayers\n just the same. I will write and tell his father of your kindness, and\n ask him to thank you.\n\n I forgot to say that I belong to the Church of England, but that does\n not make any difference, for God hears all prayers. I shall pray for\n you and your boys and teach our little girl to do the same.\n\n Kindly pardon any mistakes, and believe me to remain very grateful to\n you for your sympathy.\n\n Yours sincerely,\n\nThese are but samples of letters from different countries that I\nreceived during the campaign. The people seemed most grateful to me for\nwriting. True, the censor prevented me from saying much that I should\nlike to have said; but always I was free to write what I had done for\nthe lads in my ministry. Sometimes I have written many letters at a\ntime, and for this reason the message sent was brief. I shall try to\ngive the reader a sample of the simple letter that evoked such grateful\nreplies:\n\n Dear Mrs. ----\n\n No doubt you have already received from the War Office the sad\n news of your son\u2019s death. I am writing these words to let you know\n that just before the battle of ---- I gave all the soldiers of his\n unit Holy Communion in a little shell-torn church on the Western\n Front.--If I had anointed him I would add this, and if it were I\n who had laid him to rest I would say--I buried him in a peaceful\n military cemetery behind the lines, far from the sound of the guns.\n This knowledge should give you some consolation in carrying the heavy\n cross that God has sent you to bear.\n\n I shall remember your son\u2019s soul in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass,\n and I shall ask Our Lady of Sorrows to pray for you that you may be\n comforted.\n\n Asking you to pray for my lads and for me, I am\n\n Yours sincerely in Christ,\n B. J. Murdoch,\n R. C. Chaplain 16th. Can.\n\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXXVII\n\nA LITTLE BIT OF SHAMROCK\n\n\nAlthough I had many letters to write, this did not keep me from having\na little enjoyment. We had not been very long in rest billets when it\nwas announced that the Sixteenth Canadian Battalion concert party was\nto put on soon the play entitled \u201cA Little Bit of Shamrock.\u201d This was\nthe play the soldiers were practising while we were at Monchy Breton,\nand because of the fact that one of the characters was a priest I was\nvery anxious to see the play.\n\nThe concert party was to be with us three nights, so I hoped to be\nable to attend at least one performance. The company had been playing\nfor the large base hospitals while we were taking part in the recent\nheavy fighting. I had met a Presbyterian chaplain in Arras who told me\nthat he had seen the play and that it was one of the finest in France.\nThey had been furnished with hundreds of dollars\u2019 worth of scenery and\ncostumes. So we looked forward with pleasure to seeing it.\n\nI noticed as I worked among the men that the rest was doing them very\nmuch good. The village streets used to ring with laughter and merry\njokes, especially in the evening. It was wonderful how much like boys\nthose soldiers would become, given a few days\u2019 rest.\n\nI remember one day, while sitting in the mess waiting for lunch to be\nserved, listening to an animated conversation going on among a group\nof soldiers, of which George was the dominating spirit. George held in\nhis hand a pair of German field-glasses which evidently he wished to\nbarter for something some other soldier had. The other soldier thought\nGeorge had placed a too high valuation on the glasses, and their voices\nrose and fell in debate. Finally, all the voices were silent; then the\nvoice of George sounded clear and distinct, as he said impressively:\n\u201cGentlemen, I tell you, these glasses are so powerful that they will\nbring a church, miles distant, so near that you can actually hear the\nchurch bells ringing in the tower!\u201d\n\nAlthough a few derisive groans greeted this statement, the great bursts\nof merry laughter that accompanied them did my heart good and showed me\nhow light-hearted were the troops.\n\nA day or two following the episode of the field-glasses, I was again\nsitting in the mess waiting for lunch to be served. The transport\nofficer and quartermaster were with me. Suddenly the lieutenant who\nhad been billeting officer when we were at Ecoivres walked in and sat\ndown. He had a little business with the quartermaster, and as he stated\nit his eyes turned towards the table, which was set for lunch, and\nrested longingly on a dish of cold bread-pudding with raisins in it.\nThe pudding was cut in pieces resembling in size and shape an ordinary\nhelping of Washington pie; there were three slices in all. Now, I never\nliked bread-pudding, not even in war time; neither did the other two\nofficers of the mess. So when the billeting officer made known to us\nhis weakness for bread-pudding we gave him a most pressing invitation\nto have a piece. He took one piece, and as he ate it with great relish\nwe could not help smiling. He stopped for a second or two and looked\naround on us. \u201cMy,\u201d he said, \u201cI like this! Our cook never thinks of\ngiving us anything like this.\u201d Then he continued earnestly to devote\nhis attention to the pudding.\n\nWe offered him another piece, and with boyish delight he accepted it.\nWhen he had finished this, I offered him the remaining slice. The other\ntwo officers were now laughing.\n\n\u201cAh, Padre!\u201d he said reproachfully, but his eye wavered and his hand\nwithout any apparent reluctance reached out and took the third piece.\n\nHe stayed for a little while longer, and I wondered if he could be\nquite well after eating so great a quantity of such soggy food. I\nbegan, indeed, to feel a slight twinge of conscience. Perhaps I should\nnot have offered him that last thick slice of heavy bread-pudding. He\nwas now quiet, and for a second or two a far-away look came into his\neyes. Then, suddenly, he seemed to recollect something. He stood up\nquickly.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he said, \u201cI think it is about time for me to be going home to\nlunch.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill he be all right?\u201d I asked the other officers, as he disappeared\non his way.\n\n\u201cSure,\u201d they both said, and then the quartermaster Continued: \u201cWhy,\nPadre, that\u2019s just a little _hors d\u2019oeuvres_ for him, just a little\nappetizer, just enough to convince him that it\u2019s time to take a little\nsubstantial food.\u201d Then, as we lunched, they told me such wonderful\nstories of this officer\u2019s capacity for food that I laughed and laughed\nall through the meal.\n\nI could not attend the play till the third evening; George, who had\ngone both nights, seemed very anxious that I should see it. I had tea\nwith the concert party the afternoon of the third day and in the\nevening I went to the play, and was given a very good seat.\n\nI shall never forget that play given by those splendid boys on the\nWestern Front. Even as I write these words the tears come to my\neyes as they did that night, but they are tears of joy. It was a\nwonderful play--wonderful in its presentation, wonderful, especially,\nin its beautiful interpretation of the character of the Catholic\npriest--bubbling with gaiety and gladness, and spotless humor. I was\ntransported with joy and amazement.\n\nThe curtain rose, disclosing the library of an Irish priest\u2019s house,\nthrough the open window of which came in excellent harmony the sound of\nmale voices singing:\n\n \u201cOch, Father O\u2019Flynn, you\u2019ve a wonderful way wid you.\n All ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you,\n All the young children are wild for to play wid you,\n You\u2019ve such a way wid you, Father avick!\n Still for all you\u2019ve so gentle a soul,\n Gad, you\u2019ve your flock in the grandest control:\n Checking the crazy ones, coaxing unaisy ones,\n Lifting the lazy ones on with the stick.\n Here\u2019s a health for you, Father O\u2019Flynn,\n Slant\u00e9 and slant\u00e9 and slant\u00e9 agin,\n Pow\u2019rfulest preacher and tindirest teacher\n And kindliest creature in ould Donegal.\u201d\n\nAs the last sounds of the chorus died away, a young Irish girl, attired\nin typical colleen fashion, and a boy of about nineteen or twenty, in\nknee-breeches, entered. The colleen was a perfect impersonation. The\nyoung man, who carried a gun and an empty game-bag, had returned from\nthe chase. He was telling Molly how many birds he had seen and how many\nhe might have shot had it not been for--etc., etc. The more voluble\nShaun became, the more Molly shrugged her shoulders. It seemed Shaun\nhad often hunted before, and had often come \u201cvery near hitting a bird.\u201d\n\nJust as good-natured Shaun was becoming more eloquent and Molly more\ndisdainful, a stately old figure in cassock and cincture walked slowly\ninto the room, carrying his breviary and biretta. There was a look of\nbenign interest on his face as he regarded Shaun and Molly. The two\ngreeted the priest warmly, in true Irish fashion; yet the three actors\nwere non-Catholics.\n\nI am certain I did not follow the plot of the play. I was too delighted\nwith Father O\u2019Flynn. He was the ideal priest, genial, kind, grave.\nHe possessed all those lovable qualities that we Catholics always\nassociate with the priesthood. I was really delighted with the\nimpersonation of the character. Where had he, the actor, acquired his\nwonderful knowledge of the priesthood? If it had been a play that the\nlads had procured already written, I would not have been so surprised;\nbut they themselves had composed it.\n\nThere was one scene that was almost uncanny in its faithful\nreproduction of one of the little dialogues that take place often in\nthe office of a country parish priest. Old Mrs. Nolan--off the stage\n\u201cshe\u201d was Private M. Dawes, No. 1 Platoon, Sixteenth Battalion, and in\ncivil life an actor who had taken parts with the great Du Maurier--had\ncome to call on Father O\u2019Flynn concerning her husband, who was not\nworking, and who for reasons known only to himself had no inclination\nto work. She spoke quietly at first, but gradually, animated by\nrighteous indignation, a certain piquancy and forcefulness colored her\nwords. She had just begun rightly to denounce \u201chimself\u201d when Father\nO\u2019Flynn, with a gentle raising of one hand from his knee, where it had\nrested palm downwards, said softly: \u201cThere, now, Mrs. Nolan! There,\nnow! Don\u2019t mind, it will be all right! It will be all right. In a\nlittle while Timmy\u2019ll be at work again.\u201d\n\nThen Mrs. Nolan, somewhat mollified, would concede: \u201cYis, Father! Yis,\nFather! Perhaps you\u2019re right, Father. Indade, he\u2019s not so bad; if he\nwould stay away from that Dinny O\u2019Shea, he might be better. And look,\nFather dear, I wouldn\u2019t be mindin\u2019 what that Liz of his would ever be\nsaying. Look here, Father, if she\u2019d stay at home and look after her man\nand not go galavantin\u2019 over the parish! Look here, Father, she\u2019s one of\nthe worst--\u201d\n\nThen with a gentle smile Father O\u2019Flynn would again quiet the indignant\nMrs. Nolan. But she was irrepressible. And as she continued her\nrapid-fire talk, the house roared with laughter, so that we forgot that\nwe were in a building on the Western Front into which at any minute a\nlong-distance shell might fall, killing and wounding half the people\nthere. We forgot this completely as we continued to enjoy one of the\nfinest plays ever staged on the Western Front.\n\nAs I looked on, laughing heartily, another emotion began to manifest\nitself; gradually, as I listened to the dialogue, the whole setting\nbefore me took on a certain familiarity: it was a priest\u2019s room, my own\nlanguage was being spoken, a scene was being enacted with which every\npriest is familiar. I felt as if I saw my Catholic people at home; then\na kind of mist seemed to pass over me, and my eyes filled up--yes,\ngentle reader, I was lonesome!\n\nThe old cur\u00e9 and his sister had waited up for me, to hear about\nthe play. I had told them before leaving that I was going to see a\nnon-Catholic take the part of a Catholic priest, and they had been very\ninterested. They were like two children in their delight when I came\nbursting in on them with the news of the play. They rejoiced with me\nwhen I told them how splendidly the part of Father O\u2019Flynn had been\ntaken by one of the lads. The old lady seemed the more enthusiastic of\nthe two, until I told the story of Mrs. Nolan, then the cur\u00e9 broke into\nrippling laughter; but Madame just smiled quietly. We talked for a long\ntime that evening for the three of us were very pleased. I had told\nthem before going that I had my fears lest the actor assigned the part\nof the priest should not interpret it according to the best traditions\nof the priesthood. But now they were quite relieved, and very joyful\nwhen I told them that the play would be shown wherever there were\nCanadian soldiers in France.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXXVIII\n\nLEFT BEHIND\n\n\nI was well satisfied with my work among the soldiers during these\nevenings and we were all benefiting very much by our rest. But we did\nnot know just how soon we would be going into action. One evening\ntowards seven o\u2019clock, on coming back to Berneville after having\nattended a meeting at corps headquarters, I found men of the Fourth\nDivision walking up and down the street. I was somewhat surprised at\nthis, for when I had left in the morning the village had been occupied\nonly by First Division troops. Now I saw no men of the Third Brigade. I\nstopped the first soldier I met and asked him where was the Sixteenth.\n\nHe told me he did not know, that the Sixteenth had \u201cpulled out\u201d about\nfour o\u2019clock and that another battalion had \u201ctaken over\u201d these lines.\n\nI went quickly to the place our mess had been, only to find other\nofficers occupying it. They were just about to sit down to dinner, and\ninvited me to remain, but I was too eager to have news of my troops.\nThis was the first time they had ever stolen a march on me.\n\nI opened the gate of the old cur\u00e9\u2019s garden, hoping to see George\nstanding in the twilight somewhere among the roses; but there was no\nkhaki-clad figure there. In fact, there was no one in the garden;\neverything was very quiet. Knocking on the door which led to the office\nand dining-room combined, I advanced into the lamp-lit room to find\nthe cur\u00e9 and his sister just about to sit down to their evening meal.\nThey welcomed me warmly. It was good to see the kindly, beaming faces\nof my old friends; and as my eyes wandered from them to the table I saw\nthat places had been set for three.\n\n\u201cCome,\u201d said the old priest as he motioned me to the seat beside him.\n\u201cCome, you are just in time, for we were about to begin, fearing you\nwould not arrive.\u201d\n\nI sat down quickly, for I did not wish to delay any longer these\ngood people. The memory of that evening is still very vivid; the\nlow, lamp-lit room, with its quaint engravings on the wall, the\nold-fashioned furniture, the spotless white linen cloth, heavy silver\nand thick china, with blue scroll-work bordering of old chateaux and\nrustic-bridged streams. A large roll of coarse though wholesome brown\nbread, such as I had seen old \u201cMamma Katzenjammer\u201d make some time\nbefore, was on a plate in the middle of the table, and beside this was\na black-handled bread knife; a huge bottle of golden cider stood near\nthe bread. Opposite me was a wooden bowl of salad and a large wooden\nfork and spoon.\n\nMadame brought from the kitchen a small brown earthenware casserole and\nplaced it before M. le Cur\u00e9. The removal of the cover disclosed three\nplump little pigeons. Simultaneously M. le Cur\u00e9 and Madame looked at\nme. \u201cIn your honor,\u201d said the priest as both bowed, jokingly.\n\nI remembered how, when a boy, I had shot a few pigeons, which when\ncooked I was unable to eat, because they were so tough. But the pigeons\nof old Madame were not tough. Indeed, I had never eaten any meat more\ntender. They had been pot roasted.\n\nIt was one of the pleasantest evenings I had ever spent in rest\nbillets. As we sat at table they told me that the battalion had left\nfor the front at four o\u2019clock. George had packed my bed-roll, and had\nplaced it and my portable altar on the general service wagon, leaving\nmy haversack with articles I would need for the night. He had left word\nthat we would not be going into action for a day or two and that I\nwould be quite safe in staying that night in Berneville.\n\nAs we sat talking in the quiet lamp-lit room, and I realized all that\nwas before me, I could not help thinking how pleasant it would be to\nlive on in this peaceful old house, far from the horrors of war, and\npreach to the quiet peasants, and teach them the ways of God. But\nquickly I put this thought from my mind. The Master for whom I labored\nhad sterner work for me to do. And tomorrow morning early I must leave,\nto go once more into The Red Vineyard.\n\n\n\n\nChapter LXXXIX\n\nWITH THE FOURTEENTH\n\n\nEarly the following morning after Mass I said \u201cau revoir\u201d to the old\npriest and his sister, who walked down to the gate to see me off.\n\nOn the way, fearing it might be evening before I would find my\nbattalion, I bought an ordinary three-ounce tin of sardines and paid\nsixty-five cents for it; but I never ate it. I had the great good\nfortune to meet a lorry, going towards the front, which brought me to\nwithin a few hundred yards of the Sixteenth Battalion, which was camped\nin a wide green valley. I was fortunate in finding my unit, but soon I\nwas to learn of what was the first of a series of misfortunes.\n\nGeorge met me as I came along and there was a look in his face that I\nhad never seen there before.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir, but I have bad news for you,\u201d he said. \u201cYour bed-roll\nand all your belongings have been burned.\u201d\n\nPoor George turned his face away. It really hurt him to have to tell\nanything so unpleasant.\n\n\u201cMy portable altar, too, George?\u201d I questioned, as fear tugged at my\nheart.\n\nGeorge turned towards me, his face brightening.\n\n\u201cNo, sir. We saved that. Everything in the little church is all right.\u201d\nGeorge always called the altar the \u201clittle church.\u201d\n\nThen he went on to tell me that a fire had broken out, during the\nnight, in the corrugated iron hut where I was to have slept, and that\nwhen it was discovered it was too late to save two bed-rolls; he had\nmanaged, however, to bring out one bed-roll and my portable altar.\n\nIt was now late in September and the evenings were becoming quite cold.\nI would miss very much my blankets, cloak and overcoat, all of which,\ntogether with many other articles, had been burned. I still had my\ntrench coat, which I was wearing at the time.\n\n\u201cWell, George,\u201d I said finally, \u201cit could have been a great deal worse.\nI am very thankful that I did not lose my trench coat.\u201d\n\nA few evenings later, while I was standing outside my hut examining a\nnew bicycle that had come to me from headquarters, a runner came up and\npassed me a D. R. L. S. letter. As I read it, I felt my hand tremble. I\nwas to report immediately to the Fourteenth Battalion, where I was now\nattached for quarters and rations; Captain the Rev. G. Colthurst was to\nexchange places with me. He was a Church of England chaplain.\n\nThat evening I left, my heart filled with regrets; but a soldier must\nobey. I said good-bye to George, although I hoped to see him often. He\nthanked me for the way I had treated him, though I had only given him\nthe consideration which as a thorough gentleman he deserved. I thanked\nhim in return for all he had done for me. Twice, if not oftener, during\nthe recent heavy fighting he had come through a terrific barrage of\nshell-fire and gas to guide me to the transport mess. He had actually\nrisked his life where he was not bound to do so.\n\nThe second in command of the Fourteenth, Major Price, welcomed me\ncordially to the battalion. The colonel was then absent. Major Price,\nthough a very kind man with a most gentle disposition, held one of the\nfinest records in the army, rising from a private in the ranks to be\ncolonel of the battalion.\n\nThe officers of the Fourteenth were a fine lot of men, yet they never\nfilled the place in my affections that the officers of the Sixteenth\nhad won.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XC\n\nTELEGRAPH HILL\n\n\nThe following Sunday I said Mass on Telegraph Hill. It was a very high\nelevation and on all sides we could see, far below, the great green\nvalley. I counted as many as six light railway trains steaming their\nway from different points towards the front. I think we were then about\nseven or eight miles from the Canal du Nord, where the next big battle\nwas to take place. Some of the men came early and I stood talking to\nthem till all the soldiers, excepting the Thirteenth Battalion, had\ncome up. Thinking that there must be some mistake in orders and that\nthey had failed to receive notice of church service, I began to say\nMass. I had a large crowd of lads and they were formed up very near\nthe altar; some stood almost touching the altar in order to keep the\nwind from extinguishing my candles. Nearly all my men had received the\nSacraments while in rest, so I gave a general absolution today, then\nall went to Holy Communion.\n\nJust as I had given the last men Holy Communion the Thirteenth came up,\ntheir pipe band playing merrily. There was nothing left for me to do\nbut say another Mass for them. It was very gratifying to notice, as I\nturned to make an announcement before beginning the second Mass, that\nmany of the men who had received Holy Communion at the first Mass still\nremained kneeling on the ground as they made their thanksgiving.\n\nDuring the second Mass a number of German airplanes tried to fly near\nus, but from down in the valley our anti-aircraft guns barked and\nshells shrieked upwards, bursting near the \u2019planes. All the men of the\nThirteenth, after a general absolution, went to Holy Communion.\n\nI came down from Telegraph Hill that morning feeling that my men were\nnow ready, spiritually, for battle.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XCI\n\nCANAL DU NORD\n\n\nOn the night of September 26th we moved up to the trenches just before\nthe Canal du Nord. It was a rainy night and quite dark. We marched a\nlong time, for our guides had lost their way. Finally, as we approached\nthe trenches, Verey lights hissed a trail of light through the sky and\nas they broke to descend we stood very still. Every little while orders\ncame for us to fall on our faces, and we lay motionless on the ground\nlistening to that strange, sweeping sound of machine-gun bullets as\nthey tore their way through the air just above us.\n\nBefore we entered the trenches we had supposed all the Germans to be\non the opposite bank of Canal du Nord. But we were not in the trenches\nvery long till we learned that there were machine-gun outposts on\nour own side. Indeed, not forty-eight yards from where we stood was\na machine-gun nest. Every time a flash-light would show, or some one\nwould speak above a whisper, there would be a rat-tat-tat from almost\nbeside us, and then a pattering of machine-gun bullets. I listened to\nthe grim preparations that were being made to surround the nest just as\nsoon as our barrage would open up.\n\nAt 5:20 a. m. two thundering crashes from an eighteen-pound gun broke\nthe stillness, then the whole barrage opened up, the like of which had\nnever before been heard on the Western Front. I quote below from \u201cThe\nCanadians in France.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever had the world known anything to compare with the strength and\nmajesty of that terrible artillery fire. It was as if the pillars of\nthe earth had fallen and God had struck the Germans in his anger. The\ngloom behind the advancing troops was blazing with fire, and the\ngloom in front. The night overhead shrieked and moaned and howled with\nthe passing of the shells, hurrying--hurrying--hurrying to keep their\nappointment with death. The German machine-gunners in the Canal and\nimmediately behind it were blown to pieces and the German guns were\nthrottled with their answers to their lips.\u201d\n\nWe stood in the trenches listening to the terrible roaring and crashing\nof the guns. When we spoke we were obliged to yell in order to make\nourselves heard. It was still quite dark, yet all about us were sharp\nyellow flashes of light from our guns. In a little while the men were\nready to start over the Canal. The officer in command looked at me.\n\u201cComing, Padre?\u201d he asked. I smiled. I was not free to go then. I must\nstay with the doctor, to attend the wounded that would be brought in by\nthe stretcher-bearers. Later I was to go with the field ambulance.\n\nShortly after daylight I was moving along the Canal looking for the\nSecond Field Ambulance, with which I was to follow, when I saw coming\nup through a shower of shell explosions the young officer who had come\nto see me at Monchy Breton. He was looking for the Sixteenth Battalion.\nHe was no longer downhearted. The light of battle was in his clear\nblue eye. He shook hands with me and smiled a bright, fearless smile\nas the shells dropped about us. He told me he had been sent up to the\nbattalion, which was sadly in need of officers. As he spoke, all about\nus were dead men and horses.\n\nI found the field ambulance at a cross-roads near Inchy and I worked\nwith them till noon. It was terrible work, performed under great\ndifficulties, as all morning long a constant rain of enemy shells\npoured over the roads. A great number of wounded passed through. As the\nmorning advanced, the day became very warm. I took off my trench coat\nand began to carry it on my arm. I remember laying it down on the side\nof the road as I went to minister to a wounded lad. When I had finished\nmy work and had wiped the blood from my hands on the thick grass\nalongside of the road, I turned to pick up my trench coat. It was no\nlonger where I had put it. I looked everywhere but I could not find it.\nIt was a very serviceable coat, lined with oiled silk and rubber and\nimpervious to rain and wind. Now I had no coat whatsoever. My overcoat\nand cloak had been burned, and now my trench coat was gone! I often\nsmile when I recall that morning. I worried more at the time over the\nloss of what was in the pockets than I did over the loss of the coat\nitself. In one pocket was the tin of sardines that I had bought a few\ndays before. I had not yet broken my fast and I did not know when I\nmight do so. In the other pocket was a \u201cBaby Ben\u201d alarm clock: it was\nvery useful sometimes when I wanted to sleep between attacks. I never\nfound the coat. I think some stretcher-bearers must have placed it on\na wounded man thinking it had been left by some officer who had been\nwounded or killed.\n\nIt was now the 27th of September and I was not fitted out very well to\nstand the rigors of a fall campaign. Just before I left the Sixteenth\nI had been given an old wagon cover, which George and I had converted\ninto a bed-roll, and I had been able to procure two army blankets; but\nnow I had no overcoat.\n\nDuring a little lull in the afternoon I made my way to headquarters of\nthe Fourteenth, which was in a dugout that the Germans had left them.\nThere I had some food, after which I made my way back to the field\nambulance.\n\nThat night I slept on the opposite side of the Canal du Nord. We had\ngained another great victory and had captured one of the strongest\npositions that the enemy still held. Nearly five thousand prisoners\nhad been taken and about one hundred field-guns, together with a great\nnumber of machine-guns and large quantities of stores.\n\nFor several days one battle followed another; at almost every hour of\nthe day some brigade of the Canadian corps was attacking. I followed\nwith the field ambulance and I was kept very busy.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XCII\n\nTHE MOST TERRIBLE DAY\n\n\nOn Sunday I could not have a church parade, but I said Mass in a bell\ntent near the Canal du Nord. That morning I joined the First Field\nAmbulance in a little village not very far from Cambrai. I think the\nname of the village was Raillencourt. As I approached its outskirts, I\nsaw that it was under fire. Shell after shell was whistling over from\nthe enemy lines, bursting in black clouds of smoke and yellow clouds of\ngas that mingled with red clouds of dust rising from the ruined brick\nbuildings. No traffic was coming along the road. I must walk alone\ninto the village. My will said, Go! yet every nerve in my body seemed\nto rebel; my feet were heavy as lead and it seemed an effort for me\nto lift them from the ground. I was now very tired from the work of\nthe past week. Almost sick with fear, I continued to advance. It was\na strange experience; my feet kept going heavily forwards while the\nrest of me seemed to be trying to hold them back. I felt that that hurt\ndazed look which I had seen so often in the eyes of the men was in my\nown eyes.\n\nI remember going down the little street of the village bewildered and\nalmost stupefied while shells crashed into buildings and the sickening\nfumes of gas poisoned the air. Then, suddenly, I saw what I was in\nsearch of--a little red cross on a white background, floating from a\nwindow of a small house.\n\nI entered the yard; a ruined field-kitchen lay in a lake of porridge,\nand nearby, where they had carried him to die, was the cook.\n\nI found the cellar filled with wounded men with whom the doctors were\nvery busy. My old friend Captain O\u2019Shea was here and two other Catholic\ndoctors. I stayed in the cellar two days. Those were horrible hours.\nI could not be relieved, as Father O\u2019Reilly of the Second Brigade\nhad been wounded a day or two before I came to the cellar. It was his\ntroops who were now in action. My own were back in reserve. While I\nworked, Canon Scott, an Anglican chaplain who had been in the war since\nthe beginning, was brought in wounded.\n\nIt was a miracle that we were not struck. At different times during the\nday the Germans shelled the little house heavily; many shells dropped\nin the garden just outside the windows of the cellar. The nauseating\nfumes from the gas shells penetrated into the cellar and often we\nworked with our gas masks on.\n\nAt two o\u2019clock Tuesday morning word came that my brigade was going over\nthe top near Haynecourt. As soon as it was daylight, I left to join my\ntroops. I found the Second or Third Field Ambulance, which was clearing\nthat day at a cross-road near Cambrai. I could see the city from where\nwe worked. I was very busy all day. At times the German airplanes\nswooped low over us and swept our wounded with their machine-guns. One\npoor fellow near me was riddled with bullets and I had just time enough\nto prepare him for death.\n\nTowards three o\u2019clock I felt something was wrong. Wounded from the\nFourteenth and Sixteenth were no longer coming in. The men of the\nFifteenth were in reserve just behind where I worked. Seeing this, I\nstarted forward. The shell-fire was intense, but I prayed the Blessed\nVirgin to see me through. I met a soldier from the Sixteenth who showed\nme where the soldiers were, but he advised me not to go any farther.\nI\u2019m afraid I was too worried about my men at the moment to heed advice\nof this kind.\n\nI found a number of them in a cutting of a railway, together with a lot\nof other troops. The battle was not going well; many members of the\nFourteenth, cut off, had been taken prisoners. The young officer did\nnot know where the rest were. I stayed with them, crouching in little\nholes in the side of the sunken road, and read my Breviary while the\nclay scattered by bursting shells fell on its open pages.\n\nPresently, I joined a party of stretcher-bearers going out upon the\nfield. The shelling was terrible as we passed down the cutting of the\nrailroad. I was now getting among machine-gunners of the Third Division\nwho had their guns set up in the side of the cutting.\n\nThe stretcher-bearers had no sooner reached the field, than the\nGermans, seeing them, commenced firing with small shells at point-blank\nrange over open sights.\n\nThree of the stretcher-bearers went down, two of them mortally wounded.\nI ran quickly to them and began to anoint one of them. The other\nbearers ran to points of safety and I was alone on the field. Those\nwere the most terrible minutes of my life. I knew the enemy could\nsee me and was firing at me for shells were crashing all about me.\nTerrified, I crouched flat on my stomach until I finished anointing the\nlad, who passed away before I had done my work. Then I rolled over and\nlay still, as if I were dead; a little later, I crawled from shell hole\nto shell hole, off the field.\n\nWhen the roll was called that night seventy-one men out of six hundred\nanswered. We had lost many prisoners.\n\nI could not find my battalion to march out with them. I had not eaten\nany food all day and it was now six o\u2019clock. I had gone through the\nmost terrible day of my life, and I was utterly dispirited. I had\nnever before felt so strangely. Of course, we had had many engagements\nduring the past week, and constantly I had been looking on men mangled\nand broken and torn; and, besides I had eaten scarcely anything. I\nseemed to be moving in a world that was all upset; somehow, suddenly,\neverything had gone wrong with the allies! I bumped along till finally\nI came to the dugout that had been occupied by the medical officer\nof the Fourteenth. He had gone, but he had left behind a white bag,\nresembling in size and shape an ordinary pillow-slip, half filled with\nsugar. I thought of taking it along with me, but I left it. As I moved\non dazedly, suddenly I remembered I had seen the Fifteenth back in\nreserve. I had come through them in the morning on my way up to the\nFourteenth. I would go to them and ask for something to eat. How I\nmissed George! George would have had a breakfast for me in the morning,\nand would have found me in the evening.\n\nHeadquarters of the Fifteenth were in a cellar, and a kind-hearted\nkilted laddie guided me to the door. I was greeted very kindly, and\nin a little while the waiter placed on the table some white bread and\nmargarine and a plate of cold beef.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d said Major Girvin, O. C., of the Fifteenth Battalion,\n\u201cthat we have no sugar, Padre.\u201d\n\nI then remembered the bag of sugar I had seen in the medical officer\u2019s\nhut. If I had only brought it, I could have given it to the Fifteenth\nBattalion! I did not mind the lack of sugar in the tea. And I was not\nbothered that most of the smoke from the improvised fire-place was\nfloating out over the cellar instead of rising through the chimney. But\nI began to feel my spirits revive with the kindly talk of the officers.\nThey seemed pleased that I had dropped in on them. The Fifteenth was\nthe one battalion of the brigade that had no chaplain. They used to say\njokingly that they were so good that they did not need a chaplain.\n\nI related my experiences of the day to the officers. They were\nsympathetic, for they had had many similar ones.\n\nI stayed with them for an hour or two till the Twenty-sixth Battalion\ncame to relieve them. The officer who took over from us was an old\nfriend, and one of the very best Catholics of the old One Hundred and\nThirty-Second Battalion. I was delighted to see Captain Barry and we\ntalked for a long time in the cellar.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XCIII\n\nIN RESERVE\n\n\nDuring the night we marched back to Inchy. Very early in the morning\nI found the transport of the Fourteenth and, later in the day, the\nremnants of the battalion. They were in reserve, some miles from the\nfiring line, yet in a very hard-shelled area; to make matters worse, we\nwere in an ammunition dump, one of the largest I had ever seen. It was\na very poor place to bring men to rest after battle!\n\nThere was a little Catholic chapel-tent here, similar to the one we\nhad had at Ecurie Wood. In the afternoon I went up to this and found\nFather O\u2019Sullivan of the First Divisional Engineers in charge. I slept\nin the chapel-tent that night. Just before I retired, a number of lads\ncame in to see me. The last one was a runner from the Fourteenth. He\nhad had a terrible time carrying messages to different companies of the\nbattalion in the battle the previous day. He showed me his tunic, from\nwhich a bullet had torn a strip across the chest. He had only begun to\nspeak of his narrow escape when he burst out crying and immediately\nleft the tent. Father O\u2019Sullivan was sleeping down in the lines of the\nengineers. The shelling was terrible; beyond description. Not far away\nwhole train-loads of munitions were being hit by German shells and car\nafter car was exploding with a deafening noise. A great many horses\nwere being hit, for there were horse lines of the artillery nearby.\nShell after shell was dropping around my tent; but I felt too tired\nto move. I remember my conscience bothering me a little as to whether\nI were justified in remaining in the tent when at any minute I might\nbe blown up. After a little puzzling, I decided I was, and for this\nreason--perhaps, in looking for a place of safety, I might be struck by\none of the shells. And at any minute Fritz might stop.\n\nI said Mass the following morning, and no words can express the\nconsolation it gave me. I had not said Mass for five days--not since\nthe previous Sunday. We remained another night, but the shelling was so\nintense that it was no fit place for troops to rest in: so on Saturday\nafternoon we marched farther back. Many men whom we thought had been\ntaken prisoners found their way back to the battalion; they had become\nseparated from their companies and had lain hidden in shell-holes\ntill they could come back in safety. As we now numbered nearly three\nhundred, we did not present an unfavorable appearance as we marched\nalong. The band at the head of the column played \u201cThe Great Little\nArmy\u201d and \u201cSons of the Brave\u201d and many other old favorites; already the\nlads were becoming more cheerful.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XCIV\n\nFREQUENT MOVES\n\n\nIt was afternoon when we came into our area, and it was Saturday.\nThe doctor and I had been given a hut almost filled with German high\nexplosives--barrels of cordite, rolls of gun-cotton and boxes of amenol\nwere on all sides. There was just room for us to spread two bed-rolls\non the floor. Woe unto any one who smoked in this powder magazine!\nThe cook-house was almost touching us, and sparks flew from the short\nstove-pipe that pierced the low roof. If a spark or two should happen\nto fall on our little room! The doctor became uneasy, and hearing that\na field ambulance was quartered a few hundred feet away he left and\nfound shelter with his brethren.\n\nDuring the afternoon we received a draft of three hundred fresh men\nto reinforce our shattered ranks. I watched them as they stood to\nattention and were inspected by the colonel. Tomorrow I would have them\nat Mass, for it would be Sunday.\n\nSunday morning the wind was blowing a rather stiff breeze, and as I\nwas to say Mass out of doors, I knew it would be impossible to keep\nmy candles lighted unless I should build a windshield--or break-wind.\nAccordingly, at nine o\u2019clock I called the Englishman who had been\nappointed to look after my wants, and we went up to the field and tried\nto build the windshield.\n\nFor nearly an hour we labored unsuccessfully with the material we\nhad at hand. I was quite discouraged when I heard the pipes of the\nThirteenth Battalion coming up the road--and I had no place arranged to\nsay Mass! I looked around, not knowing what to do next, and there, not\nmore than a hundred yards away stood the remnants of the corner walls\nof a house--exactly what I had been trying to build. The two walls were\njust about five feet high and there was a trough about two feet high\nand three feet long built into the corner. Quickly the Englishman and I\nfilled this with brick and in five minutes my altar was fitted up and\nready for Mass.\n\nI had been told by the staff captain of the brigade to hurry, as the\nplace where I was to say Mass was under German observation. I said Mass\nvery quickly, dispensed with the sermon, and gave a general absolution\nto the men as they knelt on the green field among piles of shattered\nmasonry.\n\nThat evening we moved back to support trenches and I was not sorry to\nleave my munition store-room. The doctor and I were given a dugout to\nourselves. As it was very cold, we made a little trench heater out\nof an old bean-tin, cutting a number of holes in the sides of it and\nfilling it with pieces of paraffine candles and torn shreds of burlap.\nWhen we set fire to this we had quite a brazier. Headquarters was some\ndistance from our trench in a corrugated iron hut, and as Fritz was\nshelling a balloon headquarters not far away, we often had to run the\ngauntlet of shell-fire.\n\nWe remained here nearly a week and it was relatively quiet. On October\n9th, when we went over to lunch, the colonel told us that the\nCanadians had taken Cambrai. The taking of Cambrai closed the battle\nof Arras-Cambrai, begun on August 26th, after we had come back from\nAmiens. From this date the Canadian Corps had advanced twenty-three\nmiles, fighting for every yard of ground and overcoming tremendous\nobstacles. We had taken over eighteen thousand prisoners, three hundred\nand seventy guns and two thousand machine-guns.\n\nWe held the front line for a few days, then came out to reserve, where\nthe Prince of Wales reviewed us.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XCV\n\nSOMAINE\n\n\nOn October 17th word was brought that the Germans were falling back.\nThe following day we crossed the Canal de la Sensee. Cyclists, cavalry\nand motor machine-guns were in immediate pursuit of the enemy.\n\nI shall never forget Saturday, October 19th, on which day word was\nbrought to us by runners that there was a thickly populated city not\nfar away called Somaine, from which the enemy were marching out. In a\nlittle while we would be marching in.\n\nIt was evening when the draft I was accompanying marched into Somaine.\nThe band was accompanying us. It had been silent for quite a while, as\nwe did not know but that some lurking nest of machine-gunners might be\nnear to fire on us. It was dark as we passed the first group of houses\nnear the city. I suppose the soldiers were wondering why the band was\nsilent, for it was our invariable custom to play when entering a town.\n\nSuddenly, from the rear of the ranks, a voice calls out in the\ndarkness: \u201cGive us the band!\u201d And then, \u201cGood old band!\u201d says another\nvoice above the swinging, grating sound of marching feet over muddy\ncobblestones. Then there is a great medley of calls, of which the motif\nis \u201cBand! Band!\u201d \u201cGive us the band!\u201d\n\nUsually when the lads voice their request for music the band always\nplays. Tonight, however, the lads call longer than usual and the young\nofficer wrinkles his brow a little as he wonders if it would be wise\nto give the order. He begins to think that the responsibilities of a\nsubordinate officer are great. Meanwhile, the lads keep calling for\nthe band. Finally, the young officer decides to risk it and word goes\nrelayed up to the bandmaster: \u201cLet\u2019s have the band.\u201d\n\nThe bandmaster turns slightly in the darkness and calls out, \u201cOver\nThere.\u201d The bandsmen swing their instruments into position, while\ninsistent demands for the band still come shouted from the rear of the\nranks. The lads do not yet know that orders to play have been given.\n\nThe snare-drums roll; the large drum booms three times, twice; there is\na clash and a clang of cymbals. A cheer of satisfaction goes up from\nthe marching lads. Then clearly in the darkness sound the inspiring\nnotes of \u201cOver There.\u201d As we march down the streets, doors fly open\nin the houses and grateful French peasants, who have been prisoners of\nthe Germans for the last four years, come running to the street: old\nmen standing by the wayside and, holding their hats in their hands,\nbow their heads. Women pass waffles and cups of coffee to the men, and\nlittle children run up and down the pavement shouting and dancing in\ntheir glee. But no bells ring from towers. These have been taken long\nago to be melted into bullets and made into shells.\n\nWe were billeted in very comfortable quarters in the town of Somaine. I\ncalled on the old cur\u00e9 and made arrangements for Mass for my lads the\nfollowing morning. He asked me if I could say Mass at nine o\u2019clock, as\nhis Mass was to be at ten. This was done, and at ten o\u2019clock I returned\nto the church to be present at the Mass of the parish.\n\nThe church was crowded with people as the old priest, looking like\nthe cur\u00e9 of Ars, with his beautiful white hair hanging down to his\nshoulders, came to the altar. He was naturally rather pale, but today\nhis thin face was flushed and his clear blue eyes were lighted by\nexcitement. I could not keep my eyes from the straight old figure that\nwent so quickly up into the pulpit and faced his people.\n\n\u201cGratias agamus Domino Deo nostro!\u201d--\u201cLet us give thanks to the Lord\nOur God!\u201d The words ring clearly out over the church. One wonders at\nthe strength and clearness of the priest\u2019s voice. As he continues:\n\u201cThirty years ago, my dear friends, when I received the holy oils\nof priesthood those words of gratitude came to my mind. Five years\nago, when I knelt at the feet of our Sovereign Pontiff to receive his\nblessing on the occasion of my silver jubilee of priesthood, again I\nsaid those words: \u2018Gratias agamus Domino Deo nostro\u2019--\u2018Let us give\nthanks to the Lord our God.\u2019 But today as I stand at the altar of\nGod, knowing that my people are free, knowing that after four years\nof continued intercession of the Sacred Heart of Jesus our prayer has\nbeen heard, my heart breaks forth in gratitude the like of which I have\nnever before experienced. \u2018Gratias agamus Domino Deo nostro\u2019--\u2018Let us\ngive thanks to the Lord our God\u2019!\u201d\n\nThen the old priest continued his sermon, asking his people if they did\nnot remember how he had told them never to give up; to keep on praying;\nthat surely their prayers would be heard. Many eyes were wet when he\nfinished his sermon.\n\nThe following day, we pursued the enemy a few miles, for he was still\nretreating, but on Tuesday we were ordered back to rest. My brigade was\nin Fenain and Somaine and I was billeted with the saintly old cur\u00e9.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XCVI\n\nTHE END DRAWS NEAR\n\n\nEvery day for about a week troops were almost continuously passing\nthrough Somaine and all the heavy guns were being brought up. Soon\nrailway communications were established and some of the people of the\ncity were making visits to Paris.\n\nEvery evening I used to sit with the cur\u00e9 in his little kitchen before\nthe fire and tell him stories of the war. The old priest was kept very\nbusy; his assistant, a young priest, had been taken, together with all\nthe men of military age, by the Germans in their retreat. Almost every\nday I saw the hearse drawn up before his church and I knew another\nfuneral cortege was soon to pass along the way. He spoke to me one\nevening of the frequent deaths, and then added: \u201cThe people are dying\nof joy.\u201d True, the people had been so weakened through hunger that many\nwere not able to stand the great joy of deliverance. It was pitiful to\nsee the little boys and girls playing in the street. At first it seemed\nto me that they were all too tall for their years; then I knew it was\nthat they were under-nourished.\n\nA touching incident occurred one day when I was called upon to bury a\nCatholic lad from one of the battalions of the Third Division, then\nfighting towards Valenciennes. As I read the prayers over him, a little\nFrench girl of about eight or nine years approached the grave, carrying\nin her hand an oblong box of Canadian biscuits. The little one was\nholding the box close to her side. I assumed that one of our lads had\ngiven it to her; they were forever doing such kind acts. Presently she\nsaw that it was one of her gallant liberators over whom I was saying\nthe last prayers. Immediately she began to sob and the big tears ran\ndown her cheeks. She actually shook in a paroxysm of grief. It was\nhard for the lads standing near, and for me, to go on with our work.\nAlways during the war our hearts had been steeled, not knowing what was\nto come next. In a few minutes the mother came from somewhere behind\nus, took the child by the arm and gently led her away.\n\nWe were in Somaine nearly three weeks and the men were greatly\nbenefited by the rest. I recall a humorous incident that occurred\nduring our stay there. One day the cur\u00e9 of Fenain, which was just\nfive minutes\u2019 run on my bicycle from Somaine, invited me over to a\ndisinterment that was to take place in his cemetery. Having seen enough\nof gruesome things, I politely declined to be present. Then as I saw\nthe cur\u00e9\u2019s face break into a smile, I felt there must be some joke, so\nI promised to attend.\n\nIn my presence the casket was exhumed, and lo! gentle reader, there\nappeared beautiful vestments and precious altar-vessels, together with\nthe municipal books and documents. Then the cur\u00e9 told me the story. The\ncoffin had been filled with its strange contents and drawn solemnly\nin the hearse through the streets just as the Germans had taken over\nthe town; and as the funeral procession moved through the street the\nGermans themselves had saluted through respect to the \u201cDead!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter XCVII\n\nNOVEMBER ELEVENTH\n\n\nNovember came, and I helped the parish priest of Somaine to give Holy\nCommunion to the vast crowds of his people who received on All Saints\nDay. In return, he helped me with the confessions of my men, for now\nnearly all the members of the Fourteenth Battalion and very many of the\nThirteenth were French-speaking soldiers. I was beginning to feel that\nall were ready spiritually for more battles when November 11th arrived\nand we learned that hostilities had ceased.\n\nIf this were fiction, I might write a lengthy description of how the\ntroops went wild with joy, etc., etc.; but as it is the truth, I am\nconstrained to say we took it in a strangely quiet manner. We could\nonly look at each other and say: \u201cWell, it\u2019s over at last!\u201d and we\nwould add, \u201cthank God!\u201d Perhaps we were dazed by the good news. Perhaps\nit was that the terrible experience of war had left us incapable of\nexpressing our emotion. Perhaps these verses from \u201cThe Citizen of No\nMan\u2019s Land,\u201d by Roselle Mercier Montgomery, express the strange tension\nthat had come to us during the war:\n\n Why is it that, although we settle down\n And live the lives we lived, a strange unrest,\n A something, haunts us as we work or play--\n A restlessness too vague to be exprest?\n\n Is it that we who, out there, walked with Death\n And knew the fellowship of Fear and Pain,\n Are citizens for aye of No Man\u2019s Land\n And never shall be as we were again?\n\n To those of us who played the game out there,\n And saw brave men who failed to win lose all\n Where Fate was dealer, Life and Death the stake,\n Shall other games forevermore seem small?\n\n \u2019Tis true that home is dear and love is sweet,\n And pleasant are our friends to be among,\n Yet, something lacks to us from No Man\u2019s Land--\n Is it that no one here can speak our tongue?\n\n We cannot tell them what befell us there,\n For well we know they cannot understand;\n So each sits quiet by his own hearth fire,\n And sees therein the sights of No Man\u2019s Land!\n\n * * * * *\n\n They feel our strangeness, too--those at one side\n Who chatter of the things of every day;\n They mark our silences, our strange reserve,\n \u201cAh, he is changed!\u201d they shake their heads and say.\n\n They say the dead return not, but I think\n We know, who have come back from No Man\u2019s Land,\n How ghosts must feel, who walk familiar ways\n And yet find no one there to understand!\n\n\n\n\nChapter XCVIII\n\nTHROUGH BELGIUM\n\n\nThe evening of the Armistice I was sitting with the old cur\u00e9 of Somaine\nwhen the Englishman came up to tell me that orders had come for the\nbrigade to march in the morning. We were to follow the retiring\nGermans, who had promised as one of the conditions of the Armistice to\nwithdraw to a certain number of miles on the opposite side of the Rhine.\n\nI looked at the old cur\u00e9; I had just been telling him that I expected\na long rest now. And here we were to traverse all Belgium on foot, and\ncontinue through the Rhineland of Germany till we reached the opposite\nbank of the Rhine!\n\nAt four o\u2019clock in the morning, after I had received Holy Communion\nfrom the hand of the saintly old cur\u00e9--I did not have time to say\nMass--I left. It was a long march before us, yet we did not foresee\nthat it was going to be interesting. We reached the border between\nFrance and Belgium before the end of the week. We descended a long\nhill, the band at the head of the column playing the \u201cMarseillaise,\u201d\nwhile on both sides of the road from many windows waved the tricolor\nof France. We then crossed a small bridge over a dyke, in the middle\nof which stood a pole about six feet high; at the top of the pole was\na small metal sign-board about a foot long and eight inches high,\nrunning parallel with the road. On the end nearest us was the one\nword \u201cFrance,\u201d then a little line about one inch long, then the\nword \u201cBelgique.\u201d So we stepped from France into Belgium, and the\nband, which was the first to cross the line, having ceased to play\nthe \u201cMarseillaise\u201d began \u201cLa Brabaconne,\u201d the national anthem of the\nBelgians.\n\nWe spent our first Sunday in a little place called Quaregnon, where we\nwitnessed a demonstration of the wonderful patriotism of the Belgians.\nThe church was crowded and after Mass the cur\u00e9 in stole and cope,\nintoned the \u201cTe Deum.\u201d Instantly all present took it up, and the great\nvolume of sound filled the church as Belgian, Frenchman and Canadian\njoined in the mighty hymn of thanksgiving. Then the little cur\u00e9 did\nsomething I had never seen done before: he turned towards the people\nand cried, \u201cLong live Belgium, free, and independent!\u201d The people\nrepeated his words. Then he cried, \u201cLong live the Canadians, our\nliberators!\u201d and as he passed to the sacristy a full orchestra played\n\u201cLe Sambre et Meuse,\u201d while a number of the congregation joined in this\nwar-song of the French.\n\nAt one place where we stopped a tall, thin priest spoke to me of the\nsummer when the Germans had passed through--it seemed so long ago now,\nthat summer of 1914--when great train-loads of enemy soldiers passed\nhis house daily. He recalled one train in particular: the cars were\ngaily decorated with flowers, bunting and flags, and from the engine\nfloated a big white pennant on which was printed: \u201cWilliam of Germany,\nEmperor of Europe.\u201d He recalled the endless battalions that passed\nalong the highway, fully equipped from boot to helmet, marching in\nperfect order. Their horses, too, were in excellent condition. Their\nwagons were shining. Every little while a voice from the ranks would\ncall out, \u201cN\u00e4ch Paris! N\u00e4ch Paris!\u201d--\u201cOn to Paris! On to Paris!\u201d and\nlittle Belgian children, terrified, scurried to cellar or other hiding\nplaces. \u201cYesterday,\u201d continued the priest, \u201cI saw the last of the\nGerman army pass through on their return march to Germany. They had\nscarcely any horses; and those that they had were extremely thin. Men\nwere hauling wagons and carts. Their uniforms were worn and soiled; in\nfact, many were nondescript. Yesterday many of the boys remembering\nthe words the Germans had called out on their way, four years before,\nstanding on pavement or in doorways called out: \u2018N\u00e4ch Paris! N\u00e4ch\nParis!\u2019--\u2018On to Paris! On to Paris!\u2019\u201d\n\nIt was very pleasant marching off early every morning while the band\nplayed some old favorite that had cheered the weary men after a hard\nday on the battlefield. All along the way, for the first week or two,\nwe were greeted by happy peasants, who had been refugees for years,\nreturning to their own country. Nearly always they pulled hand-carts\npiled high with bedding and gaily decorated with flags of the allies.\n\nI remember once on the roadside we found that the railway track had\nbeen blown up, and a great length of rails, with the sleepers still\nattached, had been thrown completely over a two-story building, like a\nwide, curving ladder.\n\nI found the Belgian priests very hospitable and very much interested in\nconditions in America. They were filled with gratitude to the people\nof the United States.\n\nIn many shop windows we saw a picture representing the ocean, and\nColumbia passing bread across the waters to an emaciated woman sitting\non the shore with two starving children near her. In the upper part of\nthe picture were insets of President Wilson and Brand Whitlock, and\nunderneath was written: \u201cGrateful Belgium.\u201d\n\nI was in a little town not far from Brussels the day the king came\nback. Most of the broken railways had not yet been repaired, and as the\nGermans had taken the horses away from the people, many walked from ten\nto twenty miles to see the king come back to his kingdom.\n\nWe marched by Waterloo and through an old monastery called Villers\nL\u2019Abbey, built by St. Bernard. In one place where we halted over night\nwas a tiny three-nave church of grey granite, which had been built\nin the ninth century. Napoleon had stopped here once in passing and\nhad given a crown of gold for one of the statues. It was the finest\nthree-nave church in the world. It was pure Roman architecture.\n\nGradually we were drawing nearer the German border.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XCIX\n\nTHROUGH THE RHINELAND\n\n\nShortly before we reached the frontier one of the officers came into\nthe mess and said to me: \u201cIt may be a little exciting crossing the\nline, Padre. I hear there are some revolutionists who are going to\nsnipe at us.\u201d\n\nI did not care for this kind of excitement. I felt I had seen all I\nwanted of shooting for the rest of my life. There was no need to worry,\nhowever, for our march into Germany was a very peaceful one. But nobody\ncheered us; no flags waved; everything was silent in the land as our\nkhaki swung through the winding road. We passed through a very hilly\ncountry, and we soon had evidence that it was a Catholic country, for\nall along our march were little wayside shrines.\n\nOur first billet was a low, white farmhouse, very comfortably\nfurnished. On the wall of our mess was an oleograph of the Holy Family;\na similar copy had hung in my bed-room when I was a boy. Presently\nan old lady came in, looked at me and said something. I replied in\nFrench, but she shook her head. I pointed to the oleograph and said,\n\u201cKatholisch?\u201d\n\nThe old lady looked at me, beaming. I pointed to myself and said,\n\u201cKatholisch,\u201d and then added, \u201cPrester,\u201d as I thought this was the\nGerman word for priest. During my stay in that house I was treated as\nthe Catholic priest is always treated by the humble.\n\nIn one place a young woman, learning that I was a priest, came to me\nwith her brother, who spoke excellent English; he had been a waiter in\nthe Savoy Hotel, in London, previous to the war. The husband of the\nyoung woman had been killed in the war, and passing me her offering,\nshe asked if I would say Mass for the repose of his soul the following\nmorning in the village church. This I did, and while I said Mass the\nvillage choir sang two hymns. It was a low Mass I said, and in the\ncolor of the day. I asked the young man the name of the hymns and he\ntold me. I cannot recall the name of the first one: but I think the\nsecond was entitled \u201cO Komm O Komm Emanuel.\u201d It must have been an\nAdvent hymn, for I heard it almost every morning as I said Mass in\nthose little churches of the Rhineland.\n\nI have never seen such excellent Catholics: every morning the village\nchurch would be crowded as if it were Sunday. Sometimes I gave\ncommunion to German people who came reverently to the rails.\n\nThe time passed quickly and at last on December 12th, we arrived in\nthe city of Cologne. The following morning we marched across the\nRhine, while the band played the \u201cRegimental March\u201d and \u201cThe British\nGrenadier;\u201d the men with fixed bayonets marched rigidly to attention.\nSome officers near me sang softly the words: \u201cWhen we wind up the watch\non the Rhine.\u201d\n\nWe marched about twelve miles beyond the Rhine to a little place called\nAltenbruick. Here we halted. And it was here that I said good-bye to\nthe battalion on Christmas Day.\n\nWe had Midnight Mass in the German church on the hill overlooking the\nvillage. Father Madden, who had returned to his battalion after being\ndischarged from hospital, came to help me with confessions. My lads\nwere scattered over different parishes, but I had arranged for church\nparades for all who could come. I heard confessions from seven p. m.\ntill midnight, and as the clock struck the midnight hour one of my lads\nfrom the Fourteenth began to sing that beautiful Christmas hymn which\nwas being sung that night in French churches all over Canada, \u201cMinuit,\nChretiens\u201d (Holy Night). Every Christmas, just at midnight, I had heard\nit sung in the basilica of old Quebec, where I had made my studies for\nthe priesthood. And as the clear, strong voice sang those beautiful\nnotes of Gounod\u2019s famous composition, memories of peace swept over my\nsoul. I had seen horrible things; but now they were past and this was\nthe night of the Christ Child, when the angels sang \u201cpeace on earth to\nmen of good will.\u201d\n\nI was fully vested, and was about to proceed to the altar for the last\ntime before these lads, when the German parish priest came in to the\nsacristy. He spoke quickly in French, telling me that at the communion\nI need not descend to the rails; that he would give communion to my men.\n\nFor an instant I seemed dazed. I had brought the Bread of Life so\noften to many of those soldiers and officers who now waited for me to\ndraw near to the altar of God. Very likely I should never have the\nopportunity of again ministering to them. But, then, I thought, this\nGerman priest wishes to give communion to my lads. Centuries before,\nthe angels had sung: \u201cPeace to men of good will.\u201d I must show good\nwill. Yet how hard it was! Then, mastering a great reluctance, I said\nquietly: \u201cVery well, Father, you will give communion to my men.\u201d\n\nSo this is the last memory I hold of those wonderful soldier lads--the\nMidnight Mass at Altenbruick. The sound of the voice of the German\npriest, \u201cCorpus Domini Nostri Jesu Christi,\u201d etc., as he dispensed the\nmysteries of God to my soldier lads! And, above all else, the presence\nin our midst of Jesus of Nazareth, the Saviour of the world--The Prince\nof Peace!\n\n\n\n\nChapter C\n\nL\u2019ENVOI\n\n\nIt is all over now, yet often I think of those wonderful days; of long\nnight marches; of long days of weary waiting; of quiet resting-places,\nwith their rows and rows of \u201clittle green tents\u201d and small white\ncrosses, landmarks of our warfare in France and Flanders. Sometimes I\nthink of all those lads who answered so quickly the final roll-call;\nand my thoughts go back to those nights in France where such great\nnumbers knelt to ask pardon of God, and to become fortified with the\nBread of the Strong. Many of those lads I ushered up to the gates of\nheaven, which swung open to them so soon after they had left me. Now\n\u201cthey are numbered amongst the children of God and their lot is with\nthe saints.\u201d\n\nThey do not forget me. Sometimes, when the force of circumstances\npresses greatly and the way along which I must walk seems exceptionally\nhard, I call on them to stand by. I ask them simply to remember Arras,\nAmiens, Cherisy Valley, Canal du Nord and Cambrai, then--I feel those\nlads are praying for me.\n\nAnd sometimes \u201cwhen thoughts of the last bitter hour come like a pall\nover my spirit,\u201d a thought most comforting comes to my mind. I see in\nimagination the street of heaven and, coming marching towards me, great\nhosts, their faces lighted with the Vision of God. I see them turned\ntowards me, as I have seen them so often on battlefield and in hospital\nward. That look of loving trust is there--only so many times glorified!\nThey look at me, who am a little dismayed, a little afraid. Then I hear\ntheir voices: \u201cCome, Father, your billet is ready!\u201d\n\nThen I feel very confident, for I know that my warfare is over, that I\nam going back to rest--back to Eternal Rest.\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTES:\n\n\n Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.\n\n Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.\n\n Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.\n\n The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is\n entered into the public domain.","title":"The Red Vineyard","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":79782}