CHAPTER XVII
THE LITTLE SPANIARD
I had not been given very much information at headquarters as to how soon I might be sent to the front, for they did not know how soon the call might come for chaplains.
In a few days the remnants of my battalion left Bramshott for a camp at Shoreham-by-Sea—all save a few, who stayed as officers, servants or clerks in different branches at headquarters.
One afternoon I was sitting before Father Knox’s tiny fire-place in his little room, talking of the Sunday church parades, when a very young soldier entered, saluted, passed Father Knox a letter and then stood at attention. I did not notice the lad particularly, as Father Knox read the letter in silence, for my eyes were on the small heap of glowing coals in the grate before me, and my mind was busy on a scheme to get all the men in the camp at two church parades on the following Sunday.
As Father Knox began to write the answer, he looked up from the paper and asked, “Catholic?”
Then for the first time the lad began to speak, hurriedly, and with foreign accent. His eyes took on a queer strained expression; his head seemed to crouch down to his shoulders.
It transpired that he was a Spaniard and had been brought up a Catholic, but after going to Canada had been accustomed to go to Protestant churches. He was now orderly to a Protestant minister and had received a few books from him including a copy of the New Testament in Spanish, so at present, his religion was the “Lord Jesus.”
I had already turned from the fire and was watching the lad. It was the first time I had ever heard a Catholic speak so, and I felt a great pity for him. But quickly the pity gave place to other emotions, for in reply to Father Knox’s question as to what battalion he came over with, he said “One Hundred and Thirty-second”—my own battalion! Slowly a dazed, nauseating feeling chilled me. Such a thing to happen! I was responsible to God for this man’s soul; and apparently he had lost his faith!
I questioned him a little, only to learn that now he was orderly to a Baptist minister and that it was he who had given him the New Testament in Spanish. I appointed an evening for the lad to come to see me. He came and we talked for a long time, but he seemed to be strangely obsessed. The more we talked, the more I noticed the queer, strained expression in his eyes, and when he left me that night I feared I had not done very much towards reviving his faith. It was many months before I saw him again.