I was discharged from the hospital in the middle of February and sent to a comfortable place at Hastings, Sussex, where I lived until my furlough papers came through. I had a fine time in London at the theatres and clubs pending my departure for home. When my furlough had arrived, I went to Buxton, Derbyshire, where the Canadian Discharge Depot was located and was provided with transportation to Montreal. I came back to America on the Canadian Pacific Royal Mail steamer, Metagama, and the trip was without incident of any sort. We lay for a time in the Mersey, awaiting word that our convoy was ready to see us out of the danger zone, and a destroyer escorted us four hundred miles on our way.
I was informed, before my departure, that a commission as lieutenant in the Canadian forces awaited my return from furlough, and I had every intention of going back to accept it. But, since I got to America, things have happened. Now, it’s the army of Uncle Sam, for mine. I’ve written these stories to show what we are up against. It’s going to be a tough game, and a bloody one, and a sorrowful one for many. But it’s up to us to save the issue where it’s mostly right on one side, and all wrong on the other—and I’m glad we’re in. I’m not willing to quit soldiering now, but I will be when we get through with this. When we finish up with this, there won’t be any necessity for soldiering. The world will be free of war for a long, long time—and a God’s mercy, that. Let me take another man’s eloquent words for my last ones:
Oh! spacious days of glory and of grieving!
Oh! sounding hours of lustre and of loss;
Let us be glad we lived, you still believing
The God who gave the Cannon gave the Cross.
Let us doubt not, amid these seething passions,
The lusts of blood and hate our souls abhor:
The Power that Order out of Chaos fashions
Smites fiercest in the wrath-red forge of War.