PREPARING FOR THE FINAL BLOW.
_September, 1918._
Our Divisional Headquarters were now established in the delightful old
chateau at Warlus. In Nissen huts near-by, were the machine-gun
battalion and the signallers, and, as I had one end of a Nissen hut
all to myself, I was very comfortable. The three infantry brigades
were quartered in the villages round about. The engineers and
artillery were still at the front. As usual our men soon cleaned
themselves up and settled down to ordinary life, as if they had never
been through a battle in their lives. The weather was very pleasant,
and we were all glad at the prospect of a little quiet after the
strenuous month through which we had passed. Our concert party at once
opened up one of the large huts as a theatre, and night after night
their performances were witnessed by crowded and enthusiastic
audiences. Just across a field towards Bernaville the 15th Battalion
was quartered in a long line of huts and in the village itself were
the 14th and 16th Battalions. I was therefore quite near the men of my
old 3rd Brigade. The 16th Battalion concert party gave a fine
performance there one evening, which was attended by some Canadian
Sisters who came up from one of our C.C.S's. The play was called, "A
Little Bit of Shamrock," and was composed by members of the concert
party. It was exceedingly pretty and very clever, and evoked thunders
of applause. The Colonel was called upon for a speech, and, although
his words were few, the rousing cheers he got from his men told him
what they thought of their commanding officer, who soon afterwards was
to be awarded the Victoria Cross. As one sat there in the midst of the
men and thought of what they had gone through, and how the flames in
the fiery furnace of war had left their cheery souls unscathed, one's
heart was filled with an admiration for them which will never die.
On looking over my diary during those delightful days while we were
waiting to make the great attack, I see records of many journeys to
our various battalions and artillery brigades. Wanquetin, Wailly,
Dainville, Bernaville, Hautes Avesnes--what memories these names (p. 299)
recall! I would rattle over the dusty roads in my side-car and pull up
at Battalion Headquarters and get an invitation to dinner. On such
occasions I used to visit the cooks first and ask them if they had
enough food on hand for me in case the officers invited me to dine
with them, and in case they didn't, if they (the cooks) would feed me
later on in the kitchen. When the invitation had been given, I used to
go back to the cooks and say, "It's all right, boys, you won't be
bothered with my society, the officers have asked me to dinner." In
the evening, before I rode off, I used to go round to the men's
billets, or to the Y.M.C.A. tent, if there was one, and have a talk
with the men on the war outlook or any other topic that was perplexing
them at the time. Often I was followed to my car by some man who had
deeper matters to discuss, or perhaps some worry about things at home,
and who wanted to unburden himself to a chaplain. On the way back,
when darkness had fallen and my feeble headlight warned us against
speeding, I would meet or overtake men and have a talk, or tell them
to mount up on the box at the back of the car and I would give them a
ride. The rows of tall trees along the road would stand out black
against the starlit sky, and in the evening air the sweet smells of
nature would fill us with delight. We felt too, that nearer and nearer
the hour of the great victory was approaching. Who amongst us would be
spared to see it? How would it be brought about? What great and fierce
battle would lay the Germans low? The supreme idea in the mind was
consecration to a sublime sacrifice, which dwarfed into insignificance
all previous events in life. We had our fun, we had our jokes, we met
our friends, we saw battalions go on a route march, we watched men
play their games in the fields; but to me it seemed that a new and
mysterious light that was born of heaven hid behind the sunshine, and
cast a glory upon men and even nature. To dine at the rude board table
with the young officers of one of the companies of a battalion,
perhaps in a bare hut, on the floor of which lay the lads' beds, was
something sacred and sacramental. Their apologies for the plainness of
the repast were to me extremely pathetic. Was there a table in the
whole world at which it was a greater honour to sit? Where could one
find a nobler, knightlier body of young men?
In the garden round the Chateau at Warlus were many winding paths,
where old trees gave a delightful shade. Here at odd moments one (p. 300)
could get away for a time into the leafy solitude and think quietly
and wonder. Although we were in rest there was of course no remission
of warlike activity and preparation. We knew that the next thing that
lay before us was the crossing of the Canal du Nord and the push to
Cambrai. That was a deed which would not only tax our strength and
courage, but depended for its success upon the care and diligence of
our preparation.
On the two Sundays that we were at Warlus I had splendid church
parades with the Machine-Gun Battalion. Part of their billets were in
huts beside the road to Dainville. In one of them one night I found
some Imperial officers who were in charge of the wireless telegraph
station. They told me some interesting facts about their work. The
night was divided into different periods when the communiques of the
various countries would be sent out. These, of course, were for all
the world to read. The most wonderful thing they told me, however, was
that they could pick up the code messages sent from the German
Admiralty Headquarters at Kiel to their submarines under the sea. Of
course not knowing the code, our officers could not translate these
despatches.
I received a great blow at this time, for my friend Lyons, who acted
as the chauffeur of my side-car, was sent off to the 3rd Division to
replace one of the despatch riders whom they had lost in the attack.
Our own signallers could not give me another man. As I could not run
the car myself, a sudden move might compel me to leave it behind.
Someone, too, might appropriate it, for the honesty of the army was,
as I knew from experience, a grace on which one could not place much
reliance. The only person to whom I could apply was my good and kind
friend, the builder of my churches and huts, Colonel Macphail, our
C.R.E. He was always my refuge in distress. He looked upon the
building of churches at the front as an act of such piety that it
would guarantee to him at any time the certain admission into heaven.
He attributed his piety to the claim which his clan made to be the
descendants of St. Paul. Apparently in Gaelic, Macphail means "the son
of Paul." The Colonel was always fond of insisting upon his high
lineage. He came to see me once when I was ill at Bruay, and after
stating the historical claims of his ancestors, asked me if I had not
observed some traits in his character which were like those of St.
Paul. I told him that the only resemblance to the Apostle which I had
discovered in him was that his bodily presence was weak and his (p. 301)
speech contemptible. In spite of those unkind thrusts, however, the
colonel manifested the Apostle's quality of forgiveness, and was
always ready to try and make me comfortable. I wrote to him now and
asked if he could send me a driver for my car. He did not fail me. A
few days afterwards, a young sapper appeared, saluted most properly,
and told me that he had been ordered by the C.R.E. to report to me for
duty as chauffeur. I was so delighted that I at once despatched the
following letter to my friend:--
"Dear Colonel Macphail,
If I had but a tail
I would wag it this morning with joy,
At your having provided
My car that's one-sided
With a good and intelligent boy.
May your blessings from heaven
Abound in this war,
And be seven times seven
More than ever before."
The possession of a new driver for my car enabled me to pay a last
visit to Le Cauroy, where I had left some of my possessions on our
trip to Amiens. I found the Cure in high good humor over the way the
war was going. The outlook was very different now from what it had
been when I was there before. I also visited Arras and the forward
area, where I dined one night in a tent with Major Price, who was then
in command of my original battalion, the 14th. The men were billeted
in trenches and as usual were making the best of things. It was
strange to look back to the early days of the war and talk about old
times. As I returned in the twilight and gazed far away over the waste
land towards the bank of low clouds in the eastern sky, my heart grew
sick at the thought of all which those fine young men might have to
endure before the crowning victory came. The thought of the near
presence of the Angel of Death was always coming up in the mind,
changing and transfiguring into something nobler and better our
earthly converse.
In the war, the Bible statement, "We have here no continuing city,"
was certainly true. Our happy life in Warlus and its neighbourhood
came to an end. On Friday, September 20th, the Division moved to (p. 302)
Achicourt near Arras. I took the opportunity to visit some friends in
the 3rd Division who were taking our places. Among them was "Charlie"
Stewart, of the P.P.C.L.I. I had taught him as a boy at school when I
was curate of St. John's, Montreal. We talked over old times, and the
great changes that had taken place in Canada and the world since we
were young. He was killed not long afterwards before Cambrai. I went
on through Dainville, where I met the 42nd Battalion, and reached
Achicourt in the evening. My billet was in a very dirty room over a
little shop. One corner of the house had been hit by a shell, and a
great store of possessions belonging to the people was piled up on one
side of my room. We knew we were not going to be there long, so we did
not worry about making ourselves comfortable. I had a view out of my
window of green fields and a peaceful country, but the town itself had
been badly knocked about.
On Sunday morning, I got the use of a small Protestant church which
stood by a stream in the middle of the town. It was a quaint place,
and, instead of an altar, against the east wall there was a high
pulpit entered by steps on both sides. When I stood up in it I felt
like a jack-in-the-box. I had a queer feeling that I was getting to
the end of things, and a note in my prayer-book, with the place and
date, gives evidence of this. We had not many communicants, but that
was the last Celebration of Holy Communion that I held in France. On
the following Sunday I was to leave the war for good. I remember
walking away from the church that day with my sergeant and talking
over the different places where we had held services. Now we were on
the eve of great events, and the old war days had gone forever. After
the service, I started off in my side-car on a missionary journey to
the battalions that had now gone forward. I went off up the road to
the ruined town of Beaurains. Here I found the Headquarters of the
16th Battalion in the cellar of a broken house. The officers' mess was
a little shack by the roadside, and among those present was the
second-in-command, Major Bell-Irving, who had crossed with me on the
"Andania." Alas, this was the last time I was to see him. He was
killed in the battle of Cambrai.
After lunch I continued up the long pave road which leads to Croisilles.
On the way I saw the 8th Battalion in an open field. Near them were a
number of Imperial officers and men of the British Division which (p. 303)
was on our right. We made our way through Bullecourt to Hendecourt,
near which in trenches were the battalions of the 1st Brigade, and
there too Colonel Macphail had his headquarters. There was a great
concentration of men in this area, and the roads were crowded with
lorries and limbers as well as troops. I stayed that night with the
engineers, as the weather looked threatening. The sky grew black and
rain began to fall. When one stood in the open and looked all round at
the inky darkness everywhere, with the rain pelting down, and knew
that our men had to carry on as usual, one realized the bitterness of
the cup which they had to drink to the very dregs. Rain and darkness
all round them, hardly a moment's respite from some irksome task, the
ache in the heart for home and the loved ones there, the iron
discipline of the war-machine of which they formed a part, the chance
of wounds and that mysterious crisis called death--these were the
elements which made up the blurred vision in their souls.
The next morning the weather had cleared, and I went on towards Cagnicourt.
On the journey I was delayed by a lorry which had gone into the ditch
and completely blocked the road. Here in a field the 1st Field Ambulance
had established themselves. Later on I managed to get to Cagnicourt
and found my son's battery in the cellars of the Chateau. They were
getting their guns forward by night in preparation for the attack.
They gave me a very pressing invitation to sleep there and I accepted
it. We had a pleasant evening, listening to some remarkably good
violin records on the gramophone. Good music at such times had a
special charm about it. It reminded one of the old days of concerts
and entertainments, but, at the same time, as in the background of a
dream, one seemed to hear beneath the melodies the tramp of mighty
battalions marching forward into battle, and the struggles of strong
men in the fierce contests of war.
On the following day I went on to the quarry which was to be our
Battle Headquarters near Inchy Station, from which the 2nd Division
were moving. I had a view of the smiling country over which we were to
charge. Between us and that promised land lay the Canal, the crossing
of which was necessarily a matter of great anxiety. It was late at
night before I got back to my home at Achicourt, where I had my last
war dinner with my friend General Thacker, who, with his staff, was up
to his eyes in work. The next day was taken up with arranging for (p. 304)
the disposition of our chaplains during the engagement, and about six
o'clock I told Ross to saddle Dandy, and on the dear old horse, who
was fresh and lively as ever, I galloped off into the fields. The sun
had set and the fresh air of the evening was like a draught of
champagne. Dandy seemed to enjoy the ride as much as I did, and
cleared some trenches in good style. For nearly three years and a half
we had been companions. He had always been full of life and very
willing, the envy of those who knew a good horse when they saw him.
When I returned in the twilight and gave him back to Ross, I said,
"You know, Ross, I am going into this battle and may lose my leg in
it, and so I wanted to have my last ride on dear old Dandy." It was my
last ride on him, and he was never ridden by anyone again. After I was
wounded, he was kept at Headquarters until, in order to avoid his
being sold with other horses to the Belgians, our kind A.D.V.S.
ordered him to be shot. He was one of the best friends I had in the
war, and I am glad he entered the horses' heaven as a soldier, without
the humiliation of a purgatory in some civilian drudgery.
That night some bombs were dropped near the station at Arras on units
of the 3rd Division, which passed through Achicourt in the afternoon,
causing many casualties, and we felt that the Germans knew another
attack was at hand. It was the last night I had a billet in France. On
the next morning we moved forward to some trenches on the way to
Inchy, and I parted from Headquarters there. This was really the most
primitive home that the Division had ever had. We had in fact no home
at all. We found our stuff dumped out in a field, and had to hunt for
our possessions in the general pile. A few tents were pitched and the
clerks got to work. In a wide trench little shacks were being run up,
and I was to be quartered in the same hut as the field cashier, which
was thus to be a kind of union temple for the service of God and the
service of Mammon. I looked down into the clay pit and saw the men
working at my home, but I knew that I should probably not occupy it. I
determined to go forward to our Battle Headquarters, prepared for a
missionary journey, and find out when the attack was going to be made.
I put into my pack some bully-beef, hardtack, tinned milk and other
forms of nourishment, as well as a razor, a towel and various toilet
necessaries. On the other side of the road, the signallers had their
horse-lines, and our transports were near-by. I got my side-car (p. 305)
and, bidding good-bye to my friends, left for Inchy. We passed down
the road to Queant, where we saw the wounded in the field ambulance,
and from there started off through Pronville to Inchy Station. The
roads as usual were crowded, and the dust from passing lorries was
very unpleasant. We were going through the valley by Inchy Copse when
we suddenly heard a loud crash behind us which made my driver stop. I
asked him what he was about, and said, "That was one of our guns,
there is nothing to be alarmed at." "Guns!" he said, "I know the sound
of a shell when I hear it. You may like shells but I don't. I'm going
back." I said, "You go ahead, if I had a revolver with me, I would
shoot you for desertion from the front line. That was only one of our
guns." He looked round and said, "You call that a gun? Look there." I
turned and sure enough, about a hundred feet away in the middle of the
road was the smoke of an exploded shell. "Well," I said, "you had
better go on or there will be another one pretty soon, and it may get
us." With extraordinary speed we hurried to our destination, where I
left the car, taking my pack with me. I told the driver, much to his
relief, that he could go home, and that when I wanted the car again I
would send for it.
The quarry was, as I have said, our Battle Headquarters, and here in
the deep dugouts which I had visited previously I found our staff hard
at work. They told me that this was "Y" day, and that zero hour when
the barrage would start was at 5.20 the next morning. At that hour we
were to cross the Canal and then press on into the country beyond. We
had a two battalion front. The 4th and 14th Battalions were to make
the attack, and be followed up by the other battalions in the 1st and
3rd Brigades. When these had reached their objective the 2nd Brigade
was to "leap frog" them and push on to Haynecourt and beyond. I was
glad that I had come provided for the expedition, and bidding good-bye
to General Thacker, whose parting injunction was not to do anything
foolish, I got out of the quarry and made my way down the hill towards
Inchy. A railway bridge which crossed the road near me was a constant
mark for German shells, and it was well to avoid it. An officer met me
and asked where I was going. I said, "I don't know, but I think the
Spirit is leading me to the old 14th Battalion in Buissy Switch Trench."
He told me the direction to take, which was to cross the road and
follow the line of railway. The tins of milk and bully-beef cut (p. 306)
into my back so I stopped by a culvert and taking off my pack and
tunic, sat on the ground and cooled off. There was no sign of Buissy
Switch anywhere, but I got up and went on. The evening was closing in
by this time, and, as I am never good at seeing in the dark, it began
to be difficult to keep from tripping over things. At last the road
brought me to a trench in which I found the 14th Battalion. They were
getting ready to move off at midnight and wait in the wood by the edge
of the Canal until the barrage opened. It made one proud to be with
those young men that evening and think what they were called upon to
do. What difficulties they would encounter in the Canal they did not
know. They said they might have to swim. We hoped, however, that there
was not much water, as the canal was still unfinished.
I said good-bye to them and wished them all good-luck. Crossing the
road I entered another trench, where I found the 13th Battalion, and
beyond them came to the 1st Battalion. By this time, it was dark and
rainy, and the ground was very slippery. I had to feel my way along
the trench. A company of the 4th Battalion who were to be in the first
wave of the attack, passed on their way forward to take up their
position for the following morning. Probably never in the war had we
experienced a moment of deeper anxiety. The men would have to climb
down one side of the canal, rush across it, and climb up the other. It
seemed inevitable that the slaughter would be frightful. At home in
the cities of Canada things were going on as usual. Profiteers were
heaping up their piles of gold. Politicians were carrying on the
government, or working in opposition, in the interests of their
parties, while here, in mud and rain, weary and drenched to the skin,
young Canadians were waiting to go through the valley of the shadow of
death in order that Canada might live.