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CHAPTER
I.
HOW
I GOT INTO THE WAR.
July
to September, 1914.
IT
happened on this wise. It was on the evening of the 31st
of July, 1914, that I went down to a newspaper office
in Quebec to stand amid the crowd and watch the bulletins
which were posted up every now and then, and to hear the
news of the war. One after another the reports were given,
and at last there flashed upon the board the words, “General
Hughes offers a force of twenty thousand men to England
in case war is declared against Germany.” I turned
to a friend and said, “That means that I have got
to go to the war.” Cold shivers went up and down
my spine as I thought of it, and my friend replied, “Of
course it does not mean that you should go. You have a
parish and duties at home.” I said, “No. I
am a Chaplain of the 8th Royal Rifles. I must volunteer,
and if I am accepted, I will go.” It was a queer
sensation, because I had never been to war before and
I did not know how I should be able to stand the shell
fire. I had read in books of people whose minds were keen
and brave, but whose hind legs persisted in running away
under the sound of guns. Now I knew that an ordinary officer
on running away under fire would get the sympathy of a
large number of people, who would say, “The poor
fellow has got shell shock,” and they would make
allowance for him. But if a chaplain ran away, about six
hundred men would say at once, “We have no more
use for religion.” So it was with very mingled feelings
that I contemplated an expedition to the battle-fields
of France, and I trusted that the difficulties of Europe
would be settled without our intervention.
However, preparations for war
went on. On Sunday, August 2nd, in the afternoon, I telephoned
to Militia Headquarters and gave in my name as a volunteer
for the Great War. When I went to church that evening
and told the wardens that I was off to France, they were
much surprised and disconcerted. When I was preaching
at the service and looked down at the congregation, I
had a queer feeling that some mysterious power was dragging
me into a whirlpool, and the ordinary life around me and
the things that were so dear to me had already begun to
fade away. [Page 15]
On
Tuesday, August the Fourth, war was declared, and the
Expeditionary Force began to be mobilized in earnest.
It is like recalling a horrible dream when I look back
to those days of apprehension and dread. The world seemed
suddenly to have gone mad. All civilization appeared to
be tottering. The Japanese Prime Minister, on the night
war was declared, said, “This is the end of Europe.”
In a sense his words were true. Already we see power shifted
from nations in Europe to that great Empire which is in
its youth, whose home is in Europe, but whose dominions
are scattered over the wide world, and also to that new
Empire of America, which came in to the war at the end
with such determination and high resolve. The destinies
of mankind are now in the hands of the English-speaking
nations and France.
In
those hot August days, a camp at Valcartier was prepared
in a lovely valley surrounded by the old granite hills
of the Laurentians, the oldest range of mountains in the
world. The Canadian units began to collect, and the lines
of white tents were laid out. On Saturday, August 22nd,
at seven in the morning, the detachment of volunteers
from Quebec marched off from the drill-shed to entrain
for Valcartier. Our friends came to see us off and the
band played “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” in
the traditional manner. On our arrival at Valcartier we
marched over to the ground assigned to us, and the men
set to work to put up the tents. I hope I am casting no
slur upon the 8th Royal Rifles of Quebec, when I say that
I think we were all pretty green in the matter of field
experience. The South African veterans amongst us, both
officers and men, saved the situation. But I know that
the cooking arrangements rather “fell down,”
and I think a little bread and cheese, very late at night,
was all we had to eat. We were lucky to get that. Little
did we know then of the field kitchens, with their pipes
smoking and dinners cooking, which later on used to follow
up the battalions as they moved.
The
camp at Valcartier was really a wonderful place. Rapidly
the roads were laid out, the tents were run up, and from
west and east and north and south men poured in. There
was activity everywhere. Water was laid on, and the men
got the privilege of taking shower-baths, beside the dusty
roads. Bands played; pipers retired to the woods and practiced
unearthly music calculated to fire the breast of the Scotsman
with a lust for blood. We had rifle practice on the marvellous
ranges. We had sham battles in which the men [Page
16] engaged so intensely that on one occasion,
when the enemy met, one over-eager soldier belaboured
his opponent with the butt end of his rifle as though
he were a real German, and the poor victim, who had not
been taught to say “Kamarad,” suffered grievous
wounds and had to be taken away in an ambulance. Though
many gales and tempests had blown round those ancient
mountains, nothing had ever equalled the latent power
in the hearts of the stalwart young Canadians who had
come so swiftly and eagerly at the call of the Empire.
It is astonishing how the war spirit grips one. In Valcartier
began that splendid comradeship which spread out to all
the divisions of the Canadian Corps, and which binds those
who went to the great adventure in a brotherhood stronger
than has ever been known before.
Valcartier
was to me a weird experience. The tents were cold. The
ground was very hard. I got it into my mind that a chaplain
should live the same life as the private soldier, and
should avoid all luxuries. So I tried to sleep at night
under my blanket, making a little hole in the ground for
my thigh bone to rest in. After lying awake for some nights
under these conditions, I found that the privates, especially
the old soldiers, had learnt the art of making themselves
comfortable and were hunting for straw for beds. I saw
the wisdom of this and got a Wolesley sleeping bag, which
I afterwards lost when my billet was shelled at Ypres.
Under this new arrangement I was able to get a little
rest. A kind friend in Quebec provided fifty oil stoves
for the use of the Quebec contingent and so we became
quite comfortable.
The
dominating spirit of the camp was General Hughes, who
rode about with his aides-de-camp in great splendour like
Napoleon. To me it seemed that his personality and his
despotic rule hung like a dark shadow over the camp. He
was especially interesting and terrible to us chaplains,
because rumour had it that he did not believe in chaplains,
and no one could find out whether he was going to take
us or not. The chaplains in consequence were very polite
when inadvertently they found themselves in his august
presence. I was clad in a private’s uniform, which
was handed to me out of a box in the drill-shed the night
before the 8th Royal Rifles left Quebec, and I was most
punctilious in the matter of saluting General Hughes whenever
we chanced to meet.
The
day after we arrived at the camp was a Sunday. The weather
looked dark and showery, but we were to hold our first
[Page 17] church parade, and, as I was
the senior chaplain in rank, I was ordered to take it
over. We assembled about three thousand strong, on a little
rise in the ground, and here the men were formed in a
hollow square. Rain was threatening, but perhaps might
have held off had it not been for the action of one of
the members of my congregation, who in the rear ranks
was overheard by my son to utter the prayer—“O
Lord, have mercy in this hour, and send us now a gentle
shower.” The prayer of the young saint was answered
immediately, the rain came down in torrents, the church
parade was called off, and I went back to my tent to get
dry.
Day
after day passed and more men poured in. They were a splendid
lot, full of life, energy and keen delight in the great
enterprise. Visitors from the city thronged the camp in
the afternoons and evenings. A cinema was opened, but
was brought to a fiery end by the men, who said that the
old man in charge of it never changed his films.
One
of the most gruesome experiences I had was taking the
funeral of a young fellow who had committed suicide. I
shall never forget the dismal service which was held,
for some reason or other, at ten o’clock at night.
Rain was falling, and we marched off into the woods by
the light of two smoky lanterns to the place selected
as a military cemetery. To add to the weirdness of the
scene two pipers played a dirge. In the dim light of the
lanterns, with the dropping rain over head and the dripping
trees around us, we laid the poor boy to rest. The whole
scene made a lasting impression on those who were present.
Meanwhile
the camp extended and improvements were made, and many
changes occurred in the disposition of the units. At one
time the Quebec men were joined with a Montreal unit,
then they were taken and joined with a New Brunswick detachment
and formed into a battalion. Of course we grew more military,
and I had assigned to me a batman whom I shall call Stephenson.
I selected him because of his piety—he was a theological
student from Ontario. I found afterwards that it is unwise
to select batmen for their piety. Stephenson was a failure
as a batman. When some duty had been neglected by him
and I was on the point of giving vent to that spirit of
turbulent anger, which I soon found was one of the natural
and necessary equipments of an officer, he would say,
“Would you like me to recite Browning’s ‘Prospice?’”
What could the enraged Saul do on such occasions but forgive,
throw down the javelin and listen [Page 18]
to the music of the harping David? Stephenson was with
me till I left Salisbury Plain for France. He nearly exterminated
me once by setting a stone water-bottle to heat on my
stove without unscrewing the stopper. I arrived in my
tent quite late and seeing the thing on the stove quickly
unscrewed it. The steam blew out with terrific force and
filled the tent. A moment or two more and the bottle would
have burst with disastrous consequences. When I told Stephenson
of the enormity of his offence and that he might have
been the cause of my death, and would have sent me to
the grave covered with dishonour for having been killed
by the bursting of a hot water-bottle—an unworthy
end for one about to enter the greatest war the world
has ever known—he only smiled faintly and asked
me if I should like to hear him recite a poem.
News
from overseas continued to be bad. Day after day brought
us tidings of the German advance. The martial spirits
amongst us were always afraid to hear that the war would
be over before we got to England. I, but did not tell
the people so, was afraid it wouldn’t. I must confess
I did not see in those days how a British force composed
of men from farms, factories, offices and universities
could get together in time to meet and overthrow the trained
legions of Germany. It was certainly a period of anxious
thought and deep foreboding, but I felt that I belonged
to a race that has never been conquered. Above all, right
and, therefore, God was on our side.
The
scenery around Valcartier is very beautiful. It was a
joy now and then to get a horse and ride away from the
camp to where the Jacques Cartier river comes down from
the mountains, and to dream of the old days when the world
was at peace and we could enjoy the lovely prospects of
nature, without the anxious care that now gnawed at our
hearts. The place had been a favorite haunt of mine in
the days gone by, when I used to take a book of poems
and spend the whole day beside the river, reading and
dozing and listening to the myriad small voices of the
woods.
Still,
the center of interest now was the camp, with its turmoil
and bustle and indefinite longing to be up and doing.
The officer commanding my battalion had brought his own
chaplain with him, and it was plainly evident that I was
not wanted. This made it, I must confess, somewhat embarrassing.
My tent, which was at the corner of the front line, was
furnished only with my bed-roll and a box or two, and
was not a particularly cheerful home. I used to [Page
19] feel rather lonely at times. Now and then
I would go to Quebec for the day. On once occasion, when
I had been feeling particularly seedy, I returned to camp
at eleven o’clock at night. It was cold and rainy.
I made my way from the station to my tent. In doing so
I had to pass a Highland Battalion from Vancouver. When
I came to their lines, to my dismay I was halted by a
sentry with a fixed bayonet, who shouted in the darkness,
“Who goes there?” I gave the answer, but instead
of being satisfied with my reply, the wretched youth stood
unmoved, with his bayonet about six inches from my body,
causing me a most unpleasant sensation. He said I should
have to come to the guard-room and be identified. In the
meantime, another sentry appeared, also with a fixed bayonet,
and said that I had to be identified. Little did I think
that the whole thing was a game of the young rascals,
and that they were beguiling the tedious moments of the
sentry-go by pulling a chaplain’s leg. They confessed
it to me months afterwards in France. However, I was unsuspecting
and had come submissive into the great war. I said that
if they would remove their bayonets from propinquity to
my person—because the sight of them was causing
me a fresh attach of the pains that had racked me all
day—I would go with them to the guard-room. At this
they said, “Well, Sir, we’ll let you pass.
We’ll take your word and say no more about it.”
So off I went to my dripping canvas home, hoping that
the war would be brought to a speedy termination.
Every
night I used to do what I called “parish visiting.”
I would go round among the tents, and sitting on the ground
have a talk with the men. Very interesting and charming
these talks were. I was much impressed with the miscellaneous
interests and life histories of the men who had been so
quickly drawn together. All were fast being shaken down
into their places, and I think the great lessons of unselfishness
and the duty of pulling together were being stamped upon
the lives that had hitherto been more or less at loose
ends. I used to sit in the tents talking long after lights
were out, not wishing to break the discussion of some
interesting life problem. This frequently entailed upon
me great difficulty in finding my way back to my tent,
for the evenings were closing in rapidly and it was hard
to thread one’s way among the various ropes and
pegs which kept the tents in position. On one occasion
when going down the lines, I tripped over a rope. Up to
that moment the tent had been in perfect silence, but,
as though I had fired a magazine of high explosives, [Page
20] a torrent of profanity burst forth from the
inhabitants at my misadventure. Of course the men inside
did not know to whom they were talking, but I stood there
with my blood curdling, wondering how far I was personally
responsible for the language poured forth, and terrified
lest anyone should look and find out who had disturbed
their slumbers. I stole off into the darkness as quickly
as I could, more than ever longing for a speedy termination
of the great war, and resolving to be more careful in
future about tripping over tent ropes.
We
had church parades regularly now on Sundays and early
celebrations of the Holy Communion for the various units.
Several weeks had gone by and as yet we had no definite
information from General Hughes as to which our how many
chaplains would be accepted. It was very annoying. Some
of us could not make satisfactory arrangements for our
parishes, until there was a certainty in the matter. The
question came to me as to whether I ought to go, now that
the Quebec men had been merged into a battalion of which
I was not to be the chaplain. One evening as I was going
to town, I put the matter before my friend, Colonel, now
General, Turner. It was a lovely night. The moon was shining,
and stretching far off into the valley were the rows of
white tents with the dark mountains enclosing them around.
We stood outside the farm-house used as headquarters,
which overlooked the camp. When I asked the Colonel whether,
now that I was separated from my men, I ought to leave
my parish and go, he said to me, “Look at those
lines of tents and think of the men in them. How many
of those men will ever come back? The best expert opinion
reckons that this war will last at least two years. The
wastage of human life in war is tremendous. The battalions
have to be filled and refilled again and again. Don’t
decide in a hurry, but think over what I have told you.”
On the next evening when I returned from Quebec, I went
to the Colonel and said, “I have thought he matter
over and I am going.”
The time was now drawing near
for our departure and at last word was sent round that
General Hughes wished to meet all the chaplains on the
verandah of his bungalow. The time set was the cheerful
hour of five a.m. I lay awake all night with a loud ticking
alarm clock beside me, till about half an hour before
the wretched thing was to go off. With great expedition
I rose and shaved and making myself as smart as possible
in the private’s uniform, hurried off to the Generals’
camp home. There the other chaplains [Page 21]
were assembled, about twenty-five or thirty in all. We
all felt very sleepy and very chilly as we waited with
expectancy the utterance which was going to seal our fate.
The General soon appeared in all the magnificence and
power of his position. We rose and saluted. When he metaphorically
told us to “stand easy,” we all sat down.
I do not know what the feelings of the others were, but
I had an impression that we were rather an awkward squad,
neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. The General gave us a heart
to heart talk. He told us he was going to send us with
“the boys.” From his manner I inferred that
he looked upon us a kind of auxiliary and quite dispensable
sanitary section. I gathered that he did not want us to
be very exacting as to the performance of religious duties
by the men. Rather we were to go in and out amongst them,
make friends of them and cheer them on their way. Above
all we were to remember that because a man said “Damn,”
it did not mean necessarily that he was going to hell.
At the conclusion of the address, we were allowed to ask
questions, and one of our number unadvisedly asked if
he would be allowed to carry a revolver. “No,”
said Sam with great firmness, “take a bottle of
castor oil.” We didn’t dare to be amused at
the incident in the presence of the Chief, but we had
a good laugh over it when we got back to our tents.
Two Sundays before we left, the
most remarkable church parade in the history of the division
was held, at which fully fifteen thousand men were present.
The Senior Chaplain asked me to preach. A large platform
had been erected, on which the chaplains stood, and on
the platform also were two signallers, whose duty it was
to signal to the battalions and bands the numbers of the
hymns. On the chairs in front of the platform were seated
the Duke and Duchess of Connaught, the Princess Patricia,
Sir Robert Borden, and other notables. Beyond them were
gathered the men in battalions. At one side were the massed
bands. It was a wonderful sight. The sun was shining.
Autumn tints coloured the maple trees on the sides of
the ancient mountains. Here was Canada quickening into
national life and girding on the sword to take her place
among the independent nations of the world. It had been
my privilege, fifteen years before, to preach at the farewell
service in Quebec Cathedral for the Canadian Contingent
going to the South African war. It seemed to me then that
never again should I have such an experience. Yet on that
occasion there were only a thousand men present, and here
were fifteen times that number. [Page 22]
At that time the war was with a small and half-civilized
nation in Africa, now the war was with the foremost nations
of Europe. On that occasion I used the second personal
pronoun “you,” now I was privileged to use
the first personal pronoun “we.” Almost to
the last I did not know what text to choose and trusted
to the inspiration of the moment what to say. My mind
was confused with the vastness of the outlook. At last
the words came to me which are the very foundation stone
of human endeavour and human progress, “He that
loseth his life for My sake shall find it.” I do
not know exactly what I said, and I do not suppose it
mattered much, for it was hard to make oneself heard.
I was content if the words of the text alone were audible.
We sang that great hymn, “O God our help in ages
past,” which came into such prominence as an imperial
anthem during the war. As we sang the words—
“Before
the hills in order stood,
Or earth received her frame”—
I looked
at the everlasting mountains around us, where the sound
of our worship died away, and thought how they had watched
and waited for this day to come, and how, in the ages
that were to dawn upon Canadian life and expansion,
they would stand as monuments of the consecration of
Canada to the service of mankind.
Things began to move rapidly
now. People from town told us that already a fleet of
liners was waiting in the harbour, ready to carry overseas
the thirty-three thousand men of the Canadian contingent.
At last the eventful day of
our departure arrived. On September 28th, with several
other units, the 14th Battalion, to which I had been
attached, marched off to the entraining point. I took
one last look at the great camp which had now become
a place of such absorbing interest and I wondered if
I should ever see again that huge amphitheatre with
its encompassing mountain witnesses. The men were in
high spirits and good humour prevailed.
We saw the three companies of
Engineers moving off, each followed by those mysterious
pontoons which followed them wherever they went and
suggested the bridging of the Rhine and our advance
to Berlin. Someone called out, “What are those
boats?” and a voice replied, “That’s
the Canadian Navy.” We had a pleasant trip in
the train to Quebec, enlivened by jokes and songs. On
our arrival at the docks, we were taken to the custom-house
[Page 23] wharf and marched on board
the fine Cunard liner “Andania,” which now
rests, her troubles over, at the bottom of the Irish
Sea. On the vessel, besides half of the 14th Battalion,
there was the 16th (Canadian Scottish) Battalion, chiefly
from Vancouver, and the Signal Company. Thus we had
a ship full to overflowing of some of the noblest young
fellows to whom the world has given birth. So ended
our war experience in Valcartier Camp.
Nearly five years passed before
I saw that sacred spot again. It was in August 1919.
The war was ended, peace had been signed, and the great
force of brother knights had been dispersed. Little
crosses by the highways and byways of France and Belgium
now marked the resting-place of thousands of those whose
eager hearts took flame among these autumn hills. As
I motored past the deserted camp after sunset, my heart
thrilled with strange memories and the sense of an abiding
presence of something weird and ghostly. Here were the
old roads, there were the vacant hutments. Here were
the worn paths across the fields where the men had gone.
The evening breeze whispered fitfully across the untrodden
grass and one by one the strong mountains, as though
fixing themselves more firmly in iron resolve, cast
off the radiant hues of evening and stood out black
and grim against the starlit sky. [Page 24]
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