Lacey Amy in Saturday Night

W. Lacey Amy articles in SATURDAY NIGHT magazine

“Segregating the Canadians.” October 28, 1916, p.21.

“The Canadian Incubus.” November 11, 1916, p. 21.

“The Popular English Pastime: playing with food prices.” November 25, 1916, p. 25.

“The London Theatre.” December 9, 1918, p. 25.

“Crisis ad Infinitum.” January 6, 1917, p. 2.

“Asquithian Warfare: showing why the Old Government in England did not get along with the war.” January 20, 1917, p. 2.

“Doctoring - Men and Things: concerning the whys and wherefores of the report that condemned Col. Bruce’s report, and incidentally ‘whitewashed’ the Medical Administration in England.” February 3, 1917, p. 2.

“The Georgian Way: how the Little Welsh Premier has organized his Little Government for work.” March 10, 1917, p. 2.

“Looking for the Facts in the Face: how British people are meeting submarine piracy.” April 21, 1917, p. 2.

“How John Bull Is Tightening His Belt.” May 19, 1917, p. 2.

“Snags the British Government Strikes.” June 16, 1917, p. 2.

“How Food Control in Britain Fell Down: the reasons why Lord Davenport’s administration failed utterly - a lesson for Canada as to how not to do it.” July 14, 1917, p 2.

“Trying to Foil Air Raiders.” September 1, 1917, p. 2.

“The Conscientious Objectors: Great Britain has hundreds in jail, but thousands still at large.” September 15, 1917. p. 2

From

The Life and Opinions of William Lacey Amy

a Forgotten Canadian Writer

by

Claudio Murri 1985.

Other articles may exist. Perhaps there is an index to Saturday Night magazine?

An Interplanetary Rupture

An Inter-planetary Rupture

by Frank Lucius Packard

from The Blue Book Magazine, December 1906.

Digitized by Doug Frizzle, December 2016.

This may be the earliest Science Fiction story by any Canadian author. Frank Packard (February 2, 1877 – February 17, 1942). He is best known for his Jimmy Dale mystery series.

On the Eleventh Day of August, in the year of our Lord three thousand one hundred and two, the city of Washington, capital of the World, was the scene of unusual commotion. Rumors of the rupture with Mercury were current. It was true that Earth’s minister to that planet had not been recalled, and that Mercury’s ambassador was still in Washington; but this in no way disguised the fact that relations between the two planets were strained to their breaking point.

The enormous Edifice of Deliberations, erected at a cost of one billion of dollars, teemed with bustling humanity, and emanated a sense of tremendous activity.

The House of Delegates was in continuous session. Speeches of members from the States of Russia, Germany, France, and South America were warlike in their tone, rising to a white heat of eloquence to lose some of their intensity against the milder and more prudent counsel of the honorable members from England, America, China, and Japan. Yet from all, even to the smaller States of Holland and Belgium, there was an undertone that plainly evidenced the fact that the Assembly of the World would brook no humiliation.

In the circular chamber that occupied the eastern wing of the building the Supreme Council of Earth were seated: twelve men, the clearest, shrewdest brains upon the Globe. The room was bare of decoration save that from the ceiling hung festooned the national banner, the flag of the World, blood red with a white dove in its center, adopted A.D. two thousand five hundred and thirty-two, at the confederation of Earth’s divisions into one vast nation under one government and one Head.

The Head, Mr. Sasoa, was speaking with great calmness: “Gentlemen.” He said. “Interference with the astral Mizar is unquestionably a casus belli. Ceded to us by interplanetary treaty in two thousand nine hundred and seventy, Mercury’s present action cannot be considered in any light but one of impertinent intrusion upon our sovereign rights.” The members of the cabinet bowed their heads in grave assent.

The Most Honorable Mr. Sasoa then continued: “It has never been Earth’s desire to pursue a policy of colonization: to extend her lawful boundaries of empire beyond her own immediate sphere. You are all thoroughly conversant with the conditions that brought Mizar under our government and control. For over an hundred years this dependency has been wisely and prudentially governed, and today I believe we are justified in asserting that our rule has been efficacious, not only to our own commerce, but to the welfare of the universe at large.

“Mizar’s value as a strategical base is incalculable, and realizing this, Mercury has stopped at nothing to possess himself of this astral. The trickery that has at last resulted in Mizar’s petition to Mercury to be received as his dependency, and their coincident refutation of this government’s authority is but the culmination of the despicable policy Mercury has pursued.

“Gentlemen, you are here assembled for the gravest duty that has ever fallen to the lot of an Earther. I hold in my hand an ultimatum from Mercury, received within the hour, demanding that our forces be withdrawn from Mizar ex tempore. It now becomes your solemn duty to pass upon this document. The House of Delegates is awaiting our decision, and I believe I may say without hesitation that they will ratify any determination we may arrive at.”

The Most Honorable Mr. Sasoa resumed his seat in an unbroken silence.

During half an hour no word was spoken. The document passed from member to member, whose lips, as he handed it to his neighbor, set in a hardened line of grim determination. The examination completed and the paper again in the possession of the Head, all eyes were turned upon the Minister of War.

Acknowledging the unspoken request, General William K. Parsons rose from his seat. His face was drawn and haggard from a sleepless night, his voice, though stern, wavered a little from the stress of emotion that possessed him, as he said solemnly:

“Most Honorable Head, and Gentlemen, I vote for war.”

He raised his hand to quell the outburst of enthusiasm his declaration had evoked.

“I vote for war, Gentlemen,” he repeated; “but with perhaps a truer knowledge of exact conditions than is possessed by the majority of those present. Mercury has chosen his time well. At the first glance it would appear that in event of war it would be fought out around Mizarian space. That is not so. The battleground will be our own planet Earth and the space immediately surrounding us.

“Through pretext of extended maneuvers, Mercury has assembled within instant striking distance of Mizar four hundred of the heaviest ships in his aerial navy. Opposed to which are fifty of our vessels at present awaiting orders at Mizar’s capital.

“Roughly speaking, Mercury’s navy comprises 2,000 ships against our total available force of 1,000. He will not, however, dare to send against us more than 1,500, as the balance he will require for the protection of his astral colonies and his own planet. With this superior force arrayed against us, we cannot hope to defend both Mizar and Earth.

“I said that he had chosen his time well. We must bear in mind the fact that this year Mercury makes his transit, during which he will pass not only between the sun, and ourselves but equally between Mizar and ourselves.

“While I am of course aware that Mercury is greatly inferior in size to ourselves; still we must remember that the large number of colonies be­longing to him, coupled with his huge navy, make him a most formidable opponent In this respect I might liken him to your ancestors, Mr. Cham­berlain,” he said, bowing gracefully to the honorable member from the State of England, “when before the confederation England was a nation.

“I have but one more word to say. Should we declare for war our ships must be immediately withdrawn from Mizar until the transit shall be accomplished. Our fleets abroad at Saturn, Mars Jupiter, Venus, Uranus and Neptune have already been aerographed rendezvous with all speed at Tokio, St. Petersburg, London, New York, and San Francisco for supplies.”

As General Parsons ceased speaking, the honorable member on his left, and after him in rotation each member of the council, rose, and in solemn tones repeated the General’s formula:

“I vote for war.”

“The decision is unanimous,” announced the Head. “It but remains to transmit the result of our deliberations to the House of Delegates.”

With a mighty shout that body passed the vote. Members standing upon their desks in a frenzy of patriotism sang the national anthem. The die was cast—the Earth at war.

The Secretary of State, in his official aerocar and attended by his suite, landed upon the residential roof of the Mercurian ambassador to acquaint him with Earth’s reply to his government’s ultimatum. That astute diplomat suavely expressed “his unspeakable regret” at the unfortunate termination of the affair; turned the business of his embassy over to the Minister from Saturn, and left the Earth with all speed. Meanwhile the Earth’s ambassador to Mercury had received his instructions to transmit to that government the World’s emphatic refusal to comply with their demands; that duty accomplished to repair at once to Washington.

At the expiration of two days, the admiral commanding the Mizarian squadron had reported at the war office in Washington. Closely following him within a few hours were the fleets from Venus and Mars. That of Jupiter might be expected in eight days, while the few detached vessels doing duty in far Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune had their return orders countermanded as their combined strength would not be of material aid, and it was feared that they might fall into the hands of the enemy; besides, as their voyage would consume from three to six weeks, it was hoped that ere then the crisis would be passed.

On the morning of the 15th, reports had reached the war office from every officer commanding squadrons that his respective detachment was ready for duty. At 10 a.m. of that day orders were issued for immediate mobilization of all fleets at Washington. At 3:30 p.m. General Parsons entered the assembly hall in the House of Delegates, where the admirals were awaiting him. They rose respectfully as he took his place upon the dais.

“Gentlemen,” he said abruptly, “you will be seated. I have called you together that you may understand the general plan of campaign. We have reason to believe that the enemy’s attack will not be made before the 24th of the month, perhaps not until the 25th. In other words, at a time immediately preceding that period when his base is in closest proximity to Earth, thus placing him in a position to utilize every available unit of strength of which he is possessed. At his transit then, we must expect the crucial stroke. Should that fail him, he must be obliged to withdraw as his base recedes. This will leave us free to turn our attention to Mizar, as we in turn shall have the advantage in respect to distance with our stellar dependency, whose position relative to ourselves does not, as you are well aware, change.

“I desire to caution you on no account to risk unnecessarily a single unit that we can ill spare. You may rest assured that in any event you will have an opportunity of measuring strength with the enemy.

“You will at once take up position and governing yourselves by atmospheric conditions, maintain an altitude that will enable you to observe the enemy’s planet to the best advantage. By cruising at the same rate of speed as the Earth’s axial velocity, but in the opposite direction, you will, making such corrections as Mercury’s movements demand, preserve a position which will of necessity intercept the enemy’s attack. You will report at frequent intervals to the war office and final orders will be issued to you when the enemy’s approach has been signaled from the observatories. To your stations, gentlemen, and may the Supreme Power guide you.”

Within the hour 883 mighty engines of destruction rose like gigantic birds, and for an instant steeped the city in a dim twilight as they hung suspended over it; then forming in parallel columns they were swallowed up in space.

Immediately following the departure of the fleet, General Parsons made a rapid inspection of Earth’s fortifications. Surrounding each city of the World at regular intervals of the sixth part of a circle were the batteries, stored with ammunition, capable of throwing their enormous missiles of deadly destructiveness with equally deadly precision a distance in the perpendicular equal to the space governed by the law of gravitation; within which range the enemy must of necessity approach to make their attack effective.

On the 20th, General Parsons reported to the council that every method of defense was in perfect condition and that the result was in the hands of a Higher Power.

On the 22nd, a tramp freighter badly battered, her two forward aeroplanes shot completely away and her hull riddled like a sieve, reported herself from Mizar after an almost miraculous escape. Her captain, in his statement to the authorities, said that the enemy had occupied the entire astral and were busily engaged in erecting new fortifications. Private authentic advices via Venus and Hecklon, on the next day confirmed the report and added that Mercury was massing his entire fleet together with an enormous number of transports, preparatory to an extended and decisive movement.

Daily the excitement had grown, tremendous in its intensity, until it reached its height; gradually giving way to a patient and calm state of fortitude to accept the future as it should unfold itself. The thought transmitters of the great journalistic syndicate, with precision and dispatch, kept every Earther informed of each minute detail leading up to the momentous crisis soon to be experienced.

So by this means the world learned that on the 23rd the observatories had reported the face of Mercury obscured for a time as if somebody had come between it and the Earth’s line of vision. This could only be con­strued as signifying that the Mercurian fleet was in its way. Immediately following this announcement; the admiral commanding the World’s fleet reported a decided and increasing attraction of his polarity needles towards Mercury, indicating an immense aggregation of metallic bodies in space rapidly approaching.

General Parsons received this dispatch with a grim smile. All that man could do he had done. Massed aboard 5,000 transports, distributed at the different World centers and capable of being mobilized at a few moments notice, was an army totaling ten million men. Should the enemy effect a landing they would at least experience a stubborn resistance. He ran the various details rapidly over in his mind, then in a few sharp, clear sentences he dictated his final orders to his chief of staff for transmission to the admiral commanding.

At 3 a.m. on the morning of the 25th, reports began to pour into the war office. At 4 a.m. it was established beyond question that the invading host would make contact with the Earth’s boundary of gravitation at a point directly over the city of New York. Obviously it was the enemy’s intention to make that the point of attack.

For the first time in many weary, anxious hours General Parsons permitted a smile of satisfaction to light up his countenance. To attack New York would bring the Mercurian fleet within range of all batteries bounded by Boston, Providence, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. No more auspicious move could be made for the defenders of Earth.

Messages were instantly dispatched to the transport fleets to mobilize on the Jersey shore, and there General Parsons, accompanied by his staff, at once repaired to assume personal command.

At ten minutes before five, a dispatch from the admiral commanding stated that he was within striking distance of the enemy, whose fleet consisted of close to 1,400 men-of-war, convoying an enormous number of transports.

The first gray streaks of dawn were suddenly obliterated. The chief of staff swirled from the instruments.

“The enemy is within range, sir.”

The next instant General Parsons pressed the key connecting with the district batteries. A moment later and the World trembled as if in the throes of a mighty earthquake. The batteries of twenty cities had opened fire, launching one hundred thousand tons of vast explosive full in the face of the advancing host. For two minutes Earth’s miniature volcanoes belched forth their deadly hail.

“What is the effect of the fire?” Demanded the General.

“Observers report heavy damage, sir,” replied the chief of staff, “a number of vessels sunk and many in apparent distress. The enemy is seeking refuge in a lower altitude and is already out of range of all batteries but New York’s.”

One by one the batteries had ceased firing as their range was exhausted, until only the guns from New York continued the bombardment. General Parsons from the deck of his dispatch boat swept the scene before him with his glasses. The enemy had changed their formation. Their battleships were now above to cover their transports as they landed beneath them.

Less than a mile and a half away Earth’s merchant ships, swarming with men, were drawn up on the qu vive for action, while, in a huge circle around the enemy, Earth’s men-of-war were sweeping with incredible speed, silently, grimly, waiting only the command that should launch them into a conflict of frightful carnage.

As the Mercurian transports touched the ground preparatory to dis­gorging their men, General Parsons swung sharply round:

“Order New York to stop firing and the fleet to attack from above,” was his quick, decisive command.

Even as he spoke, in execution of his order, there was a lull as New York’s batteries became silent, another instant, and a continuous and steadily increasing roar as the guns of ship after ship of Earth’s navy came into action.

The Mercurian admiral, seeing the damage that his transports would of necessity sustain from the battle raging over their heads, and secure in the belief that they were well able to take care of themselves until he could dispose of Earth’s navy, so heavily outnumbered by his own, fell into the trap that General Parsons had skillfully laid for him. And as if to remove any hesitancy from his mind, at that moment Earth’s fleet broke and fled incontinently. The enemy pursued them in hot haste.

The moment General Parsons had been waiting for had arrived. If the enemy’s navy outnumbered his own, their transports were numerically inferior to Earth’s, an advantage he meant to utilize to the utmost.

From where they had lain hidden in the rear, one hundred of the heaviest battleships of Earth’s navy rose like vultures, and swinging into line swept forward with irresistible ferocity upon the enemy’s troopships. The effect of the maneuver was fearful in its result. The battleships plowed through and through the densely packed transports, their heavy armor plate crushing vessel after vessel, transforming them into hideous, misshapen sepulchers. Once, twice, and again, with pitiless fury, the battleships dashed into the midst of the enemy throwing them into disastrous confusion, leaving behind them a havoc indescribable: a vessel torn in twain; an unrecognizable conglomeration of wreckage, from whose depths emanated the heart-rending shrieks of the dying, shrill out-cries of pain and terror, anguish and horror from tortured souls, and in fearful contrast the awful stillness of the mangled dead

And now General Parsons had ordered a general-advance. The breaches made in the enemy’s ship ranks were speedily filled by Earth’s advancing transport line, so that before any considerable body of the Mercurian army had effected a landing, the Earthers were locked ship to ship with their adversaries, the crews and troops engaging in a hand-to-hand melee. In front and rear, on either flank, swarmed the remainder of Earth’s transports, welding the whole into one compact mass of bloody carnage.

The strategy of the movement was apparent. In response to the urgent appeals for aid from the commander of the Mercurian army, the enemy’s fleet, now hotly engaged by the admiral commanding the Earth’s warships, made back to protect his transports. Finding it impossible to make any attack on his enemy without endangering his own army, the Mercurian admiral signaled his confrere to join him.

In response to this command the vessels not already disabled rose slowly, while Earth’s ships clung to them like barnacles, fighting desperately for a mastery that spelled their very existence.

Above the battling transports as they rose was a scene beyond the power of man to pen. Fighting with unparalleled savagery, Earth’s navy was pressing the attack with splendid brilliancy.

The huge engines of destruction rushed at each other with terrific speed, to recoil from the shock battered and stunned and helpless, to reel and turn and sink in hideous gyrations from the dizzy height, crushing themselves into unrecognizable shapes on the ground beneath.

And above the roaring and flashing of the guns, the wild, hard, pitiful cries of the dying, came the deeper toned note of nature’s protest as peal on peal of thunder shook the air. Across a sky now turned to inky blackness, great forked tongues or lightning leaped and twisted and turned, lighting up in awful splendor a ghastly hell of unutterable chaos.

With the advent of the transports, the Mercurian line of battle was thrown into disorder. General Parsons, with the advantage his superiority of numbers gave him, had cleverly maneuvered to force them into the midst of the enemy’s battleships.

The admiral commanding Earth’s fleet, now joined by the detachment that had already done such gallant service with General Parsons, swept down upon the confusion. Above, below, on either side the Earthers swarmed, picking out their antagonists to pour a withering fire upon them. Desperately the Mercurian admiral struggled to withdraw his ships and reform his line of battle. The transports blocked every move. Most of the enemy’s troopships were now in General Parsons’ hands, and in their vast numbers and stubborn disregard for life were hemming in and separating the Mercurian men-of-war from each other. As these huge fighting machines in their fury turned upon their puny antagonists to sweep them from their path, another and ever after that another transport would take the place of its disabled mate; now rising in the air above to allow themselves to fall crashing full across a warship’s deck, now ramming from below and now from either side, until here and there, succumbing to the attack, a mighty battleship, wounded, disabled, battered and stricken, heeled slowly over and pitching forward went hurl­ing Earthwards; a testimony of the indomitable valor of General Parson’s command.

Again and again, with bewildering rapidity, General Parsons would withdraw from the attack to allow Earth’s fleet to dash into the fray. Again and again the same tactics were employed and with each onslaught the savage fury was redoubled, the slaughter multiplied a hundredfold.

All through that awful day and into the still more fearsome night the conflict waged with unabated vigor. In its trail across the American continent the storm-blown fleets scattered blood, tributes to the grim earnestness of war.

There in the drear recess of a mountain canon, or perchance upon a wide and desolate plain, a once proud ship had fallen. And as its poor frame quivered in the throes of death, so its imprisoned dead joined with it as sacrificial offerings upon the dear altar of patriotism.

Here full across a city street, or mayhap upon the roofs of houses, settling where they had plunged in headlong flight, lay queer ghostly shapes well befitting their new use as casements for the dead. Hideously twisted walls of pale phosphorescent metal that in the night-light shimmered balefully; things that once had vaunted proudly their planet’s flag.

The people huddling together in little knots and crowds, exposed to the storm that beat them pitilessly, gazed upon the scene that passed above their heads with a fear that blanched men’s faces to a ghastly white, while women sobbed and moaned in a delirium of fright. The children clinging at their knees sought comfort from the nameless dread that paralysed their very lips, and seeking comfort, found in their mothers’ faces a cause for terror beyond any they had ever known.

And, as if in mockery of the mimic show of man, the battle of the elements grew apace until the watchers drew back with shuddering, soul-sick awe before the manifestation of Almighty Heaven’s wrath, and turning from it, ran, hiding their eyes to shut out the terror that gripped their souls, and with trembling, bated breath prayed God to bring the dawn.

At last the morning broke, and with it came the beginning of the end. The enemy’s last sullen stand was all but over, their resistance almost done. Suddenly, even as the Earthers’ cheers acclaimed the hour of victory, a little dispatch boat rose high in the air, turned rapidly, and made with all speed for Washington. Upon her deck the surgeons were bending anxiously over the unconscious form of General Parsons.

Hours later the weary physicians sighed in relief. The General’s eyes opened to glance questioningly at the faces around him.

“Tell me,” he said.

They took his hands and pressed them. The surgeon-general stooping over him whispered the one word: “Victory!”

General Parsons’ countenance lighted up for an instant with a gleam of joy. Then he turned his head away. The features that had been set in inexorable determination in the battle softened with infinite sadness; the eyes that had so sternly viewed the frightful slaughter, brimmed with tears.

“At what a cost,” he murmured.

“Oh, God! At what a cost.”

Three months later in the circular chamber that occupied the eastern wing of the Edifice of Deliberations, the Council of Earth were seated. Upon the table before them was spread an official document.

The Head, Mr. Sasoa, was speaking:

“Gentlemen,” he said, “you are here assembled to pass upon the proposed treaty with Mercury as prepared by our commissioners. You are familiar with the contents. Those points insisted upon by our delegates have been ceded to us. Will you ratify this treaty? Will you vote for peace or war?”

General Parsons rose slowly to his feet.

“Most Honorable Head, and Gentlemen,” he said, quietly, “I vote for peace.”

The honorable member on his left, and after him in rotation each member of the council, rose, and in solemn tones repeated the general’s formula:

“I vote for peace.”

In the silence that followed, Mr. Sasoa drew the document toward him, then the scratching of his pen proclaimed the ratification of the “Second Treaty of Washington.”

Hell at Hooge

That Particular Hell at Hooge

From The Canadian Magazine, Toronto, September 1916, No. 5, Vol. XLVII

With Canadians from the Front

By Lacey Amy

A Series of articles, of which this, the first, depicts the grim, revengeful determination of the Princess Pats in “That Particular Hell at Hooge.”

Map from Wikipedia; originally Canadian War Museum, George Metcalf Archival Collection/drf

  

He was seated on the edge of a white-covered cot, one eye con­cealed by a bandage, the other, bloodshot and swollen, staring off in­to a corner of the ceiling. In the stare, in the pendulous foot, in the limp hands lying over his knees was a singular air of detachment hard to understand until it was whispered to me that it was not his bandaged eye that kept him there, but shell shock, that penalty of modern warfare which technicists have not yet found time to befuddle under an unintelligible name. Later he pointed to the neighbouring beds where men lay reading, munching, talking or watching the distant life of the corridors—New Zealanders, Welshmen, Englishmen. He was Canadian.

It was not that being Canadian put him in a different class, but that having just emerged from that “particu­lar hell” at Hooge, between Sanctuary Wood and Zillebeke Lake, he had pic­tures all his own at which to stare.

“They started shelling us,” he said, “that Friday morning, June the sec­ond, about nine. The Princess Pats and the Mounted Rifles were in the front trenches, with us on the right.”

“You were in the front line?” I asked eagerly.

He looked at me vaguely a moment, then smiled.

“Hell, no! You’ll never talk to anyone from the front line—not till Germany gives them up. . . . I saw two come staggering out, blinded, smashed up so bad they would only be in the road up there when the at­tack came. Only two! . . . The rest are—not talking, or in the Ger­man hospitals. I was in a supporting trench a hundred yards back. They let loose on us with everything they had and lots we didn’t know anybody ever had, from trench mortars to fif­teen-inchers. . . . They didn’t let up till two in the afternoon.”

I wasn’t sure whether he shuddered, but his hands were covering the one good eye.

“Pretty had, I suppose,” I comment­ed weakly.

“Bad! . . . Say, it was a dream of a day before they started—sun and blue sky and all that, and we Cana­dians were feeling fine again, we hadn’t seen the sun for so long. . . . And then. . . . I didn’t see any more blue sky. I didn’t see anything but trees falling and flashes bursting right into my eyes. . . . and I could feel myself bounce every time a shell burst near me. We got it in the sup­porting trenches near as bad as they did in the front. I was buried once, but I remember that didn’t seem to hurt me, except my eyes. . . . Then at two they came at us over the para­pets.”

He seemed to have finished, con­templating the picture he had been sharing with me.

“They say the Canadians ran,” I spurred him on.

Even one eye can express contempt. “Yes . . . they ran, But—. Back where I was I could see it all, that next fifteen minutes. Yes, they ran. . . . There wasn’t a dozen yards of cover in one stretch left of our front trenches when they stopped their big guns. We didn’t think there’d be a fellow left to stop them when they came over. But we were wrong. There were a few, most of ‘em cut up—but they could run. Fritz came over like sheep, thousands of them. They were dead sure they had it all their own way. And then a few dozen of those boys heaved themselves up from the front line (hosts of ‘em tried to, but couldn’t) and ran—you’re dead right there—bang at Fritz.

“Most of ’em didn’t have a thing but a rifle-barrel or an entrenching tool in their hands, but they sailed in­to that mob of Germans like as if it was a big game or a movie show. . . I remember one big fellow right ahead of me. There wasn’t a sign of cover where he got up from—all alone—and he hadn’t a blessed thing in his hands. he looked like a scarecrow with his clothes all torn. I watched him. He grabbed a German bayonet and spiff! the German just toppled over. With that rifle he banged about till I couldn’t see him for Fritzes. . . . Yes, they ran. I don’t wonder the Germans said so. They felt ‘em running.

“Then I had other things to do. I was the only one left in my bay and the Germans were coming down the communication trench. One place their shells had filled it in and they had to jump out to get to the next part. I kept my rifle on that place. I thought I’d got them all when sud­denly one jumped out in front of me and yelled in English, ‘Hands up, friend!’ But he was too near the end of my rifle to work that. Then I could see them coming over in bunches, so I dropped my outfit and bolted across to where I heard firing from the Princess Pat trenches. I guess I was pretty well locoed, for I didn’t know where I was going. There were dead and wounded all about and one of ’em told me the Pats had retired along their communication trench and I dropped into it and followed.

“About fifty yards back we found a little cover and there we stuck, a mixed bunch from the supporting trenches. They never got us out of that. I think Fritz was afraid we might ‘run’, too. And they knew we had more than our bare fists. Then a shell came along and buried a few of us, and when I was digging another struck the same spot. I don’t know what happened after that.”

He pointed up to the end bed of the ward where a soldier lay with closed eyes.

“That’s the only other one came out of my bay. He was deaf and dumb at first. He can talk now. Oh, yes, the fellows got him easy enough. You see, Fritz held that supporting trench only about twenty minutes. There was enough of it left to be worth tak­ing. Sergeant—, in Ward—, will tell you how they got it back.”

II.

Not one Canadian, of the dozens with whom I have talked, emerged from the Sanctuary Wood fight with­out showing nerve effects of the ter­rible bombardment. Some stage of shell shock was visible or in grudging retreat. That in itself is proof of the intensity of the gunfire the Canadians had to endure. Never has there been an engagement where shell shock was such a general result.

In a later article I will have some­thing to say about shell shock, its effect, its treatment and cure. It is the most interesting of the “wounds” of the new type of warfare, and, like the other wounds, is developing a treatment discovered in its entirety only as the war progresses.

One of these shell shock patients, who started even at my appearance in the doorway fifty feet away, was dallying with his supper. A large, piece of headcheese lay on the plate beside his cot, and an orderly was dumping some very appetizing-look­ing salad and slices of bread and but­ter inside it. Conversation with him was difficult, for he was recovering but slowly.

He had been on a machine gun battery a hundred yards behind the front line covering a gap. Through the worst of the shelling he lived without a scratch. In his little bit of trench were three Lewis and four Vickers guns the former a machine gun too large to carry. Early in the fight the Lewis guns were buried by the bom­bardment, and although they unearth­ed them twice, they were always buried again before they could be brought into use. It was evident the Germans knew they had the range.

Accordingly, with the four Vickers, he and his remaining mates left the trench and hid themselves a few yards further up in a hedge. Their duty was to keep the Germans from rush­ing the gap in the front lines, and this they succeeded in doing with the Vickers, in spite of the shells that be­gan to search them out. The enemy succeeded in getting into the front trenches, but they did not attempt to come any farther.

All through that afternoon the handful of men and the four machine guns clung to that hedge, spraying the gap, and later the captured trenches. Not until darkness came did they retire to their friends, now rebuilding behind their protection the destroyed trench they had left.

And when the strain was over, the three unwounded gunners broke down. All alone, with the front trenches only a few yards away in the hands of the Germans, with shells showering everywhere, burying them and their guns repeatedly, with hundreds lying wounded and dying all about, with no idea how far the Germans had reach­ed in their rear, they had worked amid a din that drowned the sound of their own guns. No human nerves could stand it. The three were taken back through the darkness to the hospital. What happened to the other two he did not yet know.

III.

Tell the most apathetic shell-shock­ed Canadian who survives the Sanct­uary Wood affair how his mates “ran” and you effect an instant cure, even if it but temporary. Those of the front line who ran must have preferred ex­posing themselves to the peril the Germans said they were fleeing, to the eyes of their friends. The sup­porting line did not see them run ex­cept forward. Indeed, those who re­main from the second line won’t ad­mit even a German gain.

They point out that, although the Germans entered the front trenches over a length of three-quarters of a mile, the Canadians got back every­thing of value within a few hours. In the first overwhelming rush of the Germans following the terrific bom­bardment, a few of them entered the supporting trenches, but even at that a few of the Pats in one section held on up at the front till morning and then retired when no relief came. In twenty minutes the Germans were scrambling back from the supporting trenches, and had there been enough trench up at the front to take the Pats would never have had to retire.

It didn’t take long to convince the Germans that they had taken a larger bite than they could masticate, and when they saw that it was nothing like demoralization they faced from the supporting trenches they turned tail to the mixed band of Canadians that charged up from only fifty yards away. For a couple of hours a few held the intervening bushes and shell-holes, while their friends worked fev­erishly behind them to bring the old Canadian front line into something like protection, but after that No Man’s Land was that hundred yards between what had been the first and supporting trenches of the Canadian line. That the unorganized counter­attack of the Canadians within twenty minutes should have retaken the sec­ond line is sufficient comment on the German morale before a “running” enemy.

It was there a member of the 49th took up the tale.

“We had been in reserve perhaps a mile in the rear. We knew there was a big row up in front, but the German curtain fire kept us from moving till night. Then we got up to what had been our former supporting trenches, now our front line. There wasn’t a lot of cover even there, but the fel­lows who’d been in the thick of it were making the most of it and throw­ing up more. We sent them back, al­though some over at the side of us hung on for four days before they were relieved. All night long the Germans shelled us in spasms. They sure were nervous that night, and every little while they’d cut loose with artillery enough to have cleaned us out behind that cover if it had been daylight.

“We knew we were down for a counter-attack in broad daylight When the enemy’s expecting you it isn’t what you call a picnic. But it wasn’t ourselves we were anxious about, but whether we could last out to those front trenches in the face of all those guns. We didn’t dare try in the dark, because we didn’t know what there was left to take or what we aught to prepare for.

“Well, next morning at eight we got the word. Down the line we could hear them hot at it, and then we got into the thick ourselves. Before started we saw that the Germans had been able to do little towards digging themselves in, but they were there thick, and back of them the machine guns. We got it heavy. Men were falling all about, but we kept on I don’t know exactly how far we got but I remember feeling kind of lonely and looking around. There weren’t more than fifty of us moving, but a little way back I saw the rest digging in. It didn’t seem worth while—fifty of us bucking up against a few million Germans, so we dropped down and crept back.”

He chuckled, and snatched from his head excitedly an old knit cap and banged it on the table beside the cot.

“What had happened was we’d gone clean through our old front line with-out knowing it, there was that little of it left, and we were making across for the German trenches.

“We dug in there as best we could but the German guns kept tearing it down as fast as we could got it and that night we went back to the other line and made things solid there. But, you bet, if we couldn’t hold it the Germans were in for a time trying to. I got mine late in the afternoon, but managed to crawl out that night when relief came.”

The story was rounded off by one of the relieving troops. By that time the Germans were content to leave the new front line in undisputed possession of the Canadians, and the lat­ter were willing to grant the Germans for the time the tragic prize of their former front line on which the Allied artillery was now turned. The new forces sent up made life miserable for the Germans for four days. In the meantime the Canadian wounded had to be treated in the trenches, because the Germans were turning their guns on the stretcher-bearers from the first of the fight.

“Tuesday,” said one, “things were quieting down a bit. We couldn’t understand why we weren’t getting a chance to get back, but it was fright­ful weather and the Germans were welcome for a while to the beautiful job of holding down that front line till we were good and ready to make it solid when we took it. Then that night they banged at us again, and in the midst of it they set off a big mine close to Sanctuary Wood. I happen­ed to be there. I guess I’m about the only one who got back to a hospital. But they didn’t get the hole. The company next us crowded over and sat in that.”

One sleeve of his shirt hung loose, but from the outline I judged that his arm was in a sling underneath.

“You’ll get your chance,” I said, for his eyes were flashing and his left fist was clenched.

His face clouded, and he raised his left arm to his right shoulder. “It’s not for me,” he said. “I lost this. I’m having another slice taken off in a few days. But, tell me, did they Hooge back? I know the rest. Here’s a letter from a chum who was through it—a lieutenant now.”

I couldn’t tell him we had Hooge; but in the letter he allowed me to read was the spirit that reconquers the Hooges of life anywhere. It told of the third stage of the fight, of the final sweep of the victorious Canadians.

The battle was divided into three distinct actions. There was the Ger­man bombardment and attack, the immediate counter-attack whereby the Canadians won back the old lines, but found them not worth the holding, and the great attack a week later by which the lost trenches were recap­tured except in the village of Hooge and reorganized to their former strength.

From the first line trenches very few Canadians have come out to tell the tale. The second stage is told here. The heroes of the third, who swept the Germans before them with a fury that had been bottled for days, are still fighting in France, or were kept there in the hospitals until the big push, now on at the time of writ­ing, was about to commence. No in­terview can present the picture painted for me in a letter from one of the wounded in the final drive to his friend in an English hospital from the effects of the first few days of the German success. The friend with whom I talked was minus an arm—the one I have just written about. The wounded writer in France had just been made a lieutenant as his share of the rewards for fighting well done. His jubilation, irrepressible by mere physical incapacity, is too contagious not to give in his own words:

“It was hard to think of you fel­lows going out that way. I know you’d like to have waited here until we got even. And they’d have kept you, I know, until the boys bunged up like you were fitter for travel. But there was not going to be room over here for you when we got going, be­cause when we started after that lost trench there was going to be work for the hospitals here without you fellows choking things. And there is.

“I’m tickled to death you’re getting along so well. I knew you would. That’s the best of living like you have. My own case doesn’t look quite so sure, but I’m not fretting. It would be different if we hadn’t done it.

“It was five or six days. I think, after they carted you away that they let us loose at the Huns. We had been stewing to get at them, and I guess our officers knew something had to happen pretty soon. It did not look as if there was trench enough up there to be worth a scrap, but the Germans had it, and it once belonged to us, and that was enough. Well, up there at the top of Sanctuary Wood, where you went up among the tree-tops, we had a whale of a time after they blew that hole. Say, that was some place where we dug in. We were pounded with a terrific shell fire for days. Then they relieved us for a few days—not before it was time—for a lot of us were jumping with the noise and almost deaf, and nearly dead for sleep. And then we went into the same place again, and the assault took place through us.

“I’m sorry, old chap, you didn’t last it out so you could have been along. Lord, it was fine. I could feel that terrible fretting of the past week just oozing out as the boys jump­ed the parapets and smashed across to where our old first line had been. I don’t think anything could have stopped them. I didn’t get in with the first bunch, because my company was held on the edge watching for the counter-attack, if it came too soon for our fellows to make a stand.

“When we got going we went through the Germans like a knife through cheese. They didn’t know what to do with us but throw down their rifles and bolt, or hold up their hands. They said we ran. You should have seen them skedaddle for home and ma, what didn’t throw themselves on the ground and beg to be taken. We went clean to the old line and cap­tured some hundreds of prisoners. Our artillery had kept them from do­ing much in the digging-in line, and so we had a chance to slam them good and plenty. And you bet we did.

“Then we had to take ours. They had the range of us to a nicety, and they gave us particular hell with shell fire for days before and during the assault. When we went up and took over the line from the assaulting troops we had to take another dose of iron, which the Huns put on while they were getting their counterattack ready. But the counter attack never came off—at least, not what we’d call an attack. Our artillery got them in the belt and cut them up too bad to want to come to close steel with us. So we settled down in a day or two as if there hadn’t been even a brush, and Fritz was glad to let it go at that.

“During nearly all the last turn-in the rain poured down in torrents off and on, and you can imagine the state the lads were in, with freshly-dug trenches and everything being blown to smithereens by shell fire. Towards the last our trenches consisted of shell holes connected by ditches and carpeted with water and some Flanders mud. If a shell burst within a hundred yards we had to get someone to scrape the plaster from our eyes before we knew if we were hurt. You couldn’t tell a captain from a Tommy and it didn’t matter much just then.

“I’m mighty glad I lasted through it. After they’ve got me spliced and refurnished it’s Canada for mine, I guess. It is if the refitting takes. I’m not so bad just now, and I feel cocky enough to win out. Already I’m short a leg, and goodness know what else I’ll need to forage from the factory before they’re through with me.

“But we did it, old sport, we did it. We got good and even with them for trying to wipe out the old bunch. Why, the Huns were lying so thick when we drove through that we had to jump them all the way. You and I, old pal, can go back to Canada and join forces and make a whole man between us.”

The next article of this series is entitled “The Life-Savers”. It gives a graphic and touching description of the work of the stretcher-bearers, the ambulance men and the workers of the Blue Cross.