THE GERMAN OFFENSIVE.
_March, 1918._
Over four months had passed away since my return from Rome, so leave
was again due. Immediately after the unveiling of the Artillery
monument I started off in a car for Boulogne, and the next afternoon
arrived in London. Conditions there were worse than they had been the
year before. The streets were darker and food was scarcer. I went as
far north as Edinburgh, but when I arrived at that city I found it
cold and wintry and wrapped in mists. There were many naval men there,
and I paid an interesting visit to a damaged submarine which was being
repaired in the dry-dock. It was of course nice to meet friends again,
but, beyond that, my last leave was not a pleasant one. It was a time
of great anxiety. The Americans had come into the war, but they were
not yet ready. Another campaign was before us, and the issue of it
none could foresee. I was haunted perpetually by the dread of meeting
with some accident, and so being sent back from the front. Several
times I had a vivid dream, that I had got back to Canada and found
that the war was still going on and I could not return to it. I shall
never forget the joy of waking on such occasions and looking with
dawning consciousness upon my surroundings and feeling that I was
still at the front. It was a happy day for me, therefore, when on
March 8th I arrived once more at Bracquemont, in the midst of my
beloved war-family, and able to re-visit Lievin, Loos, and Hill 70.
My favorite home in the trenches was the dugout in the chalk-pit,
which I have just described, and I often wish I could be suddenly
transported there and revive old memories. We were planning at this
time to make a big gas-attack along the Canadian Corps front. Three
thousand gas-cylinders were to be fired by electricity upon the enemy.
As I wanted to see this, I made my way to the chalk-pit. The time
fixed for the event was five minutes to eleven at night. If the attack
was to come off, the word "Japan" was to come through on the wires;
if, owing to the wind being in the wrong direction, the attack had to
be postponed, the word "Russia" would be sent. At 10.45 I climbed up
the steps to the observation post at the back of the chalk-pit (p. 241)
and waited. From this point I had a good view of the line towards
Lens. I watched the luminous hands of my watch, and they passed the
hour of eleven without anything occurring, as the breeze came from the
East. I knew the word "Russia," the name of the country that failed
us, must have been sent over the wires. It was a queer sensation to
sit up there in the dark with no sound but the soft murmur of the
night wind in our ears, and the crash of an occasional shell. In those
long dark stretches of waste land around me, thousands of human beings
on both sides of the line were awake and active, either burrowing like
ants in the ground or bringing up rations and war material along the
communication trenches.
I spent four nights that week in the chalk-pit waiting for the attack,
and on March 21st, the night of the day on which the Germans launched
their fierce attack against our Fifth Army, my patience was rewarded
and the wind was propitious. I mounted the observation post and once
more peered over the black stretches of country under the starlit sky.
Suddenly, at five minutes to eleven, there was a burst of artillery
fire, and over our heads with the usual swishing sound the
gas-cylinders sped forth. The German lines were lit with bursting
shells. Up went their rockets calling to their artillery for
retaliation. I could hear their gas bells ringing to warn their men of
the poison that was being poured upon them. It must have been a
drenching rain of death. I heard gruesome tales afterwards of desolate
enemy trenches and batteries denuded of men. The display of fireworks
was magnificent, and the German artillery in the rear were not slow in
replying. A great artillery duel like that in the darkness of the
night over a waste of ground on which no human habitation could be
seen had a very weird effect, and was wonderful to behold. I climbed
down into the dugout and made my way through it to the chalk-pit, and
then up to an outpost beyond. Here were four men, and I found that
three of them had just come up from the base and that this was their
first night in the line. They did not seem to be enjoying it as much
as I thought they should, so I remarked that it was a beautiful night
and pointed out to them the extraordinary romance of being actually
out in the front line during such a bombardment. They seemed to get
more enthusiastic later on, but the next morning I was wakened in my
room by the laughter of men on the other side of the canvas wall, and
I heard one old soldier telling, to the amusement of his fellows, (p. 242)
of my visit on the previous evening. He said "We were out there with
the shells falling round us, and who should come up but the Canon, and
the first thing the old beggar said was, 'Boys, what a lovely night it
is.'" The men roared at the idea. It was always illuminating to get a
chance of seeing yourself as others saw you.
That day, before I had gone to the chalk-pit, I heard from a staff
officer at Corps of the German attack in the South, and I gathered
from his manner that things were not going well. On March 29th we
suddenly shifted our headquarters to Chateau de la Haie. Here we were
told that we had to be ready to move again at a moment's notice. Very
bad news had come from the South, for the Germans were advancing, and
our Fifth Army had been pushed back. The enemy had now got the
initiative into his hands, and things were exceedingly serious. The
Americans would not be ready for some time, and the question was how
to stay the onrush of the fresh divisions which the Germans were
hurling against us. An order from General Currie, couched in beautiful
language, told us that there was to be no retreat for Canadians, and
that, if need be, we should fall where we stood. There was no panic,
only firmer resolve and greater activity in every department. Though I
made it a point of never questioning our staff about war secrets, I
soon became aware that our Division was to be sent South to try and
stem the oncoming tide.
Every night the 4th Divisional concert party gave an entertainment in
the theatre, which was crowded with men. A stranger could not have
told from the roars of laughter that shook the audience from time to
time that we were about to face the fiercest ordeal of the war. The
2nd Brigade was quartered round us first, and one night in the theatre
an officer appeared in front of the stage between the acts and ordered
all the officers and men of the 5th Battalion, who were present, to
report at once to their headquarters. Instantly the men got up and
left, the rows of vacant seats looking quite tragic. The play went on.
Again, another battalion, and another, was called off. The audience
dwindled. It reminded one of the description in the "Tale of Two
Cities" of the condemned men in prison waiting for the call of the
executioner. Before the close of the performance the theatre was
almost empty. The 2nd Brigade moved away that night and the 3rd took
their places the next day. I knew that they, too, would have to move
suddenly, so I arranged that at night we should have a service (p. 243)
followed by a Celebration of the Holy Communion in the theatre after
the play was over. Once again the building was crowded with an
enthusiastic audience, and, after the play was ended, I announced the
service. To my astonishment, most of the men stayed and others crowded
in, so we must have had nearly a thousand men present. The concert
party had received orders to pack up their scenery immediately and
move off. While I was on the stage getting the altar ready the scene
shifters were hard at work behind me. In spite of this disturbance, we
had a wonderful service. I gave them a short address, and spoke about
the high call which had come to Canadians to do big things, and how
the eyes of the world were upon us. We were the champions of right,
and I asked them to go forth in the power of God and do their duty.
Then I began the Communion Service. The colours of the flag which hung
over the altar glowed like an inspiration. The two altar lights shone
like stars above it. At the back of the stage (but we heeded them not)
were the busy men packing up the scenery. We sang the hymn "O God our
help in ages past," and at the time of communion about two hundred
officers and men mounted the stage in turn and knelt in rows to
receive the Bread of Life. It was a thrilling moment, and it showed
how, underlying the superficial thoughtlessness of the soldier's life,
there was the deep and abiding sense of the reality and need of God.
The service ended about eleven p.m.
After shaking hands with some of the men I went back to my billet and
there found that we had to start that night for parts unknown. All our
surplus baggage had been sent off and only what was absolutely
necessary was retained. The members of "C" mess were sitting round the
table having a little liquid refreshment and waiting for the bus which
was to take them off. Our A.D.M.S., who was starting at once, kindly
offered to take me with him in an ambulance. Alberta and I, with two
or three men, got into the vehicle, and I bid farewell for the last
time to Chateau de la Haie. It was a bright moonlight night and the
air was cold, but the roads were dry and dusty. The A.D.M.S., who was
the only person who knew our destination, sat in front with the driver
and told him the various turns to take. Clouds of dust blew back into
the ambulance as we sped onward. It was a curious expedition. The war
seemed to be more real than ever. One felt that a new page in its
history was being turned. I wondered what was in store for us and
what our experiences were going to be. I was also surprised that (p. 244)
one was able to go forth without any emotion upon an adventure of such
magnitude. On and on we rattled down the moonlit roads, past sleeping
villages, and round sharp curves which jolted us in the car, until at
last, at half-past two, we pulled up suddenly in front of some large
iron gates which gave entrance to the grounds of a chateau standing
back some distance from the road. The A.D.M.S. and his staff got out
and hunted for a cottage which they could use as an office.
I thought I had better go off and find a place where I could spend the
rest of the night. With my haversack over my shoulder and followed by
Alberta, I entered the gate, and made my way up the avenue till I came
to the Chateau. It was a large and picturesque building, and stood out
nobly against the outline of the trees in the park. The moon lit up
the gray stone front, which was made all the richer by the variegated
light and shade. The mansion, however, showed no inclination to be
hospitable. All the windows were tightly closed with shutters, and
there was no appearance of life anywhere. I knew we were not far from
the advancing Germans, and I supposed that the inhabitants had all
fled. I was so cold and tired that I determined to force an entrance
and spend the night inside. I walked round to the back, where I saw a
great park richly wooded. A large door in the centre of the building,
reached by a broad flight of stone steps, seemed to offer me a chance
of getting inside. I went up and tried the handle, when, to my surprise,
the door opened and I found myself in a beautiful hall richly
furnished and lighted by a lamp. Antlers hung on the wall, and the
place had the appearance of an English country-house. After my long
ride, and at that hour of the night, I felt as if I were in a dream. I
saw a door to the right, and opening it was admitted to a modern
drawing-room luxuriously furnished. A grate fire was burning on the
hearth, and on a centre-table stood silver candelabra with lighted
candles. There were also plates of bread and butter, some very nice
cups and saucers, and a silver coffee-pot. At once I said to myself,
"I am evidently expected." It was like a story from the Arabian
Nights. I looked about the place and not a soul appeared, Alberta
tucked herself up on a rug and was soon fast asleep. I was just
preparing to partake of the refreshments which, it seemed, some fairy
godmother had provided, when in came one of our A.D.Cs. He was as much
surprised to see me as I was to see him. He told me that our (p. 245)
Divisional Commander had arrived there about an hour or two before and
had gone to bed, and that we were in the home of a certain count whose
servants had all fled. He also told me that there was a bedroom that I
could have upstairs, and which would not be occupied by our staff
until the next evening. I had a cup of coffee, and then, calling
Alberta and taking a candle, I climbed a very rambling staircase till
I reached the top storey, where I found an empty room with a very
dirty bed in it. However, I was glad to get a place in which to rest,
and so, with my rain-coat for a covering, I went to sleep. The next
morning, having foraged for some water in which I had a good wash, I
went off to the village to get some food. I met many of our units
coming up in busses. Some were halted by the wayside, and nobody knew
what we were going to do or why we were there. The Imperial transport
officer in charge had either acted under wrong orders or else the
drivers did not know the roads. Some of our battalions had lost their
way, one even entered a village at the other end of which were the
Germans, and two of our Engineer Companies disappeared completely for
two days.
The country people were hurrying off in carts, taking their household
goods with them. I found a primitive farmhouse where I was able to buy
some eggs and bread, and I invited a number of stragglers in to have
something to eat. By noon, however, we got orders from the Army to
move back to a place called Fosseaux. There we occupied an empty
chateau which before the war must have been a very fine place. A wide
grassy road nearly a mile in length, bordered on each side by fine old
trees, stretched off into the distance in front of the central door.
The entrance to the road was guarded by an exquisitely wrought iron
gate, flanked on each side by stone pillars surmounted by carved
heraldic figures. It was now cold and rainy, and our two Artillery
Brigades were halted in a field opposite and were awaiting orders.
Before nightfall they had left, and the forward section of our
Division made their headquarters in a hut at Warlus; the members of
"C" mess remaining at Fosseaux.
March the 29th was Good Friday, and a strange one it was. There was
much stir and commotion everywhere, and we were so unsettled, that all
I could do was to have a service in the cinema in the evening, and on
Easter Day two Celebrations of Holy Communion at which I had only
twenty-eight communicants. Our men had gone in to the line to the (p. 246)
southeast of Arras, round Telegraph Hill, where an attack by the
Germans was expected, as their advance to the south had been checked.
I made my way to Arras, and spent the night in one of the mysterious
caves which lie under that city. It was called St. Sauveur Cave, and
was entered from a street behind the station. The 1st Brigade was
quartered there. In the morning I walked down the long dark passage
till I came to an opening which led me to some high ground where there
had evidently been a good deal of fighting. From there I made my way
over to the front line, where the 1st Battalion was entrenched. I
passed numbers of wooden huts broken by shells. Many men must have
been quartered there at one time. It was sad to go into them and see
the waste and desolation, and the lost war material scattered in all
directions. On my way I came to a deep trench which some Imperial
machine-gunners were holding. They had had an anxious time, and were
glad to have a visitor. Several of them regretted that they had not
been able to attend any Easter service. I told them we would have one
there and then, as I was carrying the Blessed Sacrament with me. So we
cleaned a corner of the trench, and there I had a short service and
gave the men communion.
Our trenches were not satisfactory, as we did not know accurately
where those of the Germans were. That night, instead of going back to
the 1st Brigade I made my way to the huge Rouville Caves under Arras,
where the whole of the 3rd Brigade were quartered. It was a most
curious abode. No one knows when the caves were dug. They were
probably extended from time to time as the chalk was quarried for the
purpose of building the town. Long passages stretched in different
directions, and from them opened out huge vaulted chambers where the
battalions were billeted. I spent the night with the 14th Battalion,
and the next day held services in turn for each of the four units of
the Brigade. The 16th Battalion occupied a huge cavern with others
branching off from it. I could hardly imagine more picturesque
surroundings for a military service. The candle flames twinkled like
stars in all directions in the murky atmosphere, and the singing of
the men resounded through the cave. Overhead was the town which the
enemy was shelling. In one of the caves we found the foundation of
what had been an old prison, with a date upon it of the 18th century.
It was very pleasant wandering down the passages, with a candle (p. 247)
stuck on the top of my steel helmet, and meeting everywhere old
friends who were glad of the temporary rest. Life there, however, was
very strange. One could not tell whether outside it was day or night.
I made my way back that afternoon by a passage which led out to one of
the Arras sewers, by the side of which there was a stone pavement
enabling one with a good flashlight to walk safely. The exit from the
sewer, which now consisted of a shallow stream of perfectly clear
water, led me up to a house in one of the streets, and thence by a car
I made my way to Warlus, and home to Fosseaux.
A few days afterwards our headquarters were moved up to Etrun, and
there we found ourselves crowded into the quaint little town. The
Chateau was our headquarters, and a tar-paper house which the
Engineers built for me under a spreading hawthorn tree became my home.
Etrun was a most interesting place historically. It had been the site
of a Roman camp where Valentinian had his headquarters in the 4th
century. The large mound, or vallum, which the Romans had thrown up to
protect themselves from the attacks of the German tribes, is now a
thickly wooded hill, pierced by the road which connects the village
with the Arras highway. The grounds of the Chateau were most
delightful, and before the French Revolution the house had been a
convent. In the garden was the recumbent stone effigy, overgrown with
moss, of one of the sisters. The most beautiful thing about the place
is the clear stream, wide and deep, which comes from underground and
flows over sparkling white pebbles through the green meadows to the
river Scarpe. This stream was evidently the source of attraction to
the Romans, who always made their camps where there was a plentiful
supply of running water. The garden on one side was built up in stone
terraces along which were gravel walks, where, no doubt, the nuns of
old enjoyed their holy meditations. In the stream, as it wandered
through the meadows, there was a plentiful supply of water-cress,
which looked exquisitely green against the pebbles at the bottom. How
one did long for the war to end, so that we might be able to lie down
in the grass, free from anxiety, and enjoy the drenching sunlight and
the spring song of the birds.