On the Fringe of the Great Fight | Page 2

the sweet odours of the scented geranium, verbena, and
nicotine in the rock-girt garden. But my mind was far removed from
the peacefulness of my immediate surroundings: the newspaper I held
in my hand was filled with kaleidoscopic descriptions of the great
European tumult. Unconsciously I voiced aloud the thought that was
uppermost in my mind: "I would gladly give ten years of my life if I
could serve my country in this war." "Do not say that," warned my
hostess, looking up from her magazine, "for everything comes to you
on a wish," and nothing more was said of the matter at the time.
That day was a very quiet one with our little house-party. We made our
usual launch trip through the lakes but nobody talked much. Each was
busy with his own thoughts, wondering what England could do in the
great emergency. Could she, or could she not, save France from the
invading hosts of Germany? And deeper in each mind was the
unspoken fear, "Perhaps it is already too late to save France--perhaps,

even now, the question is 'Can England save herself?'" The great
depression in men's minds during those early days of the war when the
bottom seemed to have dropped out of life and men strove to grasp at
something upon which to reconstruct a new system of thought and life
and work, had enveloped us like a chill evening mist.
Those were ghastly days. While France, Russia and England were
feverishly mobilizing, the brave little force of Belgians was being
steadily rolled up by the perfectly equipped German war machine and
the road to France hourly becoming easier. England had commissioned
K. of K. to gather together a civilian army of three million men, and
Canada had called for one division to be mobilized at Valcartier Camp,
a place somewhere in the Laurentian Hills near the city of Quebec.
Little did any of us dream how prophetic was to be that apparently
chance remark of our hostess. But the first greeting from the maid when
we reached home that evening was, "There is a long distance call for
you, sir." The Minister of Militia had asked me to report in Ottawa
immediately. Next morning I waved my friends, "Au revoir." That
return was far from being as speedy as we expected, for my wish very
shortly came true.
The greeting of the Minister of Militia, Sir Sam Hughes, as he turned
from the desk where he sat in shirt-sleeves, with typewriters on all
sides of him, was a cordial handshake and a slap on the back. Would I
go down to the new camp at Valcartier and look after the purification of
the water supply? I was delighted to get the chance.
A short wait at the office gave me a splendid opportunity of seeing a
military headquarters office in operation. Officers of all ranks, from
Generals to Majors, hurried in one after another to obtain permission to
do this or that; prominent men anxious to do anything they might to
assist in the great crisis, crowded the office. Telephone conversations,
telegrams, cables, interviews, dictation of letters, reading of letters
aloud--to watch or listen to the incessant commingling of all these, with
the Minister of Militia as the centre of energy, was a unique experience
for me. Sir Sam cracked jokes, dictated letters, swore at the telephone
operator, and carried on conversation with a number of persons--all at

the same time. It was a marvellous demonstration of what a man could
do in an emergency, if he happened to be the right man--the man who
not only knew what needed to be done but had sufficient force of
character and driving power to convert his decisions into practical
achievements.
The following night on our return from an inspection of the new camp
at Valcartier I stood near the citadel in Quebec watching the moving
lights on the St. Lawrence far below. As I looked the flashes of a
powerful searchlight swept the river, lighting up the opposite shores
and playing upon the craft in the river. This was the first concrete
evidence I had that our country was at war; it was also a reminder that
there was even a possibility that Quebec might be attacked from the
sea.
Of the growth of that wonderful camp, of our experiences there, of the
training and equipping of 33,000 men, of the struggles for position, and
of the numerous disappointments and bitternesses because all could not
go, I will not here attempt to speak. There was a great deal to do and to
learn and the time passed quickly. It had been decided that I was to
accompany the contingent as adviser in sanitation and in charge of the
water supply, and, despite all delays and disappointments,