SOMAINE
On October 17th word was brought that the Germans were falling back.
The following day we crossed the Canal de la Sensee. Cyclists, cavalry
and motor machine-guns were in immediate pursuit of the enemy.
I shall never forget Saturday, October 19th, on which day word was
brought to us by runners that there was a thickly populated city not
far away called Somaine, from which the enemy were marching out. In a
little while we would be marching in.
It was evening when the draft I was accompanying marched into Somaine.
The band was accompanying us. It had been silent for quite a while, as
we did not know but that some lurking nest of machine-gunners might be
near to fire on us. It was dark as we passed the first group of houses
near the city. I suppose the soldiers were wondering why the band was
silent, for it was our invariable custom to play when entering a town.
Suddenly, from the rear of the ranks, a voice calls out in the
darkness: “Give us the band!” And then, “Good old band!” says another
voice above the swinging, grating sound of marching feet over muddy
cobblestones. Then there is a great medley of calls, of which the motif
is “Band! Band!” “Give us the band!”
Usually when the lads voice their request for music the band always
plays. Tonight, however, the lads call longer than usual and the young
officer wrinkles his brow a little as he wonders if it would be wise
to give the order. He begins to think that the responsibilities of a
subordinate officer are great. Meanwhile, the lads keep calling for
the band. Finally, the young officer decides to risk it and word goes
relayed up to the bandmaster: “Let’s have the band.”
The bandmaster turns slightly in the darkness and calls out, “Over
There.” The bandsmen swing their instruments into position, while
insistent demands for the band still come shouted from the rear of the
ranks. The lads do not yet know that orders to play have been given.
The snare-drums roll; the large drum booms three times, twice; there is
a clash and a clang of cymbals. A cheer of satisfaction goes up from
the marching lads. Then clearly in the darkness sound the inspiring
notes of “Over There.” As we march down the streets, doors fly open
in the houses and grateful French peasants, who have been prisoners of
the Germans for the last four years, come running to the street: old
men standing by the wayside and, holding their hats in their hands,
bow their heads. Women pass waffles and cups of coffee to the men, and
little children run up and down the pavement shouting and dancing in
their glee. But no bells ring from towers. These have been taken long
ago to be melted into bullets and made into shells.
We were billeted in very comfortable quarters in the town of Somaine. I
called on the old curé and made arrangements for Mass for my lads the
following morning. He asked me if I could say Mass at nine o’clock, as
his Mass was to be at ten. This was done, and at ten o’clock I returned
to the church to be present at the Mass of the parish.
The church was crowded with people as the old priest, looking like
the curé of Ars, with his beautiful white hair hanging down to his
shoulders, came to the altar. He was naturally rather pale, but today
his thin face was flushed and his clear blue eyes were lighted by
excitement. I could not keep my eyes from the straight old figure that
went so quickly up into the pulpit and faced his people.
“Gratias agamus Domino Deo nostro!”--“Let us give thanks to the Lord
Our God!” The words ring clearly out over the church. One wonders at
the strength and clearness of the priest’s voice. As he continues:
“Thirty years ago, my dear friends, when I received the holy oils
of priesthood those words of gratitude came to my mind. Five years
ago, when I knelt at the feet of our Sovereign Pontiff to receive his
blessing on the occasion of my silver jubilee of priesthood, again I
said those words: ‘Gratias agamus Domino Deo nostro’--‘Let us give
thanks to the Lord our God.’ But today as I stand at the altar of
God, knowing that my people are free, knowing that after four years
of continued intercession of the Sacred Heart of Jesus our prayer has
been heard, my heart breaks forth in gratitude the like of which I have
never before experienced. ‘Gratias agamus Domino Deo nostro’--‘Let us
give thanks to the Lord our God’!”
Then the old priest continued his sermon, asking his people if they did
not remember how he had told them never to give up; to keep on praying;
that surely their prayers would be heard. Many eyes were wet when he
finished his sermon.
The following day, we pursued the enemy a few miles, for he was still
retreating, but on Tuesday we were ordered back to rest. My brigade was
in Fenain and Somaine and I was billeted with the saintly old curé.