Chapter 14 - Page 2

rebuilding their flimsy dugouts, and then returning to their reserve lines, always leaving behind them in hastily dug graves over the parados of their trenches, or in the little improvised cemeteries by Hooge, or Maple Copse or Hill 60, a few more of their comrades, and ever sending down the line their maimed and broken to be refitted for war or discharged again to civilian life. It was altogether a ghastly business, a kind of warfare calling for an endurance of the finest temper and a courage of the highest quality.

From this grim and endless test of endurance, the Canadians had discovered a form of relief known as a "trench raid," a special development of trench warfare which later came to be adopted by their comrades of the French and British armies. It was a form of sport, grim enough, deadly enough, greatly enjoyed by the Canadian soldiers; and the battalion which had successfully pulled off a trench raid always returned to its lines in a state of high exaltation. They had been able to give Fritz a little of what they had been receiving during these weary months.

While the battalion waited with ever-growing impatience for the order that would send them "up the line," a group of officers was gathered in the senior major's hut for the purpose of studying in detail some photographs, secured by our aircraft, of the enemy trenches immediately opposite their own sector of the front line. They had finished their study, and were engaged in the diverting and pleasant exercise of ragging each other. The particular subject of that discussion was their various sprinting abilities, and the comparative usefulness of various kinds of funk-holes as a protection against "J.J.s" (Jack Johnsons), "whizzbangs," or the uncertain and wobbling "minniewafers."

Seldom had Barry found occasion to call upon Major Bustead, with whom he had been unable to establish anything more than purely formal relations. A message, however, from the orderly room to Lieutenant Cameron, which he undertook to deliver, brought him to the senior major's hut.

"Come in, padre," said the major, who of late had become more genial, "and tell us the best kind of a funk-hole for a 'minniewafer.'"

"The deepest and the closest for me, major, I should say," said Barry, "from what I have heard of those uncertain and wobbling beasts."

"I understand that chaplains do not accompany their battalions to the front line, but stay back at the casualty clearing stations," suggested the major. "Wise old birds, they are, too." The major had an unpleasant laugh.

"I suppose they go where they are ordered, sir," replied Barry, "but if you will excuse me, I have here a chit for Lieutenant Cameron, sir, which has just come in," and Barry handed Cameron his message.

"Will you allow me, sir?" said