Chapter 1

“Crumps”

The Plain Story of a Canadian

Who Went

By Louis Keene

Canadian Expeditionary Force

With a Prefatory Note By

General Leonard Wood

Illustrated by the Author

Boston and New York

Houghton Mifflin Company

1917

The “Sub”.

PREFATORY NOTE

HEADQUARTERS SOUTHEASTERN DEPARTMENT CHARLESTON, S.C.

11th August, 1917

Captain Keene has made an interesting contribution to the literature of the present war in his account of service, which covers the experience of a young officer in the making and on the battle front,—the transformation of an artist into a first-class machine-gun officer. He covers the training period at home and abroad and the work at the front. This direct and interesting account should serve to bring home to all of us an appreciation of how much has to be done before troops can be made effective for modern war, the cost of unpreparedness, and the disadvantage under which troops, partially equipped, labor when they meet highly organized ones, prepared, even to the last detail, for all the exigencies of modern war. It also brings out the splendid spirit of Canada, the Mother Country, and the distant Colonies,—the spirit of the Empire, united and determined in a just cause.

This and similar accounts should serve to make clear to us the wisdom of the admonition of Washington and many others: “In time of peace prepare for war.”

Many young Americans are about to undergo experiences similar to those of Captain Keene, and a perusal of this modest and straight-forward narrative will help in the great work of getting ready.

LEONARD WOOD, _Maj.-Gen. U.S.A._

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Frontispiece.

The “Sub.”

“Beat It!”

The Canadian, Johnnie Canuck, The American, And The ANZAC.

Bringing Up A Motor Machine Gun.

“Wipers.”

What’s The Use?

A French Soldier.

“Whiz-Bangs.”

The “Crump.”

Mr. Tommy Atkins.

“CRUMPS”

_The Plain Story of a Canadian who went_

The Laurentian Mountains in the Province of Quebec are noted for their beauty, fine hunting and fishing, and are the stamping-grounds for many artists from the States and Eastern Canada. It was in this capacity that I was working during the hot summer of 1914. All through June and July I sketched with my father. Other than black flies my only worry was the price of my tubes of color.

We usually received our newspapers two or three days after publication; consequently we were poorly posted on worldly happenings. Suddenly the war clouds gathered and almost before we knew it they became so threatening that we grew restless, and even went in to the depot to get our papers so that we could have the news sooner.

The assassination of the Austrian Crown Prince and the subsequent events were exciting, but it was only when Russia sent that one word “Mobilize” to Serbia that we suspected serious results. Even the summer visitors from the States exhibited signs of excitement, yet they were skeptical of the chances of war; that is, war that would really affect us! My newspaper in Montreal wired for me to come down to do war cartoons and I left my father and hiked to the depot.

The Montreal train was crowded and conversation centered on the one topic, War; the English Navy’s ability to maintain her rule of the seas, and what would Canada do. A young Austrian reservist two seats away was telling some people in a loud voice how much he wanted to get into it. He was going back to answer the call. And I had already begun to hear my country’s call.

A newsboy boarding the train at a junction was overwhelmed and succeeded in getting twenty-five cents a copy for his papers.

Montreal teemed with suppressed anxiety and every hour fresh news was posted. Special bulletin boards were put up on store fronts. Already men in uniform were seen in the street. And men were trying to enlist.

The war fever was rising steadily; the chief occupation of Canadians in those days was watching the bulletin boards. Rumors of sea fights, ultimatums, disasters, and victories were common. The Kaiser seemed to declare war on the world at the rate of three countries a day.

On the night of August 4th, as I was putting the finishing touches on a cartoon, a friend burst into the room:—“Come out of here! Something must happen any minute now.” We marched downtown,—everybody marched in those days; walking was abolished in its favor. One met demonstrations everywhere, large crowds of cheering men with flags, victrolas at shop windows played patriotic airs, and soldiers with civilians crowded before the bulletin boards singing the national anthems with great enthusiasm. The King had declared war and his message to the fleet had just been put up! Newspaper extras were given away by thousands and movies of the British Navy were shown on the street. Any one who thought the British could not enthuse, changed his mind then.

The audiences at the theatres and moving picture houses on receipt of the news rose simultaneously and sang the national anthems, then cheered themselves hoarse. These were the first days of the war. Several battalions of militia were called out and posted to protect the bridges and grain elevators. Battalions were raised overnight, and so many recruits came forward that men were refused by the score. England was immediately offered ten battalions. Then an army division was possible. The Militia Department suddenly became a hive of industry. Men with all kinds of business capacity tendered their services gratis, and the Canadian war machine, without the experience of previous campaigns, took shape. They worked night and day bringing everlasting credit on themselves. Banks offered full pay to their employees in uniform, and this example was widely followed. The principle prompting this action being, “It’s our country; if we can’t fight ourselves, we will help others to fight for her.”

Existent camp sites were inadequate, hence new ones were necessary. We had a few, but none were big enough. We bought Valcartier, one of the best sites in the world, which was equipped almost over-night with water service, electric light and drainage. The longest rifle range in the world with three and one-half miles of butts was constructed. Railroad sidings were put in and 35,000 troops from all over the Dominion poured into it. Think of it,—Canada with her population of seven and one-half millions offering 35,000 volunteers the first few weeks, without calling out her militia. And even to-day the militia are yet to be called. Thus every Canadian who has served at the front has been a volunteer. England accepted an army division. Fifteen hundred qualified officers were told that they would have to stay and train men for the next contingent. But this was not fighting. They were dissatisfied. They resigned their commissions and went as privates. Uniforms, boots, rifles and equipment were found for everybody. Every man was trained as much as possible in the time allowed, and within six weeks of the declaration of war, guns, horses and 35,000 men were going forward to avenge Belgium.

With me the question of signing up was a big one. In the first place, I wanted to go; I wanted to go quickly. Several other fellows and myself had decided upon a certain battalion. But much to our disgust and regret we were informed that enlistments had stopped only a short time before.

The Canadian

Johnnie Canuck

The American

The ANZAC

Then came the announcement of the organization of the First Auto Machine Gun Brigade, the generous gift of several of Canada’s most prominent citizens, and it was in this unit that I enlisted with my friend Pat, a six-foot, husky Scotchman, with the fighting blood of the kilties very near the surface. We were immediately transported to Ottawa in company with fifty other picked men from Montreal. At Ottawa the complement of our battery was completed upon the arrival of one hundred more men from Ottawa and Toronto. Here we trained until it came time for us to move to Montreal, and there the battery was embarked on board the Corinthian with a unit of heavy artillery. We sailed down to Quebec where we joined the other ships assembled to take over the First Canadian Contingent.

_Corinthian, Wednesday, Sept. 30th, 1914._

MY DEAR MOTHER AND FATHER:—

We are now steaming down the St. Lawrence. No one knows where we are going.

Our fleet is a wonderful sight. All the ships are painted war gray—sides, boats and funnels. We are expecting to pick up the warships which are to convoy us across at Father Point, somewhere near where the Empress of Ireland was sunk.

Quebec looked very fine. The big guns were being hoisted into boats, horses embarking, and battalion after battalion arriving and going aboard. Those who came from Valcartier have had a rough time. They actually look as if they had come through a campaign. It gave me thrills all day to see these fine men come through the dock-gates with a steady swing. It is a magnificent contribution to any army. It’s good to think of all these men coming at their country’s call.

Some day, if I get back, I want to paint a picture of the fleet assembled at Quebec. The grays and greens looked really beautiful. Quebec, the city of history and the scene of many big battles, views with disdain the Canadian patriotism in the present crisis, and we had no send-off, no flags and no bands.

This letter will not be mailed for ten days, until we are well on the way over. We are crowded, and if we are going through the tropics we shall have a bad time; it is cold now, so we don’t notice the congestion.

We had one hundred and forty horses aboard and two batteries of heavy artillery, besides our own armored cars. All the transports are crowded. We were passed by about ten of the other boats, and as they did so we cheered each other. The thin lines of khaki on all the ships will make a name for themselves. I’m proud I am one of them.

We’ve had a big dose of vaccine pumped into our arms to-day. This will be the last letter I send before I arrive, wherever we are going.

The Corinthian sailed from Quebec to Father Point, where a patrol boat arrived with orders. We then sailed into the Gulf, but toward evening we turned into the coast. When we passed Fame Point Light a small boat, which afterwards turned out to be another patrol boat, sailing without lights, flashed further orders to us. The Corinthian immediately turned round and headed back. The minute the patrol boat’s signal light went out we were unable to distinguish it from the sea. The coloring is a good protection; even a boat, close to, sailing without lights, it is impossible to pick out. Apparently our orders were to cruise around until daylight and then sail for the Bay of Gaspé, and this morning at daybreak we sailed into that beautiful, natural harbor, which is big enough to accommodate the entire British fleet.

I expect that to the villagers living around this harbor all events will date from to-day—to-day, when the wonderful sight of twenty-five ocean liners drawn up in battleship formation in this quiet place, deserted except for an occasional visit from a river steamer or fishing craft, greeted their gaze.

Five gray fighting ships are mounting guard, and by their signals and pinnaces chasing backward and forward between the troopers are bossing the show. A corporal, a South African War veteran, as we looked at them, quoted Kipling’s

“The liner she’s a lady With the paint upon ’er face, The man o’ war’s ’er ’usband And keeps ’er in ’er place.”

Towards noon a smart launch came alongside. Even at a distance the boys were quick to recognize our popular minister of militia, Sam Hughes, and a thundering cheer rang out. With him were several soldiers who threw bundles of papers aboard. These were printed copies of his farewell to the troops. His launch sailed by the ship, and then on to the next and so on, through the fleet.

Our orders forbade the display of lights or even striking of matches after 6 P.M.; consequently all lights were masked to-night on the vessels, except those on the Royal Edward. The minute her lights were put out the Bay resumed its normal condition, not even the outlines of the vessels being visible.

A press photographer on a launch has been taking pictures all the afternoon. Sailed at five o’clock this afternoon just as the twilight commenced. We sailed out in three lines. The convoy is now under way and we extend as far as can be seen in both directions. We have two military police patrols whose chief duty is to see that no matches are struck on deck. Bill, who smokes more matches than tobacco, has had to go below so often to light his pipe, that he has decided to do without smoking on deck. It is surprising how far a match struck in the dark will show. We noticed how matches struck on the other ships showed up last night. All our portholes are screwed down with the heavy weather irons and those of the second-class cabins are covered with blankets. The authorities are taking no chances.

We are having physical drills and lectures all day, and we are working just as hard on board as we would ashore. Our speed will not be more than nine knots; the speed of the slowest vessel regulating the speed of the whole fleet.

Matches are getting very scarce. We complained about the tea to the orderly officer to-day; milk is running out, so the tea is made with milk and sugar in. We asked to have the three separate, but we were told that if we complained we would have all three taken away. As a floor stain it’s great, but as tea it’s a failure.

We are quartered in the steerage part of the ship and our food is in keeping. It is really remarkable how they can consistently get that same coal-oil flavor in all the food.

War news is signaled from ship to ship by semaphore flags by day. It is posted up in the guard room daily. The news that the Indian troops landed in France on the 29th of September was the chief item on the bulletin yesterday. We’re short on things to read. Scraps of newspapers are devoured, even to the advertisements. In our cabin we have a “Saturday Evening Post” of September 26th which is thumb-marked and torn, but it is still treasured. We were not allowed to bring anything besides our kit on board on account of the limited space.

Reveille blows at six o’clock and we have to answer the roll-call at 6.15. The idea is, that if the men get up and walk about, they are not so likely to get seasick, but in spite of that quite a number are sick. We have on board one hundred of our brigade; two hundred and sixteen heavy artillery and one hundred and forty horses, together with artillery officers and equipment. The horses take up the same space which in ordinary times is occupied by humans. Otherwise, we should have a great many more troops. Our destination is still a mystery. We’re a fleet without a port.

Have just been ordered on fatigue to take a prisoner on deck for exercise. He is to be tried by court-martial to-morrow for striking a sergeant. All day he is kept locked up and only allowed out at night for exercise, under escort. The escort consists of two men and a non-com. While on this job we watched the signalers flashing the war news from the stern of our boat to the bridge of the next astern, the Virginian. The news is flashed at night by the lamps—short and long flashes. The news is picked up by wireless on the flagship, the Charybdis, at the head of our line and signaled back from ship to ship.

This is the list of the fleet. It is written here in the order in which they are sailing. Three warships are heading the fleet; the flagship is the H.M.S. Charybdis, commanded by Admiral Wemyss, who distinguished himself a few weeks ago in the Battle of Heligoland.

H.M.S. Diana H.M.S. Eclipse H.M.S. Charybdis Caribbean Megantic Scotian Athenia Ruthenia Arcadian Royal Edward Bermudian Zealand Franconia Alaunia Corinthian (The transport on which I was shipped.) H.M.S. Glory Canada Ivernia Virginian Monmouth Scandinavian Sasconia Manitou Sicilian Grampian Tyrolia Montezuma Andania Tunisian Lapland Montreal Laurentic Cassandra Laconia Royal George H.M.S. Talbot

The H.M.S. Glory, the vessel on our starboard beam, altered her course to-day and held up a tramp steamer. We could just see the two vessels through our glasses. Apparently everything was all right as the tramp was allowed to go on her way afterwards.

We are all given our boat stations. This afternoon a submarine alarm was sounded. Everybody on board, including the stewards, had to drop everything and chase to the boats. In the excitement a cook shot a “billy” of soup over an officer’s legs, much to our silent delight.

Thinking it over, it will be remarkable if the Germans allow us to cross without making some attempt to sink a few transports. Besides the actual loss of the men, the demoralizing effect it will have on the recruiting would count a great deal. No man likes to be shot or drowned without a show.

I am writing this in my cabin, which is only nine feet by six feet and in which six of us sleep at night. Besides living in it we have to keep all our equipment clean, which is some job!

About eleven this morning a commotion occurred in the middle line. The cruiser heading it and the second ship, the Royal Edward, turned back. Also several other boats turned in their course. As we have very little excitement we hoped it might be a German attack, for we all want to see a naval battle. I looked at the cruiser through powerful glasses and saw sailors fixing up the starboard lifeboat, so we presumed that it was simply a case of “man overboard.”

A big cruiser has joined our fleet and is acting as a flank guard about three miles away from our starboard side.

We have a great deal of physical exercise in spite of the rolling of the deck. This morning, while in the middle of it I was called away to dress and form part of an escort to the prisoner who was to be tried by field court-martial to-day. The court was very dignified, and it took a long time owing to the inexperience of the officers in such matters. It was the first court-martial I have seen,—the proceedings are strictly legal, being conducted according to the book, and with the officers wearing their swords. The poor devil expects two years.

We have been pitching and tossing a great deal to-day. Physical exercising on the sloping decks is becoming a mighty risky thing.

Quite a number of the transports have guns mounted on board so they are not entirely dependent on the cruisers. It looks as if we are sailing north of the usual trade routes. I have just heard that five more battleships are on the starboard beam. They came into sight early this morning, but have since been out of sight. We are sailing north of the trade routes.

The fleet is being increased. All ships are stopped. Those sailing west are allowed to go after being boarded; those going in the same direction as ourselves are made to fall into line, so there will be no danger of the news of our sailing reaching Europe ahead of us. If we continue to pick up ships sailing in our direction, the fleet will be enormous by the time we arrive at our unknown destination. We sailed two hundred and twelve miles the last twenty-four hours.

Two more transports have joined us. They came from Newfoundland. I hear that we now have forty-three ships in the fleet. We sail at ten cables’ length apart, about one thousand yards.

We are getting into more dangerous water evidently. Early this morning the Royal George steamed up from the end of the line and took up a position at the head of the fleet, but in line with the battleship Glory about three miles away on the port. The Laurentic took up a similar position on the starboard. Both these ships are armored and have guns mounted on them. They are being used as scouts.

We all rushed up on deck to see a cruiser pass close to us this midday. It was a magnificent sight. She was either the H.M.S. Bristol or the H.M.S. Essex; her name was painted The bluejackets were massed on the decks forward and as she went by the marines’ band played “The Maple Leaf Forever.” We returned cheers with the sailors. It gives you a great thrill to see a British ship and to have the knowledge of what it represents. To be British is a great thing, and I’m proud to think that I’m going to fight for my country. When this war is over and men are talking round a table, it will be, “Where were you fighting during the war?” not “Did you fight during the war?”

I’m in a gun-cleaning squad every afternoon. To-day I cleaned the machine gun on which I’m second gunner. We treat our machine guns as if they were pets. No one will ever be able to say that my gun is dirty. It will probably be my best friend some day.

The finding of the court-martial was read out to us on full parade this afternoon. First the “Heavies” were lined up on all sides of the deck, then the “Mosquitos,” as the Machine Gunners are called, lined up inside; the prisoner between an escort was led up in the center. It was wonderfully impressive. I felt that I was to witness the condemning of a fellow soldier to a number of years of hard labor. Over the whole assembly there came a deathlike silence and the finding of the court was read to us by an officer, the sentence being thirty-six days!

The second steward told me that it took two hundred carpenters twelve hours to tear down the cabins and fix up horse fittings. First the authorities made arrangements to ship a thousand troops on this ship. We’re crowded as we are now with only three hundred odd. I hate to think what it would have been like with a thousand.

Early this morning a large man-o’-war came up on the port at a speed that made everything else seem to stop. We have now battleships on all sides. This ship, although a long way off, looks tremendous. She is one of the latest super-dreadnaughts.

I was on guard last night when one of the cruisers came alongside to TALK to the captain about having lights showing in some of the ports. I enjoyed it immensely, for I discovered that the British Navy, true to tradition, was still able to maintain its high level of profanity. The ship is in pitch darkness and there is no moon. On deck it’s almost impossible to walk it’s so dark. Tonight is supposed to be the night on which the Germans are going to make a raid. I am going to sleep on deck so that I shall not miss anything. I’d hate to miss the chance of seeing a naval engagement. I can’t see how the Germans can possibly let a chance go by. A nervy cruiser could sink any amount of ships. If the British Navy were up against us they would have had a cut in before now.

Slept on deck last night. Nothing happened except that early this morning a French cruiser joined us, and I got covered with smuts from the smokestack.

The Admiral has received one hundred and twenty-six words of war news, but will not let us have them. Probably they’re disastrous. We break up to-night or to-morrow. It’s scarcely likely that the whole fleet will be taken to one port at the same time.

That super-dreadnaught passed down the columns to-day. She is of tremendous size and travels at high speed. She is probably the Queen Mary.

Expect to see land Wednesday.