Part 5

A motor-bus had been arranged for the rest of the journey; it was one of the old London Omnibus Company's ones, painted khaki and with its side windows boarded up. There are lots of them used here for taking troops about hurriedly. This took me back another five or six miles, and by 11 a.m. we had reached a little village where there was a charming old French Château, that was being used as the Headquarters of a certain 'Division'--a _Regular_ Division. In front of the Château was a beautiful park with trees covered with autumn leaves. It was a perfect winter day. The sun shone, and opposite the centre of the Château at the other side of the park stood a great gateway with high pillars and a great gate. A parade ground was marked off in this park, and a certain Regiment of Regulars was drawn up to form three sides of a square. When every one was in his place the order was given 'Fix Bayonets,' and like one man they flashed in the sun-light. There was a little table at the fourth side of the square with a coloured rug laid over it. In the centre of the square nine Officers and about thirty Non-Commissioned Officers and men stood to attention in line.

General Sir E. H. H. Allenby, K.C.B., Commanding the Third Army, accompanied by his Staff and several French Officers in blue and gold, came to the little table. The Commander of the Troops gave the command 'GENERAL SALUTE, PRESENT ARMS,' and they did it _well_, while the Army Commander stood at the salute. One by one names were called by the Chief of his Staff, and each one in the centre row came forward and saluted. No word was spoken save this,--'Legion d'Honneur, Chevalier,--I congratulate you.' Each again saluted in silence and withdrew to the centre line, with something in his hand. Then to the other ranks was handed either 'Medaille Militaire' or 'Croix de Guerre.' Again the band in rear of the troops played 'The Marseillaise,' while all stood at the salute. That was all. The troops marched off the ground, the centre row fell out, and it was over. No speech. The Army is not given to making speeches; and in the circumstances that made the setting, it seemed entirely fitting that it should be so, for we could still hear the guns in the distance. I went back to the trenches, but why I was one of those nine I do not know or understand.

SAME DATE.

Everyone here has been so kind about my French decoration. I feel quite ashamed that such a thing should have come to me, when so many others round me have done so well. I don't understand it.

The star is of white and green enamel and the ribbon is scarlet silk.

It is exactly seven years yesterday since I joined this Battalion.

In two letters to friends, written some weeks later, the following passages occur:--

There are many in the Battalion who have deserved marks of approval for service much more than I, and in particular those who have made the supreme sacrifice. But their Honour is greater than anything that man can give.

I went back to the trenches, and the Château with its park, its gates, its trees with autumn leaves, its well-dressed regiment with fixed and shining bayonets, its Generals in red and blue and gold, disappeared like a happy dream, and it was back to mud and duty.

But there is a deep down satisfaction in being in the front line that a man would not give up for much that the world holds dear.

I am proud of that Cross, and proud to wear its scarlet ribbon on my jacket, but there are honours greater far than that, and to these I have not attained. I have not made the great sacrifice, nor have I even suffered wounds in this fight, and these need no marks of man's approval.

Colonel Kay wrote to Mrs. Lusk under date November 6th as follows:--

'I am asking James to enclose this with his to-day's letter to you just to say how charmed and delighted we all are that he has been selected to have the _Légion d'Honneur_ conferred upon him. The award brings great honour on him and on the Regiment, and the fact that he has been chosen as, I believe, the only Officer in the Brigade[6] to receive the Cross, shows that those in high places know and recognize what splendid service he has done not only at Festubert, but before and since. In his own good modest way he insists that it is a recognition to the Regiment, but I want specially to say that that is nonsense. It is an absolutely personal award for gallant and strenuous service.... I can never thank him sufficiently for all he has done and is doing, and my earnest prayer is that God may restore him to you and all who love him in due time, and that he may be long spared to enjoy the honours he is so worthily earning.'

[6] In Routine Order No. 375 by G.O.C. 51st (Highland) Division, dated Thursday, 11th November, 1915, under 'Honours and Rewards,' the name of Captain Lusk appears as the only officer in the Division decorated then.

IV

THE LAST WEEKS

November & December, 1915

IV

THE LAST WEEKS

November and December, 1915

One of the last weeks of Captain Lusk's life was a specially busy one. He was summoned to take the place of the Brigade Major, while the latter was absent on leave. Before the letters which describe this work there are two or three others which are of special interest:--

SABBATH NIGHT, NOV. 14, 1915.

We had Service to-day in a sort of Hall in one of the wings of the Château of this village. Mr. Coutts officiated and did very well indeed, and we all like him.

Fortunately a piano was available and I played it. We sang 'God is our Refuge' to Stroudwater, 'The Lord is my Shepherd' to Wiltshire, and 'Fight the good Fight' to the tune that is not in the Hymnary.

In the evening again we had another more informal Service, at which I again played; everyone enjoyed both Services. Two biscuit boxes served as a piano stool!

SAME DATE (_to his Sister_).

There is a phrase of John Kelman's about this war that I specially like to think of. It speaks of one who strives to 'carry a sword across the barriers of death clean and bright.' Many and many a one has done it and done it to the uttermost in this fight, and the rest of us, halting and stumbling, try to follow in their train.

And what helps me most is just your love. It keeps _high_ the ideals of service and sacrifice, and makes the counting of all cost as a forgotten thing.

SATURDAY NIGHT, NOV. 20, 1915.

You say the ground is white with snow. We have had snow too. The night we marched off from billets to trenches (about 7½ miles), the snow was thick on the ground, and a mist came down, and it was very cold. Did I tell you that I thought it would have made a good picture for an artist to paint? At a bend in the road you could see a long column of troops--only half its former length--trudging slowly along, every man laden like a pack animal, with fur coat, waterproof sheet, blanket, pack, equipment, &c., and of course his rifle and bayonet and 120 rounds of ammunition. The Colonel and I rode at the head of the column, and Major Graham and the Medical Officer at the rear.

SATURDAY MORNING, DEC. 4, 1915.

They called for me this afternoon to come to Brigade Headquarters to take the place of the Brigade Major, who has gone on leave for a week--and so I find myself once more in a Brigade Office with plenty of work to do. But it is responsible work, and the Brigade takes over trenches on Sabbath, so I have to make all arrangements for the move of the different Battalions.

SAME DATE.

I am in a post of much increased responsibility just now for about a week, and I need great help, but I am _getting_ this help. I feel it in no uncertain way.

WEDNESDAY MORNING, DEC. 8, 1915.

To-day has not been quite such a hustle as yesterday was, but it has been very full since 8 a.m. this morning--or rather yesterday morning! I am very well and getting through it wonderfully; the Brigade Major will probably return on Thursday or Friday. A Brigade Headquarters is a busy place on Service, and fifty different things seem to call for attention at once sometimes. There are telephones to the different Battalions in the trenches, and a telephone to the Divisional Headquarters and to Artillery Batteries and Royal Engineers. Then besides that, Officers come in to ask for instructions for this, that and the other thing. But I have been wonderfully helped from day to day. The trenches are pretty bad with mud and water, and to-day and to-night it has been raining, and they will be worse to-morrow.

SABBATH NIGHT, DEC. 12, 1915.

I am once more at the Headquarters billet of the 6th Scottish Rifles after a most strenuous ten days as Acting Brigade Major. It has been a busy time. Each day has been as full as days can be from 8 a.m. till after midnight--then six hours sleep and at it again; but I am perfectly well, and with a good sleep I shall be all right again. I am so glad I have been able to do it, though it has been a good handful for me. Still the General seemed pleased with the manner in which the work had been done, and I was thankful for that.... I now feel as if I would have an easier time. One of the best ways to find how light a burden is--is to carry a heavier one for some time!

Captain Lusk's impression that 'the General seemed pleased' with his work is confirmed by a letter, written after his death to his Mother, by Brigadier-General G. L. G. Edwards, 154th Infantry Brigade:--

'I am writing a few lines to tell you how deeply I condole with you and your family in the irreparable loss you have sustained. A short time ago when the Brigade Major was on leave, your son took over his duties, and I was then able to personally appreciate his many good qualities and devotion to duty. He is a very great loss to his Regiment and to the Service, and his sad end is deeply felt by all in the Brigade who knew him.'

An Illuminated Address of congratulation upon his honour was drawn up by the Directors, Members of the Staff and representative Foremen at the Dalzell Iron and Steel Works, and sent to his Mother for safe keeping. Previously one of his colleagues there had written to Mrs. Lusk,--'It would do your heart good to hear the remarks made by everyone at the Works, and everyone seems anxious that you should know how glad they are.' The Address pleased Captain Lusk very much, as the following letter will show:--

SABBATH NIGHT, DEC. 19, 1915.

Thank you very much for your letter to-day telling me of this magnificent Illuminated Address that has come to you from the Works. It is just exceedingly kind of them, and is a great deal more than I deserve. You have described it most fully even to the measurements of the frame both inside and outside, as well as all that is inscribed upon it. It is a great work of art, and I think I can guess the name of the man who did the drawing part of it. He is on the Staff of the Drawing Office and draws very well indeed, and so when I write to the Works about it I must write a special note to him. It is just exceedingly kind of everyone there to think of the idea, and I do greatly appreciate their kindness. It shows a great feeling of friendliness that I am very proud of. The signatures will be most interesting. I wonder whose idea it was to do it? ...

Christmas will soon be here. We go into trenches again on Tuesday, so shall likely be there on that day.

We had Service to-day. Our own Chaplain is on leave, and the Service was taken for us by a Church of England Chaplain, who took our Form of Service very well indeed. It was good of him to do it. We sang 'Lord, bless and pity us,' and 'I'm not ashamed,' and 'Fight the good Fight.'

There is not a little pathos about the letters of the last days of all:--

(_To the Rev. James MacGibbon, C.F._)

I fear your thoughts of me must be hard ones, and there is ample reason. I have been waiting, and still waiting, for a quiet hour in which to answer your letter to me. It has not been by any means a question of forgetting--for I could not forget that--but merely a question of putting off the time of writing, till I could find a time of comparative quiet to answer you as your letter demands to be answered.

I thank you for it very warmly indeed--more warmly than I can say on paper....

The Honour that has come to me was wholly unexpected, and I take it as being meant for the Battalion, more than for me personally. The mere accident of seniority among those who were left at the end of the fight, does not in itself carry any claim to notice. My poor part in that night's happenings was a very small one. I have not made the great sacrifice, nor have I even suffered wounds in this great cause. To those who have given all there was to give--even life itself--belongs that Honour. Theirs is the Honour that no man can give. It is alone in its greatness, and of man's approval it needs no mark or sign. God marks their resting place, for He alone can.

Our thoughts go out towards those at home whose patience and self-sacrifice is past telling in its greatness. They have given of their dearest and their best, and to that Legion of those whom we Honour do they most assuredly belong.

God knows how little I deserve of this.

I have a book wrapped in my haversack that I never tire of reading, though I have but seldom opened it here--to my loss. It is F. W. H. Myers' _St. Paul_. No doubt you know it. It has given strength many a time.

'Nay but Thou knowest us, Lord Christ, Thou knowest, Well Thou rememberest our feeble frame, Thou canst conceive our highest and our lowest, Pulses of nobleness and aches of shame.

'Therefore have pity!--not that we accuse Thee, Curse Thee and die, and charge Thee with our woe: Not through Thy fault, O Holy One, we lose Thee, Nay, but our own,--yet hast Thou made us so!

'Then, though our foul and limitless transgression Grows with our growing, with our breath began, Raise Thou the arms of endless intercession, Jesus, divinest when Thou most art man!'

... I have always looked forward to the days when you would be able to take our services for us, and missed them when they were impossible. The passion of self-sacrifice, the passion of St. Paul as of his Christ, makes strong appeal, and I always found that note in your words to us, and I loved it. It has no limits; it counts no cost.

I miss you now--we all do. God grant we may meet again.

One wonders how long it still must last. There is something written by George Dawson that I like for these days. It is this:--

'Grant unto us, Almighty God, that when our vision fails and our understanding is darkened, when the ways of life seem hard and the brightness of life is gone--to us grant the wisdom that deepens faith when the sight is dim, and enlarges trust when the understanding is not clear. And whensoever Thy ways in nature or in the soul are hard to be understood, then may our quiet confidence, our patient trust, our loving faith in Thee be great; and as children, knowing that we are loved, cared for, guarded, kept, may we with a quiet mind at all times put our trust in the unseen God. So may we face _life without fear and death without fainting_.'

You will, I hope, forgive this much quotation. They are taken out of my treasures, and I like to share them with those I care for.

We have been out of the trenches for four days and are going in again to-morrow, so that it appears as if Christmas Day may find us there.

'Peace on earth, Goodwill among men' seems far away. But no doubt the strife of to-day will make the peace of to-morrow more lasting when it comes, as come it will.

TUESDAY NIGHT, DEC. 21, 1915.

I must send you a Christmas message of love to-night, as this may reach you on Christmas Day, or even later.

We came into trenches to-day, and shall likely be in for Christmas. Everyone is very cheerful. Friends at home have been specially kind in sending parcels out. The men seem to have loads of good things to eat, and are really very well provided for in that respect. Of course the mud and water that is everywhere does not form the most pleasant surroundings for enjoying these good things, but against all that there is the deep satisfaction in knowing that they are in the place where they can best do their duty, and that makes up for a great deal of discomfort.

SAME DATE.

We are all very cheerful, and Christmas Day will find us in the same frame of mind, I hope. Perhaps by next Christmas-time there will be lasting Peace and Goodwill. But that time is not yet.

SAME DATE.

We took over trenches again this evening--a day sooner than we expected. It has rained most of the day. The Colonel and Boyd and our Medical Officer and I, all rode over here from our rest billets this afternoon. It rained and the roads are very muddy. Headquarters are occupying the same cottage as we had last time--the one that had its chimney carried away one day by a shell. But it will be safer this time! I suppose we shall be in for Christmas Day, but we are quite cheerful about it, and hope that the next Christmas will be spent under different circumstances, where Peace and Goodwill will be more in evidence than they are to-day. Peace will be more lasting when it comes, because of all the strife that has gone before it. I must send you Christmas messages by this letter, for the day will have come and perhaps gone when it reaches you. They are just the same old messages, but they go very deep down indeed.... And after Christmas and New Year's Day are over, and a few more weeks are past, I shall hope to come home again and actually _see_ you.

CHRISTMAS EVE, 1915.

It is Christmas Eve once more, and we are still fighting mud and water and Germans. I hope that by next Christmas we shall be doing so no longer. We hope to come out of the front line on Tuesday next, and have four days in Brigade Reserve, and then go back a good long way for a rest. So about New Year's Day we shall probably be on the move somewhere, and we hope that our long-looked-for rest of several weeks' duration may actually come to pass at last. But we shall see. I have just been wading through the mud and water of the trenches, and they are pretty bad, but we are all very cheerful, and try to make the best of our Christmas-time.

CHRISTMAS EVE (_to his Sister_).

It is Christmas Eve once more, and I have just come back from wading through the mud and water of front line trenches. I am tired and wet and dirty, and would that the men of strife would cease their noise and hear the Angels sing. But we must keep up our hearts. One gets sick to death sometimes of it all, but still it goes on and on, and we somehow live or dream through it. The night is clear with a bright moon, and it is dry at the moment. Pumps and mud and water and sandbags and chalk and bullets and more mud and bayonets and gum-boots and shells and signal messages and artillery retaliation, seem sometimes to be all jumbled up, and dance before your eyes, and haunt you night and day. But at other times things are not so bad, and everybody is really very cheerful.... I've got nothing to give you this Christmas except my LOVE, from the midst of all the dancing muddle of mud and rain and other things.

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

We are grateful to those who were beside James during his last days, for telling us about them, as well as for the loving care which they bestowed upon him, and the kind words of appreciation which they wrote.

Captain Campbell was one of the last to be with him. He writes:--

'Poor Lusk was hit shortly after noon on Christmas Day. He had come up to the trenches[1] for his usual morning tour along with Major Graham. He had looked into Keith's and my 'dug-out,' and then gone along into 'A' Company's lines himself, the C.O. (Major Graham) having preceded him by a few minutes, when the trench-mortar came that laid him out.

[1] This was near Thiepval.

'He apparently did not hear or see the mortar coming. It was one of these infernal 'oil cans' (a cylindrical shaped object about two feet long and nine inches in diameter, filled with explosive); it landed on the parapet, and blew him against the corner of a communication trench which he was just passing. His ear was badly lacerated, and he was buried up to the shoulders in the falling debris (sand-bags, mud, &c.). It was only a matter of seconds before there was somebody there digging him out, which was done in five or ten minutes. The M.O., who was in the trenches at the time, bandaged him up, and he was carried out. I believe he was more or less conscious all the time, though he didn't appear to hear properly. Either the shock of the explosion, or his fall against the trench, broke the vertebrae of his neck. He passed away in Hospital at Amiens on the evening of the 28th December.

'Major Graham, the Padre and our M.O., myself and twenty men were present at his funeral which took place at 3.30 p.m. on the 30th. He is buried a mile and a half or so out of Amiens.

'I can appreciate how great must be the loss to you all. He was out here for one thing, and that was to give his best for the job he was on, and he gave it all the time. He seemed to be everything the average fellow would like to be, but never is. He was the best of all.'

The Rev. Alfred Coutts, the Chaplain of the Battalion, wrote on the evening of Christmas Day:--

'Colonel Kay is home on leave this week, or I feel sure he would have wished to write to you himself, and express the profound sorrow of every Officer and man in the Battalion, that your son Captain Lusk was unfortunately wounded in the trenches this morning. He had not been long there before a German trench-mortar fired the 'oil can' as the soldiers call it, which exploded near the trench along which he was passing at the time. Happily the Medical Officer, Dr. Rawlins, was visiting the trenches, and was at your son's side within two minutes. He was very quickly got down to headquarters in the village, where he was further attended to, and the Doctor afterwards went to the Field Ambulance with him. There it was decided to send the patient to the Hospital at Amiens without delay. He is wounded in the head--about the left ear--but he spoke to the Medical Officer quite calmly and rationally, and asked about the nature of his wound. As you can readily understand, he is suffering considerably from shock, but the Regimental Doctor and the Doctors of the Field Ambulance were unable to say more. A further medical examination would take place at Amiens, where they have X-ray apparatus. He bore the journey by motor to the Field Ambulance well, and we are all hoping to hear good news about him in a day or two. It has been a sad Christmas for his comrades here, for Captain Lusk was the honoured and beloved friend and brother of us all. Absolutely fearless at all times, he has greatly impressed us by his goodness. I shall miss very much his kindly presence--for he has been most helpful to me in my work.'

Captain Lusk's orderly, Private Isaac Devon, has told us that when he was hit, he was in the act of distributing cigarettes to the men in the trenches, and wishing them a Happy Christmas. The following is from a letter which Private Devon wrote to his wife on the night of Christmas Day:--