From the dressing station, my guide and I went into a trench and along this to the gun positions. As we came to each, we visited the officers and men. We got a glad welcome from the faithful, true-hearted fellows who were working with might and main to save the lives of their comrades in the front line. Some of the guns were fearfully heated and were hard to handle. Yet the S.O.S. signals from the front trenches would go up every now and then, telling our gunners that the Germans were making another counter-attack, and asking for artillery support to save the situation. We made our way through the trench towards the batteries at the foot of the Loos Crassier. In doing so, we had to pass under the road. I was going on ahead, and when I stooped down to pass under the bridge, to my surprise I could dimly descry in the darkness a row of silent men sitting on each side of the passage facing one another. I said, "Good-night, boys," but there was no answer. The figures in the darkness remained motionless and still. I could not quite make out what the matter was, for our men always responded to my greeting. Suddenly, an enemy flare-light went up in the distance, and I saw, to my horror, that the two rows of men sitting so silently were Germans. I was wondering if I had run my neck into a noose, when a voice from the other end of the passage called out, "They are prisoners, Sir. I am taking them back with me and giving them a few minutes rest." I must say that I was greatly relieved. I went on to the gun-pits just in front of the crassier, and here the men were working hard. It was splendid to see their absolute disregard of everything but their duty. I felt myself to be such a slacker beside them, but I told them how gloriously they were carrying on, and how their work was appreciated by the infantry. The night began to wear away, and when I reached the gun-pits that were further back it was broad daylight. In fact, I visited the last one at six a.m. Some of the batteries had by this time ceased firing, and the men had fallen asleep in all sorts of curious positions, ready to be roused in an instant. Altogether, my guide and I visited forty-eight gun-pits that night, and it was about seven o'clock when we returned to Brigade Headquarters.
The next night the Germans sent over a rain of gas-shells on the batteries, and the men at the guns found it impossible to see the sights through the eye-pieces of their gas-helmets, and so chose to face the poison unprotected rather than run the risk of injuring our infantry by bad firing. There were of course heavy casualties among the gunners as a result of this. Some died and many were badly gassed, but the line was held.
As I was returning after spending the night at the gun-pits, I felt terribly tired. The morning sun rose higher and higher, and beat down with summer heat on my steel helmet as I made my way along the path which skirted the town of Maroc. I sat down by the side of a trench to have some breakfast, and opened a tin of milk and my tin of bully beef and was just preparing to have a meal, when I must have fallen asleep instantaneously. How long I slumbered I do not know, but when I woke up I found, standing in front of me, three amused and puzzled Australian tunnellers. When I fell asleep, I must have upset my breakfast, which was lying at my feet, and the tunnellers were evidently enjoying what they considered to be the discovery of a padré a little the worse for wear. They were somewhat surprised, not to say disappointed, when I woke up, and they said, "You seem to be very tired, Sir." I told them that I had had very little sleep for several nights, and had been walking all night long, winding up my story (for the honour of the cloth) with the statement that I was a teetotaller. Whether they believed it or not I do not know, but we had a long talk together and they told me of the work they were doing in digging a tunnel from Loos to the front line.
The next day I went to the advanced dressing station and saw the men that were gassed being brought in. So strongly were their clothes saturated with the poison that, as they were being cut off, in order that the bodies of the men might be washed with the liquid used for counteracting the burning effects of the gas, our eyes and throats smarted from the fumes. There was nothing more horrible than to see men dying from gas. Nothing could be done to relieve their suffering. The body, as well as the throat and lungs, was burned and blistered by the poison.
The German counter-attack had now spent itself, and Hill 70 was ours. One more splendid deed had been achieved by the Canadian Corps, and we now held in our hands the commanding position which threatened the town of Lens.
CHAPTER XXI.
Every Day Life.
August to October 1917.
Hill 70 being now in our grip the Division came out of the line on August 21st, and moved back to our old billets in Bruay.
Every night, as usual, our concert party gave a performance in the theatre. We were very proud of them. The men's costumes were well made and very tasteful. "Babs," our leading lady, was most charming and engaging, in spite of the fact that her hands looked decidedly masculine. The townspeople enjoyed the entertainments as much as we did, and the battalions were given their own special nights. Occasionally, some of the jokes appeared to me a trifle too broad. At such times I would pay a visit to the Green-room, as Senior Chaplain, and mildly suggest their withdrawal. I must say that the men took my interference in good part and kept their exuberance of spirits well in check. Our Divisional band was up to high-water mark, and their rendering of the hymns and chants on Sundays made our services in the theatre extraordinarily hearty.
One afternoon I motored over to Quatre Vents to take a funeral service in the cemetery there. Instead of returning, I went down to Cambligneul to see the men of the 7th Battalion. They were enjoying a rest in the quaint old town. In the evening, I went down to the Y.M.C.A. hut which was in charge of the British. Here I found our men crowded into the building, not knowing what to do with themselves. The officer in charge of the hut was a quiet man, who was doing his best in superintending the work at the counter. It struck me, however, that he felt a little embarrassed by the situation, and did not know how to provide amusement for the wild Canadians. I asked him if he would object to our having a stag-dance. He said, "Certainly not, you may do anything you like." At once we got several dozen candles and illuminated the place. Then we sent out for a pianist and some violinists, and got up a scratch orchestra. We then cleared away the tables and benches and turned the place into a dance-hall. The orchestra struck up a lively two-step, and great burly chaps chose their equally burly partners, and started off in the dance with such gusto that the place was filled with the sounds of dissipation. This attracted more men from outside, and finally we had the liveliest scene imaginable. I actually found myself joining in the mazes of the waltz, and amid roars of laughter the dancing went on fast and furious. So delighted was the Y.M.C.A. officer, that he mounted the platform at the end of a dance, and in spite of my protest, called for three cheers for the man who had suggested the entertainment. At the close of the evening, we had cups of hot coffee and biscuits, and parted in the best of humours. I was then confronted by a problem that had not presented itself to me before, and that was, how I was to get back to my home in Bruay, which was about ten miles off. Once more my favourite text came to my mind, "The Lord will provide." So I bid good-bye to my friends in the hut and went off, trusting that a car or lorry would pick me up on the road. This time I found that the Lord did not provide, so I started at about half-past ten on my homeward journey on foot. As I passed through the sleeping village of Estrée-Cauchie, I came upon some men of another Division who had been imbibing very freely in an estaminet, and who were about to wind up a heated argument with a free fight. It was very dark, and it was hard for me to convince them that I was a chaplain with the rank of Lieut.-Colonel, until I turned my flashlight upon my white collar. Happily, my efforts as peacemaker were not in vain. I poured oil on the troubled waters till I saw them subside, and the men went off to their billets. One young fellow, however, was experiencing that interest in spiritual problems, which was sometimes aroused in the most unexpected quarters by free libations of spirituous liquors. He caught hold of my arm and implored me to enlighten him on the theological differences which separated Anglicans and Presbyterians. I forget which he was himself, but at the time the problem was a matter of extraordinary interest to him. While I always considered it my duty to impart enlightenment to darkened souls whenever I could, the recollection that I had about seven miles to walk to my home that night rather tempered my missionary zeal, and by a promise to discuss the whole matter on our next meeting I managed to tear myself away and proceed on my journey.