The Meaning of Education, X

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Experience at the Front

By Private Jesse Frederick Harrington, of the Canadian Overseas Expe- ditionary Force

[Having been requested to write something on his experiences at the front in France, this Canadian volunteer, now a resident of Preston, Idaho, gives a realistic picture of his baptism of fire, his belief in the protecting power of God, and his reason for finding rest in his dugout in the horror of shot and shell. Editor.]

I was living with my family in Vancouver, Canada, when this war started, and realizing that a German victory meant the loss of freedom and the total annihilation of those ideals so dear to humanity, I enlisted with the Canadians, October, 1914. After training for the winter, I embarked for England, being stationed just outside the famous town of Dover, and within sound of the big guns which added greatly to the realism of our training now carried on more intensively. It was at this time the German made his murderous gas attack on the Canadians, causing such terrible loss, and I formed part of the reserves sent over to help, and landed at Rouen. Here the men were given another of the many medical examinations. After this we were piled onto the train journeying for some six hours, then came a five- or six-mile ride in motor lorries, or transports, followed by a very enjoyable ( ? ) march in mud, knee-deep. . This lasted until three o'clock in the morning. We located our regiment the next day at Festubert, being transferred to the Fifteenth Highlanders. It was here, and in this regiment, I received my baptism of fire. On my first trip into the trenches, I was sent back with a ration party; on the last half mile of road leading into the trenches, the shells were coming so fast and furious that we had to run about ten yards, then throw ourselves flat on the ground. This performance was continually repeated until we were within three hundred yards of the fighting line. Here we must go on our knees, and sometimes like the snake, crawl in the dust. By the time we reached the front line, our ration tin would have served very well for a sieve, and a large amount of French soil had become mixed in with the bacon. This latter, Tommy must fish out as best he could, and forget the dust, as this constituted part of his food for the next twenty-four hours. On our way, the horror of this proved too much for two of our men; one did not reach the trench, but the other, a colored man, collapsed when

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he got there, and was unable to speak for four days after. As an attack was expected that night we were held in the trench for a couple of hours, but Fritz having evidently changed his mind, we were again sent to the rear. On our way out, we found the German snipers quite busy, their bullets whistling all around us, and passing between the men's legs; sometimes between the leg and the cloth of the trousers, one man's rifle slung on his back, being split in half by shrapnel, he escaping unscathed. A little later, hearing a heavy shell coming, we threw ourselves down, and I later regained consciousness to find myself alone and on my back, on a pile of bricks some distance from where I had thrown myself. My back and hips were black and sore from the force with which I landed. This was finally the cause of my discharge, though at the time I did not take it seriously, and I carried on for four months before receiving the second wound in my leg. I was then placed in the grenade company, more popularly known as the suicide squad, and was sent out on outpost duty. When we espied a German patrol making our way, there being but two of us and in a position where we were as liable to be hit by our own men, I sent back my companion, who was very young and nervous, to report the matter, and took up a strategic position behind a bunch of grass until help came, when we opened fire scattering the enemy. About this time my back began to bother me, and my chum insisted on massaging me until I obtained relief. This often followed a hard day's work on his part; but nowhere in the world is there to be found such a spirit of love and unselfishness among men as at the front. This war seems to be as a refiner's fire bringing to the surface all the finest as well as the basest traits in a man's character. Some there are who have become convinced that there is a Supreme Being, but the greater part of them, daily viewing the slaughter that goes on around them, doubt if there is a God. Many of these men asked me why it was I always found rest in my dugout, saying I no sooner laid down my head than I was asleep. They knew I never took the rum ration, and most of them knew that I was a "Mormon," so I told them I always offered up a prayer to my heavenly Father, committing myself to his care, then laid down knowing that all would be well. I was the only "Mormon" in my regiment, and was often laughed at when telling of my faith, but when they are convinced of the fact, a man of my belief has a great opportunity to preach the gospel, and to be an example, for his life is closely watched by his fellows. No Latter-day Saint goes into this war without coming out stronger in his faith; having heard the gospel, he sees and ex-