Just at the river edge, a boy suddenly dropped his rifle and began to alternately wildly laugh and cry. A sergeant quickly placed his hand over his mouth to silence him lest his calls might reveal our presence to the enemy. Gently leading him to one side he left him for the First Aid detail. His poor mind had given out under the terrible strain; shell shock, it was called. No comment was made by the men marching past; they pitied him, knowing it was not that he was a coward or a quitter, but simply that he had gone insane under the deadly reality of it all. Why more did not go mad in that Valley of Death only God can explain!
Emerging on the far shore, we picked our heavy way across the stretch of swamp, that led toward the base of our objective. Although the enemy was not aware of our presence in force, he was keeping up a desultory shelling of his hill base as a matter of ordinary precaution. Like the flare of June bugs along the roadside in summer, high explosive shells would burst every few minutes, here, there, and in most unexpected places. Colonel Lewis ordered that the men be kept in as open formation as possible, so that fewer would be hit at a time, and falling shells be reduced to minimum zones of destruction.
Here we had just assembled and were forming for the attack when the sheltering fog suddenly lifted. It was now eight o'clock. We had not yet been discovered. The men were ordered to lie in their tracks and await orders.
From the spiritual point of view this delay was opportune; as it offered opportunity of passing down the line, to hear confessions and extend to all the boys divine aid.
Surely that halt was a God-send! The prayer of many a mother, far overseas, had moved the Good Master to give her soldier boy this last chance to pause for a prayer on the threshold of death!
This was pre-eminently the Chaplain's hour! Above all others were his every ministration and word and glance prized and respected.
There were no infidels, no religious scoffers, among those soldiers seriously awaiting the zero hour. In the rear areas and rest billets, the profane and irreligious word might often have been heard; but face to face with Death, Judgment, Heaven or Hell, the skeptic was silenced. Boys who might have been hitherto negligent in approaching the Sacraments were now the first to call to me, "Father, I want to go to Confession."
In a time so uncertain, momentarily awaiting orders "Over the Top," to hear each one individually was physically impossible. For just this emergency, the far-seeing, merciful Church of the All Merciful God has provided a means.
It is the General Absolution, so beautifully administered by Chaplain McDonald of the Leviathan, and which our Faculties provided. When a person in such emergency could not actually confess, he made an act of Perfect Contrition, being sorry for his sins because by them he had offended the Good God, and with the intention of going to Confession as soon as he could. While confession was always desirable, sorrow was ever, indispensable.