“Crumps”
The Plain Story of a Canadian
Who Went
By Louis Keene
Canadian Expeditionary Force
With a Prefatory Note By
General Leonard Wood
Illustrated by the Author
Boston and New York
Houghton Mifflin Company
1917
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The “Sub”.
PREFATORY NOTE
HEADQUARTERS SOUTHEASTERN DEPARTMENT
CHARLESTON, S.C.
11th August, 1917
Captain Keene has made an interesting contribution to the literature of
the present war in his account of service, which covers the experience of
a young officer in the making and on the battle front,—the transformation
of an artist into a first-class machine-gun officer. He covers the
training period at home and abroad and the work at the front. This direct
and interesting account should serve to bring home to all of us an
appreciation of how much has to be done before troops can be made
effective for modern war, the cost of unpreparedness, and the disadvantage
under which troops, partially equipped, labor when they meet highly
organized ones, prepared, even to the last detail, for all the exigencies
of modern war. It also brings out the splendid spirit of Canada, the
Mother Country, and the distant Colonies,—the spirit of the Empire, united
and determined in a just cause.
This and similar accounts should serve to make clear to us the wisdom of
the admonition of Washington and many others: “In time of peace prepare
for war.”
Many young Americans are about to undergo experiences similar to those of
Captain Keene, and a perusal of this modest and straight-forward narrative
will help in the great work of getting ready.
LEONARD WOOD,
_Maj.-Gen. U.S.A._
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Frontispiece.
The “Sub.”
“Beat It!”
The Canadian, Johnnie Canuck, The American, And The ANZAC.
Bringing Up A Motor Machine Gun.
“Wipers.”
What’s The Use?
A French Soldier.
“Whiz-Bangs.”
The “Crump.”
Mr. Tommy Atkins.
[Illustration: “Don’t Linger Around Here”
“The Enemy Can See You.”
“Who Me? Yes You. Beat It!”]
“CRUMPS”
_The Plain Story of a Canadian who went_
The Laurentian Mountains in the Province of Quebec are noted for their
beauty, fine hunting and fishing, and are the stamping-grounds for many
artists from the States and Eastern Canada. It was in this capacity that I
was working during the hot summer of 1914. All through June and July I
sketched with my father. Other than black flies my only worry was the
price of my tubes of color.
We usually received our newspapers two or three days after publication;
consequently we were poorly posted on worldly happenings. Suddenly the war
clouds gathered and almost before we knew it they became so threatening
that we grew restless, and even went in to the depot to get our papers so
that we could have the news sooner.
The assassination of the Austrian Crown Prince and the subsequent events
were exciting, but it was only when Russia sent that one word “Mobilize”
to Serbia that we suspected serious results. Even the summer visitors from
the States exhibited signs of excitement, yet they were skeptical of the
chances of war; that is, war that would really affect us! My newspaper in
Montreal wired for me to come down to do war cartoons and I left my father
and hiked to the depot.
The Montreal train was crowded and conversation centered on the one topic,
War; the English Navy’s ability to maintain her rule of the seas, and what
would Canada do. A young Austrian reservist two seats away was telling
some people in a loud voice how much he wanted to get into it. He was
going back to answer the call. And I had already begun to hear my
country’s call.
A newsboy boarding the train at a junction was overwhelmed and succeeded
in getting twenty-five cents a copy for his papers.
Montreal teemed with suppressed anxiety and every hour fresh news was
posted. Special bulletin boards were put up on store fronts. Already men
in uniform were seen in the street. And men were trying to enlist.
The war fever was rising steadily; the chief occupation of Canadians in
those days was watching the bulletin boards. Rumors of sea fights,
ultimatums, disasters, and victories were common. The Kaiser seemed to
declare war on the world at the rate of three countries a day.
On the night of August 4th, as I was putting the finishing touches on a
cartoon, a friend burst into the room:—“Come out of here! Something must
happen any minute now.” We marched downtown,—everybody marched in those
days; walking was abolished in its favor. One met demonstrations
everywhere, large crowds of cheering men with flags, victrolas at shop
windows played patriotic airs, and soldiers with civilians crowded before
the bulletin boards singing the national anthems with great enthusiasm.
The King had declared war and his message to the fleet had just been put
up! Newspaper extras were given away by thousands and movies of the
British Navy were shown on the street. Any one who thought the British
could not enthuse, changed his mind then.
The audiences at the theatres and moving picture houses on receipt of the
news rose simultaneously and sang the national anthems, then cheered
themselves hoarse. These were the first days of the war. Several
battalions of militia were called out and posted to protect the bridges
and grain elevators. Battalions were raised overnight, and so many
recruits came forward that men were refused by the score. England was
immediately offered ten battalions. Then an army division was possible.
The Militia Department suddenly became a hive of industry. Men with all
kinds of business capacity tendered their services gratis, and the
Canadian war machine, without the experience of previous campaigns, took
shape. They worked night and day bringing everlasting credit on
themselves. Banks offered full pay to their employees in uniform, and this
example was widely followed. The principle prompting this action being,
“It’s our country; if we can’t fight ourselves, we will help others to
fight for her.”
Existent camp sites were inadequate, hence new ones were necessary. We had
a few, but none were big enough. We bought Valcartier, one of the best
sites in the world, which was equipped almost over-night with water
service, electric light and drainage. The longest rifle range in the world
with three and one-half miles of butts was constructed. Railroad sidings
were put in and 35,000 troops from all over the Dominion poured into it.
Think of it,—Canada with her population of seven and one-half millions
offering 35,000 volunteers the first few weeks, without calling out her
militia. And even to-day the militia are yet to be called. Thus every
Canadian who has served at the front has been a volunteer. England
accepted an army division. Fifteen hundred qualified officers were told
that they would have to stay and train men for the next contingent. But
this was not fighting. They were dissatisfied. They resigned their
commissions and went as privates. Uniforms, boots, rifles and equipment
were found for everybody. Every man was trained as much as possible in the
time allowed, and within six weeks of the declaration of war, guns, horses
and 35,000 men were going forward to avenge Belgium.
With me the question of signing up was a big one. In the first place, I
wanted to go; I wanted to go quickly. Several other fellows and myself had
decided upon a certain battalion. But much to our disgust and regret we
were informed that enlistments had stopped only a short time before.
[Illustration]
The Canadian
[Illustration]
Johnnie Canuck
[Illustration]
The American
[Illustration]
The ANZAC
Then came the announcement of the organization of the First Auto Machine
Gun Brigade, the generous gift of several of Canada’s most prominent
citizens, and it was in this unit that I enlisted with my friend Pat, a
six-foot, husky Scotchman, with the fighting blood of the kilties very
near the surface. We were immediately transported to Ottawa in company
with fifty other picked men from Montreal. At Ottawa the complement of our
battery was completed upon the arrival of one hundred more men from Ottawa
and Toronto. Here we trained until it came time for us to move to
Montreal, and there the battery was embarked on board the Corinthian with
a unit of heavy artillery. We sailed down to Quebec where we joined the
other ships assembled to take over the First Canadian Contingent.
_Corinthian, Wednesday, Sept. 30th, 1914._
MY DEAR MOTHER AND FATHER:—
We are now steaming down the St. Lawrence. No one knows where we
are going.
Our fleet is a wonderful sight. All the ships are painted war
gray—sides, boats and funnels. We are expecting to pick up the
warships which are to convoy us across at Father Point, somewhere
near where the Empress of Ireland was sunk.
Quebec looked very fine. The big guns were being hoisted into
boats, horses embarking, and battalion after battalion arriving
and going aboard. Those who came from Valcartier have had a rough
time. They actually look as if they had come through a campaign.
It gave me thrills all day to see these fine men come through the
dock-gates with a steady swing. It is a magnificent contribution
to any army. It’s good to think of all these men coming at their
country’s call.
Some day, if I get back, I want to paint a picture of the fleet
assembled at Quebec. The grays and greens looked really beautiful.
Quebec, the city of history and the scene of many big battles,
views with disdain the Canadian patriotism in the present crisis,
and we had no send-off, no flags and no bands.
This letter will not be mailed for ten days, until we are well on
the way over. We are crowded, and if we are going through the
tropics we shall have a bad time; it is cold now, so we don’t
notice the congestion.
We had one hundred and forty horses aboard and two batteries of
heavy artillery, besides our own armored cars. All the transports
are crowded. We were passed by about ten of the other boats, and
as they did so we cheered each other. The thin lines of khaki on
all the ships will make a name for themselves. I’m proud I am one
of them.
We’ve had a big dose of vaccine pumped into our arms to-day. This
will be the last letter I send before I arrive, wherever we are
going.
The Corinthian sailed from Quebec to Father Point, where a patrol boat
arrived with orders. We then sailed into the Gulf, but toward evening we
turned into the coast. When we passed Fame Point Light a small boat, which
afterwards turned out to be another patrol boat, sailing without lights,
flashed further orders to us. The Corinthian immediately turned round and
headed back. The minute the patrol boat’s signal light went out we were
unable to distinguish it from the sea. The coloring is a good protection;
even a boat, close to, sailing without lights, it is impossible to pick
out. Apparently our orders were to cruise around until daylight and then
sail for the Bay of Gaspé, and this morning at daybreak we sailed into
that beautiful, natural harbor, which is big enough to accommodate the
entire British fleet.
I expect that to the villagers living around this harbor all events will
date from to-day—to-day, when the wonderful sight of twenty-five ocean
liners drawn up in battleship formation in this quiet place, deserted
except for an occasional visit from a river steamer or fishing craft,
greeted their gaze.
Five gray fighting ships are mounting guard, and by their signals and
pinnaces chasing backward and forward between the troopers are bossing the
show. A corporal, a South African War veteran, as we looked at them,
quoted Kipling’s
“The liner she’s a lady
With the paint upon ’er face,
The man o’ war’s ’er ’usband
And keeps ’er in ’er place.”
Towards noon a smart launch came alongside. Even at a distance the boys
were quick to recognize our popular minister of militia, Sam Hughes, and a
thundering cheer rang out. With him were several soldiers who threw
bundles of papers aboard. These were printed copies of his farewell to the
troops. His launch sailed by the ship, and then on to the next and so on,
through the fleet.
Our orders forbade the display of lights or even striking of matches after
6 P.M.; consequently all lights were masked to-night on the vessels,
except those on the Royal Edward. The minute her lights were put out the
Bay resumed its normal condition, not even the outlines of the vessels
being visible.
-------------------------------------
A press photographer on a launch has been taking pictures all the
afternoon. Sailed at five o’clock this afternoon just as the twilight
commenced. We sailed out in three lines. The convoy is now under way and
we extend as far as can be seen in both directions. We have two military
police patrols whose chief duty is to see that no matches are struck on
deck. Bill, who smokes more matches than tobacco, has had to go below so
often to light his pipe, that he has decided to do without smoking on
deck. It is surprising how far a match struck in the dark will show. We
noticed how matches struck on the other ships showed up last night. All
our portholes are screwed down with the heavy weather irons and those of
the second-class cabins are covered with blankets. The authorities are
taking no chances.
-------------------------------------
We are having physical drills and lectures all day, and we are working
just as hard on board as we would ashore. Our speed will not be more than
nine knots; the speed of the slowest vessel regulating the speed of the
whole fleet.
Matches are getting very scarce. We complained about the tea to the
orderly officer to-day; milk is running out, so the tea is made with milk
and sugar in. We asked to have the three separate, but we were told that
if we complained we would have all three taken away. As a floor stain it’s
great, but as tea it’s a failure.
We are quartered in the steerage part of the ship and our food is in
keeping. It is really remarkable how they can consistently get that same
coal-oil flavor in all the food.
-------------------------------------
War news is signaled from ship to ship by semaphore flags by day. It is
posted up in the guard room daily. The news that the Indian troops landed
in France on the 29th of September was the chief item on the bulletin
yesterday. We’re short on things to read. Scraps of newspapers are
devoured, even to the advertisements. In our cabin we have a “Saturday
Evening Post” of September 26th which is thumb-marked and torn, but it is
still treasured. We were not allowed to bring anything besides our kit on
board on account of the limited space.
Reveille blows at six o’clock and we have to answer the roll-call at 6.15.
The idea is, that if the men get up and walk about, they are not so likely
to get seasick, but in spite of that quite a number are sick. We have on
board one hundred of our brigade; two hundred and sixteen heavy artillery
and one hundred and forty horses, together with artillery officers and
equipment. The horses take up the same space which in ordinary times is
occupied by humans. Otherwise, we should have a great many more troops.
Our destination is still a mystery. We’re a fleet without a port.
Have just been ordered on fatigue to take a prisoner on deck for exercise.
He is to be tried by court-martial to-morrow for striking a sergeant. All
day he is kept locked up and only allowed out at night for exercise, under
escort. The escort consists of two men and a non-com. While on this job we
watched the signalers flashing the war news from the stern of our boat to
the bridge of the next astern, the Virginian. The news is flashed at night
by the lamps—short and long flashes. The news is picked up by wireless on
the flagship, the Charybdis, at the head of our line and signaled back
from ship to ship.
-------------------------------------
This is the list of the fleet. It is written here in the order in which
they are sailing. Three warships are heading the fleet; the flagship is
the H.M.S. Charybdis, commanded by Admiral Wemyss, who distinguished
himself a few weeks ago in the Battle of Heligoland.
H.M.S. Diana
H.M.S. Eclipse
H.M.S. Charybdis
Caribbean
Megantic
Scotian
Athenia
Ruthenia
Arcadian
Royal Edward
Bermudian
Zealand
Franconia
Alaunia
Corinthian (The transport on which I was shipped.)
H.M.S. Glory
Canada
Ivernia
Virginian
Monmouth
Scandinavian
Sasconia
Manitou
Sicilian
Grampian
Tyrolia
Montezuma
Andania
Tunisian
Lapland
Montreal
Laurentic
Cassandra
Laconia
Royal George
H.M.S. Talbot
The H.M.S. Glory, the vessel on our starboard beam, altered her course
to-day and held up a tramp steamer. We could just see the two vessels
through our glasses. Apparently everything was all right as the tramp was
allowed to go on her way afterwards.
We are all given our boat stations. This afternoon a submarine alarm was
sounded. Everybody on board, including the stewards, had to drop
everything and chase to the boats. In the excitement a cook shot a “billy”
of soup over an officer’s legs, much to our silent delight.
Thinking it over, it will be remarkable if the Germans allow us to cross
without making some attempt to sink a few transports. Besides the actual
loss of the men, the demoralizing effect it will have on the recruiting
would count a great deal. No man likes to be shot or drowned without a
show.
-------------------------------------
I am writing this in my cabin, which is only nine feet by six feet and in
which six of us sleep at night. Besides living in it we have to keep all
our equipment clean, which is some job!
About eleven this morning a commotion occurred in the middle line. The
cruiser heading it and the second ship, the Royal Edward, turned back.
Also several other boats turned in their course. As we have very little
excitement we hoped it might be a German attack, for we all want to see a
naval battle. I looked at the cruiser through powerful glasses and saw
sailors fixing up the starboard lifeboat, so we presumed that it was
simply a case of “man overboard.”
A big cruiser has joined our fleet and is acting as a flank guard about
three miles away from our starboard side.
We have a great deal of physical exercise in spite of the rolling of the
deck. This morning, while in the middle of it I was called away to dress
and form part of an escort to the prisoner who was to be tried by field
court-martial to-day. The court was very dignified, and it took a long
time owing to the inexperience of the officers in such matters. It was the
first court-martial I have seen,—the proceedings are strictly legal, being
conducted according to the book, and with the officers wearing their
swords. The poor devil expects two years.
We have been pitching and tossing a great deal to-day. Physical exercising
on the sloping decks is becoming a mighty risky thing.
Quite a number of the transports have guns mounted on board so they are
not entirely dependent on the cruisers. It looks as if we are sailing
north of the usual trade routes. I have just heard that five more
battleships are on the starboard beam. They came into sight early this
morning, but have since been out of sight. We are sailing north of the
trade routes.
-------------------------------------
The fleet is being increased. All ships are stopped. Those sailing west
are allowed to go after being boarded; those going in the same direction
as ourselves are made to fall into line, so there will be no danger of the
news of our sailing reaching Europe ahead of us. If we continue to pick up
ships sailing in our direction, the fleet will be enormous by the time we
arrive at our unknown destination. We sailed two hundred and twelve miles
the last twenty-four hours.
Two more transports have joined us. They came from Newfoundland. I hear
that we now have forty-three ships in the fleet. We sail at ten cables’
length apart, about one thousand yards.
We are getting into more dangerous water evidently. Early this morning the
Royal George steamed up from the end of the line and took up a position at
the head of the fleet, but in line with the battleship Glory about three
miles away on the port. The Laurentic took up a similar position on the
starboard. Both these ships are armored and have guns mounted on them.
They are being used as scouts.
We all rushed up on deck to see a cruiser pass close to us this midday. It
was a magnificent sight. She was either the H.M.S. Bristol or the H.M.S.
Essex; her name was painted The bluejackets were massed on the decks
forward and as she went by the marines’ band played “The Maple Leaf
Forever.” We returned cheers with the sailors. It gives you a great thrill
to see a British ship and to have the knowledge of what it represents. To
be British is a great thing, and I’m proud to think that I’m going to
fight for my country. When this war is over and men are talking round a
table, it will be, “Where were you fighting during the war?” not “Did you
fight during the war?”
-------------------------------------
I’m in a gun-cleaning squad every afternoon. To-day I cleaned the machine
gun on which I’m second gunner. We treat our machine guns as if they were
pets. No one will ever be able to say that my gun is dirty. It will
probably be my best friend some day.
The finding of the court-martial was read out to us on full parade this
afternoon. First the “Heavies” were lined up on all sides of the deck,
then the “Mosquitos,” as the Machine Gunners are called, lined up inside;
the prisoner between an escort was led up in the center. It was
wonderfully impressive. I felt that I was to witness the condemning of a
fellow soldier to a number of years of hard labor. Over the whole assembly
there came a deathlike silence and the finding of the court was read to us
by an officer, the sentence being thirty-six days!
The second steward told me that it took two hundred carpenters twelve
hours to tear down the cabins and fix up horse fittings. First the
authorities made arrangements to ship a thousand troops on this ship.
We’re crowded as we are now with only three hundred odd. I hate to think
what it would have been like with a thousand.
-------------------------------------
Early this morning a large man-o’-war came up on the port at a speed that
made everything else seem to stop. We have now battleships on all sides.
This ship, although a long way off, looks tremendous. She is one of the
latest super-dreadnaughts.
I was on guard last night when one of the cruisers came alongside to TALK
to the captain about having lights showing in some of the ports. I enjoyed
it immensely, for I discovered that the British Navy, true to tradition,
was still able to maintain its high level of profanity. The ship is in
pitch darkness and there is no moon. On deck it’s almost impossible to
walk it’s so dark. Tonight is supposed to be the night on which the
Germans are going to make a raid. I am going to sleep on deck so that I
shall not miss anything. I’d hate to miss the chance of seeing a naval
engagement. I can’t see how the Germans can possibly let a chance go by. A
nervy cruiser could sink any amount of ships. If the British Navy were up
against us they would have had a cut in before now.
Slept on deck last night. Nothing happened except that early this morning
a French cruiser joined us, and I got covered with smuts from the
smokestack.
The Admiral has received one hundred and twenty-six words of war news, but
will not let us have them. Probably they’re disastrous. We break up
to-night or to-morrow. It’s scarcely likely that the whole fleet will be
taken to one port at the same time.
That super-dreadnaught passed down the columns to-day. She is of
tremendous size and travels at high speed. She is probably the Queen Mary.
Expect to see land Wednesday.
-------------------------------------
Blowing a gale. All day the spendrift has been blowing over. The decks
have been too wet for parades, thank God! All the way over we have had
physical exercise, sometimes as much as four hours a day. We’re all in
fine physical condition.
To-day we were allowed to wash our clothes. I can see the advantage of
khaki now. Even after working hard on my clothes, my underwear is still
dark white. The rails were covered with underwear and socks when the storm
started. Now every square inch below is used for drying clothes. Even the
electric lights are festooned. We have a final kit inspection to-morrow
and then we pack for disembarkation. We are only about one hundred miles
from the “Bishop’s Light.”
It has been a very long voyage and we have been very cramped. All our
equipment has to be carried in our cabins. Try sleeping six men with all
their outfit in a cabin nine feet by six feet. The ship carpenter has a
standing job to repair our cabin. We have rough-housed so much that his
attention was continually necessary. The trip has been so long that we are
now beginning to hate each other. I went down in the stoke-hole and the
engine-room. Even amongst the whirling machines it was more peaceful than
in our quarters. It seems months since I was in Montreal last.
-------------------------------------
Dear Old England in sight!
We’re passing the Lizard now.
The kit has all been inspected and we hope to land to-morrow some time.
We’re lying in the historic harbor of Plymouth; arrived here about two
hours ago. We’re surrounded by fast little torpedo-boat destroyers, which
are chasing round us all the time like dogs loosened from a chain. The
breakwater has searchlights mounted on each end and fixed lights are
playing from the shore. As the lights occasionally flash up the ships in
the bay, it is as bright as day. Nobody is allowed ashore, not even the
officers. We may go on to Southampton, only we must get there before five
at night. After that time nothing is allowed in.
-------------------------------------
Sailed at daybreak on to Devonport. Most of the transports are now lying
in pairs at anchor in the harbor. We’re close to the shore. We can see
naval “jolly boats” and pinnaces sailing back and forth. On one side are
lying the H.M.S Powerful and another boat, both of which in their day were
the pride of the Navy. The Powerful was the boat which made such a name
for herself in the Boer War. Now both of these vessels are training ships
and obsolete so far as this war goes.
All our haversacks have been boiled in coffee to stain them khaki.
One of the Navy steam launches came by and we asked them to get us
newspapers. They came back with a bundle and we nearly had a riot trying
to get at them.
It was only to-day that we heard of the fall of Antwerp, the atrocities of
Belgium, and the treachery of Maritz in Cape Colony.
We shall be getting off in a few hours and this may be the last I shall
write for some time. I have put in a great deal of time during the voyage
writing and have done so under difficulties. Sometimes the cabin has been
torn in pieces, and often arguments, carried on by leather-lunged
opponents of “Kultur,” have made this work hard.
We hear that some paper published an account of the sinking of twenty of
the ships. This rumor is false, and it’s a beastly thing for the newspaper
to do, but you must remember to discount all news a great deal.
Still on board and we shall probably be here for a few days more. My, it’s
galling to be so near to the land and yet to be cooped up in our crowded
quarters. Crowded launches and steamers are sailing round the liners. All
day long cheering crowds come out to see us. Last night another liner
called Florizel, with the First Regiment Newfoundland troops, tied up to
us. They were a fine-looking lot of men. We told them we had no tobacco;
they threw dozens of tins of their tobacco and cigarettes over to us. We
fought for them. I got the remains of one tin with most of the contents
spilt. Still, as many of us haven’t had a smoke for three days, we
appreciated it. Several cruisers have come in to-day, and there seem to be
dozens of submarines and torpedo boats cruising around all day. The reason
we did not go to Southampton is that five German submarines were waiting
for us.
The transports are unloading at the rate of five or six ships a day. It
will probably be our turn on Sunday. The fleet looks splendid at night now
that we have most of the lights on. All night the steel riveters are at
work on three battleships that are being built close by. Near us are
several “wooden walls.” One is a ship of Nelson’s, the Queen Adelaide.
Every boat, tug, lighter and motor boat here is the property of the
Admiralty.
-------------------------------------
We are probably going to Salisbury Plain for two months. We are the first
Expeditionary Force to land in England from the dominions or colonies, but
others are on their way. The sailors from the training ships serenade us
in boats with bands and play “O Canada,” “The Maple Leaf Forever,” and all
day long on one ship or the other we hear “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.”
Every one is singing it; without doubt it is _the_ song of the war. To-day
we got a bundle of papers. We read them right through to the
advertisements. Cigarettes and matches are at a premium and food is
running out on board. The strain of staying here is becoming too great.
We’re all disagreeable and insubordinate. The guard room is already full
and will soon need enlarging.
On guard to prevent the men of the two ships (our own and the Florizel
with the Newfoundlanders) coming over to visit each other. At ten o’clock
at night I got the tip that a bunch of men were going to make a break for
shore and I was asked to go. I had just come off sentry and was dressed
for shore. We all met up forward, hailed a police boat, climbed down a
rope ladder across two barges unloading shells and into the police launch.
When I got in I found that I and one other fellow were the only privates;
all the rest were sergeants and corporals, thirteen altogether, unlucky
number. The police sergeants asked me if we had passes. I said, “You bet,”
and we sailed away from the ship right under everybody’s nose. We landed
and then took a car to Plymouth and went on the Hoe, which has been in
absolute darkness since the beginning of the war. Girls were very
interested in us and took most of our collar badges and buttons as
souvenirs. One man asked me to give him a cigarette as a souvenir.
We met an English captain in a tobacconist’s and he invited us up to the
barracks. Two of us went. I was one. To get there we had to go on a street
car. We had just sat down when up the stairs came my Lieutenant McCarthy.
When he saw me he said, “How the hell did you get here?” “Oh, just swam
across.” “Well, if you get caught it’ll be the guard room for you.” I
said, “Never mind, we’ll have company.” He is a pretty good sport. We went
to the barracks, had a session with the captain, then went to the quay,
picked up the rest of the men, and sneaked on board. I got to bed at three
and had to get up this morning at six o’clock to go on guard.
-------------------------------------
Sunday, very tired. On guard all day, two hours on, four off. It’s very
unfortunate having a Sunday guard, because in the ordinary way we have to
attend church parade in the morning and after having listened to a sermon
and sung “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” or, “Fight the good fight,” we are
free for the day, whereas guards stay on twenty-four hours.
The major noticed one of the sergeants coming on board this morning at six
o’clock. The idiot missed us this morning and of course that dished us.
The sergeants got in wrong. As I am only a private, and therefore ignorant
and simple according to the military code, and, being with
non-commissioned officers who are supposed to possess superior
intelligence, I got away with it. The sergeants have had to do sentry on
the same ladder we went down.
Everybody is as disagreeable as possible. We are lying in midstream and
can see the town. Can you imagine anything more galling than that?
While I was on guard the Vicar of Plymouth came aboard and held service.
He said that the last time a Vicar of Plymouth preached to warriors was
just before Drake sailed to meet the Armada.
Thank God! moving at last. We’ve moored up to the docks just opposite two
magnificent dreadnaughts. Naval men are handling our cargo, our kit bags
are packed and we are ready to disembark.
Near our ship’s stern is a barge full of ventilators and spare parts of
ships which are taken away when ships are cleared for action. Some of the
rifle racks were marked Cornwall and I noticed a davit post with the name
Highflyer, the boat that sank the Kaiser Wilhelm after she had been
preying on the shipping off South Africa. When a ship is cleared for
action, all inflammable fittings, such as wooden doors, ladders, racks,
extra boats, and davits, etc., are discarded. If the order to “clear the
decks for action” comes at sea, overboard go all these luxuries. It is
calculated that the cost of “clearing decks” on a cruiser is five thousand
dollars.
Some of our stuff was unloaded yesterday, and when the ship moved a guard
was placed over it. When the corporal went down the gangplank with the
relief, Pat and I walked down behind as if we were part of the same, right
by the officers. We had a devil of a job to get through the dock gates, a
suspicious policeman and sentry on guard. We told the sergeant of the
police a pitiful story, saying that we hadn’t had anything to eat for
three days, and finally he relented. “All right, my lads, only don’t
‘swing the lead’ in town.” We got into Devonport and went to the biggest
hotel. Before they had time to throw us out we ordered breakfast of real
food. It was fine after the ship’s grub. After sitting there ten minutes,
the general commanding the district came in and sat behind us. He stared.
Two privates in the same room as the general!! But all he said was, “If
you boys can fight as you eat, you’ll make an impression.” Then we visited
some other places!
We went back to the docks and went over the super-dreadnaughts, Tiger and
Benbow, the biggest war vessels in the world. The Tiger’s speed on her
trials was 37.5 knots an hour.
After we had seen enough, we went back to the ship and tried to look as if
we had been working with one of the fatigue parties on shore. It worked!
We marched off the ship midday and then I had to go on guard again all
night. That was the first time we were allowed ashore to see the town, and
I was on guard, so if I hadn’t slipped ashore on the two occasions
mentioned, I should not have seen it at all.
-------------------------------------
It rained all night, and when I was off guard I slept on the top of one of
our armored trucks, under a tarpaulin. It’s wonderful how we can sleep now
anywhere, and we often have our clothes on for three days at a time. Many
a time I sleep with all my equipment on. Get wet and dry it by keeping it
on. We all have to do it. The idea of pajamas or baths as necessities
seems funny. At one time I would sooner go without breakfast than miss a
bath. Now I make sure of the breakfast.
We are going to drive our cars through England to Salisbury Plain. We
started this morning and drove through Devonport. Cheering crowds
everywhere. All our cars wear the streaming pennants: “Canada With the
Empire,” which pleased the people a great deal.
As we rode through the streets people showered gifts upon us, such as
cakes, chocolates, newspapers and apples, and everywhere made lusty
demonstrations. The people of Taunton, as soon as they heard that the
Canadians were coming, turned out the barracks and we were met by all the
officers, who came in to talk to us. One second lieutenant, after studying
me for some time, said, “Isn’t your name Keene?” “Yes,” I replied, “but
how do you know?” “I went to school with you fifteen years ago.” His name
was Carter; he was in the Second Dorsets. That night he got me out of
barracks for a couple of hours, and we hashed over the schoolboy
reminiscences. The people of Taunton were arranging a dance for us, but
nobody was allowed to attend. The major believes in putting us to bed
early; his theory being that a man can’t drive cars well after a party,
and he couldn’t keep the drivers in alone.
Ladies from Taunton, of the pleasing English type with beautiful
complexions, handed round all sorts of rubbish, jam puffs, and other
things which belong to the time before we joined the army.
Traveled all the morning. Everybody turned out to see us. The
Brigadier-General wired ahead, and hastily prepared placards, still wet,
were hanging from the windows,—
God Bless the Canadians
Loyal Sons
of
The Empire
The gathering of
the Lions’ whelps
and in one case the haste was so great that “God Save the King” was hung
upside down.
Everybody wants my badges and buttons, and some men in the unit have not
one left. Hence I have requisitioned an order for a hundred to meet the
demand.
All over the country you see “Kitchener’s Army” drilling. In one case we
passed about a hundred of them. When they saw us they broke ranks and
shook us by the hands. The people of England are much impressed with our
speed in coming over. Old men and women shouted, “God bless you,
Canadians!” while tears trickled down their cheeks.
I read this notice in one little shop,—
At noon every day the church bell will ring a few chimes and
everybody is asked to stop whatever he is doing and offer this
prayer, “Oh, Lord, help our soldiers and sailors to defeat our
enemies, and let us have Peace.”
(Signed) The Vicar.
Recruiting notices ten feet by six feet with the sentence “Your King and
Country Need You” are to be seen everywhere in shops, on barns, trees, and
even church doors.
Motorists and cyclists are warned to pull up whenever requested or the
results may be serious. Most of the motors have O.H.M.S. plates above the
number plate.
We billeted in a village school; all slept in our blankets on the floor.
Left the school and cleaned up before the kids came for their lessons next
day.
-------------------------------------
Salisbury Plain. Arrived to-day. This part is called Bustard and takes its
name from the small Bustard Inn, Headquarters of General Alderson, General
Officer Commanding. Troops are here in thousands and we are no novelty.
The roads are torn up. Mud is two feet deep in places. All through the day
and night motor lorries, artillery and cavalry are traveling over the
ground. Aeroplanes are circling overhead and heavy artillery are firing.
We see the shells bursting on the ranges every day.
Always raining. Everything is wet, and I am sleeping in a rotten tent
which leaks. Still, we are all so fit that what would kill an ordinary man
doesn’t worry us much.
We all get three days’ leave and are trying by every means possible to
wangle another day or two. Many men have to see dentists, and lots of men
have grandparents in Scotland who display signs of dying suddenly. If the
excuse is good enough, we get four days and sometimes five. I have a
sweetheart in Scotland, but if that is played out I have to work something
else.
-------------------------------------
Wonderful sight from where I am now. Miles of tents, motors and horse
lines on this desolate moorland. No houses; only camps and a few trees
which have been planted as wind screens. The soil is very poor, too poor
for farming. It is government property and it is only used for troops. We
are ten miles from a railroad. We are so isolated that we might be in
Africa, except that it’s so cold.
The papers are starting an agitation to get the Canadians to march through
London, and are asking why they should be smuggled in and then shut up on
Salisbury Plain. They want to see us, AND WE WANT TO SEE LONDON!!
Our ambulance car has been used every day since we came here, taking
wounded from one hospital to another. The rest of our cars have been used
to carry German prisoners.
One of the spies caught on the ships is said to have been shot. Several
were arrested; two were caught in Devonport while we were there, one in a
Canadian officer’s uniform.
-------------------------------------
Am spending seventy-two hours’ leave in London. Got leave through this
telegram which is from “the girl I’m engaged to”:
Disappointed. Met train. Please do come. Leaving for Belgium soon.
Love.
EDYTHE.
She is a Red Cross nurse. This is a new one and it worked. McCarthy sent
it to me.
London is very dismal. No electric signs, and the tops of all the street
lamps are painted black so that the lights don’t show from above. However,
we managed to have a good time, in spite of it all. The Germans say that
the Canadians are being held in England to repel the invasion.
-------------------------------------
The facilities for bathing are not very extensive. I rode into Salisbury,
a distance of seventeen miles, yesterday, on top of some packing-cases in
a covered transport wagon, for a bath, the first since I was last on
leave. We get a Turkish bath in town for thirty cents. After that we had a
large juicy steak and then started our seventeen-mile trip back through
the pouring rain. Every other mile we got down and helped the driver swear
and push the car out of the mud, vast quantities of which abound on the
Salisbury roads, believe me!!
-------------------------------------
It is Sunday afternoon. Most of the men in camp are asleep or reading.
Outside it is raining. It seems to be always raining, and occasionally we
have such a thick fog that even a trip to get water is exciting before you
can get back to your own lines.
Owing to our camp having become a swamp we have had to move our quarters
to drier ground. Moving the tents is not a big job, but rebuilding the
cook-house is! I figure that when I leave the army I shall have a few more
professions to choose from. For example, I’m a pretty hefty trench digger;
then as a scavenger I am pretty good at picking up tin cans and pieces of
paper; also I’m an expert in building things such as shelters from any old
pieces of timber that we can steal; then as a cook I can now make that
wonderful tea that I wrote you about, besides many other things which we
didn’t realize that we had to do when we enlisted.
To-day the paper says “Fair and Warmer.” We could do with some of that.
Years ago, before I joined the army and lost my identity, I rather liked
occasionally getting wet in the refreshing rain; but now the trouble is
that we are always wet and have nowhere to dry our things, except by
sleeping on them.
Our major has an original scheme of training men in the ranks to qualify
for commissions, sort of having half a dozen embryo officers ready. I have
been picked as one and have to study in all my spare time. It means a
great deal more work, but it’s very interesting and the sort of thing I
would like to do. We start to-day.
-------------------------------------
We began our instruction on the machine gun to the officers and the men
who are up here for a special course; I have a boozy lieutenant, who
doesn’t care a hang, and a bright non-com. Some of the officers we brought
over make good mascots.
-------------------------------------
It was fine to-day. We were even able to open up the tent flap to dry the
place a bit. To-day the major congratulated me on the Christmas card I
designed for the unit.
Our classes of instruction to the “alien” officers finish to-morrow. Both
the men I was instructing passed.
The adjutant is very anxious to put us through our officers’ training
course quickly.
We are now recognized as the specialist corps in the machine-gun work with
the Canadian Division, and he is anxious that we shall be ready to take
commissions when casualties occur. Every battalion of infantry has a
machine-gun section attached, and we have the job of training the officers
and sergeants of these sections.
Owing to the bombardment of the east coast, several of our battalions are
under orders to move at a moment’s notice. It is thought that the
bombardment was simply a ruse to draw the British fleet away from around
Heligoland.
-------------------------------------
The newspaper boys in Salisbury, when you refuse to buy an “Hextra,” shout
“Montreal Star” and “Calgary Eyeopener,” and all the shopgirls and
barmaids in Salisbury say, “Some kid,” “Believe muh,” “Oh, Boy!”
-------------------------------------
I had been granted Christmas leave at the last minute, and as it was
awkward to telegraph to Northwich, I arrived after a long journey, lasting
sixteen hours, ten minutes ahead of the letter I’d sent saying I was
coming. My arrival soon spread over the town. A Canadian—this was a rather
unique thing for Northwich, a little Cheshire town. Out of a population of
about eighteen thousand, two thousand men have joined the colors. The men
in uniform from the works are all receiving half pay. The other men who
are staying are working twelve hours a day and give up part of their pay
so that the jobs of the soldiers will be open when they come back.
Thirty-five Belgian refugees are being kept here. Money to keep them for
twelve months has been subscribed. One huge house has been taken over as a
hospital with twenty-three nurses, all volunteers from Northwich.
Everybody has done or is doing something in the great struggle. The young
ladies in this neighborhood have no use for a man who is not in khaki, and
with customary north of England frankness tell them so.
I expect that you know that the Government has sent around forms to every
house asking the men who are going to volunteer to sign, and men long past
the military age have signed the papers, “too old for the war service, but
willing to serve either at home or abroad voluntary for the period of the
war.” Others have offered to do work to allow young men to go, to keep
their jobs for them. This shows the spirit that permeates England. There
is only one end and that MUST be the crushing of the Germans. I don’t
believe people have any idea of the number of men who are at present under
arms, and still the posters everywhere say that we must have more men.
I wonder if you know that the Germans are shooting British prisoners who
are found with what they consider insulting post-cards of the Kaiser, and
even references to His All Highest in letters are dangerous. As we are
nearing the time when we shall go across I thought I would mention it.
We expect to leave England somewhere around January 15th. We have been
living in the mud so long that we are getting quite web-footed.
This is a war Christmas. People are too excited and anxious to celebrate
it. I wonder what sort of a Christmas the next one will be! What a
terrible Christmas the Germans must have had in Germany. They admit over
one million casualties. Fancy a million in less than five months. During
the Napoleonic wars, which extended over twenty years, six million died,
and yet one side in this war already admits one million.
The Canadian ordnance stores have been given instructions that all
equipments down to the last button must be ready by the 15th of January.
That date seems to be the favorite one. I believe it is the commencement
of big things; a move will then be made to embark large numbers of troops
across to France.
All our telegraphic addresses were taken when we came away on leave in
case it were decided to send units over before our term of leave expired.
A German aviator flew over Dover yesterday and made a fierce and terrible
bomb attack on a cabbage patch. Terrible casualty in cabbages. Berlin must
have designs on a bumper crop of sauerkraut.
-------------------------------------
Back in camp. It was hard to come down to it. Our blankets and clothes
left in the tent were mildewed, clammy, and partly submerged. Our feet are
wet and we are again soldiers, dirty and cold.
Traveled down in the train with thirty-six men of the Canadian contingent
who had formed an escort for fifty-six undesirables who have been shipped
back to Canada. It seems strange when men are needed so badly to ship them
back because they are a bit unruly or get drunk too often. They will all
come back with future contingents. Six of them made a dash for it at
Liverpool. Three of them got away altogether.
It snowed yesterday. Last night the camp looked beautiful; the tents lit
up through the snow in the moonlight made a pretty picture, a suitable
subject for a magazine cover, but mighty uncomfortable to camp in.
-------------------------------------
In a gale last night many tents were blown down. We spent all day putting
them up again. The cook house, a substantial frame building, has also
blown down again.