Up to this time I did not have the Bishop’s consent. In fact, I cannot remember having mentioned in his presence my desire to go to the front with the soldiers as chaplain; but I had talked it over frequently with priests, and it never occurred to me that the Bishop had not heard of my wish, nor that he would not be in accord with it. But one morning I received a letter from the Bishop telling me plainly and firmly that he wished me to keep quiet, and not to talk so much about going to the front until I should know whether or not I would be permitted to go. He mentioned a recruiting meeting of a few nights previous, at which I had offered my services as chaplain to the battalion that was then being recruited in the diocese.
Perhaps I had been a little too outspoken at the meeting, but I had considered myself quite justified in breaking silence, since it had already come to pass that three ministers of different Protestant denominations had offered themselves as chaplains to the battalion which, though still in rather an embryonic state, gave promise of being complete in a few months. I foresaw that it would be more than half Catholic, as the population of the district from which it was being recruited was three-fourths Catholic. So I offered myself generously, not wishing to be outdone by the ministers, and then had sat down feeling that I had done well.
The following morning, however, I was not quite so sure, for when I read my words printed in the daily paper I felt just a little perturbed. What would the Bishop think? I wondered. I had not long to wait before I knew exactly what His Lordship thought. His letter told me quite plainly.
I kept quiet. Keeping quiet, however, did not prevent me from following with interest the activities of others. Almost every evening recruiting meetings were held in different places throughout the diocese, at which old men spoke and orchestras played, and sometimes a young boy would step dance. But, most important of all, many young men enlisted. They came in great numbers, the Catholics far in the majority. Then, one morning early in the spring, the paper announced that the battalion had been recruited to full strength. The different companies would stay in the town till the following June, when the battalion would go into camp to train as a unit.
That evening a letter came from the officer in command, saying that as eighty per cent of his men were Catholics he had decided to take a Roman Catholic chaplain, and that he intended going to see the Bishop that evening.
A few days later another letter came from the Bishop saying that he had been asked for a Catholic chaplain, and as he remembered that I had seemed very eager to go with the men, he was glad to say that he was giving me permission to go. He had decided this, he added, on the Feast of the Seven Dolors of Our Lady.
“The Seven Dolors,” I said to myself quietly, two or three times. Then I fell to wishing that the Bishop had made his decision on some other feast of Our Lady. I remember now, as I stood in the quiet little room with the letter in my hand, recalling the words of the priest—that he would not give me three nights in the front line trenches before my hair would turn grey. But this thought did not bother me very long, for I began to think of something else, and as I did the letter trembled a little with the hand that held it. “Perhaps I am not coming back,” I said to myself. Then I repeated: “The Feast of the Seven Dolors! The Feast of the Seven Dolors!”