THE BISHOP WRITES
Up to this time I did not have the Bishop’s consent. In fact, I cannot
remember having mentioned in his presence my desire to go to the front
with the soldiers as chaplain; but I had talked it over frequently with
priests, and it never occurred to me that the Bishop had not heard of
my wish, nor that he would not be in accord with it. But one morning I
received a letter from the Bishop telling me plainly and firmly that
he wished me to keep quiet, and not to talk so much about going to the
front until I should know whether or not I would be permitted to go. He
mentioned a recruiting meeting of a few nights previous, at which I had
offered my services as chaplain to the battalion that was then being
recruited in the diocese.
Perhaps I had been a little too outspoken at the meeting, but I had
considered myself quite justified in breaking silence, since it had
already come to pass that three ministers of different Protestant
denominations had offered themselves as chaplains to the battalion
which, though still in rather an embryonic state, gave promise of being
complete in a few months. I foresaw that it would be more than half
Catholic, as the population of the district from which it was being
recruited was three-fourths Catholic. So I offered myself generously,
not wishing to be outdone by the ministers, and then had sat down
feeling that I had done well.
The following morning, however, I was not quite so sure, for when
I read my words printed in the daily paper I felt just a little
perturbed. What would the Bishop think? I wondered. I had not long to
wait before I knew exactly what His Lordship thought. His letter told
me quite plainly.
I kept quiet. Keeping quiet, however, did not prevent me from following
with interest the activities of others. Almost every evening recruiting
meetings were held in different places throughout the diocese, at which
old men spoke and orchestras played, and sometimes a young boy would
step dance. But, most important of all, many young men enlisted. They
came in great numbers, the Catholics far in the majority. Then, one
morning early in the spring, the paper announced that the battalion had
been recruited to full strength. The different companies would stay in
the town till the following June, when the battalion would go into camp
to train as a unit.
That evening a letter came from the officer in command, saying that
as eighty per cent of his men were Catholics he had decided to take a
Roman Catholic chaplain, and that he intended going to see the Bishop
that evening.
A few days later another letter came from the Bishop saying that he had
been asked for a Catholic chaplain, and as he remembered that I had
seemed very eager to go with the men, he was glad to say that he was
giving me permission to go. He had decided this, he added, on the Feast
of the Seven Dolors of Our Lady.
“The Seven Dolors,” I said to myself quietly, two or three times. Then
I fell to wishing that the Bishop had made his decision on some other
feast of Our Lady. I remember now, as I stood in the quiet little room
with the letter in my hand, recalling the words of the priest--that he
would not give me three nights in the front line trenches before my
hair would turn grey. But this thought did not bother me very long, for
I began to think of something else, and as I did the letter trembled a
little with the hand that held it. “Perhaps I am not coming back,” I
said to myself. Then I repeated: “The Feast of the Seven Dolors! The
Feast of the Seven Dolors!”