Part 6 (1/2)

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

The Sunday before I left I had service for them and a celebration of the Holy Communion, after which one of the sergeants came and was baptized. Our Divisional Headquarters left Albert for good on October 17th. We made our way to our abode at Canaples. We only stayed there two days and then went on to Bernaville and Frohen Le Grand, spending a night in each place, and on Sunday arrived at the Chateau of Le Cauroy, which we were afterwards to make our headquarters in the last year of the war. I was billetted in a filthy little room in a sort of farm building and pa.s.sed one of the most dreary days I have ever known. It was rainy and cold, and every one was tired and ill-humoured. I had a strange feeling of gloom about me which I could not shake off, so I went over to the Cure's house at the end of the avenue and asked him if I might come in and sit beside the fire in his kitchen. He was very kind, and it was quite nice to have someone to talk to who was not in the war. We were able to understand each other pretty well, and he gave me an insight into the feelings of the French. On the next morning, the weather had cleared and the A.D.M.S. motored me to our new halting place at Roellencourt, where I was given a billet in the Cure's house. He was a dear old man and received me very kindly, and gave me a comfortable room overlooking his garden. Downstairs his aged and invalid mother sat in her chair, tended kindly by her son and daughter. Roellencourt was a pleasant place on the St. Pol Road, and quite a number of our men were billeted there. I went to St. Pol to lunch at the hotel and spent the day buying some souvenirs. On my return in the afternoon I made my way to the Cure's house, where I found my room neatly arranged for me. Suddenly I heard a knock at the door, and there stood the old man with a letter in his hand. I thought he looked somewhat strange. He handed me the letter, and then taking my hand, he said to me in French, ”My brother, have courage, it is very sad.” At once the truth flashed upon me and I said, ”My son is dead.” He shook my hand, and said again, ”Have courage, my brother.” I went downstairs later on and found his old mother sitting in her chair with the tears streaming down her cheeks. I shall never cease to be grateful to those kind, simple people for their sympathy at that time. The next morning the General sent me in his car to Albert, and Colonel Ironside took me up to the chalk-pit where the 87th were resting. They had suffered very heavy losses, and I heard the account of my son's death. On the morning of October 21st, he was leading his company and another to the attack on Regina Trench. They had advanced, as the barrage lifted, and he was kneeling in a sh.e.l.l hole looking at his watch waiting for the moment to charge again, when a machine gun opened fire and he was. .h.i.t in the head and killed instantly. As he still kept kneeling looking at his watch, no one knew that anything had happened. The barrage lifted again behind the German trench; still he gave no sign. The Germans stood up and turned their machine-guns on our men. Then the officer next in command went over to see what had happened, and, finding my son dead, gave the order to advance. Suffering heavy casualties, the men charged with determination and took the trench, completely routing the enemy. When the battalion was relieved the dead had to be left unburied, but several men volunteered to go and get my son's body. This I would not hear of, for the fighting was still severe, and I did not believe in living men risking their lives to bring out the dead. I looked far over into the murky distance, where I saw long ridges of brown land, now wet with a drizzling rain, and thought how gloriously consecrated was that soil, and how worthy to be the last resting place of those who had died for their country. Resolving to come back later on when things were quieter, and make my final search, I bid good-bye to the officers and men of the battalion and was motored back to my Headquarters.

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

CHAPTER XIII.

Our Home at Camblain l'Abbe.

November and December, 1916.

From Roellencourt we moved up to our new headquarters in the Chateau at Camblain l'Abbe, which, after we left it in December, was long the home of the Canadian Corps. I had an Armstrong hut under the trees in the garden, and after it was lined with green canvas, and divided into two by green canvas curtains, it was quite artistic and very comfortable. Opposite the Chateau we had a large French hut which was arranged as a cinema. The band of the 3rd Battalion was stationed in town and gave us a concert every evening, also playing at our services on Sundays. After the concert was over I used to announce a ”rum issue” at half-past nine in the building. The men knew what it meant, and a good number would stay behind. Then I would give them a talk on temperance, astronomy, literature or any subject about which I thought my audience knew less than I. We generally finished up by singing some well-known evening hymn. Very pleasant were the entertainments we had in that old cinema. One night, before a battalion was going up to the line, I proposed we should have a dance. The band furnished the music, and the men had one of the most enjoyable evenings they had ever had. Camblain l'Abbe was not a large place, so we were cramped for room, and a Nissen hut had to be built for ”C” mess.

My little friend Philo had been stolen on our march, so his place was taken now by a brindle bull terrier which had been born in Albert. I called her ”Alberta” and as time went on she became a well-known figure in the First Division. She often accompanied me on my walks to the trenches, and one day was out in No Man's Land when a minnenwerfer burst. Alberta did not wait for the bits to come down, but made one dive into the trench, to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the men, who said she knew the use of the trenches. She was my constant companion till her untimely end in 1918.

The country round about Camblain l'Abbe was very peaceful and pretty, and the road to the left from the Chateau gave one a fine view of the towers of Mont St. Eloi, which were not then damaged by sh.e.l.ls. The two towers and the front wall of the old abbey were a striking object against the horizon, and could be seen for miles around. They made a beautiful picture in the distance when seen at sunset from the trenches beyond Arras. Those two towers must stand out in the foreground of all the memories which Canadians have of that region which was so long their war-home. As far as I could learn, Mont St. Eloi had been the site of an old monastery which had been destroyed in the French Revolution, the towers and the walls of the church alone surviving. The farms of the monastery had pa.s.sed to secular owners.h.i.+p, but were rich and well cultivated. A spiral stone staircase led up to an observation post at the top of one of the towers. The place was visible from the German lines, and till we had taken Vimy Ridge no one was allowed to climb the tower unless on duty.

Our trenches now were extremely quiet, and were a pleasant contrast to those we had left on the Somme. The whole Corps had only a few casualties each day. The spirits of the men, who had been under a heavy strain, were now completely restored. Our Corps Headquarters at this time were at the beautiful Chateau of Ranchicourt, where they were very comfortably settled, the country round about being hilly, richly wooded and well watered. We had church parades in the cinema, and I often wished that the people at home could have heard the singing of the men when we had some favourite hymn which the band accompanied. Every morning I had a celebration of the Holy Communion there, and sometimes had a good congregation. One night I was talking to some men in a cookhouse on the opposite side of the village and I announced the service. When I was leaving, one of the men followed me and asked me if I would speak to his officer for him and get him sent back to some quiet job. He told me that he had once had an attack of nervous prostration, caused by the shock of his father's sudden death, and that he could not stand life in the trenches. He seemed very much upset, and I felt that perhaps it would be wise to get him out of the line, but I could not avoid a sense of disappointment in the midst of my pity. He told me that he had been confirmed, but had never made his Communion and was coming to my service the next morning. I promised I would speak to his officer and went off.

The next morning, the man was at the service, and after the others left, waited to speak to me. I thought he wanted to remind me of my promise. But, instead of that, he came up and said to me, ”I don't want you to speak to my officer, Sir, G.o.d has given me strength to carry on. I have determined to do so and go over the top with the others.” I was delighted to see the change in him. It meant everything to him and was one of the turning points in his life. Whatever the future had in store, it was the man's victory over himself, and I gave him a glad handshake and told him how proud I was of him. Months afterwards, after the taking of Vimy Ridge, I was pa.s.sing down the lines of his battalion, which was in tents near the La Targette road, when the young fellow came running up to me, his face radiant with smiles, and told me he had been through all the fighting and had gone over the top with the boys, and that it wasn't half so bad as he had thought. In the spring of 1919, I was going into the Beaver Hut in the Strand one day, when a young fellow came up to me and thanked me for what I had done for him in the war. I did not recognize him and asked him what I had done for him, and he told me he was the man who had been at that service in Camblain l'Abbe and had been through all the fighting ever since and had come out without a scratch. I met similar instances in which the human will, by the help of G.o.d, was able to master itself and come out victorious. Once at Bracquemont a man came to my billet and asked me to get him taken out of his battalion, and sent to some work behind the lines. He told me his mother and sisters knew his nerves were weak and had always taken special care of him. He said that up to this time G.o.d had been very good to him in answering his prayer that he might not have to go over the parapet. I asked him what right he had to pray such a prayer. He was really asking G.o.d to make another man do what he would not do himself. The prayer was selfish and wrong, and he could not expect G.o.d to answer it. The right prayer to pray was that, if he was called to go over the parapet G.o.d would give him strength to do his duty. He seemed quite surprised at the new light which was thus thrown upon the performance of what he considered his religious duties. Then I told him that he had the chance of his life to make himself a man. If in the past he had been more or less a weakling, he could now, by the help of G.o.d, rise up in the strength of his manhood and become a hero. His mother and sisters no doubt had loved him and taken care of him in the past, but they would love him far more if he did his duty now, ”For”, I said, ”All women love a brave man.” I told him to take as his text, ”I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me,” and I made him repeat it after me several times. I saw that the young fellow was pulling himself together, and he shook hands with me and told me he would go up to the line and take his chance with the rest-and he did. Later on, he was invalided to the Base with some organic disease. I do not know where he is now, but he conquered; and like many another soldier in the great crusade will be the better for all eternity for his self-mastery.

On the road which led to Ranchicourt there was an interesting old chateau at a place called Ohlain, which is mentioned by Dumas in ”The Three Musketeers.” The chateau is surrounded by a large moat, and was built in medieval times. It has a very fine tower, and some other old buildings surrounding a little courtyard with a garden. The place is entered by a drawbridge which in olden days used to be raised up against the ma.s.sive gateway by chains. One night I had service in the courtyard at sunset, with the 16th Battalion. One could hardly imagine a more picturesque setting for a war service in dear old France. At one point, however, we were disturbed by the arrival of three men who had been dining in an estaminet in the village, and coming unexpectedly upon a church service were a little too hearty in their religious fervour. They had to be guided to some quiet spot where they might work it off in solitude. Incidents of that kind during voluntary services were always a little embarra.s.sing, for officers and men felt, as well as myself, that under the softening influences of religion we could not be over-hard on the transgressions of frail mortality. Nothing but the direst necessity would compel us at such times to resort to the process of military discipline.

Near Camblain l'Abbe, our ambulances were set up on an elevation of the ground where two roads crossed. The place rejoiced in the name of ”The Four Winds”, and anyone who has resided there for any length of time feels that the t.i.tle is an appropriate one. At times the wind would sweep over the place, and, when rain was mingled with the gale, it was rather an unpleasant corner. But the ambulances were comfortable, and the patients were well looked after. Near by is the little cemetery, where the bodies of many Canadians lie in peace.

Our life at Camblain l'Abbe, after the hard fighting at the Somme, was really very pleasant, and the battalions were filled up with new drafts from the Base. We felt that as the winter was approaching there would probably be no hard fighting for some months. Special pains were taken to provide concert parties in the different battalions, so that the men might have amus.e.m.e.nt in the evening. It was wonderful what talent was discovered in the various units. As I look back upon some of those entertainments at the front I think I never enjoyed anything more. Not only were the performers clever and resourceful, but the audience was one that it was thrilling to sit amongst. In the cinema the stage was well appointed and lighted with electric lights; the costumes of the men, especially those who took the part of ladies, were good and well made. The music, vocal and instrumental, was all that could be desired. But the audience, composed of hundreds of strong, keen, young men who had endured hard things, and perhaps, in a few hours after the show, would be once again facing death in the front trenches, was a sight never to be forgotten. Could any performer ask for a more sympathetic hearing? Not a joke was lost upon the men, not a gesture was un.o.bserved; and when some song with a well-known chorus was started, through the murky atmosphere of cigarette smoke would rise a volume of harmony which would fairly shake the building. I have often stood at the back and listened to a splendid burst of song, which to me had an added charm from the deep unconscious pathos of it all. Some of those men that were joining in the rollicking ragtime tune were dying men. Some of the eyes kindling with laughter at the broad farce of the play, within a few hours would be gazing upon the mysteries behind the screen of mortal life. The pathetic chorus of ”A Long, Long Trail” always moved me, and I wondered how many of those brave young hearts in the crowded hall, now on ”the long, long trail,” would ever see again the land of their dreams. I took good care not to let the men know that I was ever moved by such sentimentalism. We were out to fight the Germans, and on that one object we had to concentrate all our thoughts to the obliteration of private emotions.

CHAPTER XIV.

My Search is Rewarded.

We had now reached the middle of November, and the 4th Division was expected to come north very soon. My only chance of finding my son's body lay in my making a journey to Albert before his battalion moved away. I woke up one morning and determined that I would start that day. I told Ross to get my trench clothes and long boots ready, for I was going to Albert. At luncheon my friends asked me how I proposed to travel, for Albert was nearly fifty miles away. I told them that the Lord would provide, and sallied off down the road with my knapsack, thoroughly confident that I should be able to achieve my purpose. An ambulance picked me up and took me to the Four Winds cross-roads, and then a lorry carried me to Aubigny. I went to the field canteen to get some cigarettes, and while there I met a Canadian Engineer officer whom I knew. We talked about many things, and as we were leaving I told him that I was going forth in faith as I hoped to get to Albert that evening. I said, ”You know my motto is 'The Lord will provide'.” As we walked along we came to a turn in the road, where we saw at a little distance a side-car with a driver all ready. I said to my friend, ”It is just the thing I want. I think I will go to the owner of that car and say to him that the Lord has provided it for me.” He burst out laughing and said, ”I am the owner of that car, and you may have it.” I thanked him and started off. It was a long ride, and at the end a very wet and muddy one, but I got to Tara Hill that evening and had dinner at General Thacker's Headquarters. I told the officers there of the purpose of my visit, that I was going up to the front line the next morning, and asked if they would telephone to one of the batteries and tell the O.C. that I should arrive some time in the middle of the night. The Brigade Major of course tried to dissuade me, but I told him that I was going in any case, that he was not responsible for my actions, but that if he liked to make thing easier for me he could. He quite understood the point, and telephoned to the 11th Battery. I then went back to the reserve headquarters of the 4th Division in the town, and prepared myself for the journey. When I had to make an early start in the morning, I always shaved the night before, because I thought that, of all the officers, the chaplain should look the freshest and cleanest. I was in the middle of the process of shaving, and some staff officers were making chocolate for our supper, when a German plane came over and dropped a huge bomb in the garden. It was about one a.m., and we could not help laughing at the surprise the Germans would have felt if they could have seen our occupation going on quite undisturbed by their attempt to murder us.

About half-past one, I started up the street which led to the Bapaume road. The moon was s.h.i.+ning, and I could see every object distinctly. Near our old Headquarters I got a lift in a lorry, which took me almost to Pozieres. There I got out and proceeded on my way alone. I entered the Y.M.C.A. hut and had a good strong cup of coffee, and started off afresh. That lonely region in the moonlight with the ruined village to one side and the fields stretching far away on either hand gave me an eerie feeling. I came upon four dead horses which had been killed that evening. To add to the strangeness of the situation, there was a strong scent of tear-gas in the air, which made my eyes water. Not a living soul could I see in the long white road.

Suddenly I heard behind me the sound of a troop of horses. I turned and saw coming towards me one of the strangest sights I have ever seen, and one which fitted in well with the ghostly character of the surroundings. It was a troop of mounted men carrying ammunition. They wore their gas masks, and as they came nearer, and I could see them more distinctly in the moonlight, the long masks with their two big gla.s.s eye-pieces gave the men a horse-like appearance. They looked like horses upon horses, and did not seem to be like human beings at all. I was quite glad when they had pa.s.sed. I walked on till I came to what was known as Centre Way. It was a path, sometimes with bath-mats on it, which led across the fields down to the battery positions in the valley. Huge sh.e.l.l holes, half filled with water, pitted the fields in every direction, and on the slippery wood I had great difficulty to keep from sliding into those which were skirted by the path. Far off beyond Courcellette I saw the German flare-lights and the bursting of sh.e.l.ls. It was a scene of vast desolation, weird beyond description. I had some difficulty when I got into the trench at the end of Centre Way, in finding the 11th Battery. The ground had been ploughed by sh.e.l.ls and the trenches were heavy with soft and clinging mud. At last I met a sentry who told me where the O.C.'s dugout was. It was then about half-past three in the morning, but I went down the steps, and there, having been kindly welcomed, was given a blanket on the floor. I started at 6 a.m. with a young sergeant for Death Valley, where I was to get a runner to take me to Regina Trench. The sergeant was a splendid young fellow from Montreal who had won the D.C.M., and was most highly thought of in the battery. He was afterwards killed on Vimy Ridge, where I buried him in the cemetery near Thelus. I had been warned that we were going to make a bombardment of the enemy's lines that morning, and that I ought to be out of the way before that began. I left the sergeant near Courcellette and made my way over to the Brigade Headquarters which were in a dugout in Death Valley. There with the permission of his O.C., a runner volunteered to come with me. He brought a spade, and we started down the trench to the front line. When I got into Regina Trench, I found that it was impossible to pa.s.s along it, as one sank down so deeply into the heavy mud. I had brought a little sketch with me of the trenches, which showed the sh.e.l.l hole where it was supposed that the body had been buried. The previous night a cross had been placed there by a corporal of the battalion before it left the front line. No one I spoke to, however, could tell me the exact map location of the place where it stood. I looked over the trenches, and on all sides spread a waste of brown mud, made more desolate by the morning mist which clung over everything. I was determined, however, not to be baffled in my search, and told the runner who was with me that, if I stayed there six months, I was not going to leave till I had found that grave. We walked back along the communication trench and turned into one on the right, peering over the top every now and then to see if we could recognize anything corresponding to the marks on our map. Suddenly the runner, who was looking over the top, pointed far away to a lonely white cross that stood at a point where the ground sloped down through the mist towards Regina Trench. At once we climbed out of the trench and made our way over the slippery ground and past the deep sh.e.l.l holes to where the white cross stood out in the solitude. We pa.s.sed many bodies which were still unburied, and here and there were bits of accoutrement which had been lost during the advance. When we came up to the cross I read my son's name upon it, and knew that I had reached the object I had in view. As the corporal who had placed the cross there had not been quite sure that it was actually on the place of burial, I got the runner to dig the ground in front of it. He did so, but we discovered nothing but a large piece of a sh.e.l.l. Then I got him to try in another place, and still we could find nothing. I tried once again, and after he had dug a little while he came upon something white. It was my son's left hand, with his signet ring upon it. They had removed his identification disc, revolver and pocket-book, so the signet ring was the only thing which could have led to his identification. It was really quite miraculous that we should have made the discovery. The mist was lifting now, and the sun to the East was beginning to light up the ground. We heard the crack of bullets, for the Germans were sniping us. I made the runner go down into a sh.e.l.l hole, while I read the burial service, and then took off the ring. I looked over the ground where the charge had been made. There lay Regina Trench, and far beyond it, standing out against the morning light, I saw the villages of Pys and Miraumont which were our objective. It was a strange scene of desolation, for the November rains had made the battle fields a dreary, sodden waste. How many of our brave men had laid down their lives as the purchase price of that consecrated soil! Through the centuries to come it must always remain sacred to the hearts of Canadians. We made a small mound where the body lay, and then by quick dashes from sh.e.l.l hole to sh.e.l.l hole we got back at last to the communication trench, and I was indeed thankful to feel that my mission had been successful. I have received letters since I returned to Canada from the kind young fellow, who accompanied me on the journey, and I shall never cease to be grateful to him. I left him at his headquarters in Death Valley, and made my way past Courcellette towards the road. As the trench was very muddy, I got out of it, and was walking along the top when I came across something red on the ground. It was a piece of a man's lung with the windpipe attached. I suppose some poor lad had had a direct hit from a sh.e.l.l and his body had been blown to pieces. The Germans were sh.e.l.ling the road, so with some men I met we made a detour through the fields and joined it further on, and finally got to the chalk-pit where the 87th Battalion was waiting to go in again to the final attack. I was delighted to see my friends once more, and they were thankful that I had been able to find the grave. Not many days afterwards, some of those whom I then met were called themselves to make the supreme sacrifice. I spent that night at the Rear Headquarters of the 4th Division, and they kindly sent me back the next day to Camblain l'Abbe in one of their cars.

On November 24th I received a telegram saying that a working party of one of the battalions of the 4th Division had brought my son's body back, and so on the following day I motored once again to Albert and laid my dear boy to rest in the little cemetery on Tara Hill, which he and I had seen when he was encamped near it, and in which now were the bodies of some of his friends whom I had met on my last visit. I was thankful to have been able to have him buried in a place which is known and can be visited, but I would say to the many parents whose sons lie now in unknown graves, that, after all, the grave seems to be a small and minor thing in view of the glorious victory and triumphant life which is all that really matters. If I had not been successful in my quest, I should not have vexed my soul with anxious thought as to what had become of that which is merely the earthly house of the immortal spirit which goes forth into the eternal. Let those whose dear ones lie in unrecorded graves remember that the strong, glad spirits-like Valiant for Truth in ”Pilgrim's Progress”-have pa.s.sed through the turbulent waters of the river of death, and ”all the trumpets have sounded for them on the other side.”

In June of the following year, when the Germans had retired after our victory at Vimy Ridge, I paid one more visit to Regina Trench. The early summer had clothed the waste land in fresh and living green. Larks were singing gaily in the sunny sky. No sound of sh.e.l.l or gun disturbed the whisper of the breeze as it pa.s.sed over the sweet-smelling fields. Even the trenches were filling up and Mother Nature was trying to hide the cruel wounds which the war had made upon her loving breast. One could hardly recall the visions of gloom and darkness which had once shrouded that scene of battle. In the healing process of time all mortal agonies, thank G.o.d, will be finally obliterated.

CHAPTER XV.

A Time of Preparation.

Christmas, 1916, to April, 1917.

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

On my return to France, I heard with some regret that our Divisional Headquarters were going to move, and that the Corps would make Camblain l'Abbe their headquarters. On December 20th we moved back to the town of Bruay, where we were to stay till after the New Year. Bruay in comparison with Camblain l'Abbe is a large and thriving town, all the inhabitants being more or less connected with the mines in the neighbourhood. Our Headquarters were in the administration building of the Mining Company, in a square, and I had a billet in a street near by. There was a good theatre in the place, which our 1st Divisional Concert party took over, and where I had services on Sunday. In and around the town were several of the battalions; the rest of the division were in the villages near by. Bruay had not been sh.e.l.led, and the mines were being worked as in pre-war days. It was a comfort to have the men out of the line once again, and the roads round about were very pleasant, the country being hilly and unspoilt. Bethune was within easy reach, and a visit to the quaint town made a pleasant afternoon's ride.