The Red Vineyard

by B. J. Murdoch

Not far from the seminary, in the basement of their shattered convent, lived two Poor Clare nuns who had remained to adore our Divine Lord on the altar. I do not know how it had been arranged, but there was Perpetual Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament in that poor cellar. Perhaps it was for this reason that the Canadians held Arras. It was to these holy women of France that Father Sheehan made many visits, carrying pieces of meat, rolls of bread, etc. The quartermaster of the unit from which he drew rations was an Irishman, and many of the lads gladly stinted themselves so that he could lay by a little food for the Poor Clare Sisters at Arras.

Then, one day just after lunch, orders came to move. We were not going very far away—only to the little village of Ecoivres at the base of Mt. St. Eloi, about five or six kilometers distant. I stayed with Father Sheehan for tea, and at four o’clock left alone for Ecoivres. I had never been there before, but Father Sheehan had given me minute directions and I knew I would have no difficulty finding the large chateau of the village.

I had not gone more than a mile on my way when I noticed shells dropping into many of the little villages that lay scattered over the green countryside before me. I must pass through two of these villages before arriving at my destination. I suspected some big attack on the part of the Germans, as it was their invariable custom to shell heavily the back areas In order to prevent us from bringing up fresh troops. As I was revolving in my mind how pleasant it was going to be for me to run the gauntlet of fire, I heard the terrifying shriek of a shell, and as I turned, was just in time to see a great black shell burst only a few feet behind me. A group of men had been standing on the roadside but not one was hit. I stood for a few moments dazed by the suddenness of it all, my ears ringing from the terrible explosion, while teams drawing general service wagons galloped noisily by and men ran like startled hares towards points of safety. Presently I continued my walk, every nerve tense, expecting another shell-burst. None came, however.

I passed through the two villages and no shell dropped near me till I came to the outskirts of Ecoivres, then shell after shell came screaming through the air, exploding in the high bank that sloped up from the roadside. A few soldiers coming behind me on bicycles dismounted and crouched low as each one tore its way across our road. I felt sick, dazed and frightened and whenever the others crouched, I did also; but we reached the little town in safety.

I passed the church, which was untouched, though many stone buildings about it were almost completely demolished. Then I came into the court before the chateau, where a great number of soldiers were quartered.

It was an old chateau, the ancestral home of a long line of French counts, which had been commandeered early in the war. The present owner, however, still had a room or two allotted to him. I went up an old winding stairway and walked from the landing along the hall till I came to a great wide room where a number of officers of different battalions of my brigade stood talking in little groups. They greeted me with true military friendliness, but I could see that they were restless and ill at ease. Fritz had struck again and broken the British line, taking many prisoners and great quantities of supplies. And as the officers talked, shells screamed into the village.

Just before dinner George came to the mess and his face lighted up when he saw me. He had come before me by a different route, and some of his companions—although none of our own brigade—had been killed, together with a number of horses. There was in George’s eye that hurt, dazed look that I was to see so often in the eyes of men when the shells screamed by and took toll of their companions. George told me I was to be billeted in a large room with a number of other officers. While he was speaking, however, the billeting officer joined us to say that he had a fine billet for me; it was a little hut outside in the grounds. It had been reserved for the colonel, but as he wished to remain in the chateau, the billeting officer, remembering that I preferred, when possible, to have a billet alone, so that the men might the more easily come to see me, had given me the little hut.

After dinner, which was late that evening, I went down through the chateau grounds, crossed a bridge over a small river that ran through them and followed the road until I came to a little burlap hut built on the river bank under the willow trees, that had just hung out their fresh green draperies. And as I stood surveying my billet, I became aware that the shelling had ceased; the stars were coming out; just the faintest rustle sounded among the tree-tops; there was a very pleasant tinkle and gurgle from the running water; from all around the wide green grounds came the low murmur of talking from groups of soldiers bivouacked here and there under the trees. George came up presently with four or five letters and a box of caramels that had come with the Canadian mail. It was one of those strange interludes that came fairly often during the campaign, when one actually forgot for a little while war and its gruesomeness.

In the morning, after a very pleasant night’s sleep by the softly running waters, I went down to the parish church to say Mass. The curé was a large man and very kind; evidently the billeting officer had tried to place me with him, for he took great pains to explain to me that his house was extremely small, and already it was full on account of the presence of some of his relations who had been evacuated from the Arras area.

I told the curé how pleasantly I was situated, and that the softly running water had sent me to sleep. He smiled, helped me to put on my vestments and then served my Mass. After Mass, as I made my thanksgiving before the altar, I noticed on the Gospel side a large alcove. In it were five or six prie-dieux, and a communion rail ran the width of it. It was somewhat similar to a box in a theatre. On the wall in the alcove opposite to where I knelt was a large copper slab bearing the inscription: