We held the front line for a few days, then came out to reserve, where the Prince of Wales reviewed us.
Chapter XCV
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.