The sight of the German trenches was something never to be forgotten. They had been strongly held and had been fortified with an immense maze of wire. But now they were ploughed and shattered by enormous sh.e.l.l holes. The wire was twisted and torn and the whole of that region looked as if a volcanic upheaval had broken the crust of the earth. Hundreds of men were now walking over the open in all directions. German prisoners were being hurried back in scores. Wounded men, stretcher-bearers and men following up the advance were seen on all sides, and on the ground lay the bodies of friends and foes who had pa.s.sed to the Great Beyond. I met a British staff officer coming back from the front, who told me he belonged to Army Headquarters. He asked me if I was a Canadian, and when I replied that I was, he said, "I congratulate you upon it." I reminded him that British artillery were also engaged in the attack and should share in the glory. "That may be", he said, "but, never since the world began have men made a charge with finer spirit. It was a magnificent achievement."

Our burial parties were hard at work collecting the bodies of those who had fallen, and the chaplains were with them. I met some of the battalions, who, having done their part in the fighting, were coming back. Many of them had suffered heavily and the mingled feelings of loss and gain chastened their exaltation and tempered their sorrow. I made my way over to the ruins of the village of Thelus on our left, and there I had my lunch in a sh.e.l.l hole with some men, who were laughing over an incident of the attack. So sudden had been our advance that a German artillery officer who had a comfortable dugout in Thelus, had to run away before he was dressed. Two of our men had gone down into the dugout and there they found the water in the wash-basin still warm and many things scattered about in confusion. They took possession of everything that might be of use including some German war maps, and were just trying to get a very fine telephone when two other of our men hearing voices in the dugout and thinking the enemy might still be there, threw down a smoke bomb which set fire to the place. The invaders had to relinquish their pursuit of the telephone and beat a hasty retreat. Smoke was still rising from the dugout when I saw it and continued to do so for a day or two.

Our signallers were following up the infantry and laying wires over the open. Everyone was in high spirits. By this time the retreating Germans had got well beyond the crest of the Ridge and across the valley. It was about six o'clock in the evening when I reached our final objective, which was just below the edge of the hill. There our men were digging themselves in. It was no pleasant task, because the wind was cold and it was beginning to snow. The prospect of spending a night there was not an attractive one, and every man was anxious to make the best home for himself he could in the ground. It was wonderful to look over the valley. I saw the villages of Willerval, Arleux and Bailleul-sur-Berthouit. They looked so peaceful in the green plain which had not been disturbed as yet by sh.e.l.ls. The church spires stood up undamaged like those of some quiet hamlet in England. I thought, "If we could only follow up our advance and keep the Germans on the move," but the day was at an end and the snow was getting heavier. I saw far off in the valley, numbers of little grey figures who seemed to be gradually gathering together, and I heard an officer say he thought the Germans were preparing for a counter-attack. Our men, however, paid little attention to them. The pressing question of the moment was how to get a comfortable and advantageous position for the night. Canadians never showed up better than at such times. They were so quiet and determined and bore their hardships with a spirit of good nature which rested on something sounder and more fundamental than even pleasure in achieving victory. About half-past six, when I started back, I met our Intelligence Officer, V.C., D.S.O., coming up to look over the line. He was a man who did much but said little and generally looked very solemn. I went up to him and said, "Major, far be it from me, as a man of peace and a man of G.o.d, to say anything suggestive of slaughter, but, if I were a combatant officer, I would drop some shrapnel in that valley in front of our lines." Just the faint flicker of a smile pa.s.sed over his countenance and he replied, "We are sh.e.l.ling the valley." "No," I said, "Our sh.e.l.ls are going over the valley into the villages beyond, and the Germans in the plain are getting ready for a counter-attack. I could see them with my naked eyes." "Well." he replied, "I will go and look."

Later on when I was down in a German dugout which had been turned into the headquarters of our advanced artillery brigade, and was eating the half tin of cold baked beans which my friend, the C.O. had failed to consume, I had the satisfaction of hearing the message come through on the wires, that our artillery had to concentrate its fire on the valley, as the Germans were preparing for a counter-attack. When I left the warm comfortable dugout, I found that it was quite dark and still snowing. My flashlight was of little use for it only lit up the snowflakes immediately in front of me, and threw no light upon my path. I did not know how I should be able to get back in the darkness through the maze of sh.e.l.l holes and broken wire. Luckily a signaller came up to me and seeing my plight led me over to a light railway track which had just been laid, and told me that if I kept on it I should ultimately get back to the Arras-Bethune road. It was a hard scramble, for the track was narrow and very slippery, and had to be felt with the feet rather than seen with the eyes. I was terribly tired, for I had had a long walk and the excitement of the day and talking to such numbers of men had been very fatiguing. To add to my difficulties, our batteries lay between me and the road and were now in full action. My old dread of being killed by our own guns seemed to be justified on the present occasion. Gun flashes came every few seconds with a blinding effect, and I thought I should never get behind those confounded batteries. I had several tumbles in the snow-covered mud, but there was nothing to be done except to struggle on and trust to good luck to get through. When at last I reached the road I was devoutly thankful to be there and I made my way to the dugout of the signallers, where I was most kindly received and hospitably entertained, in spite of the fact that I kept dropping asleep in the midst of the conversation. One of our signal officers, in the morning, had gone over with some men in the first wave of the attack. He made directly for the German signallers' dugout and went down with his followers, and, finding about forty men there, told them they were his prisoners. They were astonished at his appearance, but he took possession of the switch-board and told them that the Canadians had captured the Ridge. One of the Germans was sent up to find out, and returned with the report that the Canadians held the ground. Our men at once took possession of all the telegraph instruments and prevented information being sent back to the enemy in the rear lines. Having done this, our gallant Canadians ordered the prisoners out of the dugout and then sat down and ate the breakfast which they had just prepared. This was only one of many deeds of cool daring done that day. On one occasion the Germans were running so fast in front of one of our battalions that our men could not resist following them. They were actually rushing into the zone of our own fire in order to get at them. A gallant young lieutenant, who afterwards won the V.C., seeing the danger, with great pluck, ran in front of the men and halted them with the words, "Stop, Boys, give the barrage a chance."

In spite of the numbers of wounded and dying men which I had seen, the victory was such a complete and splendid one that April 9th, 1917, was one of the happiest days in my life, and when I started out from the signallers dugout on my way back to Ecoivres, and pa.s.sed the hill where I had seen the opening of the great drama in the early morning, my heart was full of thankfulness to Almighty G.o.d for his blessing on our arms. I arrived at my room in the Chateau at about half past two a.m., very tired and very happy. I made myself a large cup of strong coffee, on my primus stove, ate a whole tin of cold baked beans, and then turned in to a sound slumber, filled with dreams of victory and glory, and awoke well and fit in the morning, more than ever proud of the grand old First Division which, as General Horne told us later, had made a new record in British war annals by taking every objective on the scheduled dot of the clock.

CHAPTER XVII.

A Month on the Ridge.

April to May, 1917.

The great drawback to a victory in a war of movement, which we were told we were now engaged in, is that, after an advance, one has to follow up the line, and consequently, comfortable billets have to be exchanged for broken down shacks in the forward area. Not many days after our men had taken Vimy Ridge, Divisional Headquarters had to move up to the Arras-Bethune road and occupy a chalk cave which was known as the Labyrinth. It had once been the scene of fierce fighting between the French and the Germans. Deep down, in pa.s.sages scooped out of the chalk were the various offices of the division and the billets for the staff. The place was very much crowded, and I quickly perceived that the last person whose society was wanted there was the Senior Chaplain. Having taken the situation in at a glance, I made my way to my friend the Staff Captain of the Artillery, and he very kindly invited me to share with him and another officer, the little dugout he had chosen for himself. It was entered by a narrow pa.s.sage cut through the chalk in the side of the trench, and the roof consisted of a large semi-circular piece of iron under the ground. We had three beds and a table, and so were comfortable. When one stood on the earth which covered our roof, it was impossible to see any suggestion of a home underneath. Nothing was in sight but the wide expanse of rolling country cut up on all sides by trenches and sh.e.l.l holes, and wearing a sort of khaki uniform of light brown mud. To the east of us, lay the road bordered with leafless and battered trees, past which went an interminable line of lorries, guns and limbers. We were very comfortable, and at night when the winds were blowing and the rain was coming down in sheets, it was not half bad after dinner to read aloud Tennyson's "Ulysses" or other of my favourite poems. I am not sure that I did not at times, relying upon the inclemency of the weather overhead, recite some of my own. I know that one morning, when I had awakened at about four o'clock, I turned on the light of a storage battery which I had found in a German dugout, and sitting up wrote the verses which I called "The Silent Toast" and which my artillery friends approved of when I recited them at breakfast.

The aftermath of victory is of course very sad. Many were the gallant men whose bodies were laid to rest in the little cemetery at Ecoivres. The cemetery is well kept and very prettily situated. The relatives of those who are buried there will be pleased to find the graves so carefully preserved. The large crucifix which stands on a mound near the gate is most picturesquely surrounded by trees. In the mound some soldier, probably a Frenchman, had once made a dugout. The site was evidently chosen with the idea that crucifixes were untouched by sh.e.l.ls, and therefore places of refuge from danger. I often thought, as I looked at the crucifix with the human shelter beneath it, that it might stand as a symbol of the hymn:-

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

The engineers had had a dump for their material near the Bethune-Arras road, and when they moved it forward to a place called the "Nine Elms," the engineer officer gave me his dugout, which was partly beside the road and partly under it. It consisted of several rooms, one of which contained a bed, and had steps going down to a deep chamber whither one could retire in case of sh.e.l.ling. It was good to have such a large and comfortable establishment, and when Alberta was chained up in her corner and I had strapped myself into my kit bag at night, we both felt very snug. The only trouble was that visitors kept coming at all hours to ask for engineering materials, not knowing that the character of the abode had changed. Early one morning, an officer came in a great hurry, and waking me up, asked if there were any winches there,-he p.r.o.nounced the word like wenches. I sat up in bed and looked at him sternly, and said, "Young man, this is a religious establishment, I am the Senior Chaplain, and there are no wenches here." He did not know quite what to make of the situation. "I mean wooden ones," he said. I replied, "Young man, there are no wenches here, either wooden or any other kind; the engineers have gone forward." He apologized and left. On another occasion, in the darkness of middle night, an Imperial soldier who had lost his way came down the steps and put his head into my door and began to stammer and hiss in such an extraordinary way that Alberta was roused and barked furiously. I woke up with a start and asked what the matter was, but all I could get from the poor man was a series of noises and hisses. I turned on my flashlight, and a very muddy face covered with a shock of red hair looked in at the door of my little room, and with many contortions and winkings, emitted a series of incomprehensible noises. What with the stammering man and the barking dog, I was at my wits end to find out the trouble. At last by a process of synthesis, I pieced the various sounds together and found that the man wanted the location of a certain British battery. I gave him the best information I could.

Not far from me, at Arriane Dump, the Chaplain's Service established a coffee stall, and there men who were going up to or coming from the line could get coffee, biscuits and cigarettes at all hours. The neighbourhood had now become so safe that little huts were being run up in various places. I asked our C.R.E. to build me a church, and, to my great joy, an officer and some men were detailed to put up a little structure of corrugated iron. At one end, over the entrance door, there was a belfry in which was hung a good sized German gas bell found in the trenches on our advance. Surmounting the belfry, was a cross painted with luminous paint. Inside the church, I had an altar with crucifix and candlesticks, and the Union Jack for a frontal. I also had a lectern and portable organ. The oiled linen in the windows let in a sufficient quant.i.ty of light, and the whole place was thoroughly church-like. I shall never forget the first service we held in it when the building was completed. It was in the evening and the sun was just setting. The air was balmy and spring-like and there was no sh.e.l.ling in the front line. The bell was rung and the congregation began to collect. I went over to the church and there I found, lying wrapped in a blanket on a stretcher beside the building, the body of a poor lad of the 2nd Division. It could not be buried until word had been received from his battalion. I got some of the men to carry the stretcher in and lay it in the aisle. I put on my ca.s.sock and surplice, lit the candles, and we had choral evensong, my organist playing the responses. The little church was filled, and there, in the midst of us, was one who had entered into his rest. It seemed to me that the most suitable hymn was:-

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

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

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

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

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

We had taken the Ridge, but there were villages in the plain which were not yet in our hands. I heard there was to be an attack one morning early. So the night before, I left my dugout at one a.m. It was a strange, weird walk along the plank road and then down the railway track to Farbus wood. The barrage was to open at four-thirty, and at four-ten a.m. I walked into the dugout where the Headquarters of the 3rd Artillery Brigade were. We waited till four twenty-five, and then I went up to see the barrage. Before us lay the plain, and all round us on the hillside, except in the s.p.a.ce before us, were trees of Farbus Wood. At four-thirty the barrage opened, and we had a fine view of the line of bursting sh.e.l.ls along the enemy's front. For a time our fire was very intense, and when it eased off I started down the hill to the town of Willerval, where in a dugout I found the officers of one of our battalions regaling themselves with the bottles of wine and mineral water which the Germans had left behind them in their well-stocked cellars. Willerval was badly smashed, but enough was left to show what a charming place it must have been in the days before the war. In the sh.e.l.l-ploughed gardens, spring flowers were putting up inquiring faces, and asking for the smiles and admiration of the flower-lovers who would tread those broken paths no more. I sat in a quiet place by a ruined brick wall and tried to disentangle the curious sensations which pa.s.sed through the mind, as I felt the breeze lightly fanning my face, smelt the scent of flowers, heard the skylarks singing, saw the broken houses and conservatories, and listened to the sh.e.l.ls which every now and then fell on the road to the east of the village. That super-sensitiveness to the charms of nature, which I have mentioned before, thrilled me with delight. The warm spring sun beat down from a cloudless sky, and the glorious romance of being out in the war-zone added to the charm.

One of our ambulances had a dressing station in the cellars of the Chateau, and there were a number of German prisoners there who were waiting their turn as stretcher bearers. From Willerval I went to the dressing station in the sunken road, where one of our chaplains was hard at work rendering a.s.sistance to the wounded. We had taken Arleux, but of course had to pay the price, and over the fields in different directions one could see stretchers being carried, bearing their loads of broken and suffering bodies. Our grand old Division never failed in taking its objective, and later on, we advanced from Arleux to Fresnoy, which completed for us our campaign on Vimy Ridge. The Divisions on each side of us were held up, but when we left the Ridge we handed over Fresnoy to our successors in the line. Later, they were obliged to relinquish it.

There is something splendid in the esprit-de-corps of a Division, and none could be greater than that which animated all the units of the 1st Canadian Division, or as we were called, "the boys of the old red patch," from the red patch which we wore as a distinguishing mark upon our arms.

On May 4th, orders came to us that we had to move, and at night I walked over the old plank road to say good-bye to my son-for their battery was to retain its position-and on the next day, followed by little Alberta, I rode from Arriane Dump to my old billet in Bruay, breaking the journey by a visit to the 87th Battalion at Chateau de la Haie. We had returned to our old quarters covered with glory, and, on all sides, the French people were sincere in their admiration for what the Canadian Corps had done. It was certainly delightful to get back to clean billets, and to be able to enjoy the charming spring weather on roads that were not sh.e.l.led and in fields that were rich in the promise of summer. Our Headquarters once again made their home in the Administration Building in the square, and the usual round of entertaining went on. During the daytime, battalions practised the n.o.ble art of open warfare. The sense of "Something accomplished, something done," inspired our men with the ardour of military life, and bound us all even closer together in the spirit of valiant comradeship.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A Well-Earned Rest.

May and June, 1917.

Three days after we had settled at Bruay I was invited by one of our staff officers and the Colonel of one of our battalions to accompany them on a visit to our old trenches on the Somme. We left in the morning and went south, over the roads and past the little villages which we knew so well, till we came to Albert. We went up the Bapaume road, now deserted and lonely. Our front line was some miles to the east, and so all that waste of country over which we had fought was now without inhabitants. We left the motor near Courcellette and walked over the fields to the old trenches where the First Brigade had made their attack. It was a dreary day. Low clouds hung over the sky and a cold wind blew from the east. Spring had made very little advance in those wide fields of death, and the gra.s.s was hardly green, where there was any gra.s.s. We walked over the well-known tracks reviewing incidents of the great battle. We crossed Death Valley and saw our old lines. The place was so solemn that by mutual agreement we did not talk, but each went off by himself. I found a number of Canadian and German bodies still unburied, and all over the fields were rifles and mess tins, spades and bits of accoutrement. One could hardly imagine a scene more desolate and forlorn. Every inch of that ground had been fought over and bought with the price of human blood. The moan of the wind over the fields seemed like the great lament of Nature for her sons who had gone. It was impossible to identify the bodies we found, but we knew that burial parties would soon set to work to collect them. Over each poor brown and muddy form I held a short service and used the form of committal from the burial office in our prayer-book.

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

"G.o.d rest you valiant Gentlemen Who sleep beneath that ground."

Once more, at the end of the month, I paid another visit to Regina Trench, when I was on my way to place a cross over my son's grave in the cemetery at Tara Hill. By this time, the gra.s.s was green, the trenches were filling up and in the cloudless blue sky larks were singing. The impression of dreariness was pa.s.sing away, and the wounds on the breast of nature were being healed.

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

I shall never forget the happy rides on Dandy down the roads and across the fields to the various battalions and artillery brigades. At every turn I would meet men whom I knew, and to shake hands with those glorious lads who had done such great things for the world was an honour and a privilege. In looking back to that time faces and places come before me, and I feel once again the warm spring winds over the fields of France, and see the quaint old villages of Houdain, Ruitz and Hallicourt where our various battalions were billetted. Sometimes, at exalted moments, I had meals with generals in their comfortable quarters; sometimes with company officers; sometimes with the non-coms, but I think the most enjoyable were those that I took with the men in dirty cook-houses. With a dish-cloth they would wipe off some old box for a chair, another for a table; then, getting contributions of cutlery, they would cook me a special dinner and provide me with a mess-tin of strong hot tea. When the meal was over and cigarettes had been lighted, general conversation was indulged in, and there would be talks of home, of war experiences, and many discussions of religion and politics. One question which was asked me again and again in trenches and dugouts and billets was-"Are we winning the war?" It may be hard for people at home to realize how little our men knew of what was happening. The majority of them never saw the newspapers, and of course the monotony of our life and the apparent hopelessness of making any great advance was a puzzle to them. I never failed to take the question seriously and give them, as far as I was able, a general idea of the aspect of the war on the various fronts. In order to be able to do this I read "The Times" daily with great care. It was really the only paper that one could depend on, and its marvellous influence on the conduct of the campaign completely justified its claim to be still the exponent of British policy, and its inherited right to the t.i.tle of "The Thunderer."

Our artillery were still in the line along the Ridge, but our infantry brigades were all at rest. It was proposed that we should have a thanksgiving service for victory with each brigade. The Senior Chaplain of the Corps took the matter in hand with the Senior Chaplain of the Army. A form of service was printed on slips of paper, and on Sunday, May 13th, we had services for the three infantry brigades. It was a lovely warm day, and the services were held at the most convenient points. The 2nd Brigade were a.s.sembled at Ruitz. It was a splendid sight. The 5th, 7th, 8th and 10th Battalions were drawn up in a great square, generals and staff officers were present; a band played the hymns and the army chaplain gave us a most stirring address. The next service was with the 1st Brigade in a field near Coupigny, where the 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th Battalions were drawn up, making a magnificent show of young, ardent and stalwart manhood. The moment it was over the general and staff were motored over to the 3rd Brigade at Chateau-de-la-Haie. Here were a.s.sembled the 13th, 14th, 15th and 16th Battalions. General Horne attended this Service, and, after the religious ceremony was over, gave an address. His admiration for the achievement of our men was evidently sincere, and he always showed the deepest interest in everything connected with the welfare of the Canadians.

Near Bruay on the way to Houdain were some large aerodromes and the headquarters of the squadron. I had met their chaplain before at Armentieres when he was attached to the infantry. He very kindly invited me up to his quarters, and several times I dined with him at the officers' mess. He was the chaplain of several squadrons, and had to fly from one to another to take services on Sundays after the manner of a true "sky pilot." He told me some splendid tales of the gallantry of the young men to whom he had to minister. On one occasion the order was given that six German observation balloons along the front line had to be brought down, for we were about to make an advance. Six men were therefore, told off for this important but dangerous duty. The chaplain told me that at once the question arose as to how they were to dress for the encounter. Should they wear old clothes or should they be arrayed in their best? They decided that if they were brought down they would like, by their appearance, to do most credit to their squadron, and so it was determined that they should wear their newest uniforms. He told me that to him, who knew the dangers underlying the enterprise, it was most pathetic to see the young fellows in the highest spirits getting themselves polished up as if they were going to an invest.i.ture at Buckingham Palace. He had thought of having a service of Holy Communion for them, but there was no time, so he saw them start off on their voyage telling them that he would follow them with his prayers. The danger of such an undertaking was very great, as the planes had to fly low over the German trenches and then rise up and attack the balloons. That night six young airmen came to dinner in the mess as usual, but there were six observation balloons less in the German lines.

One night when I went to dinner with the officers of the squadron I was placed at the right hand of the O.C. He was late in arriving, and I wondered what sort of man would come to fill the vacant chair. To my surprise, when we were half way through dinner, a young officer, not much more than a boy came and took the seat and welcomed me to the mess. I asked him if he were the Major. He said he was, and on his left breast were several decorations. I was just going to make some remark about his youthful appearance when he said, "Now don't say it, Padre, don't say I look young, I really can't help it." I had a long and interesting talk with him about his work. He was full of enthusiasm, and his knowledge of men impressed me deeply. There was a large number of officers at the table all under his command. I thought it was wonderful that a man so young should have such a knowledge of human character. This war has certainly shown that mellowed age is not such a necessary qualification for right judgment as we thought it was. Old age has had its day, and the young world, that has just been born in the anguish and travail of the old, must be "run" by young men who unite in themselves the qualities of judgment and the love of adventure. The hut used as a mess-room was most artistically decorated, and made a fine setting for the n.o.ble young fellows, who sat round the table chaffing one another and laughing as if they never had to face death in the blinding mists of morning or the blazing sun of noon, with the rain of sh.e.l.ls and machine gun fire falling round them, as they climbed higher and higher like skylarks into the wide vault of heaven.

On the first of June, we were ordered back to the line, and our Divisional Headquarters was to be divided. The General and staff were to be at the advanced position in the huts and dugouts on the La Targette road, and the non-combatant officers were to be billetted near Villers au Bois in Chateau d'Acq, a comfortable modern house with a large garden on one side and a pleasant tree-covered hill at the back. Here, to my surprise and delight, I found myself in possession of a large front room with furniture in it that appeared almost gorgeous. I had one comfortable night's sleep in it, but alas only one. On the next evening, when the full moon was shining with that fateful power which she has of turning night into day and of guiding the flight of hostile bombers, we were sitting smoking our cigars after dinner at the artillery headquarters in the La Targette road, when suddenly we heard the pulsating buzzing of a German plane. At once someone called out, "A Boche plane, put out the lights." In an instant the lights were out, but the fatal moonlight shone with clear and cruel l.u.s.tre. There was a huge crash, then another, then another, then another, and someone said, "It has discharged its load." For a few moments we waited in silence, then we heard the sound of voices and men calling for help. I went across the open to the huts where the staff officers and the clerks lived. The German plane kept buzzing round and round at a low alt.i.tude, the observer evidently trying to find out what mischief he had done. To my dismay, I found that sixteen persons including the A.D.M.S. and the a.s.sistant to the A.P.M., had been wounded, two of them fatally. We could not use the lights in attending to the wounded for the German airman was on the watch, and it was not until he went away that we could get ambulances to carry them off.

The General did not think it was worth while to risk a second attack by remaining at the place, so, in the middle of the night, with great dispatch the headquarters was moved back to the Chateau, and instead of my occupying the mahogany bed in the front room, I found myself on the floor of one of the huts in the garden. The General quite rightly and naturally taking to himself the bed which I had left.

Chateau d'Acq was for many weeks and at different times our comfortable and delightful home. There were many Nissen huts round the Chateau and under the beautiful trees on the hillside. Here the different branches of the service had their offices, and the engineers built for me a little house of tar paper lined with green canvas, over the door of which was painted the sign "St. George's Rectory." The C.R.E. also built me a new St. George's Church on the other side of the road. It was to be the chef d'oeuvre of his architectural skill, and to be made as complete and perfect as possible. A compa.s.s was brought and the true east and west found. The material of which the church was to be built was tar paper and scantling. The roof was to be covered with corrugated iron. The belfry was to be hung this time with two German gas bells, which were dignified with the t.i.tle of a chime of bells. The windows, filled with oiled linen, were to be pointed after the manner of Gothic architecture. The church was to be cruciform, with a vestry on one side balanced by an organ chamber on the other. We had a nice altar, with the legal ornaments, and an altar rail. We had a lectern, and the proper number of benches for the congregation. We even had a font, which was carved out of chalk by the C.R.E.'s batman and given as an offering to the church. The C.R.E., a most devout and staunch Presbyterian, was proud of his architectural achievement and told me that now he had handed over to me a complete church he wished every service which the Church of England could hold to be celebrated in it. He said, "In addition to your usual services, I want men to be baptised, to be married, and to be ordained in that church." When I protested that possibly no men could be found desiring these offices, he replied, "The matter is perfectly simple. Like the centurion in the Bible, I am a man under authority. All I have to do is to call up ten men and say 'Go and be baptised tomorrow morning in Canon Scott's Church', and they will go. If they don't, they will be put in the guard room. Then I will call up ten more men and say, 'Go and be married in Canon Scott's church.' If they don't, I will put them in the guardroom. Then I will call up ten more men and say, 'Go and be ordained in Canon Scott's church'. If they don't, I will put them in the guard room." All this was said with perfect solemnity. As a matter of fact, when another division was occupying Chateau d'Acq, a man really was baptised in the little church. It was used daily for a time by the Roman Catholic Chaplain.

A photograph of the building is preserved in the Canadian War Records Office. The first morning I rang the chime of bells for the early service, our A.D.M.S. avowed that he, mistaking the character of the sound, and supposing that it was a warning of a gas attack, sat up in his bed in the sweltering heat and put on his gas helmet.

From Chateau d'Acq I used to go and take services for the siege artillery on the Lens-Arras road, and also at the charmingly situated rest camp at Fresnicourt. We knew however that a bombing raid might occur at Chateau d'Acq on any clear night. Whenever we heard German planes in the air we always felt how unprotected we were, and it gave us a sense of relief when the buzzing sound grew fainter and fainter and died off in the distance.

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

CHAPTER XIX.

Paris Leave.

June 1917.

My time for leave was due again, and as we were allowed to spend it in France without interfering with the number of those who desired to see their friends in England, I determined to go to Chamounix. I thought that the sight of a great natural wonder like Mont Blanc would have an uplifting effect upon the mind, at a time when everything human seemed to be going to rack and ruin. The white peaks of the Alps in their changeless purity against the blue of the infinite sky seemed to me a vision which the soul needed. So I started off one lovely morning on my way to Paris. I went by side-car to Amiens, where I took the train. It was a delightful expedition, and I left with a good conscience, because our men were not expected to attack, and were in a quiet sector of the line. The driver of the car, with the prospect of a good meal at Amiens and a good tip, was in the best of humours. The air was sweet and fresh and the gra.s.s wore its brightest green. The sunshine beat down from a cloudless sky, and when we paused for repairs, as we had to do from time to time, birds' songs furnished us with a most enjoyable concert. An expedition of this kind was made doubly charming by having in it a touch of adventure. When we came to a village, at once the map had to be studied and the turns in the road noted. A conversation with some of the villagers as we journeyed, always broke the sense of loneliness, and gave us an insight into the feelings of the people. However, on this particular occasion, I was not able to complete the journey to Amiens in the side-car. Either the car broke down, or the driver preferred to go on by himself, for the thing came to a dead stop just as a car from the Corps was about to pa.s.s us. The occupants kindly invited me to go on to Amiens with them. It was a swifter way of continuing the journey and much more comfortable, so I said good-bye to my original driver and started off with my new friends.

Amiens was a bustling place then and very unlike the Amiens I saw a little over a year later. I started by train at six-thirty p.m., and at eight-thirty, after a pleasant journey, arrived at Paris, where I went to the Hotel Westminster. On the next evening, I started off with some friends for Evians-les-Bains. The train was very full, and there were no berths in the wagon-lit, so we had to stay up all night in a crowded first-cla.s.s carriage. There was an old French Cure at one end of the compartment, who, quite early in the evening, drew out a silk handkerchief and covered his head and face therewith, leading us to suppose that he had sunk into oblivion. We therefore carried on a very pleasant and vivacious conversation, as the night was warm and we were not inclined to sleep. Suddenly the old Cure pulled off the handkerchief and said in a gruff voice, "It is the time for sleeps and not for talks." and, having uttered this stinging rebuke, re-covered his head and left us in penitent silence. We arrived at Evians-les-Bains in good time, and went to a very charming hotel with a lovely view of the Lake of Geneva in front. Unfortunately, I had hurt my foot some time before and it looked as if it had got infected. Not wishing to be laid up so far from medical a.s.sistance, I decided to return the same evening, which I did, and once more found myself at the Hotel Westminster. I now determined to spend my leave in Paris. There were many of our men in the city at that time. They were all in a very impecunious condition, for there was some difficulty in getting their pay and, in Paris, money did not last long. I did my best to try and help them, and later our system of payment was improved. It was perhaps just as well for some of them that their money was short.

Poor old Paris looked very shabby to one who remembered her in former days with her clean streets and many-fountained parks. She wore the air of shabby gentility. The streets were not clean; the people were not well-dressed, the fountains no longer played. France had been hard hit by the war, and the ruin and desolation of her eastern borders were reflected in the metropolis. I spent most of my time in Paris trying to keep men straight, with more or less success. I can imagine nothing worse for a lonely young fellow, who had taken his leave after weary months in the front line, than to find himself in the midst of the heartless gaiety of the French capital. On all sides the minions of vice, diseased in mind and body, lay in waiting for their prey. To one who loved Canada and longed for the uplifting of the pure life of Canadian homes, it was a spectacle which filled the heart with anxiety. Before I left Paris, I wrote a letter to the Continental Daily Mail advocating the taking over of some hotels which could be turned into hostels or clubs for soldiers while on leave. This, I am happy to say was afterwards done.

I met many of our men at the soldiers' tea-rooms called "A corner of Blighty" in the Place Vendome, and I organized several dinner and theatre parties which went off very pleasantly. When the men had companionship, they did not feel the lure of vice which came to them in moments of loneliness. I met some interesting people in Paris, and at a Sunday luncheon in the charming house of the d.u.c.h.ess de la M-- I met Madame --, the writer of a series of novels of rather lurid reputation. The auth.o.r.ess was a large person with rich orange-coloured hair, powdered cheeks, and darkened eyelashes. She wore a large black hat, enormous solitaire pearl ear-rings, and, as a symbol of her personal purity, was arrayed in white. She lamented the fact that women writers were not allowed to visit the front. When I told her that Mrs. Humphrey Ward had been there, she said, "Oh yes, they allowed her to go because they said she could write good English, but she cannot get the ear of the American people in the way I can."

There were two or three French officers present, one of whom was an attache at the Emba.s.sy in Madrid. I was much impressed by their quiet dignified bearing, so typical of the chivalrous heroism of France, and so unlike anything which we could look for in the officers of the German Army. I could not help observing that the French were much depressed and filled with anxiety as to the issue of the war. A French lady said to me "How can we go on much longer; our man-power is nearly exhausted?" It is a supreme delight to me to think that that wonderful nation, which suffered and bled so deeply and bore its wrongs so n.o.bly, has now been avenged on the ruthless enemy, and that the tricolour once more floats over Alsace and Lorraine. Profoundly patriotic though we of the British Empire are, there is something in the patriotism of the French which goes down into the deepest roots of the human soul. I remember once in the private burying place of a n.o.ble family who owned a chateau not far from our front line, seeing a little child's grave. The child had died in Canada at the age of two years, and its body had been brought back to its ancestral resting place. On the tombstone, under the inscription were the words:-

"Pet.i.t ange Priez pour la France."

I was very much struck by the prayer. That the sorrow for a child's death should be coupled with the love of country seemed most strange and pathetic. I venture to say that it would be impossible to find a parallel instance of such a blending of emotions in any English churchyard. The present owner of the Chateau, which was at least two or three hundred years old, was away fighting for his country, and long gra.s.s and weeds filled the uncared for corner by the side of the old church. In past history, we have fought with the French again and again, but we always felt that we were fighting with gentlemen, and were sure that every courteous deed done by us would meet with an equally courteous response. One of the saddest things in the war was that, while we often admired the military efficiency of the Germans, we had absolutely no respect for their officers or men, nor could we regard them as anything but well-trained brutes. The ties which bind us to France now are very intimate and personal, and it is a matter of thankfulness to all who love human idealism and true culture, that the reproach of the defeat of 1870 has been washed away in blood, and that France will emerge from her fiery trial a purer and a loftier nation.

I was not sorry when my Paris leave was over and I returned to my Headquarters at Chateau d'Acq. It was always delightful to get back to my war home and settle down again in the midst of those on whose shoulders the fate of civilization rested. I arrived back on June 29th, just in time to prepare for the special services which were to be held throughout the Corps on Sunday, July 1st, it being the jubilee of the Dominion. I made arrangements with the band of the Royal Canadian Regiment, as our Divisional band was away, to march over from Villers au Bois and play for us at the service. We had special hymns and prayers neatly printed on cards, which the men were to retain as souvenirs. The parade was held just outside St. George's Church, our new Divisional Commander, General Macdonell, and his staff attending. The occasion was particularly interesting to me, because I was the only man in the whole Canadian Corps at the front who could remember the first Dominion Day. I could remember as a child being taken by my father on the 1st of July, 1867, to hear the guns firing a salute on the grounds of McGill College, Montreal. Canada had travelled a long distance on the path of nationhood since that far-off time, and now, after fifty years, I had the satisfaction of being with the great Canadian Army Corps on European soil, engaged in the biggest war of history. Such an experience is not often the privilege of a human life, and the splendid body of men before me gave promise of Canada's progress and national glory in the future. Everyone felt the peculiar significance of the celebration.

Owing to the fact that my foot was still troubling me, I was sent down to the rest-camp at Fresnicourt, where I met many of the officers and men in that delightful old Chateau. The country round about was very pretty, and the views from the hills were charming. Every night I used to have either a service, or a talk with the men, on the gra.s.s beside a little stream. They were all enjoying the rest and refreshment that came from being able to live in pleasant surroundings and away from sh.e.l.ls and work in the trenches. On July 18th, I went by side-car to St. Omer where the Senior Chaplains of the Army were summoned to a conference. We were billeted in the large building used as the Chaplains' Rest Home, and there enjoyed the great privilege, not only of meeting one another, but of listening to some splendid addresses and lectures by those in charge. It was pleasant to re-visit St. Omer. The quaint old French town, with its rambling streets and polite inhabitants, took one away from the thoughts of war and gave one almost a feeling of home. In the smoking-room at night, we had the opportunity of discussing with one another the various moral and religious problems with which the chaplain had to contend, and many were the interesting experiences of those chaplains. On the last day of our meetings, at the early Eucharist, we had an address from the Archbishop of York, who had just come over to France. Later on, he gave an address at a general meeting of the chaplains at Bethune.

While at St. Omer I paid a visit to the Second Army School in their magnificent buildings in Wisques, where I saw the room that my son had occupied, and met some of the people who remembered him. The place was used as a training school for officers and was most wonderfully equipped. The building was a modern convent, and the large unfinished chapel, with its high vaulted roof, was used as a dining-room. It was inspiring at dinner to see the hundreds of young officers, all so keen and cheery, sitting round the tables, while a good band played during the meal. It was hard to realize that they were only having a momentary respite from the war, and, in a week or two, would be once more up in the line facing wounds and death. The Commandant took great pride in the inst.i.tution, and told me of the splendid records of the men who had pa.s.sed through his hands.