The First Canadians in France. Lt. Col. Frederick McKelvey Bell
were on the upper deck of a tram-car, leaning over the throng, and eagerly looking for the faces of friends in the ranks of a passing battalion. They swung along to the music of their band – a clean-cut, well-set-up, manly lot, who marched with the firm independent step of the free born. Suddenly our colonel discovered a familiar face among the khaki-clad below. There is no military precedent for what he did; years of training fell away on the instant. He leaned from the car and shouted:
"Hello, 'Foghorn'! What cheer?"
"Foghorn" looked up. His right arm was somewhat hampered, from a military point of view, by reason of being about the waist of a pretty girl, who accommodatingly marched along with the battalion in general, and "Foghorn" in particular.
"Hello, Jack," he bellowed in a voice which easily accounted for his nickname. "Lots of cheer. Can't salute. One arm busy! Other is glass arm from saluting the brass hats. See you later. Good luck!"
And thus our cosmopolitan and ultra-democratic battalion passed on.
Some one has said that the Englishman is temperamentally cold. It can't be proved by Devonport or Plymouth. His temperature in both towns registered ninety-eight degrees in the shadiest and most secluded spots. And the women and children! Banish all thought of British frigidity! The Canadians in England never discovered it.
The passion of the Devonport children for souvenirs in the shape of pennies and buttons became so violent in a few hours that our small coin was likely to become extinct and our buttons merely things that used to be. Every time a soldier appeared upon the street he was instantly surrounded by a bevy of insistent and persistent mendicants.
Once we sought refuge in a cooling spot where glasses tinkle and the beer foams high – and children might not follow there. The pretty barmaid smiled. The second in command twirled his long moustache and fixed the maiden with his martial eye.
"What will you have, sir?" she inquired sweetly.
The senior major was always gallant to a pretty girl. He drew himself up to his full six feet, two, and saluted. A mellow line from "Omar Khayyám" dropped from his thirsty lips:
"A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou
Beside me singing in the wilderness."
How much further he might have gone one cannot say. The girl held up a reproving finger and exclaimed:
"Ah, I see it is black coffee the gentleman requires."
But the major's poetic spirit was aroused. "Avaunt coffee," he cried.
"Shall I distress my ruddy soul
With dusky dregs from coffee urn?
Far sweeter, sweet, to quench its fire
With wine for which the 'innards' yearn.
A glass of beer, please."
The adjutant leaned over toward me and hazarded, in a hoarse whisper:
"I presume they have no ice."
The barmaid's red cheeks dimpled and two straight rows of pearly teeth shone upon him, as she answered for me:
"Your presumption is ill-founded, young man. We have plenty of ice with which to temper the hot young blood of the Canadians."
The adjutant looked helplessly up, bereft of repartee; then apostrophised the ceiling:
"And these are the stupid Englishwomen we have been led to expect!"
Our education was going on apace.
A few moments later we emerged and discovered ourselves in a veritable whirlpool of young monetary gluttons.
"Penny, sir! penny! penny!" they shouted in staccato chorus. Our supply of pennies had long since been depleted. An idea struck me.
"See here," I said in serious tone. "We're only a lot of poor soldiers going to the war. We can't always be giving away pennies. We need pennies worse than you do."
A sudden hush fell upon the little circle. Some looked abashed, others curiously uncertain, a few sympathetic. The silence lasted a full minute. We all stood still looking at one another.
"Can any little boy or girl in this crowd give a poor soldier a penny to help him along to the war?" I asked quietly.
Again silence. Finally a little ragged tot of about eight years of age, carrying a baby in her arms, turned to her companions and said: "Here, hold the baby for me and I'll give the poor fellow a penny." She dived deep in the pocket of her frock, brought out a penny, ha'penny (her total wealth) and held it out to me.
Lieutenant Moe stepped forward. "Look here, major," he said sternly, "do you mean to say you'll take that money from a youngster?"
"I do," I replied, without a smile.
"I won't permit it," he cried.
Here was an embarrassing situation. I couldn't explain to him without confessing to the child as well. I wished to gauge how much patriotism beat in those little hearts, what sacrifice they were prepared to make for their country; and here was one measuring up to the highest ideals, I daren't either withdraw or explain.
"I must have the pennies, Moe, and I am going to take them," I replied firmly. "Stand aside, please!"
Military discipline came to the rescue. Moe saluted stiffly and stepped back. The little girl gravely handed over the pennies and took back her baby.
"Any others?" I asked.
Some of the children declared they had none; a few looked sheepish and hung their heads. I slipped a sixpence into the hand of the little lady.
"Well, I'll be damned!" exclaimed Moe. "Here's another penny for you," and he handed the bewildered child half a crown.
A shout of surprise and dismay went up from the other children, who realised too late that they had failed in the test.
"The drinks are certainly on me!" Moe cried. "About turn!"
Sometimes when I feel that the world is sordid and mean I go to my trunk and look at those two coins, and I know that somewhere, in a frail little body, beats a generous heart, and I feel that after all part of the world is worth while.
CHAPTER II
Reggy was on shore at last. He said he felt much better walking alone up street – more as if he owned the town!
It's a strange sensation stepping on solid ground after weeks on shipboard. There is a lack of harmony between oneself and the ground. You rock – the ground stands still; you stand still – the ground rocks, like an angry sergeant.
The senior major was on the corner, holding an animated conversation with a beautifully gowned young lady, to whom he bid a hasty adieu as Reggy hove in sight.
"Corking girl, that," said Reggy mischievously.
"Where?" demanded the major, looking about.
"The young lady to whom you just avoided introducing me."
"It's rather a remarkable coincidence," said the major, avoiding controversy, "that I should run across a relation in this far-away place!"
"Very!" Reggy replied drily. "Family's fond of travel, I take it."
A tall, well-knit young subaltern elbowed his way through the crowd and joined the pair. Reggy greeted him:
"Better come and have dinner with your brother and me, Tom. I feel he needs good company and a chaperon or two!"
The trio entered the rotunda of the Royal.
A distinguished looking gentleman and a prepossessing lady of middle age stood chatting together. Their voices were agitated, and the three officers could not avoid overhearing snatches of the conversation.
"He is on the Cassandra, and in this medley of ships no one seems to know where his is anchored," the man was saying.
"Dear me," sighed the lady. "To think that our boy should be so near and that we should not be able to see him! It's dreadful!"
"But we must find him,"