THE LITTLE SPANIARD
I had not been given very much information at headquarters as to how
soon I might be sent to the front, for they did not know how soon the
call might come for chaplains.
In a few days the remnants of my battalion left Bramshott for a camp at
Shoreham-by-Sea--all save a few, who stayed as officers, servants or
clerks in different branches at headquarters.
One afternoon I was sitting before Father Knox’s tiny fire-place in his
little room, talking of the Sunday church parades, when a very young
soldier entered, saluted, passed Father Knox a letter and then stood at
attention. I did not notice the lad particularly, as Father Knox read
the letter in silence, for my eyes were on the small heap of glowing
coals in the grate before me, and my mind was busy on a scheme to get
all the men in the camp at two church parades on the following Sunday.
As Father Knox began to write the answer, he looked up from the paper
and asked, “Catholic?”
Then for the first time the lad began to speak, hurriedly, and with
foreign accent. His eyes took on a queer strained expression; his head
seemed to crouch down to his shoulders.
It transpired that he was a Spaniard and had been brought up a
Catholic, but after going to Canada had been accustomed to go to
Protestant churches. He was now orderly to a Protestant minister and
had received a few books from him including a copy of the New Testament
in Spanish, so at present, his religion was the “Lord Jesus.”
I had already turned from the fire and was watching the lad. It was the
first time I had ever heard a Catholic speak so, and I felt a great
pity for him. But quickly the pity gave place to other emotions, for
in reply to Father Knox’s question as to what battalion he came over
with, he said “One Hundred and Thirty-second”--my own battalion! Slowly
a dazed, nauseating feeling chilled me. Such a thing to happen! I was
responsible to God for this man’s soul; and apparently he had lost his
faith!
I questioned him a little, only to learn that now he was orderly to a
Baptist minister and that it was he who had given him the New Testament
in Spanish. I appointed an evening for the lad to come to see me. He
came and we talked for a long time, but he seemed to be strangely
obsessed. The more we talked, the more I noticed the queer, strained
expression in his eyes, and when he left me that night I feared I had
not done very much towards reviving his faith. It was many months
before I saw him again.