THE RONVILLE CAVES
On Wednesday morning while I was taking my breakfast in the mess of the
Sixteenth Battalion, George came in with a cup of tea and some good
news. All the battalions of the brigade were quartered in the Ronville
caves--over three thousand men underground. This was, indeed, good
news, for now I could do some work among the men, which I had been
longing to do.
The Ronville caves were just beyond the railway station, under the
outskirts of Arras. Nearly all the buildings of the city, including the
Cathedral of Arras, were built of chalk. This chalk had been quarried
from the depths of the earth, as near as possible to the city. When all
the chalk necessary had been excavated, lo! there remained the chalk
caves of Ronville--a series of caves at the end of short tunnels that
branched off from a great main tunnel miles in length.
After breakfast I went down to the convent and found Father Sheehan
seated in his dining-room. Yes, he knew well the situation of the
Ronville caves and would be only too pleased to accompany me to them.
In a few minutes we were on our way to Arras. We went through the city,
turned to our right just before we came to the railway station, passed
over the iron overhead bridge crossing the railway tracks, turned a
little to our left, and presently we were walking through a quadrangle,
pitted deeply with old and new shell-holes, towards the entrance of the
caves.
We passed through the opening and almost immediately were in complete
darkness. We stumbled along for a little, I happening to be in the
lead, then suddenly a long shaft of light shot silently ahead of me,
illuminating the long white chalk corridor. Father Sheehan’s small
flash-light was at work. Then as we came around a curve in our road we
heard from far down in the corridor a muffled complaint; our light was
shining in the eyes of some poor oncomer; so immediately we were in
darkness again, though far down the corridor, seemingly attached to the
wall, a light as from a candle glimmered. We advanced slowly, Father
Sheehan flashing his lamp intermittently on the ground just ahead.
I visited all the battalions except the Thirteenth and had arranged
to have the men come to confession and Holy Communion the following
day, when we almost collided with two kilted officers in the Thirteenth
Battalion tartan. One was the chaplain of the battalion, then
Captain Graham, M. C., (afterwards Major Graham, M. C., D. S. O.) a
Presbyterian, a brave soldier and a thorough gentleman; the other was
a young Catholic officer who had but lately returned to his battalion
after having been wounded. They had been looking for me. Captain Graham
introduced the young officer, who was Captain E. Waud, and then left
us. Captain Waud began very gently yet firmly to take me to task; “You
have not been giving us an opportunity lately to go to confession,
Father,” he said.
I jumped interiorly, for this was the first time I had been accused of
not giving the men every opportunity of approaching the sacraments, but
I liked that young officer then and there.
“Well, captain,” I said, “no later than last Wednesday night I stood
under a tree in Chateau de la Haie waiting for all the soldiers who
might come; the Fourteenth and Sixteenth showed up well, but many of
the Thirteenth did not show up.”
“Oh,” he said, “we were at a concert that evening!”
“Well,” I returned, “I had announced confessions before supper, and
if the men missed the opportunity of going by attending a concert
it was not my fault. However,” I continued, “I have just announced
confessions for tomorrow at all the battalion orderly rooms, excepting
the Thirteenth. I am on my way there now.”
The young officer seemed very pleased, and promised to have all the
Catholic soldiers of his company in New Plymouth cave the following
morning at ten o’clock. “God bless you!” I said to him. “If all my
Catholic officers were as eager to come to confession, and bring their
men, as you are, my work would be made very much easier.”