As I left him and his companions and turned in towards the gates of the convent, I felt a great gladness coming over me. Yesterday these poor people were going out from their homes; but since then the Canadian lads had come and now were lined up between the homes of these French peasants and the enemy. These people knew the Canadian soldiers, so they were going back to their homes.
I felt proud of my Canadian lads.
Chapter LVI
Arras
That afternoon, accompanied by Father Sheehan, I went up to Arras to visit my brigade, for most of the soldiers were billeted in the city. Arras was being heavily shelled by the enemy. Long before we reached the suburbs we could see the sudden spurts of black smoke rising in many places from large buildings; and as we drew nearer we could hear the dull, quick-echoing crash as shell after shell shrieked its way into the great chalk buildings and exploded. Our own field artillery was busy on the outskirts of the town, returning the German fire. A fine mist of rain fell.
It is extremely hard to describe the strange, unfamiliar depression that came over one entering the city; for everything was silent, save when a shell shrieked horribly and then burst, while almost simultaneously came the sound of falling stone and mortar and the tinkle of broken glass. Nobody walked in the silent streets; and in the great empty dilapidated buildings there was no movement, save now and then the flutter of torn window-blind or soiled curtain in some empty window-frame. In one part of the city blood was mingled with the rain water that ran slowly along the gutter.
We came to the giant statue of Neptune, which faced us and divided our street. We followed the street which ran to our left, passed the Monument and presently were at the hospital of St. John, which was in charge of some French nuns—I think they were of the Augustinian Order. They had given over one large wing of their hospital to the Canadians, who were using it as an advance dressing station.
There was a really beautiful chapel attached to this hospital, and there was an English military chaplain quartered near it, who said Mass there every morning. I arranged with him to have the use of the chapel on Easter Sunday to say Mass for my lads, but when on Saturday I went to Brigade Headquarters, which was in Arras, to announce the hours of service I was told that there would be no church parades, as the shelling was so continuous that no congregating of the men above ground would be permitted. The battalions of the Third Brigade were scattered in different billets throughout the city. I was very sorry I could not have the men for Easter Sunday, but since it would have endangered their lives, I recognized the wisdom of the order. Before I left the city that evening there was not the slightest doubt in my mind but that the brigade officers had acted with great prudence, for I was the only one on the long road leading out of Arras, save occupants of an ambulance which came screeching up the road, passing me with terrific speed. When its sound had died away I became more than ever aware of the shells that dropped so perilously near that I could hear the splinters falling on the cobbles just behind me.
Chapter LVII
Easter Sunday
Since I could not have a parade of my men at Arras I decided to do what good I could at Agnez-lez-Duisans. We had early Mass for the civil population, and as their curé was serving in the army I acted as parish priest that morning. Following my ordination to the priesthood I had been sent, as assistant priest, to a parish where French only was spoken. For three years I ministered to these people and when I had left them I felt that I had a fair working knowledge of their language, though when I first went among them, I received quite a shock. During my classical course I had studied the French language for four years; my theological course had been made at the Grand Seminary of Quebec, where the great majority of the students were French-Canadians. I had left the Seminary thinking that I had an adequate knowledge of the French language; nevertheless, I took a whole week to prepare and memorize my first French sermon in the little parish. I entered the pulpit a little fearful, though when I found my words flowing with no great effort I warmed to the work. I went down to the altar feeling that I had done fairly well; but after Mass, while receiving a Mass offering from a gentle old lady who had come into the sacristy leaning on a cane, I asked her very simply how I had preached. I shall never forget the kindly look with which the old lady regarded me, as she said: “It was all right, Father, all right! We all knew what you were trying to say.” And I had been preparing for eight years! However, when I left these good people I think they used to know what I was saying. And this Easter morning, in far-away France, as peasant after peasant came to me to confession, I recalled these golden days of my early service for the Master when the first fervor of the young priest was strongly aglow and all the world was at peace.
On Monday morning I took Holy Communion to an old woman who was an invalid and could not come to the church. Everything was spotlessly prepared and all the people knelt reverently when I entered the house bearing the Divine Guest. I tried to tip-toe softly in my big heavy military boots, but as they were built for marching on long roads I did not succeed very well. It seemed very strange there in the soft, carpeted room; two or three women knelt near the bedside; the feminine touch was everywhere; for the first time since my enlistment I felt the lack of cassock and surplice. Somehow, I felt a little awkward. She was an old woman, and her life must have been a very holy one. Simply and with great faith she received the Divine Guest and I knew Our Lord would feel at home.