a strange contrast to the dugouts thirty
feet deep, lined with wood, which we afterwards made for our trench
homes.

I was immensely pleased at having at last got into the front line.
Even if I were sent out I had at least seen the trenches. The captain
brought me to his tiny dugout and told me that he and I could squeeze
in there together for the night. He then asked me if I should like to
see the trench, and took me with him on his rounds. By this time it
was dark and rainy and very muddy. As we were going along the trench a
tall officer, followed by another met us and exchanged a word with the
captain. They then came up to me and the first one peered at me in (p. 040)
the darkness and said in abrupt military fashion, "Who are you?"
I thought my last hour had come, or at least I was going to be sent
back. I told him I was a chaplain with the Canadians. "Did you come
over with the men?" "Yes", I said. "Capital", he replied, "Won't you
come and have lunch with me tomorrow?" "Where do you live?" I said.
The other officer came up to my rescue at this moment and said, "The
General's Headquarters are in such and such a place in Armentieres,"
"Good Heavens", I whispered in a low tone to the officer, "Is he a
general?" "Yes" he said. "I hope my deportment was all that it ought
to have been in the presence of a general," I replied. "It was
excellent, Padre," he said, with a laugh. So I arranged to go and have
luncheon with him two days afterwards, for I was to spend forty-eight
hours in the trenches. The first officer turned out to be General
Congreve, V.C., a most gallant man. He told me at luncheon that if he
could press a button and blow the whole German nation into the air he
would do it. I felt a little bit shocked then, because I did not know
the Germans as I afterwards did. I spent nearly four years at the
front hunting for that button.

The captain and I had very little room to move about in his dugout. I
was very much impressed with the unostentatious way in which he said,
"If you want to say your prayers, Padre, you can kneel over in that
corner first, because there is only room for one at a time. I will say
mine afterwards"--and he did. He was a Roman Catholic, and had lived
in India, and was a very fine type of man. When I read the words two
years afterwards on a cross in a cemetery near Poperinghe, "Of your
charity pray for the soul of Major Harter, M.C.," I did it gladly and
devoutly.

I had brought with me i