THE FIRST BATTLE OF YPRES
CHAPTER VToC
THE FIRST BATTLE OF YPRES
Until October, 1914, Ypres was generally regarded as a quiet Belgian town, celebrated for its most interesting and valuable buildings, and relics of a past age; but owing to its strategic importance in this war, it has from that time onwards been lifted out of its somnolent life into a world-wide importance, as one of the greatest battle-fields of the world.
In explaining the great part which the Seventh Division took in this front-rank battle, I cannot do better than quote from The Times of December 16, 1914, in describing the heroic effort of our troops in resisting the furious onslaughts of the Germans in their vain endeavour to reach Calais; to which point the Kaiser had commanded a road 'to be forced at all costs.' Under the heading—
THE DEFENCE OF YPRES
BRILLIANT WORK OF THE SEVENTH
DIVISION STUBBORN VALOUR AND ENDURANCE
the writer proceeds to say:—
'The full story of the gallantry shown by British troops in their stubborn defence of Ypres has yet to be told, but the orders which we publish below, with the detailed official narrative of events in Flanders which accompanies them, give some indication of the fine work which has been done by the Seventh Infantry and Third Cavalry Divisions.
The following order, which accompanied an order issued by General Sir Douglas Haig, published in The Times of November 30, was issued to the Seventh Division by Lieut.-General Sir H.S. Rawlinson:—
In forwarding the attached order by G.O.C. First Corps, I desire to place on record my own high appreciation of the endurance and fine soldierly qualities exhibited by all ranks of the Seventh Division from the time of their landing in Belgium. You have been called to take a conspicuous part in one of the severest struggles in the history of the war, and you have had the honour and distinction of contributing in no small measure to the success of our arms and the defeat of the enemy's plans.
The task which fell to your share inevitably involved heavy losses, but you have at any rate the satisfaction of knowing that the losses you have inflicted upon the enemy have been far heavier.
The Seventh Division have gained for themselves a reputation for stubborn valour and endurance in defence, and I am certain that you will only add to your laurels when the opportunity of advancing to the attack is given you.
Such Army orders are necessarily written in general terms, and are invariably marked by a disciplined self-restraint. It may be of interest, therefore, to give some account of the circumstances in which "the stubborn valour and endurance" of which Sir Henry Rawlinson speaks were displayed. The work of the Seventh Division and the Third Cavalry Division to the date of the issue of this order at about the end of November, was of a kind which strains the mental and physical strength of troops, beyond any other form of operations. The two Divisions were sent to the aid of the Naval Division at Antwerp, and they were landed at Ostend and Zeebrugge about October 6. They occupied the regions of Bruges and Ghent, and they had to suffer the initial disappointment of finding that they arrived too late. Two days later Sir Henry Rawlinson moved his Head-quarters from Bruges to Ostend. The enemy were advancing in great force, and the position of our troops became untenable; indeed, the situation was so serious that the troops which had been detailed for lines of communication at the base were forced to embark again and return to Dunkirk.
A POSITION OF GRAVE DANGER
The position of the two Divisions from this point onwards was one of grave danger. They were forced by the overwhelming superiority in numbers of the enemy to retire. From Ghent all the way to Ypres it was a desperate rearguard fight. They had to trek across a difficult country without any lines of communication and without a base, holding on doggedly from position to position, notably at Thielt and Roulers, until they took up their final stand before Ypres. What that stand has meant to England will one day be recognized. What it cost these troops, and how they fought, will be recorded in the proudest annals of their regiments.
After the deprivations and the tension of being pursued through day and night by an infinitely stronger force, these two Divisions had yet to pass through the worst ordeal of all. It was left to a little force of 30,000 to keep the German Army at bay for some days while the other British Corps were being brought up from the Aisne (the First Corps did not come to their assistance till October 21). Here they hung on like grim death, with almost every man in the trenches holding a line which was of necessity a great deal too long—a thin, exhausted line against which the prime of the German first line troops were hurling themselves with fury. The odds against them were about eight to one, and when once the enemy found the range of a trench, the shells dropped into it from one end to the other with the most terrible effect. Yet the men stood firm and defended Ypres in such a manner that a German officer afterwards described their action as a brilliant feat of arms, and said that they were under the impression that there had been four British Corps against them at this point.
When the two Divisions were afterwards withdrawn from the firing line to refit, it was found that in the Infantry alone, out of the 400 officers who set out from England, there were only forty-four left, and out of 12,000 men only 2,336. So far, little has been published about the work of these Divisions—probably because the bulk of the various dispatches is so great. It may be well, therefore, to place on record now an achievement which will one day be reckoned, no doubt, among the finest of the kind in British military history.'
One's own view and conception of so huge a movement was necessarily small, for in a 'far-flung battle line' the ordinary individual could only see very little of the main operations. Yet the little I saw revealed to me the splendid heroism of our men, and the carefully thought out disposition of our troops; a heroism so perfect that one attenuated line of khaki, consisting of under 30,000 men, held 240,000 Germans at bay. For a week this small force clung to their positions by dint of magnificent fighting and dauntless pluck, until the main army from the Aisne under General Sir John French joined forces with them.
During these stirring and most eventful days the scenes of ordinary life often came before me in striking contrast to what was being thus enacted in the very forefront of England's effort. For instance, sometimes amid a very hell of noise and carnage, the thought of Regent Street or Cheapside in their work-a-day aspect, or again, the peaceful surroundings of 'home, sweet home,' would find a momentary lodgment in my mind, only to be dispelled by the sounds and signs which betokened that the sternest game of life was being played before my eyes. Each hour seemed to promise the break of our lines by the vast masses of the enemy, which were always pressing us hard, and indeed the promise would have been fulfilled but for the grit of men who never acknowledged defeat.
I have always been proud of being a Briton, but seeing what I did, and knowing what I know, I feel immeasurably prouder now, than ever before, of belonging to a nation which can produce such men. Even nature presented its remarkable contrast to the clamour of war, for in the interlude of the firing of a battery of eighteen pounders I have heard the birds singing as peacefully and merrily as in quiet English fields.
It is difficult to convey to my readers the prodigies of valour which daily took place in the course of the great struggle in front of Ypres. One dark night a young R.A.M.C. officer, who until quite recently had been pursuing his quiet round of work as a medical practitioner in England, but who at the call of country had pressed to the front, was out with his bearer company attending the dying and wounded men, when suddenly a Battalion, which had lost all its officers, momentarily broke from the trenches. Quickly gathering the dread import of their act, this young hero rushed into the ruck of men, who amid that awful hell had been seized with panic. Calling to a sergeant he directed him to shoot the first man that came by, then rushing into the disorganized rabble—for it was little else at that time—he shouted to them, 'Men! men! have you forgotten that you are Englishmen,' and quickly bringing them into order headed them back again to their grim work. I have been pleased to see that this brave lad has received a well merited distinction from his Sovereign, but at the time the only comment made upon his behaviour by his O.C. was, 'The young beggar ought to get a rap over his knuckles for exceeding his duty.' Such feats are constantly occurring, so often indeed as to hardly excite comment.
Two officers from a Guards Battalion in my Brigade died the death of heroes in the dark hours of one early morning, endeavouring to fulfil the hopeless task of capturing a German gun, the while they had only six men with them. The whole party was blown to pieces in the endeavour. Some may think it a useless waste of valuable life; in degree it is, but these daring deeds go far to preserve that glorious spirit of heroic venture which characterizes the whole fighting line of our men. The value of systematic training, which at the time it is being undergone is often regarded as a weariness of the flesh by the men undergoing it, is strikingly exhibited in actual warfare. I was much struck with this late one afternoon, as I saw the 2nd Gordons enter action in extended order. Their 'dressing and distance' was most admirably preserved, the while they took advantage of every inch of cover that presented itself. It was indeed a thrilling sight to see these brave lads advancing under a murderous fire, with as great a steadiness as if they were in the Long Valley at Aldershot.
Moving about near the firing line requires considerable circumspection, and a fairly accurate knowledge of the disposition of troops. For lack of this, I once found myself in a most unenviable position. I had been called to bury an officer of the Guards, who had died under circumstances of singular gallantry—alas! leaving a wife and two charming children. On nearing the spot where I had been told the body was lying, I was informed that it had been arranged to convey the remains to England. There was nothing for it but to retrace one's steps, but by this time the firing which had been unpleasantly heavy on the way out, had waxed in intensity, when suddenly emerging from the shelter of a wood, I found myself between the two lines of opposing forces. A British sergeant roared lustily to me to stay where I was and lie down, and I never obeyed instruction with greater alacrity. Fortunately for me, the line of battle steadily shifted and I was enabled to ride onwards with some degree of security; but I inwardly registered a vow that in the future I would make sure of what was taking place before I rode into such a mare's nest.
The methods of warfare, as now conducted, are entirely removed from those of previous campaigns; for instance, the ranging of guns to-day is most correctly determined by aeroplanes. But not only do these war scouts render this important service; from the air they are enabled to detect the disposition of troops, gun emplacements, and all other movements of the enemy, which heretofore it has been difficult to determine.
Very frequently most thrilling duels take place between opposing aviators, and certainly nothing is more exciting than to watch such a struggle in mid air. One is lost in wonderment at the pluck and the skill of the aviators, as one sees them manœuvring for place, the while subject to heavy fire. One of the most notable aviators at that time was Commander Samson, commonly known as Captain Kettle, owing to a likeness to that far-famed character of fiction, which was to be faintly traced in the hero of real life. Commander Samson was not only a 'flyer' possessed of intrepid courage and great skill, but he further possessed an armour-plated car, in which was a high velocity gun; this he manipulated in a manner which struck terror to the German's heart; and one was not surprised to hear that the Kaiser had offered a reward of four thousand marks to the man who brought him down, or put him out of action. I enjoyed a marked illustration of his prowess one afternoon, near Hooge. A German aeroplane was sailing majestically over our lines, the observer no doubt making notes of everything which he beheld, when suddenly Samson dashed up in his car, and after very deliberate aim, hit the aircraft in the oil tank, which resulted in the whole falling to the ground a burning and crumpled mass. Such episodes appeal to the sporting nature which characterizes most men, and tend to relieve any monotony which may at times threaten to settle upon the men.
From boyhood one has delighted in reading the vivid accounts of such campaigns as the Peninsular, or Crimea; and in later days in taking part in the autumn manœuvres held in such open country as Dartmoor, or Salisbury Plain. One well remembers the fascination of watching a General, surrounded by his Staff, sending orders and receiving dispatches at the hands of his 'gallopers.' But all this has changed. No longer do we see cocked hat Generals, on the summit of rising ground, spying the position of troops through his field-glasses. To-day some of the most notable actions are fought by a General who the whole time may be three or four miles away from the seat of the struggle. Picture him, pipe in mouth, working out the movements of the troops on a large map in front of him. Every moment the Field telephone is at work; dispatch riders breathlessly deliver their messages, the while the Staff are carefully noting every fresh movement reported. Not an unnecessary word is spoken, and all hinges upon one figure whose whole attention is centred, by the aid of his vivid imagination and definite information, upon a battlefield, the ground of which he probably knows, but which at the moment is far out of sight. Such is the science of war up to date.
Since the early days of the war methods have considerably changed. Both sides have dug themselves in, until the allied lines stretch in one continuous chain of over 500 miles. The trenches to-day are monuments of masterly skill and construction. Gazing over a line of such earth fortifications—for that is what they are—from the summit of a hill, it is very difficult to realize that at one's feet there are thousands of men lying hidden from each other, but ready at a moment's notice to spring into deadly activity. An occasional shell bursts here and there, but beyond that the characteristics are apparently peaceful; such is the appearance at the present stage of warfare. But it must be always borne in mind this is only preparatory to great and far-reaching movements.
Ever and again a scrap takes place, and a few hundreds or thousands of yards of trenches are taken or lost. To the ordinary civilian mind this all seems very haphazard, but it is not so; every movement is made with a purpose, and the result carefully noted by the master mind behind the whole.
The first battle of Ypres lasted somewhere about a month. Since then other sanguinary battles have taken place on the ground which has become historic. But October and November, 1914, will ever stand in the annals of war as the occasion of one of England's greatest triumphs, for notwithstanding Germany's costly endeavours to reach the coast, she failed.
CONCERNING OFFICERS AND MEN
CHAPTER VIToC
CONCERNING OFFICERS AND MEN
In considering the constituent elements of an army, the first avenue of thought must lead to the primary essential—discipline. The realization of this most important military virtue is one of the most difficult for the young soldier to apprehend and appreciate, and yet it must underly the whole system of the army. By discipline, I do not merely mean smartness, which is involved in quick and correct response to the word of command; that, of course, is part of it; but I refer more particularly to that grip of self which enables a man to force himself into subjection to authority, which may be entirely inimical to his own will. One of the most striking illustrations of this remarkable mental condition came under my notice on October 27, 1914. I had ridden up to the front to see some of the men in my Brigade. The Grenadier and Scots Guards had for days been holding the line with dogged pluck, and now had withdrawn from the trenches for a brief respite from their most arduous duties. Falling back a mile or so, they were rejoicing in the prospect of a hot meal. Very speedily the trench fires were dug, and the dixies[2] were filled with a savoury stew; the while the men were lying about enjoying their well-earned rest. In the midst of their brief laze an urgent order came down from General Capper, commanding the men to return to the trenches immediately, as the enemy were approaching in strong force. At once the brave lads kicked out the fires and stood to attention, and moved off to a task from which many of them never returned. An eyewitness assured me that the Brigadier[3] gave the order in a voice which was broken with emotion, for he knew full well the desperate nature of the task he was setting his men. In this grand response to a most unpalatable order, the very highest discipline is noticeable; it embodies such an act of devotion to duty as reveals that mastery over self which lies at the very root of success in warfare. Such a discipline cannot fail to evoke admiration wherever it is witnessed. It is noticeable among officers and men alike, and tends to weld both in that splendid spirit of comradeship which is so peculiarly a feature of our army at the present time.
In considering the relationship of those in command and those commanded, I must deal with them separately.
(1) Officers: Many years ago—I think it was during the Crimean war—Punch gave a very admirable setting of the British officer in two phases. In one picture was a ball-room in which the whiskered exquisites of that period were seen in the mazes of a dance, and underneath was written: 'Our officers can dance.' The next picture revealed the same men charging up to the guns at the head of their men, and underneath the words: 'But by jingo they can fight too.' There is no doubt that the English officer is good at enjoying himself, and no small blame to him, but when it comes to the stern days of war, he is as keen and gallant as ever. It must have struck the most casual observer that the proportion of officer casualties during this war is entirely disproportionate to the numbers engaged. Again and again this striking fact has met with the severe stricture of those competent to judge; but it is useless to attempt to alter the glorious traditions of the English army in this respect: our officers will lead; and although it may be at a terrible cost, the results are seen in the splendid backing up of the men. In the early days of the war, on more than one occasion, I met with such a remark from working men as 'Let the rich do their bit.' I hold that they have done it, and done it magnificently. No one can read the list of casualties without being struck with the enormous number of what I may call the cultured classes which have fallen in the operations we are engaged in. Indeed, there is hardly a titled family in England but is mourning its dead. Our young officers are entering action with a wild abandonment which it is impossible to realize unless witnessed. Writing home to his people, a subaltern recently declared that he was at the top of the fulness of life. Small wonder that our men will go anywhere and do anything behind such magnificent leading as our officers are giving them.
But this splendid attribute of the British officer is not only seen amid the excitement of conflict. At the end of a weary march when all alike are fagged out and ready to throw themselves upon the earth and rest, the first consideration on the part of the officers is the men; their food, their billets; and when these important questions are dealt with, then, and not till then, with wearied frames, these gallant gentlemen begin to think of themselves. This evokes a feeling which I may not inaptly style, hero worship, on the part of the men. Frequently, in describing the glorious death of some favourite officer, a man has said to me, 'I loved him like a brother'; and this condition of regard is mutual, for it is no uncommon thing (on the occasion of the departure of the 'leave' train) to see an officer, frequently of senior rank, on spotting in the crowd a non-commissioned officer, or private, from his regiment, go up to him and with a hearty grip of the hand, say, 'Well, my lad, hope you have had a good time!' Such a state of things would, of course, be impossible in the German army, but we Englishmen have proved that the most solid foundation of a true relationship between officers and men is respect and love, and right happy are the results attained.
(2) Our men: It is not possible to speak too highly of the splendid manhood embodied in our ranks to-day. Their language is certainly reprehensible, but after all we must realize that their vocabulary is not an extensive one, and the employment of adjectives which, to a refined ear, sounds deplorable, is only used by them to describe an intensity which no other words they possess would be capable of rendering. I am, of course, not referring to blasphemy or obscenity, which is immediately checked by every right-minded man in authority.
During the whole of my experience in Flanders, I did not come across one case of drunkenness; my experience may be peculiar, but I do not think so. To begin with, there is, of course, the very strong deterrent of rigid punishment for such an offence. Again, there are not the facilities for the purchase of strong drink, such as unhappily characterizes the condition of affairs in Great Britain; but away and beyond these preventives lies the fact that every man is imbued with the idea that he must keep himself fit and 'play the game,' and the result is that at the Front to-day we have a sober army. I cannot too strongly warn the men who are at home, preparing for the Front, to watch themselves closely in this respect, and for the following reasons:—
(a) A man who drinks renders himself physically unfit for the tremendous strain involved by a campaign. A short time ago I was travelling in France, from General Head-quarters to Bailleul, and riding past a certain Brigade which had landed two days prior, I was struck with the very considerable portion of men who had fallen out on the march. This was partly due to the very painful process of marching over cobbled stones to which they were new, but I knew full well that it was also attributable to the fact of the soft condition which some of the foolish fellows were in, through the unwise use of stimulants in the near past.
(b) Sobriety is an absolute essential, for again and again the security of a Platoon, a Company, a Battalion, a Brigade, or even of Division, may depend upon the alertness of a sentinel.
We observe, therefore, the urgent importance of a man placed in so responsible a position being in the fullest possession of his powers of mind and body; therefore, I say with emphasis, and I say it to every man going out, keep clear of the drink.
One cannot fail to be struck with the supineness of certain Generals who, possessing the power of placing public houses out of bounds, excepting for one hour morning and evening, yet allow the men under their command to soak in bar parlours for hours at a time. There are magnificent exceptions to this, and all honour to those Divisional Commanders who have taken the trouble to ascertain the conditions of social life under which their men exist when off duty, and who make adequate provision for the ordinary means of recreation and enjoyment.
But to pass to the men of whom we are all so justly proud. Their cheerfulness is truly remarkable, and indeed it requires somewhat of the spirit of a Mark Tapley to 'stick it' in such weather as characterized the campaign of last winter.
Their hopefulness, too, is a glorious possession, and a grand incentive to any man. Nil desperandum is the watch-word which flashes down the ranks of our men, even in the tightest corners.
Their courage! who can describe it? for it stands at the very apex of human glory. Again and again the enemy has paid admiring tribute to the splendid dash and invincible determination evinced by our men. I am confident that if it were only a question of man against man, the war would speedily be ended.
I have had many opportunities of watching the fortitude of our brave lads. I should be sorry indeed to attempt to describe what one has witnessed in field dressing stations; suffice it to say that in moments of greatest agony I have seen men bite their lips almost to the flow of blood, rather than emit a groan. Such are the men to whom England has committed her honour, her prestige, even her destiny; and the commission has not been made in vain.
In dealing with 'our men' it would be a serious omission not to pay a tribute to the remarkable collection of Imperial manhood which is now gathered together under our flag. I need not refer to the Canadians or Australians, for they are of our own flesh and blood, but the Indian soldier deserves a word of high appreciation. Side by side with his white brother in arms he has fought magnificently. True, his methods of warfare are different, but in their own particular manner they are just as effective. One of their officers described to me the very great relish with which the Ghurkas approach a German trench. Slinking over the ground with the stealthiness of tigers, kukri between their teeth, they lie silently under the thrown up earth, then flipping a piece of dirt into the air, wait for the German's head to be suspiciously raised; a flash of the keen knife, and the German ceases to exist! No wonder that such men are regarded with terror by the Huns. One day, when a batch of prisoners were brought in, an Indian approached one of them with a broad grin; displaying his teeth, which shone like pearls, he proceeded to show his good feeling towards the German by stroking the man, as a token of amity; but the poor fellow before him imagined that he was seeking a soft place in which to insert his deadly knife, and fairly howled with terror.
From a military point of view one of the strangest aspects of this campaign has been the little use made of cavalry during the first battle of Ypres, and indeed right up to the present the horses of our cavalry have, for the most part, not been required. It was strange to see the Household Cavalry working in the trenches side by side with infantry of the Line, but doing their work as effectively, and uncomplainingly, as any other section of the army.
As the winter draws on apace, the heart of England will once more open in a response to the necessary comforts which her brave sons call for at her hands, and for which they will not call in vain. Let me give a few hints: Tobacco and cigarettes are, of course, always in demand, and under the peculiar circumstances of this nerve-racking campaign, are more or less of a necessity. Socks, too, are needed, for whether the weather is hot or cold, socks will wear out. The men dearly love sweets, such as toffee, chocolate, peppermints. Cardigan jackets—not too heavy—are largely called for; a packet containing writing paper, envelopes and an indelible pencil are very acceptable; woollen sleeping helmets, and, of course, mittens will not be refused; boracic acid powder for sore feet; anything to do with a shaving outfit (especially safety razors) are gladly welcomed. From country districts a local paper means a great deal to a man, for it keeps him in touch with home affairs. But above all, keep up a regular correspondence with your men; it is difficult for the home folk to realize how much a letter means. A striking object lesson is afforded on the arriving of a mail, by the hurried withdrawal of the fortunate receivers of letters from the mail bag, like the lions at the Zoo which, on receiving their food, withdraw to enjoy it in solitude. In a word, our men are worth all you can do for them; do not spare yourselves in alleviating the inevitable discomforts, privations and trails which are involved in such work as they have set themselves to accomplish.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Dixies: camp kettles.
[3] Brigadier-General Ruggles Brise, who was very badly wounded shortly afterwards, and returned to England.
THE WORK OF A CHAPLAIN IN THE FIELD
CHAPTER VIIToC
THE WORK OF A CHAPLAIN IN THE FIELD
In the care of an army on active service the most complete arrangements exist for every requirement of the soldier. As far as possible nothing is omitted that will conduce to his comfort, well-being and usefulness.
His food is, as we have already seen, most scientifically devised.
His equipment is adjusted on the most anatomical principles.
His arms are the most up to date that science and money can provide.
His medical and surgical supplies are the most perfect that science can apply.
And not least, his spiritual needs are increasingly well attended to. There are over six hundred chaplains now in the field.
Many people have queer notions as to the methods and objects of a chaplain's work. Some years ago I was on my way to conduct a Mission in Yorkshire, when I happened to meet an R.A.M.C. friend. On my telling him of the errand upon which I was bound, he expressed some surprise, and displayed complete ignorance as to the character of my intending duty. Accordingly I endeavoured to remove his ignorance by establishing a parallel between his work and mine. I pointed out that in the visitation of the hospital wards at Aldershot he doubtless became interested in his patients, especially any uncommon or obstinate cases, and to these he would pay especial attention, applying every specific which lay within his knowledge. In pursuance of my purpose I then proceeded to point out that a clergyman's work proceeded upon precisely the same scientific lines. First of all a diagnosis of the difficulties was made, then the specific was applied, but with this difference; medical science is again and again beaten by the ignorance of the precise remedy to apply, even presuming that it has been discovered; whereas the clergyman sets before his patient the unfailing Christ, Who is sufficient for every need of sinful man. I left him I hope somewhat enlightened as to the definite character of a clergyman's ministry. The difficulty of my friend is much the same as that experienced by a large number of people as regards the work of a padré in the field. Let me set before you the different phases of the work which commonly fall within the allotted sphere of a chaplain's duty at the Front.
To begin with there are now two[4] chaplains appointed to a Brigade (in the early days of the war there was only one, and he was usually attached to a Field Ambulance), the one is more particularly responsible for the active men of the Brigade, whilst the other works with the Field Ambulance. (Each Brigade consists of from three to five thousand men and has a Field Ambulance attached to it.)
(1) As occasion offers church parades are held, to which the attendance is compulsory. But many a time the padré will arrange voluntary services of the most informal character; in barns, in a wood, sometimes in the reserve trenches. The chaplain, by order, has no right in the firing trenches except on urgent duties: such as ministering to the men, or conducting funerals.
(2) Men who are communicants greatly value the Means of Grace, and possibly the great sacrament of the Lord's Supper is never administered under more remarkable circumstances than at the Front. At times the setting of the service is of the very crudest form, but none the less it is highly prized. I know full well the objection that is felt by some clergy to Evening Communion, but in the British Expeditionary Force at times it is absolutely necessary, unless the Church is prepared to practically excommunicate men for a longer or shorter period. I may add that personally I have no sympathy with limiting the Means of Grace instituted by our Blessed Redeemer to any particular hour of the day, and certainly the Divine Institution was made after the Last Supper, or during that meal.
(3) One of the saddest features of the padré's round of duty is the burial of the dead. Funerals often take place in the firing line, or immediately behind it, when, of course, the ceremony is of the very briefest duration. At others the remains of the brave dead are interred in the nearest cemetery, but in either case, as far as possible, a cross is placed on the grave recording the name, number and regiment of the interred. The visitation of the dying, especially during a 'push,' entails a great deal of time on the part of the chaplain. If the dying man is conscious and realizes his position, there will be the last messages for the loved ones at home; the disposition of property; the setting right of some existent wrong; for as the moment of dissolution approaches, men's minds are usually keenly alive to the urgency of the position.
(4) One of the most harrowing duties is ministering to the wounded, especially in the Field Dressing Station of an Ambulance, where the men are first attended to after being brought in from the field. Their condition is often indescribable, and opportunities of a word of comfort abound. Even as a man lies upon the table, his wounds being probed and dressed, the Message of God, coupled sometimes with so material a solace as the placing of a cigarette between the lips of the sufferer, will help him to bear his agony. In Casualty Clearing and Base Hospitals there are, of course, always a number of sick to be visited, and this work falls within the region of ordinary civilian hospital work. In many cases where a man is first hit and he is not in a too collapsed condition, his first thought is of home; and a painful anxiety is often evinced by the sufferer to get a message through, describing his condition, before his name appears in the casualty list; for, unhappily, no distinction is made in the published lists between slight and serious cases.
(5) All this involves a large amount of correspondence on the part of the chaplain, and there are busy times when a 'scrap' is proceeding. Every spare moment is occupied with writing letters for those who are unable to do so themselves. On the top of all his other work the padré is constantly receiving letters from home, asking him as to the whereabouts of this or that man, who may be dead, wounded or missing; and this phase of the work of itself takes up a great deal of time.
(6) A not unimportant duty which falls to a chaplain's lot is the recreation of the men, and if he is a good sort he will endeavour, during periods of rest, to enliven the lot of his men with sing-songs, boxing competitions, football matches, athletic sports, etc., etc.—anything to buck up the men and keep them cheery. In addition to this, many nondescript duties fall to the chaplain's lot. Sometimes he is mess president, and that will give him an anxious half hour. The solicitude of a young wife who asked a matron of mature experience as to the best method of keeping the affection of her husband and preserving his interest in the home, was answered by, 'Feed the brute.' A mess president knows to the full what this means. The padré will sometimes have difficult and perchance dangerous work allotted to him, such as carrying messages under fire, or tending wounded men in exposed places. He must also be prepared to lend a hand in carrying the wounded; and, in short, render himself as useful as possible, and thus prove himself a friend of officer and man.
The question is often asked, 'Should a chaplain be under fire?' It is impossible to avoid it if he is serving troops under fire, and he must take his chance with every one else. Many times I have been asked, 'Were you afraid?' I am only a normal person, not conspicuous for undue pluck on the one hand, or, I hope, undue funk on the other, but I never got over my fear; of course one grew accustomed to the deadly visitants which were constantly in our midst. After all, if there is no fear, there is no courage. I sometimes hear of men, of whom it is said, 'They do not know what fear is.' Well, if that is so, such an individual is devoid of courage, for the very essence of courage consists in the appreciation of fear, and a persistence in duty notwithstanding. Doctor Johnson was passing through a cathedral when he noticed a tomb on which was written, 'Here lies the body of a man who never knew fear.' 'Then,' said the witty Doctor, 'he never tried to snuff a lighted candle with his fingers.' General Gordon has told us that he was always subject to fear. 'For my part,' he once said, 'I am always frightened and very much so.' And yet no one in history has a reputation more honestly earned for this real kind of courage, a courage won by personal victory over fear. Herein lies the essence of the experience of the vast majority of our men; fearing fire, and loathing it as they do, they yet 'stick' it, because it is their duty.
It is astonishing how soon one grows accustomed to death at the Front. It cannot well be otherwise; the man you have been chatting to five minutes before is presently borne along dead. The officer who was the life and soul of the mess on the previous night, in some ruined farmhouse, is gone before the morning; and as a man well put it, 'Dying men out here are as common as falling leaves in autumn.'
The religious atmosphere at the Front is unique. I can hardly say that there is what one may term a general turning to God, but certainly the realization of the nearness of God and eternity are very present to most men's minds. As a man said up at the Front, 'Out here every man puts up some kind of a prayer every night.' The superficial scepticism which is so largely ethical, or the result of indifference, and which is assumed by many men in England, has no hold at the Front. One of our best known Bishops was telling me when I met him 'somewhere in France' that a short time back he was about to conduct a service in a hospital ward, in his own city, and upon handing a hymn-book to one of the patients lying in bed, he was met with, 'Thank you, I would rather not, I am an agnostic' Hearing this, the man in the next bed raised himself up on his elbow, and looking at the objector, tersely remarked, 'You silly young fool, a week at the trenches would take that nonsense out of you.' Undoubtedly our men are being awakened to the tremendous reality of eternal verities, and it behoves us to help them all we can. In this respect the experience of the padré is intensely happy; no work on which he engages is more fruitful than that of upholding Christ before men who have come near the end of their earthly course. Said an officer to me—who had just been brought in badly wounded, and I had written to his wife assuring her that all was being done to alleviate his suffering and to effect his recovery (which happily took place)—'Padré, I have been a wild man all my life, but last night as I lay wounded in the trenches, for the first time I realized God, and perfect peace came into my heart.'
A captain in the Guards, badly hit through the lungs with shrapnel, demanded a good bit of my attention. When he was sent to the Base I hardly thought that he would survive the journey; however, in due course he reached England. Some months afterwards I received a letter from his mother, stating that her boy was slowly climbing back to recovery, and thanking me for what I had been able to do for him; which was little enough. At the bottom of the letter was a postscript: 'My darling boy died at twelve to-day. Just before he passed away he said, "Mother, I am in perfect peace with God. Give my love to padré."' Those are the kind of things that make a man thank God for having volunteered to do one's 'bit' in that particular line of life in which he has been placed. No work is grander than a chaplain's; but I must lay it down as a general axiom, that no man should undertake this particular kind of work unless he knows that he is charged with a message from God.
In the Neuve Chapelle dispatch, Sir John French writes: 'I have once more to remark upon the devotion to duty, courage and contempt of danger which has characterized the work of the chaplains throughout this campaign.' The padré's work is not to fight; indeed, he is not armed (anyhow, he is not allowed to be by the authorities); and certainly one of the difficulties experienced is to withhold oneself as one sees the brave lads go to their daring and glorious work.