I returned to the Sixteenth and succeeded in giving Holy Communion to a few soldiers, among whom was the solicitor whom I had baptized at Monchy Breton. But I was by no means pleased with my day’s work, for I had not gotten all the Catholics in each battalion.
At six o’clock we left this area, and towards morning, after marching continuously, were met by a long line of busses that brought us through the city of Amiens to within three or four miles of Boves. We marched for nearly two hours and about ten o’clock came into the city of Boves, from which all the inhabitants had gone.
I was very tired and hungry, but I had not broken my fast, for I wished to say Mass, if I could find time, in order that I might offer it for the success of my work among the soldiers.
I easily found the church of Boves, and just as I entered, met a chaplain of the French army coming out. I saluted and told him who I was. He was a friendly priest and had one of the kindest faces I have ever seen. We talked for a little while, then, as there was no parish priest at Boves, he came back to the sacristy to show me where to find things. Then he served my Mass.
I had lunch in the mess of the French chaplain, after which I went out into the highways and byways seeking my men. I had excellent news. The whole Third Brigade was billeted in the city. This was the first time since March 28th that I could remember having all my units together. Not content with announcing confessions at the orderly rooms of the different battalions, fearing there might be some miscarriage of orders and that some of the men might not be notified, I went all over the city visiting them. It had not been very long since the majority had gone to confession, yet I wished to give every one an opportunity. I had learned at brigade headquarters that the battalions would not go into the trenches till ten o’clock that night.
At five o’clock, when I entered the church of Boves, I was somewhat nervous. At Mass that morning I had forgotten to look in the ciborium to see how many consecrated Hosts there were. I went straight to the altar, opened the tabernacle door, took out the ciborium and opened it. As I feared, there would not be enough Particles for one-tenth the number I expected! I closed the door softly, saying a little prayer as I did so, and walked back to the confessional in the rear of the church, for the men were beginning to arrive.
I had not reached the confessional when I noticed the French chaplain coming into the church. I went to him quietly and made known to him what I had learned from my visit to the tabernacle. He was sympathetic and immediately began to think what we could do. First, he thought of saying Mass, although it was then five o’clock in the afternoon and he had broken his fast; it seemed, however, to each of us that he would be quite justified in so doing. Then suddenly he remembered a convent chapel, about seven kilometers distant, where he felt sure there would be a ciborium with a sufficient number of consecrated Hosts. He said he would go on horse-back. Seldom have I felt more grateful than I did to him that night.
I began to hear confessions and the lads came in great numbers. Soon the light became dim in the great church and lads who had come first began to be a little restless: they wondered why I did not give them Holy Communion.
It was now becoming so dark that I could just distinguish the crowds of kneeling soldiers. I was hearing confessions very quickly. Once a fellow knocked on the confessional door and told me he hoped I would soon give communion, as he had some things to do before going into the line. He had now been waiting a long time, he said. I asked him if he could wait a few minutes longer, as time was so precious and such crowds of men were coming that I did not wish to leave my confessional for a minute. I was praying between the drawing of slides for the appearance of the French chaplain. No soldier had yet left the church, yet I feared they might. Then away up in the sanctuary I noticed a little flame flash out in the darkness and then move quickly to one side of the tabernacle, where it touched the responsive wick of a candle and another gleam of light shot up, then, on the other side of the tabernacle, the other candle flashed. As I heard the slow moving of many feet towards the altar-rail, I thanked God.
For a long while the priest, after placing two lighted candles on the sanctuary railing, moved up and down between them dispensing the Bread of the Strong to those Canadian soldiers. When all who were ready had received, he put the ciborium in the tabernacle and knelt to pray till I had prepared more lads for him.
I did not move from my confessional till after ten o’clock, and it was after this hour before I left, for still men came. They were now coming fully equipped for battle, hoping to catch up with their companions, who must have already left.
When the last man had been shriven, the chaplain came down to have a little talk with me. I was almost overcome as I thanked him for what he had done, for I was now beginning to be very tired.
“Well,” he said, with a beaming face, “are you happy? Are you happy?”
“Happy?” I repeated. “Indeed, I am, for wonderful things have been done tonight for God!”
As I walked down to my billet that night I was swaying, as I went, from sheer exhaustion; I tried to recall when it was that I had a night’s sleep. It seemed months, yet it was but a few days. My billet was upstairs in a house that had not been struck by enemy fire.
George met me at the door and told me to go to my room, that he would bring my dinner. I stumbled upstairs, for I was weak with hunger and fatigue. I sat in a chair and was almost falling asleep when George came in with a large granite plate filled with roast beef, mashed potatoes and green peas. He had kept it hot for me. I picked up the knife and fork and they seemed heavy. George began to arrange my bed. New strength came as I ate the excellent food—we were always well fed before a battle; in fact, the men could always foretell a battle by the quantities of strawberry jam they received two or three days preceding action. I had not finished the meat and vegetables when the cook himself came up with some strawberry jam, little cakes and a huge granite mug of hot cocoa. When I had finished the cocoa, I can just remember George saying: “Hadn’t you better take off your boots, sir?” And the next thing I knew it was broad daylight, and as I looked at my wrist-watch the hands pointed to half-past ten a. m. I had slept about ten and one-half hours.
I had learned the preceding night that the battle would not begin till very early in the morning of August 8th. It had taken, I supposed, the whole night for the troops to assemble. Very likely they would sleep or rest today. There was no need for me to go up till evening.
I looked about the room. The dinner dishes had been removed and so had my boots, but with the exception of boots and leggings I was completely dressed. It did not take me very long to put on my boots and shave, yet it was twelve o’clock when I came out of the church of Boves after I had said Mass.
That evening, August 7th, I went up to Gentelles Wood.