THE &BRARY 
 OF 
 ANGELES
 
 THE SKY PILOT 
 IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 RAL PH CONNOR 
 
 OF CAUF. LJMART. LOt AHG1UC9
 
 BY RALPH CONNOR 
 
 THE SKY PILOT IN No MAN'S LAND 
 
 THE MAJOR 
 
 THE PATROL OF THE SUN DANCE TRAIL 
 
 CORPORAL CAMERON 
 
 THE FOREIGNER 
 
 BLACK ROCK 
 
 THE SKY PILOT 
 
 THE PROSPECTOR 
 
 THE DOCTOR 
 
 THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY 
 
 GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS
 
 THE SKY PILOT 
 IN NO MANS LAND 
 
 BY 
 
 RALPH CONNOR 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "THE MAJOR," "THE SKY PILOT," ETC. 
 
 NEW XSr YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1919, 
 By George H. Doran Company 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. ONLY A MISSIONARY 9 
 
 II. ON THE RED PINE TRAIL 26 
 
 III. A QUESTION or CONSCIENCE 37 
 
 IV. REJECTED 53 
 
 V. THE WAR DRUM CALLS 69 
 
 VI. THE MEN OF THE NORTH 85 
 
 VII. BARRICADES AND BAYONETS * 95 
 
 VIII. A QUESTION OF NERVE . . . . . . 116 
 
 IX. SUBMARINES, BULLPUPS AND OTHER THINGS . 135 
 
 X. FRANCE ; 154 
 
 XI. THE NEW MESSAGE 169 
 
 XII. A MAN OF GOD 188 
 
 XIII. INTENSIVE TRAINING 207 
 
 XIV. A TOUCH OF WAR 219 
 
 XV. THINNING RANKS . 242 
 
 XVI. THE PASSING OF McCuAic 268 
 
 XVII. LONDON LEAVE AND PHYLLIS .... 287 
 
 XVIII. A WEDDING JOURNEY 305 
 
 XIX. THE PILOT'S LAST PORT . . . . . . 316 
 
 XX. "CARRY ON" . . 344 
 
 2130077
 
 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND
 
 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S 
 LAND 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ONLY A MISSIONARY 
 
 HIGH upon a rock, poised like a bird for flight, stark 
 naked, his satin skin shining like gold and silver in 
 the rising sun, stood a youth, tall, slim of body, not fully 
 developed but with muscles promising, in their faultless, 
 gently swelling outline, strength and suppleness to an 
 unusual degree. Gazing down into the pool formed by 
 an eddy of the river twenty feet below him, he stood as 
 if calculating the distance, his profile turned toward the 
 man who had just emerged from the bushes and was 
 standing on the sandy strand of the river, paddle in hand, 
 looking up at him with an expression of wonder and de- 
 light in his eyes. 
 
 "Ye gods, what a picture!" said the man to himself. 
 
 Noiselessly, as if fearing to send the youth off in 
 flight, he laid his paddle on the sand, hurriedly felt in 
 his pockets, and swore to himself vigorously when he 
 could find no sketch book there. 
 
 "What a pose! What an Apollo!" he muttered. 
 
 The sunlight glistening on the beautiful white skin lay 
 like pools of gold in the curving hollows of the perfectly 
 modelled body, and ran like silver over the rounded 
 swellings of the limbs. Instinct with life he seemed, 
 something in his pose suggesting that he had either alight- 
 
 9
 
 10 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 ed from the golden, ambient air, or was about to commit 
 himself to it. The man on the sand continued to gaze 
 as if he were beholding a creature of another world. 
 
 "Oh, Lord! What lines!" he breathed. 
 
 Slowly the youth began to move his arms up to the 
 horizontal, then to the perpendicular, reaching to the ut- 
 most of his height upon his toe tips, breathing deep the 
 while. Smoothly, slowly, the muscles in legs and thighs, 
 in back, in abdomen, in chest, responding to the exercise 
 moved under the lustrous skin as if themselves were liv- 
 ing things. Over and over again the action was repeated, 
 the muscles and body moving in rhythmic harmony like 
 some perfect mechanism running in a bath of oil. 
 
 "Ye gods of Greece!" breathed the man. "What is 
 this thing I see ? Flesh or spirit ? Man or god ?" Again 
 he swore at himself for neglecting to bring his sketch 
 book and pencil. 
 
 "Hello, father! Where are you?" A girl's voice rang 
 out, high, clear, and near at hand. 
 
 "Good Lord !" said the man to himself, glancing up at 
 the poised figure. "I must stop her." 
 
 One startled glance the youth flung down upon him, 
 another in the direction of the voice, then, like a white, 
 gleaming arrow he shot down, and disappeared in the 
 dark pool below. 
 
 With his eyes upon the water the man awaited his re- 
 appearing. A half minute, a full minute he waited, but 
 in vain. Swiftly he ran toward the edge of the pool. 
 There was no sign anywhere of the youth. 
 
 Ghastly pale and panting, the man ran, as far round 
 the base of the rock as the water would allow him, seek- 
 ing everywhere signs of the swimmer. 
 
 "Hello, father! Oh, there you are!" Breaking 
 through the bushes, a girl ran to him. 
 
 "What is it, pater ? You are ill. What is the matter ?" 
 
 "Good heavens! he was there!" gasped the man, point- 
 ing to the high rock. "He plunged in there." He pointed 
 to the pool. "He hasn't come up. He is drowned."
 
 ONLY A MISSIONARY 11 
 
 "Who? What are you saying? Wake up, father. 
 Who was there ?" 
 
 "A boy ! A young man ! He disappeared down there." 
 
 "A young man? Was he was he dressed?" in- 
 quired the girl. 
 
 "Dressed? No. No." 
 
 "Did he did he hear me calling?" 
 
 "Of course he did. That's what startled him, I imag- 
 ine. Poor boy ! I fear he is gone." 
 
 "Did he fall in, or did he dive?" 
 
 "He seemed to dive, but he has not come up. I fear 
 he is gone." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense, father," said the girl. "I bet you he 
 has swum round the bend. Just go over the rock and 
 see." 
 
 "God grant it!" said her father. 
 
 He dropped his paddle, ran up over the rock and down 
 into the little dell on the other side that ran down to 
 the water's edge. There he saw a tent, with all the ac- 
 companiments of a well ordered camp, and a man cook- 
 ing breakfast on a small fire. 
 
 "Well, I'll be combusticated !" he said to himself, weak- 
 ly holding to a little poplar tree. 
 
 "I say!" he cried, "where is he? Has he come in? Is 
 he all right?" 
 
 "Who?" said the man at the fire. 
 
 "The boy on the rock." 
 
 The man gazed at him astonished, then as if suddenly 
 grasping his meaning, replied, 
 
 "Yes, he came in. He's dressing in the tent." 
 
 "Well, I'll be condumbusticated !" said the man. "Say! 
 what the devil does he mean by scaring people out of 
 their senses in that way!" 
 
 The man at the fire stood gazing at him in an utterly 
 bewildered way. 
 
 "If you will tell me exactly what you are after, I may 
 be able to help you."
 
 12 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 The other drew slowly near the fire. He was still 
 pale, and breathing quickly. 
 
 "Hello, dad, is breakfast ready?" came a cheery voice 
 from the tent. 
 
 "Thank God, he is alive apparently," said the man, 
 sinking down on a log beside > the fire. "You must par- 
 don me, sir," he said. "You see, I saw him take a header 
 into the pool from that high rock over yonder, and he 
 never came up again. I thought he was drowned." 
 
 The man at the fire smiled. 
 
 "The young villain gave you a fright, did he? One 
 of his usual tricks. Well, as his father, and more or less 
 responsible for him, I offer the most humble apology. 
 Have you had breakfast?" 
 
 "Yes. But why did he do such a thing?" 
 
 "Ask him. Here he comes." 
 
 Out from the tent came the youth in shorts, the warm 
 glow of his body showing through the filmy material. 
 
 "Hello!" he cried, backing toward the tent door. 
 "You are the man with the paddle. Is there by any 
 chance a lady with you, or did I hear a lady's voice over 
 there? I assure you I got a deuce of a fright." 
 
 "You gave me the supreme fright of my life, young 
 man, I can tell you that." 
 
 "But I surely heard a lady's voice," said the youth. 
 
 "You did. It was my daughter's voice, and it was she 
 who suggested that you had swum around the bend. 
 And she sent me over here to investigate.'' 
 
 "Oh, your daughter. Excuse me," said the youth. "I 
 shall be out in a few minutes." He slid into the tent, 
 and did not reappear. 
 
 The man remained chatting with the youth's father 
 for a few minutes, then rising said, 
 
 "Well, I feel better. I confess this thing gave me 
 something of a shock. But come round and see us before 
 we go. We shall be leaving in an hour." 
 
 The man at the fire promised to make the visit, and 
 the other took his departure.
 
 ONLY A MISSIONARY 13 
 
 A few minutes later the youth reappeared. 
 
 "Is breakfast ready?" he cried. "My, but I'm hun- 
 gry ! But who is he, dad ?" 
 
 "Sit down," said his father, "and get your breakfast 
 while it is hot." 
 
 "But who is he, dad ?" persisted the youth. 
 
 "Who is he?" said his father, dishing up the bacon. 
 "An oil explorer, an artist, a capitalist, an American from 
 Pittsburgh, the father of one child, a girl. Her mother 
 is dead. Nineteen years old, athletic, modern type, col- 
 lege bred, 'boss of the show' (quotation). These are a 
 few of the facts volunteered within the limited space of 
 his visit." 
 
 "What's he like, dad?" 
 
 "Like? Like an American." 
 
 "Now, dad, don't allow your old British prejudices to 
 run away with your judgment." 
 
 "On the contrary, I am perfectly charmed. He is one 
 of those Americans who capture you at once, educated, 
 frank, open, with that peculiar charm that Britishers 
 will not be able to develop for many generations. An 
 American, but not of the unspeakable type. Not at all. 
 You will like him." 
 
 "I am sure I shall," replied the youth. "I liked his 
 voice and his face. I like the Americans. I met such 
 nice chaps at college. So clever, and with such a vo- 
 cabulary." 
 
 "Vocabulary ? Well, I'm not too sure as to the vocab- 
 ulary part of it." 
 
 "Yes, such bright, pat, expressive slang, so fresh and 
 in such variety. So different from your heavy British 
 slang, in which everything approaching the superlative 
 must be one of three things, 'ripping/ with very distinct 
 articulation on the double p, or 'top hole,' or 'awfully 
 jolly.' More recently, I believe, a fourth variation is al- 
 lowed in 'priceless.' ' 
 
 "Ah, my boy, you have unconsciously uttered a most 
 searching criticism on your American friends. Don't
 
 14 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 you know that a vocabulary rich in slang is poverty 
 stricken in forceful and well chosen English? The wealth 
 of the one is the poverty of the other." 
 "Where is he going?" enquired the boy. 
 "Out by way of Edmonton, Calgary, Moose Jaw, Min- 
 neapolis, so on to Pittsburgh. Partner with him, young 
 lawyer, expert in mines, unmarried. He is coming back 
 in a couple of months or so for a big hunt. Wants us to 
 join him. Really extraordinary, when you come to think 
 of it, how much information he was able to convey in 
 such a short space of time. Marvellous gift of expres- 
 sion!" 
 
 "What did you say, dad?" 
 
 "Say? Oh, as to his invitation! Why, I believe I ac- 
 cepted, my boy. It seemed as if I could do nothing else. 
 It's a way he has." 
 
 "Is is the daughter to be along?" 
 "Let me see. What did he say? Really, I don't know. 
 But I should judge that it would be entirely as she 
 
 wished. She is " 
 
 "Boss of the show, eh?" 
 "Exactly. Most vivid phrase, eh?" 
 "Very. And no doubt aptly descriptive of the fact." 
 In half an hour the breakfast was finished, and the 
 elder man got his pipe a-going. 
 
 "Now, dad, you had better go along and make your 
 call, while I get things together here." 
 
 "What! You not going! No, no, that won't do, my 
 boy. It was about you they were concerned. You were 
 the occasion of the acquaintanceship. Besides, meeting 
 in the wilderness this way we can't do that sort of thing, 
 you know." 
 
 "Well, dad, frankly, I am quite terrified of the young 
 lady. Suppose she should start bossing us. We should 
 both be quite helpless." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense, boy! Come along. Get your hat." 
 "All right, I'll come. On your head be the conse- 
 quences, dad. No, I don't need a hat. Fortunately I
 
 ONLY A MISSIONARY 15 
 
 put on a clean shirt. Will I do, dad? You know I'm 
 'scairt stiff,' as Harry Hobbs would say." 
 
 His father looked him over, but there was nothing 
 critical in his glance. Pride and love filled his eyes as 
 they ran over his son's face and figure. And small won- 
 der! The youth was good to look upon. A shade under 
 six feet he stood, straight and slim, strength and supple 
 grace in every move of his body. His face was beauti- 
 ful with the beauty of features, clean cut and strong, 
 but more with the beauty of a clear, candid soul. He 
 seemed to radiate an atmosphere of cheery good nature 
 and unspoiled simplicity. He was two years past his 
 majority, yet he carried the air of a youth of eighteen, 
 in which shyness and fearlessness looked out from his 
 deep blue eyes. It was well that he wore no hat to hide 
 the mass of rich brown hair that waved back from his 
 forehead. 
 
 "You'll do, boy," said his father, in a voice whose 
 rigid evenness of tone revealed the emotion it sought to 
 conceal. "You'll take all the shine from me, you young 
 beggar," he added in a tone of gruff banter, "but there 
 was a time " 
 
 'Was a time, dad? Is, and don't tell me you don't 
 know it. I always feel like a school kid in any company 
 when you're about. 
 
 'When the sun comes out 
 All the little stars run in,' " 
 
 he sang from a late music hall effusion. "Why, just 
 come here and look at yourself," and the boy's eyes dwelt 
 with affectionate pride upon his father. 
 
 It was easy to see where the boy got his perfect form. 
 Not so tall as his son, he was more firmly knit, and with 
 a kind of dainty neatness in his appearance which sug- 
 gested the beau in earlier days. But there was nothing 
 of weakness about the erect, trim figure. A second 
 glance discovered a depth of chest, a thickness of shoul-
 
 der and of thigh, and a general development of muscle 
 such as a ring champion might show ; and, indeed, it was 
 his achievements in the ring rather than in the class lists 
 that won for Dick Dunbar in his college days his high- 
 est fame. And though his fifty years had slowed some- 
 what the speed of foot and hand, the eye was as sure as 
 ever, and but little of the natural force was abated which 
 once had made him the glory of the Cambridge sporting 
 youth, and which even yet could test his son's mettle 
 in a fast bout 
 
 On the sandy shore of the river below the eddy, they 
 found the American and his party gathered, with their 
 stuff ranged about them ready for the canoes. 
 
 "Ah, here you are, sir," said the American, advancing 
 hat in hand. "And this is your son, the young rascal 
 who came mighty near giving me heart failure this morn- 
 ing. By the way, I haven't the pleasure of knowing 
 your name." 
 
 "My name is Richard Dunbar, and this is my son 
 Barry." 
 
 "My name is Osborne Rowland, of Pittsburgh, and 
 this is my daughter Paula. In bloomers, as you see, but 
 nevertheless my daughter. Meet also my friend and 
 partner, Mr. Cornwall Brand." 
 
 The party exchanged greetings, and spent some mo- 
 ments giving utterance to those platitudes which are so 
 useful in such circumstances, a sort of mental marking 
 time preparatory to further mutual acquaintance. 
 
 The girl possessed that striking, dashing kind of bru- 
 nette beauty that goes with good health, good living, and 
 abundance of outdoor exercise. She carried herself with 
 that air of assured self-confidence that comes as the re- 
 sult of a somewhat wide experience of men, women and 
 things. She quite evidently scorned the conventions, as 
 her garb, being quite masculine, her speech being out- 
 spoken and decorated with the newest and most ingeni- 
 ous slang, her whole manner being frankly impulsive, 
 loudly proclaimed.
 
 ONLY A MISSIONARY 17 
 
 But Barry liked her at once, and made no pretence of 
 concealing his liking. To her father, also, he was im- 
 mediately drawn. As to Cornwall Brand, between whom 
 and the girl there seemed to exist a sort of understanding, 
 he was not so sure. 
 
 For half an hour or so they stood by the river exchang- 
 ing their experiences in these northern wilds, and their 
 views upon life in the wilderness and upon things in 
 general. By a little skilful managing the girl got the 
 young man away from the others, and then proceeded to 
 dissect and classify him. 
 
 Through the open woods along the river bank they 
 wandered, pausing here and there to admire the view, 
 until they came to an overhanging bank at the entrance 
 to a somewhat deep gorge, through which the river 
 foamed to the boiling rapids below. It was indeed a 
 beautiful scene. The banks of the river were covered 
 with every variety of shrub and tree, except where the 
 black rocks broke through; between the banks the dark 
 river raged and fretted itself into a foam against its 
 rocky barriers ; over them arched the sky, a perfect blue. 
 
 "What a lovely view !" exclaimed the girl, seating her- 
 self upon the edge of the bank. "Now," she said, "tell 
 me about yourself. You gave my pater a fearful fright 
 this morning. He was quite paralysed when I came on 
 him." 
 
 "I am very sorry," said the youth, "but I had no in- 
 tention " 
 
 "I know. I told him not to worry," replied the girl. 
 "I knew you would be all right." 
 
 "And how, pray?" said the young man, blushing at 
 the memory of his startling appearance upon that rock. 
 
 "I knew that any fellow who could take that dive 
 wouldn't likely let himself drown. I guessed, too, that if 
 you heard me hoot " 
 
 "I did," said the youth. 
 
 "You sure would get slippy right away." 
 
 "I did."
 
 18 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "I guess you were pretty well startled yourself, weren't 
 you?" said the girl, pursuing the subject with cool per- 
 sistence. 
 
 "Rather," said the young man, blushing more violently, 
 and wishing she would change the subject. "You are 
 going out?" he enquired. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "To-day?" 
 
 "Now right away." 
 
 "Too bad," he said, his disappointment evident in his 
 tone. 
 
 "When are you going out? But who are you, any- 
 way?" asked the girl. "You have to tell me that." 
 
 "My life story, so to speak?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "It's very short and simple, like the annals of the 
 poor," he replied. "From England in infancy, on a 
 ranch in northern Alberta for ten years, a puny little 
 wretch I was, terribly bothered with asthma, then" the 
 boy hesitated a moment "my mother died, father moved 
 to Edmonton, lived there for five years, thence to Wapiti, 
 away northwest of Edmonton, our present home, pre- 
 pared for college by my father, university course in Win- 
 nipeg, graduated in theology a year ago, now the mis- 
 sionary in charge of Wapiti and the surrounding dis- 
 trict."' 
 
 "A preacher!" said the girl, her face and her tone 
 showing her disappointment only too plainly. 
 
 "Not much of a preacher, I fear," said the young man 
 with a smile. "A missionary, rather. That's my story." 
 She noticed with some chagrin that he did not ask 
 for hers. 
 
 "What are you doing here ?" she enquired. 
 He hesitated a moment or two. 
 
 "Dad and I always take a trip into the wilds every 
 summer." Then he added after a few moments' pause, 
 "But of course we have other business on hand up here." 
 "Business? Up here?"
 
 ONLY A MISSIONARY 19 
 
 "Yes. Dad has some." He made as if to continue, 
 it changed his mind and fell into silence, leaving her 
 piqued by his reserve and by his apparent indifference 
 to the things concerning herself. She did not know that 
 he was eagerly hoping that she would supply this infor- 
 mation. 
 
 At length he ventured, "Must you go away to-day?" 
 
 "I don't suppose there's any 'must' about it." 
 
 "Why not stay?" 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 "Oh, it would be jolly," he cried. "You see, we 
 could explore about here and," he ended rather 
 lamely, "it's a lovely country." 
 
 "We've seen a lot of it. It is lovely," she said, her 
 eyes upon his face as if appraising him. "I should like 
 to know you better," she added, with sudden and 
 characteristic frankness, "so I think we will stay. But 
 you will have to be awfully good to me." 
 
 "Why, of course," he cried. "That's splendid! Per- 
 fectly jolly!" 
 
 "Then we had better find father and tell him. Come 
 along," she ordered, and led the way back to the camp. 
 
 The young man followed her, wondering at her, and 
 giving slight heed to the chatter she flung over her shoul- 
 der at him as she strode along through the bushes. 
 
 "What's the matter with you?" she cried, facing round 
 upon him. "You were thinking about me, I know. Con- 
 fess, now." 
 
 "I was," he acknowledged, smiling at her. 
 
 "What were you thinking? Tell me," she insisted. 
 
 "I was thinking " He paused. 
 
 "Go on!" she cried. 
 
 "I was thinking of what your father said about you." 
 
 "My father? About me? What did he say? To 
 you?" 
 
 "No. To dad." 
 
 "What was it? Tell me. I must know." She was
 
 20 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 very imperious in her manner. The youth only smiled at 
 her. 
 
 "Go on!" she said impatiently. 
 
 "I think possibly your father was right," he replied, 
 "when he said you 'boss the show/ ' 
 
 "Oh, that's what he said, eh ? Well, I guess he's about 
 right." 
 
 "But you don't really?" 
 
 "Don't what? 'Boss the show'? Well, I boss my 
 own show, at any rate. Don't you?" 
 
 "Don't I what, exactly? Boss the show? Well, I 
 don't think we have any 'show/ and I don't believe we 
 have any 'boss/ Dad and I just talk things over, you 
 see." 
 
 "But," she insisted, "some one in the last analysis must 
 decide. Your menage, no matter how simple, must have 
 a head. It is a law of the universe itself, and it is the 
 law of mankind. You see, I have done some political 
 economy." 
 
 "And yet," said the young man, "you say you run 
 your own show ?" 
 
 "Exactly. Every social organism must have a head, 
 but every individual in the organism must live its own 
 free life. That is true democracy. But of course you 
 don't understand democracy, you Canadians." 
 
 "Aha ! There you ; are ! You Americans are the most 
 insular of all the great peoples of the world. You know 
 nothing of other people. You know only your own his- 
 tory and not even that correctly, your own geography, 
 and your own political science. You know nothing of 
 Canada. You don't know, for instance, that the purest 
 form of democracy on this American continent lies out- 
 side the bounds of the U. S. A." 
 
 "In Canada?" she asked scornfully. "By the way, 
 how many Canadians are there?" 
 
 "Yes, I know. We are a small people," he said quietly, 
 "but no more real democracy exists anywhere in the 
 world than in this country of mine. We are a small
 
 ONLY A MISSIONARY 21 
 
 people, but," he said, with a sweep of his hand toward 
 the west and the north, "the future is with us. The day 
 is coming when along this waterway great cities shall 
 be, with factories and humming industries. These plains, 
 these flowing hills will be the home of millions of men, 
 and in my lifetime, too." 
 
 His eyes began to glow, his face to shine with a rare 
 and fascinating beauty. 
 
 "Do you know the statistics of your country? Do you 
 know that during the last twenty years the rate of Can- 
 ada's growth was three times greater than ever in the his- 
 tory of the United States? You are a great commer- 
 cial nation, but do you know that the per capita rate of 
 Canada's trade to-day is many times that of the United 
 States? You are a great agricultural people, but do you 
 know that three-quarters of the wheat land on this conti- 
 nent is Canadian, and that before many years you will be 
 coming to Canada for your wheat, yes, and for your 
 flour? Do you see that river? Do you know that Can- 
 ada is the richest country in the world in water power? 
 And more than that, in the things essential to national 
 greatness, not these things that you can see, these ma- 
 terial things," he said, sweeping his hand contemptu- 
 ously toward the horizon, "but in such things as educa- 
 tional standards, in administration of justice, in the cus- 
 toms of a liberty loving people, in religious privileges, in 
 everything that goes to make character and morale, Can- 
 ada has already laid the foundations of a great nation." 
 
 He stopped short, abashed, the glow fading from his 
 face, the light from his eyes. 
 
 "Forgive me," he said, with a little laugh. "I am a 
 first class ass. I fear I was blowing like a fog horn. But 
 when you touch Canada you release something in me." 
 
 While he was speaking her eyes never left his face. 
 "Go on !" she said, in a voice of suppressed emotion, "go 
 on. I love to hear you." 
 
 Her wonted poise was gone ; she was obviously stirred 
 with deep emotion.
 
 22 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Go on!" she commanded, laying her hand upon his 
 arm. "Don't stop. Tell me more about about Canada, 
 about anything," she added impatiently. 
 
 A warm, eager light filled her eyes. She was biting 
 her lips to still their tremor. 
 
 "There's plenty to tell about Canada," he said, "but 
 not now. What started me? Oh, democracy. Yes, it 
 was you that began it. Democracy? After all, it is 
 worth while that the people who are one day to fill this 
 wide land should be truly democratic, truly free, and 
 truly great." 
 
 Once more the light began to burn in his eyes and in 
 his face. 
 
 "Ah, to have a hand in that !" 
 
 "And you," she said in a low voice, "you with all 
 that in you, are only a preacher." 
 
 "A missionary," he corrected. 
 
 "Well, a missionary. Only a missionary." 
 
 Disappointment and scorn were all too evident in her 
 voice. 
 
 "Only a missionary. Ah, if I could only be one. A 
 missionary ! With a mission and a message to my peo- 
 ple! If only I had the gift of tongues, of flaming, burn- 
 ing, illuminating speech, of heart-compelling speech ! To 
 tell my people how to make this country truly great and 
 truly free, how to keep it free from the sordid things, 
 the cruel things, the unjust, the unclean, the loathsome 
 things that have debased and degraded the older nations, 
 that are debasing and degrading even your young, great 
 nation. .Ah, to be a missionary with a tongue of fire, 
 with a message of light! A missionary to my people to 
 help them to high and worthy living, to help them to 
 God! Only a missionary! What would you have me? 
 A money-maker?" 
 
 He turned swiftly upon her, a magnetic, compelling 
 personality. From the furious scorn in his voice and in 
 his flaming face she visibly shrank, almost as if he had 
 struck her.
 
 ONLY A MISSIONARY 23 
 
 "No!" she breathed. "Nothing else. Only a mis- 
 sionary." 
 
 Silent she stood, as if still under the spell of his words, 
 her eyes devouring his face. 
 
 "How your mother would have loved you, would have 
 been proud of you," she said in a low tone. "Is is there 
 no one else to to rejoice in you?" she asked shyly, but 
 eagerly. 
 
 He laughed aloud. "There's dad, dear old dad." 
 
 "And no one else?" Still with shy, eager eyes she 
 held him. 
 
 "Oh, heaps," he cried, still laughing. 
 
 She smiled upon him, a slightly uncertain smile, and 
 yet as if his answer somehow satisfied her. 
 
 "Good-bye," she said impulsively, offering her hand. 
 
 "But you are not going! You're staying a few days!" 
 he gasped. 
 
 "No, we're going. We're going right away. Good- 
 bye," she said. "I don't want those others to see. Good- 
 bye. Oh, it's been a wonderful morning! And, and 
 a friend is a wonderful discovery." 
 
 Her hand held his in a strong, warm grasp, but her 
 eyes searched his face as if seeking something she greatly 
 desired. 
 
 "Good-bye. I am sorry you are going," he said, sim- 
 ply. "I want to know you better." 
 
 "Do you?" she cried, with r. sudden eagerness in her 
 voice and manner. Then, "No. You would be disap- 
 pointed. I am not of your world. But you shall see me 
 again," she added, as if taking a new resolve. "We are 
 coming back on a big hunt, and you and your father 
 are to join us. Won't you?" 
 
 "Dad said we should," said the youth, smiling at the 
 remembrance. 
 
 "And you?" she said, with a touch of impatience. 
 
 "If things can so arrange themselves my work, I 
 mean, and dad's." 
 
 "But, do you want to? Do you really want to?" she
 
 24 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 asked. "I wish I knew. I hate not to understand peo- 
 ple. You are hard to know. I don't know you. But you 
 will come?" 
 
 "I think so," said the young man. "Of course a fel- 
 low's work comes first, you know." 
 
 "Work?" she cried. "Your work? Oh, your mis- 
 sionary work. Oh, yes, yes. I should like to see you at 
 it. Come, let us go." 
 
 Mr. Cornwall Brand they found in a fever of impa- 
 tience. He had the trip scheduled to a time table, and he 
 hated to be forced to change his plans. His impatience 
 showed itself in snappy commands and inquiries to his 
 Indian guides, who, however, merely grunted replies. 
 They knew their job and did it without command or 
 advice, and with complete indifference to anything the 
 white man might have to say. To Paula the only change 
 in his manner was an excess of politeness. 
 
 Her father, however, met her with remonstrances. 
 
 "Why, Paula, my dear, you have kept us waiting." 
 
 "What's the rush, pater?" she enquired, coolly. 
 
 "Why, my dear, we are already behind our schedule, 
 and you know Cornwall hates that," he said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "Cornwall!" said Paula, in a loud voice of unmistak- 
 able ill temper. "Does Cornwall run this outfit ?" 
 
 "My dear Paula !" again remonstrated her father. 
 
 She turned to him impatiently, with an angry word 
 at her lips, caught upon Barry's face a look of surprise, 
 paused midway in her passion, then moved slowly toward 
 him. 
 
 "Well," she asked, in an even, cold voice, "what do 
 you think about it ? And anyway," she dropped her voice 
 so that none heard but himself, "why should you halt 
 me? Who are you, to give me pause this way?" 
 
 "Only a missionary," he answered, in an equally low 
 tone, but with a smile gentle, almost wistful on his face. 
 
 As with a flash the wrathful cloud vanished.
 
 ONLY A MISSIONARY 25 
 
 "A missionary," she replied softly. "God knows I 
 need one." 
 
 "You do," he said emphatically, and still he smiled. 
 
 "Come, Paula," called Cornwall Brand. "We are all 
 waiting." 
 
 Her face hardened at his words. 
 
 "Good-bye," she said to Barry. "I am coming back 
 again to to your wonderful Canada." 
 
 "Of course you are," said Barry, heartily. "They all 
 do." 
 
 He went with her to the canoe, steadied her as she 
 took her place, and stood watching till the bend in the 
 river shut them from view. 
 
 "Nice people," said his father. "Very fine, jolly girl." 
 
 "Yes, isn't she?" replied his son. 
 
 "Handsome, too," said his father, glancing keenly at 
 him. 
 
 "Is she? Yes, I think so. Yes, indeed, very," he 
 added, as if pondering the matter. "When do we move, 
 dad?" 
 
 A look of relief crossed the father's face. 
 
 "This afternoon, I think. We have only a few days 
 now. We shall run up Buffalo Creek into the Foothills 
 for some trout. It will be a little stiff, but you are fit 
 enough now, aren't you, Barry?" His voice was tinged 
 with anxiety. 
 
 "Fit for anything, dad, thanks to you." 
 
 "Not to me, Barry. To yourself largely." 
 
 "No," said the boy, throwing his arm round his fa- 
 ther's shoulder, "thanks to you, dear old dad, and to 
 God."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ON THE RED PINE TRAIL 
 
 ON the Red Pine trail two men were driving in a 
 buckboard drawn by a pair of half-broken pinto 
 bronchos. The outfit was a rather ramshackle affair, 
 and the driver was like his outfit. Stewart Duff was a 
 rancher, once a "remittance man," but since his mar- 
 riage three years ago he had learned self-reliance and 
 was disciplining himself in self-restraint. A big, lean 
 man he was, his thick shoulders and large, hairy muscu- 
 lar hands suggesting great physical strength, his swarthy 
 face, heavy features, coarse black hair, keen dark eyes, 
 deepset under shaggy brows, suggesting force of char- 
 acter with a possibility of brutality in passion. Yet when 
 he smiled his heavy face was not unkindly, indeed the 
 smile gave it a kind of rugged attractiveness. He was 
 past his first youth, and on his face were the marks of 
 the stormy way by which he had come. 
 
 He drove his jibing bronchos with steady hands. No 
 light touch was his upon the reins, and the bronchos' 
 wild plunging met with a check from those muscular 
 hands of such iron rigidity as to fling them back helpless 
 and amazed upon their hocks. 
 
 His companion was his opposite in physical appear- 
 ance, and in those features and lines that so unmistakably 
 reveal the nature and character within. Short and stout, 
 inclined indeed to fat, to his great distress, his thick-set 
 figure indicated strength without agility, solidity with- 
 out resilience. He had a pleasant, open face, with a 
 kindly, twinkling blue eye that goes with a merry heart, 
 with a genial, sunny soul. But there was in the blue eye 
 ind in the open face, for all the twinkles and the smiles, 
 
 26
 
 ON THE RED PINE TRAIL 27 
 
 a certain alert shrewdness that proclaimed the keen man 
 of business, and in the clean cut lips lay the suggestion 
 of resolute strength. A likable man he was, with an 
 infinite capacity for humour, but with a bedrock of un- 
 yielding determination in him that always surprised those 
 who judged him lightly. 
 
 The men were friends, and had been comrades more 
 or less during those pioneer days that followed their 
 arrival in the country from Scotland some dozen years 
 ago. Often they had fallen out with each other, for 
 Duff was stormy of temper and had a habit of letting 
 himself swing out upon its gusts of passion, reckless of 
 consequences; but he was ever the one to offer amends 
 and to seek renewal of good relations. He had few 
 friends, and so he clung the more closely to those he 
 had. At such times the other would wait in cool, good- 
 tempered but determined aloofness for his friend's 
 return. 
 
 "You can chew your cud till you're cool again," he 
 would say when the outbreak would arise. But inva- 
 riably their differences were composed and their friend- 
 ship remained unbroken. 
 
 The men sat in the buckboard, leaning forward with 
 hunched shoulders, swaying easily to the pitching of the 
 vehicle as it rattled along the trail which, especially where 
 it passed over the round topped ridges, was thickly strewn 
 with stones. Before them, now on the trail and now 
 ranging wide over the prairie, ran a beautiful black and 
 white English setter. 
 
 "Great dog that, Sandy," said Duff. "I could have 
 had, a dozen birds this afternoon. A wonderful nose, 
 ana steady as a rock." 
 
 "A good dog, Stewart," assented Sandy, but with 
 slight interest. 
 
 "There ain't another like him in this western coun- 
 try," said the owner of the dog with emphasis. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know about that. There are some very 
 good dogs around here, Stewart," replied Sandy lightly.
 
 28 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "But I know. And that's why I'm saying there ain't 
 his like in this western country, and that's as true as 
 your name is Sandy Bayne." 
 
 "Well, my name is Sandy Bayne, all right, but how 
 did he come out at the Calgary trials?" 
 
 "Aw, those damned gawks ! They don't know a good 
 dog from a he-goat! They don't know what a dog is 
 for, or how to use him." 
 
 "Oh, now, Stewart," said Sandy, "I guess Willocks 
 knows a dog when he sees one." 
 
 "Willocks!" said his friend with scorn. "There's 
 where you're wrong. Do you know why he cut Slipper 
 out of the Blue Ribbon? Because he wouldn't range a 
 mile away. Darned old fool ! What's the good of a point 
 a mile away! Keeps you running over the whole crea- 
 tion, makes you lose time, tires yourself and tires your 
 dog; and more than that, in nine cases out of ten you 
 lose your bird. Give me a close ranger. He cleans up 
 as he goes, keeps your game right at your hand, and gets 
 you all the sport there is." 
 
 "Who beat you, Stewart, in the trials?" 
 
 "That bitch of Snider's." 
 
 "Man! Stewart, that's a beautiful bitch! I know her 
 well. She's a beautiful bitch!" Sandy began to show 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 "Oh, there you go ! That's just what those fool judges 
 said. 'Beautiful dog! Beautiful dog!' Suppose she is! 
 Looks ain't everything. They're something, but the ques- 
 tion is, does she get the birds? Now, Slipper there got 
 three birds to her one. Got 'em within range, too." 
 
 "Ah, but Stewart, yon's a good bitch," said Sandy. 
 
 "Look here!" cried his friend, "I have bred more 
 dogs in the old country than those men ever saw in their 
 lives." 
 
 "That may be, Stewart, but yon's a good bitch," per- 
 sisted Sandy. 
 
 For a mile more they discussed the merits of Slipper 
 and of his rivals, Sandy with his semi-humorous chaff
 
 ON THE RED PINE TRAIL 29 
 
 extracting quiet amusement from his friend's wrath, and 
 the latter, though suspecting that he was being drawn, 
 unable to restrain his passionate championship of his 
 dog. 
 
 At length Sandy, wearying of the discussion, caught 
 sight of a figure far before them on the trail. 
 
 "Who is that walking along there?" he enquired. 
 
 Together they ran over the names of all who in this 
 horse country were unfortunate enough to be doomed to 
 a pedestrian form of locomotion. 
 
 "Guess it's the preacher," said Duff finally, whose 
 eyes were like a hawk's. 
 
 "He's been out at my place Sunday afternoon," said 
 Sandy, "but I haven't met him myself. What sort is 
 he?" 
 
 "Don't ask me. I sometimes go with the madame 
 to church, but generally I fall asleep. He's no alarm 
 clock." 
 
 "Then you can't tell what sort of a preacher he is," 
 said Sandy with a twinkle in his eye. "You can't hear 
 much when you are asleep." 
 
 "I hear enough to know that he's no good as a 
 preacher. I hear they're going to fire him." 
 
 "I tell you what it is, Stewart," said Sandy, "I don't 
 believe you would know a good sermon if you heard 
 one." 
 
 "What's that you say? I've heard the best preachers 
 in the country that breeds preachers, in the country wfiere 
 preachers grow like the berries on the bramble bushes. I 
 know preaching, and I like good preaching, too." 
 
 "Oh, come off, Stewart ! You may be a good judge of 
 dogs, but I'm blowed if I am going to take you as a judge 
 of preachers." 
 
 "The same qualities in all of them, dogs, horses, 
 preachers," insisted Duff. 
 
 "How do you make that out?" 
 
 "Well, take a horse. He must be a good-looker. This 
 preacher is a good-looker, all right, but looks ain't every-
 
 SO THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 thing. Must be quick at the start, must have good ac- 
 tion, good style, staying power, and good at the finish. 
 Most preachers never know when to finish, and that's 
 the way with this man." 
 
 "Are you going to take him up?" inquired Sandy, 
 for they were jiow close upon the man walking before 
 them. 
 
 "Oh, I guess not," replied Duff. "I haven't much use 
 for him." 
 
 "Say, what's the matter with him? He looks rather 
 puffed out," said Sandy. "Better take him up." 
 
 "All right," replied Duff, pulling up his bronchos. 
 "Good day. Will you have a ride ? Mr. Barry Dunbar, 
 my friend Mr. Bayne." 
 
 "Glad to meet you, Mr. Bayne," said Barry, who was 
 pale and panting hard. "Thanks for the lift. The truth 
 is I'm rather done up. A touch of asthma the 
 first in five years. An old trouble of mine." 
 
 "Get up here," said Sandy. "There's room for three 
 in the seat." 
 
 "No thank you, 1 should crowd you, all right 
 
 behind here. Beastly business this asthma. Worse 
 when the pollen from the plants is floating about 
 so they say. I don't know nobody does I fancy." 
 
 They drove on, bumping over the stones, Barry gradu- 
 ally getting back his wind. The talk of the men in the 
 front seat had fallen again on dogs, Stewart maintaining 
 with ever increasing vehemence his expert knowledge of 
 dogs, of hunting dogs, and very especially of setter hunt- 
 ing dogs; his friend, while granting his knowledge of 
 dogs in general, questioning the unprejudiced nature of 
 his judgment as far as Slipper was concerned. 
 
 As Duff's declarations grew in violence they became 
 more and more elaborately decorated with profanity. In 
 the full tide of their conversation a quiet voice broke in : 
 
 "Too many 'damns.' ' 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Duff. 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" said Sandy.
 
 ON THE RED PINE TRAIL 31 
 
 "Too many 'damns,' " said Barry, looking quietly at 
 Duff. 
 
 "Dams? Where?" said Duff, looking about 
 
 "Beaver dams, do you mean?" enquired Sandy. "I 
 don't see any." 
 
 "Too many 'damns/ " reiterated Barry. "You don't 
 need them. You really don't need them, you know, and 
 besides, they are not right. Profanity is quite useless, 
 and it's wicked." 
 
 "Well, I'll be damned!" said Stewart in a low voice 
 to his friend. "He means us." 
 
 "And quite right, too," said Sandy solemnly. "You 
 know your English is rotten bad. Yes, sir," he con- 
 tinued, turning round to Barry, "I quite agree with you. 
 My friend is quite unnecessarily free in his speech." 
 
 "Yes, but you are just the same, you know," said 
 Barry. "Not quite so many, but then you are not quite 
 so excited." 
 
 "Got you there, old sport," grunted Duff, highly 
 amused at Sandy's discomfiture. But to Barry he said, 
 "I guess it's our own business how we express our- 
 selves." 
 
 "Yes, it is, but, pardon me, not entirely so. There 
 are others in the world, you know, and you must con- 
 sider others. The habit is a bad habit, a rotten habit, 
 and quite useless silly, indeed." 
 
 Duff turned his back upon him. Sandy, giving his 
 friend a nudge, burst into a loud laugh. 
 
 "You are right, sir," he said, turning to Barry. "You 
 are quite right." 
 
 At this point Slipper created a diversion. 
 
 "Hello!" said Duff. "Say! Look at him!" He 
 pointed to the dog. "Ain't he a picture!" 
 
 A hundred yards away stood Slipper, rigid, every 
 muscle, every hair taut, one foot arrested in air. 
 
 "I'll just get those," said Duff, slipping out of the 
 buckboard and drawing the gun from beneath the seat. 
 "Steady, old boy, steady! Hold the lines, Sandy."
 
 32 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 He moved quickly toward the dog who, quivering 
 with that mysterious instinct found in the hunting dog, 
 still held the point with taut muscles, nose and tail in 
 line. 
 
 "Hello!" Barry called out. "It isn't the season yet 
 for chicken. I say, Mr. Duff," he shouted, "it isn't the 
 chicken season, you know." 
 
 "Better leave him alone," said Sandy. 
 
 "But it isn't the season yet! It is against the law!" 
 protested Barry indignantly. 
 
 Meantime Stewart Duff was closing up cautiously be- 
 hind Slipper. 
 
 "Forward, old boy! Ste-e-e-ady! Forward!" The 
 dog refused to move. "Forward, Slipper!" 
 
 Still the dog remained rigid, as if nailed to the ground. 
 
 "On, Slipper!" 
 
 Slowly the dog turned his head with infinite caution 
 half round toward his master, as if in protest. 
 
 "Hello, there !" shouted Barry, "you know " 
 
 Just as he called there was on all sides a great whir- 
 ring of wings. A dozen chicken flew up from under 
 Duff's feet. Bang ! Bang ! went his gun. 
 
 "Missed, as I'm a sinner!" exclaimed Sandy. "I 
 thought he was a better shot than that." 
 
 Back came Duff striding wide toward the buckboard. 
 Fifty yards away he shouted: 
 
 "Say ! what the devil do you mean calling like that at 
 a man when he's on the point of shooting!" His face 
 was black with anger. He looked ready to strike. Barry 
 looked at him steadily. 
 
 "But, I was just reminding you that it was not the 
 season for chicken yet," he said in the tone of a man 
 prepared to reason the matter. 
 
 "What's that got to do with it! And anyway, whose 
 business is it what I do but my own?" 
 
 "But it's against the law !" 
 
 "Oh, blank the law ! Besides " 
 
 "Besides it isn't well, you know, it isn't quite sport-
 
 ON THE RED PINE TRAIL 33 
 
 ing to shoot out of season." Barry's manner was as if 
 dealing with a fractious child. 
 
 Duff, speechless with his passion, looked at him as if 
 not quite sure what form his vengeance should take. 
 
 "He's quite right, Stewart," said his friend Sandy, 
 who was hugely enjoying himself. "You know well 
 enough you are down on the farmer chaps who go pot 
 hunting before season. It's rotten sport, you know." 
 
 "Oh, hell! Will you shut up! Can't I shoot over 
 my dog when he points? I'm not out shooting. If I 
 want to give my dog a little experience an odd bird or 
 two don't matter. Besides, what the " 
 
 "Oh, come on, Stewart ! Get in, and get a move on ! 
 You know you jire in the wrong. But I thought you 
 were a better shot than that," added Sandy. 
 
 His remark diverted Duff's rage. 
 
 "Better shot!" he stormed. "Who could shoot with 
 a a a " he was feeling round helplessly for a prop- 
 erly effective word, "with a fellow yelling at you?" he 
 concluded lamely. "I'd have had a brace of them if it 
 hadn't been for him." 
 
 "In that case," said Barry coolly, "I saved you from 
 the law." 
 
 "Saved me from the law! What the devil do you 
 mean, anyway?" said Stewart. "If I want to pick up 
 a bird who's to hinder me? And what's the law got to 
 do with it?" 
 
 "Well, you know, I'm not sure but it might have been 
 my duty to report you. I feel that all who break the 
 game laws should be reported. It is the only way to 
 stop the lawless destruction of the game." 
 
 Barry spoke in a voice of quiet deliberation, as if 
 pondering the proper action in the premises. 
 
 "Quite right, too," said Sandy gravely, but with a 
 twinkle in his blue eye. "They ought to be reported. I 
 have no use for those poachers." 
 
 Duff made no reply. His rage and disgust, mingled 
 with the sense of his being in the wrong, held him silent.
 
 34 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 No man in the whole country was harder upon the game 
 poachers than he, but to be held up in his action and to 
 be threatened with the law by this young preacher, whom 
 he rather despised anyway, seemed to paralyse his men- 
 tal activities. It did not help his self-control that he was 
 aware that his friend was having his fun of him. 
 
 At this moment, fortunately for the harmony of the 
 party, their attention was arrested by the appearance of 
 a motor car driven at a furious rate along the trail, and 
 which almost before they were aware came honking 
 upon them. With a wild lurch the bronchos hurled 
 themselves from the trail, upsetting the buckboard and 
 spilling its load. 
 
 Duff, cumbered with his gun, which he had reloaded, 
 allowed one of the reins to drop from his hands and 
 the team went plunging about in a circle, but Barry, the 
 first to get to his feet, rushed to the rescue, snatched 
 the reins and held on till he had dragged the plunging 
 bronchos to a halt. 
 
 The rage which had been boiling in Duff, and which 
 with difficulty had been held within bounds, suddenly 
 burst all bonds of control. With a fierce oath he picked 
 up the gun which he had thrown aside in his struggle 
 with the horses, and levelled it at the speeding motor car. 
 
 "For God's sake, Stewart, stop!" shouted Bayne, 
 springing toward his friend. 
 
 Barry was nearer and quicker. The shot went off, 
 but his hand had knocked up the gun. 
 
 "My God, Stewart ! Are you clean crazy !" said Bayne, 
 gripping him by the arm. "Do you know what you are 
 doing? You are not fit to carry a gun!" 
 
 "I'd have bust his blanked tires for him, anyway!" 
 blustered Duff, though his face and voice showed that 
 he had received a shock. 
 
 "Yes, and you might have been a murderer by this 
 time, and heading for the pen, but for Dunbar here. 
 You owe him more than you can ever pay, you blanked 
 fool!"
 
 ON THE RED PINE TRAIL 35 
 
 Duff made no reply, but busied himself with his horses. 
 Nor did he speak again till everything was in readiness 
 for the road. 
 
 "Get in," he then said gruffly, and that was his last 
 word until they drove into the village. 
 
 At the store he drew up. 
 
 "Thank you for the lift," said Barry. "I should have 
 had a tough job to get back in time." 
 
 Duff grunted at him, and passed on into the store. 
 
 "I am very glad to have met you," said Bayne, shak- 
 ing hands warmly with him. "You have done us both 
 a great service. He is my friend, you know." 
 
 "I am afraid I have offended him, all the same. But 
 you see I couldn't help it, could I ?" 
 
 Bayne looked at his young, earnest face for a moment 
 or two as if studying him, then said with a curious 
 smile, "No, I don't believe you could have helped it." 
 And with that he passed into the store. 
 
 "What sort of a chap is that preacher of yours?" 
 he asked of the storekeeper. 
 
 "I don't know; he ain't my church. Ask Innes there. 
 He's a pillar." 
 
 Bayne turned to a long, lean, hard-faced man lean- 
 ing against the counter. 
 
 "My name is Bayne, from Red Pine, Mr. Innes. I 
 am interested in knowing what sort of a chap your 
 preacher is. He comes out to our section, but I never 
 met him till to-day." 
 
 "Oh, he's no that bad," said Innes cautiously. 
 
 "Not worth a cent," said a little, red headed man 
 standing near. "He can't preach for sour apples." 
 
 "I wadna just say that, Mr. Hayes," said Innes. 
 
 "How do you know, Innes?" retorted Hayes. "You 
 know you fall asleep before he gets rightly started." 
 
 "I aye listen better with ma eyes shut." 
 
 "Yes, and snore better, too, Mac," said Hayes. "But 
 I don't blame you. Most of them go to sleep anyway. 
 That's the kind of preacher he is."
 
 36 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "What sort of a chap is he? I mean what sort of 
 man?" 
 
 "Well, for one thing, he's always buttin' in," volun- 
 teered a square-built military looking man standing near. 
 "If he'd stick to his gospel it wouldn't be so bad, but 
 he's always pokin' his nose into everything." 
 
 "But he's no that bad," said Innes again, "and as for 
 buttin' in, McFettridge, and preachin' the gospel, I doubt 
 the country is a good deal the better for the buttin' in 
 that him and his likes have done this past year. And 
 besides, the bairns all like him." 
 
 "Well, that's not a bad sign, Mr. Innes," said Sandy 
 Bayne, "and I'm not sure that I don't like him myself. 
 But I guess he butts in, all right." 
 
 "Oh, ay! he butts in," agreed Innes, "but I'm no so 
 sure that that's no a part of his job, too."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE 
 
 THE Dunbars lived in a cottage on a back street, 
 which had the distinction of being the only home 
 on the street which possessed the adornment of a gar- 
 den. A unique garden it was, too. Indeed, with the 
 single exception of Judge Hepburn's garden, which was 
 quite an elaborate affair, and which was said to have 
 cost the Judge a "pile of money," there was none to 
 compare with it in the village of Wapiti. 
 
 Any garden on that bare, wind-swept prairie meant 
 toil and infinite pains, but a garden like that of the Dun- 
 bars represented in addition something of genius. In 
 conception, in design, and in execution the Dunbars' 
 garden was something apart. Visitors were taken 'round 
 to the back street to get a glimpse of the Dunbars' cot- 
 tage and garden. 
 
 The garden was in two sections. That at the back 
 of the cottage, sheltered by a high, close board fence 
 covered with Virginia creeper, was given over to vege- 
 tables, and it was quite marvellous how, under Richard 
 Dunbar's care, a quarter of an acre of ground could grow 
 such enormous quantities of vegetables of all kinds. 
 Next to the vegetable garden came the plot for small 
 fruits strawberries, raspberries, currants, of rare 
 varieties. 
 
 The front garden was devoted to flowers. Here were 
 to be found the old fashioned flowers dear to our grand- 
 mothers, and more particularly the old fashioned flow- 
 ers native to English and Scottish soil. Between the two 
 gardens a thick row of tall, splendid sunflowers made 
 a stately hedge. Then came larkspur, peonies, stocks, 
 
 37
 
 38 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 and sweet-williams, verbenas and mignonette, with bor- 
 ders of lobelia and heliotrope. Along the fence were 
 sweet peas, for which Alberta is famous. 
 
 But it was the part of the garden close about the front 
 porch and verandah where the particular genius of Rich- 
 ard Dunbar showed itself. Here the flowers native to 
 the prairie, the coulee, the canyon, were gathered; the 
 early wind flower, the crowfoot and the buffalo bean, 
 wild snowdrops and violets. Over trellises ran the tiny 
 morning-glory, with vetch and trailing arbutus. A bed 
 of wild roses grew to wonderful perfection. Later 
 in the year would be seen the yellow and crimson lilies, 
 daisies white and golden, and when other flowers had 
 faded, golden rod and asters in gorgeous contrast. The 
 approach to the door of the house was by a gravel walk 
 bordered by these prairie flowers. 
 
 The house inside fulfilled the promise of the garden. 
 The living room, simple in its plan, plain in its furnish- 
 ing, revealed everywhere that touch in decorative adorn- 
 ment that spoke of the cultivated mind and refined taste. 
 A group of rare etchings had their place over the mantel 
 above a large, open fireplace. On the walls were to be 
 seen really fine copies of the world's most famous pic- 
 tures, and on the panels which ran 'round the walls were 
 bits of pottery and china, relics of other days and of 
 other homes. 
 
 But what was most likely to strike the eye of a stranger 
 on entering the living room was the array of different 
 kinds of musical instruments. At one end of the room 
 stood a small upright piano, a 'cello held one corner, 
 a guitar another; upon a table a cornet was deposited, 
 and on the piano a violin case could be seen, while a 
 banjo hung from a nail on the wall. 
 
 Near the fireplace a curiously carved pipe-rack hung, 
 with some half dozen pipes of weird design, evidently 
 the coHection of years, while just under it a small table 
 held the utensils sacred to the smoker.
 
 A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE 39 
 
 When Barry entered he found the table set and every- 
 thing in readiness for tea. 
 
 "Awfully sorry I'm too late to help you with tea, dad. 
 I have had a long walk, and quite a deuce of a time 
 getting home." 
 
 "All right, boy. Glad you are here. The toast is 
 readv, tea waiting to be infused. But what happened? 
 No, don't begin telling me till you get yourself ready. 
 But hurry, your meeting hour will be on in no time." 
 
 "Right-o, dad! Shame to make a slavey of you in 
 this way. I'll be out in a jiffy." 
 
 He threw off his coat and vest, shirt and collar, took 
 a pail of water to a big block in the little shed at the 
 back, soused his head and shoulders in it with loud 
 snorting and puffing, and emerged in a few minutes 
 looking refreshed, clean and wholesome, his handsome 
 face shining with vigorous health. 
 
 Together they stood at the table while the son said 
 a few words of reverent grace. 
 
 "I'm ravenous, dad. What! Fried potatoes! Oh, 
 you are a brick." 
 
 "Tired, boy?" 
 
 "No. That reminds me of my thrilling tale, which I 
 shall begin after my third slice of toast, and not before. 
 You can occupy the precious minutes, dad, in telling me 
 of your excitements in the office this afternoon." 
 
 "Don't sniff at me. I had a few, though apparently 
 you think it impossible in my humdrum grey life." 
 
 "Good!" said Barry, his mouth full of toast. "Go 
 on." 
 
 "Young Neil Fraser is buying, or has just bought, the 
 S.Q.R. ranch. Filed the transfer to-day." 
 
 "Neil Fraser? He's in my tale, too. Bought the 
 S.Q.R. ? Where did he get the stuff?" 
 
 "Stuff?" 
 
 "Dough, the dirt, the wherewithal, in short the cur- 
 rency, dad."
 
 40 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Barry, you are ruining your English," said his 
 father. 
 
 "Yum-yum. Bully! Did you notice that, dad? I'm 
 coming on, eh? One thing I almost pray about, that 
 I might become expert in slinging the modern jaw hash. 
 I'm appallingly correct in my forms of speech. But 
 go on, dad. I'm throwing too much vocalisation my- 
 self. You were telling me about Neil Fraser. Give us 
 the chorus now." 
 
 "I don't like it, boy," said his father, shaking his head, 
 "and especially in a clergyman." 
 
 "But that's where you are off, dad. The trouble is, 
 when I come within range of any of my flock all my 
 flip vocabulary absolutely vanishes, and I find myself 
 talking like a professor of English or a maiden lady 
 school ma'am of very certain age." 
 
 "I don't like it, boy. Correct English is the only 
 English for a gentleman." 
 
 "I wonder," said the lad. "But I don't want to worry 
 you, dad." 
 
 "Oh, as for me, that matters nothing at all, but I 
 am thinking of you and of your profession, your stand- 
 ing." 
 
 "I know that, dad. I sometimes wish you would think 
 a little more about yourself. But what of Neil Fraser?" 
 
 "He has come into some money. He has bought the 
 ranch." 
 
 Barry's tone expressed doubtful approval. "Neil is 
 a good sort, dad, awfully reckless, but I like him," said 
 Barry. "He is up and up with it all." 
 
 "Now, what about your afternoon?" said his father. 
 
 "Well, to begin with, I had a dose of my old friend, 
 the enemy." 
 
 "Barry, you don't tell me! Your asthma!" His fa- 
 ther sat back from the table gazing at him in dismay. 
 "And I thought that was all done with." 
 
 "So did I, dad. But it really didn't amount to much. 
 Probably some stomach derangement, more likely some
 
 A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE 41 
 
 of that pollen which is floating around now. I passed 
 through a beaver meadow where they were cutting hay, 
 and away I went in a gale of sneezing, forty miles an 
 hour. But I'm all right now, dad. I'm telling you the 
 truth. You know I do." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know," said his father, concern and relief 
 mingling in his voice, "but you don't know how to take 
 care of yourself, Barry. But go on with your tale." 
 
 "Well, as I was panting along like a 'heavey horse,' 
 as Harry Hobbs would say, not really too bad, dad, 
 along comes that big rancher, Stewart Duff, driving his 
 team of pinto bronchos, and with him a chap named 
 Bayne, from Red Pine Creek. He turned out to be an 
 awfully decent sort. And Duff's dog, Slipper, ranging 
 on ahead, a beautiful setter." 
 
 "Yes, I have seen him." 
 
 They discussed for a few moments the beauties and 
 points of Duff's Slipper, for both were keen sportsmen, 
 and both were devoted to dogs. Then Barry went back 
 to his tale and gave an account of what had happened 
 during the ride home. 
 
 "You see Slipper ranging about got 'on point' and 
 beautiful work it was, too. Out jumped Duff with his 
 gun, ready to shoot, though, of course, he knew it was 
 out of season and that he was breaking the law. Well, 
 just as Slipper flushed the birds, I shouted to Duff that 
 he was shooting out of season. He missed." 
 
 "Oh, he was properly wrathful at my spoiling his 
 shot," cried the young man. 
 
 "I don't know that I blame him, Barry," said his 
 father thoughtfully. "It is an annoying thing to be 
 shouted at with your gun on a bird, you know, extremely 
 annoying." 
 
 "But he was breaking the law, dad!" cried Barry in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 "I know, I know. But after all " 
 
 "But, dad, you can't sit there and tell me that you 
 don't condemn him for shooting out of season. You
 
 42 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 know nothing makes you more furious than hearing 
 about chaps who pot chicken out of season." 
 
 "I know, I know, my boy." The father was appar- 
 ently quite distressed. "You are quite right, but " 
 
 "Now, dad, I won't have it! You are not to tell me 
 that I had no business to stop him if I could. Besides, 
 the law is the law, and sport is sport." 
 
 "I quite agree, Barry. Believe me, I quite agree. 
 Yet all the same, a chap does hate to have his shot spoiled, 
 and to shout at a fellow with his gun on a bird, well, 
 you'll excuse me, Barry, but it is hardly the sporting 
 thing." 
 
 "Sporting! Sporting!" said Barry. "I know that I 
 hated to do it, but it was right. Besides talk about 'sport- 
 ing' what about shooting out of season?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. Well, we won't discuss it. Go on, Barry." 
 
 "But I don't like it, dad. I don't like to think that 
 you don't approve of what I do. It was a beastly hard 
 thing to do, anyway. I had to make myself do it. It 
 was my duty." The young man sat looking anxiously 
 at his father. 
 
 "Well, my boy," said his father, "I may be wrong, 
 but do you think you are always called upon to remon- 
 strate with every law breaker? No, listen to me," he 
 continued hurriedly. "What I mean is, must you or any 
 of us assume responsibility for every criminal in the 
 land?" 
 
 Barry sat silent a moment, considering this propo- 
 sition. 
 
 "I wish I knew, dad. You know, I have often said 
 that to excuse myself after I have funked a thing, and 
 let something go by without speaking up against it." 
 
 "Funked it!" 
 
 "Yes. Funked standing up for the right thing, you 
 know." 
 
 "Funked it!" said his father again. "You wouldn't 
 do that, Barry?" 
 
 "Oh, wouldn't I, though? I am afraid you don't know
 
 A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE 43 
 
 me very well, dad. However, I rather think I had started 
 him up before that, you know. You won't like this 
 either. But I may as well go through with it You 
 know, he was swearing and cursing most awfully, just 
 in his ordinary talk you know, and that is a thing I can't 
 stand, so I up and told him he was using too many 
 'damns.' " 
 
 "You did, eh?" In spite of himself the father could 
 not keep the surprise out of his voice. "Well, that took 
 some nerve, at any rate." 
 
 "There you are again, dad! You think I had no 
 right to speak. But somehow I can't help feeling I was 
 right. For don't you see, it would have seemed a bit like 
 lowering the flag to have kept silent." 
 
 "Then for God's sake speak out, lad! I do not feel 
 quite the same way as you, but. it is what you think 
 yourself that must guide you. But go on, go on." 
 
 "Well, I assure you he was in a proper rage, and if 
 it hadn't been for Bayne I believe he would have trimmed 
 me to a peak, administered a fitting castigation, I mean." 
 
 "He would, eh?" said the father with a grim smile. 
 "I should like to see him try." 
 
 "So should I, dad, if you were around. I think I see 
 you feint with the right, then left, right, left! bing! 
 bang ! bung ! All over but the shiver, eh, dad ? It would 
 be sweet! But," he added regretfully, "that's the very 
 thing a fellow cannot do." 
 
 "Cannot do? And why not, pray? It is what every 
 fellow is in duty bound to do to a bully of that sort." 
 
 "Yes, but to be quite fair, dad, you could hardly call 
 Duff a bully. At least, he wasn't bullying me. As a 
 matter of fact, I was bullying him. Oh, I think he had 
 reason to be angry. When a chap undertakes to pull 
 another chap up for law breaking, perhaps he should 
 be prepared to take the consequences. But to go on. 
 Bayne stepped in awfully decent of him, too, when 
 just at that moment, as novelists say, with startling sud- 
 denness occurred an event that averted the impending
 
 44 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 calamity. Along came Neil Fraser, no less, in that new 
 car of his, in a whirlwind of noise and dust, honking 
 like a flock of wild geese. Well, you should have seen 
 those bronchos. One lurch, and we were on the ground, 
 a beautiful upset, and the bronchos in an incipient run- 
 away, fortunately checked by your humble servant. Duff, 
 in a new and real rage this time, up with his gun and 
 banged off both barrels after the motor car, by this time 
 honking down the trail." 
 
 "By Jove! he deserved it," said the father. "Those 
 motor fellows make me long to do murder at times." 
 
 "That's because you have no car, Dad, of course." 
 
 "Did he hit him, do you think ?" 
 
 "No. My arm happened to fly up, the gun banged 
 toward the zenith. Nothing doing!" 
 
 "Well, Barry, you do seem to have run foul of Mr. 
 Duff." 
 
 "Three times, dad. But each time prevented him from 
 breaking the law and doing himself and others injury. 
 Would you have let him off this last time, dad?" 
 
 "No, no, boy. Human life has the first claim upon 
 our care. You did quite right, quite right. Ungov- 
 ernable fool he must be! Shouldn't be allowed to carry 
 a gun." 
 
 "So Bayne declared," said Barry. 
 
 "Well, you have had quite an exciting afternoon. 
 But finish your tea and get ready for the meeting. I 
 will wash up." 
 
 "Not if I know it, dad. You take your saw-horse 
 and do me a little Handel or Schubert. Do, please," en- 
 treated his son. "I want that before meeting more than 
 anything else. I want a change of mood. I confess I 
 am slightly rattled. My address is all prepared, but I 
 must have atmosphere before I go into the meeting." 
 
 His father took the 'cello, and after a few moments 
 spent in carefully tuning up, began with Handel's im- 
 mortal Largo, then he wandered into the Adagio Move- 
 ment in Haydn's third Sonata, from thence to Schubert's
 
 A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE 45 
 
 Impromptu in C Minor, after which he began the Sere- 
 nade, when he was checked by his son. 
 
 "No, not that, dad, that's sickening. I consider that 
 the most morally relaxing bit of music that I know. It 
 frays the whole moral fibre. Give us one of Chopin's 
 Ballades, or better still a bit of that posthumous Fan- 
 tasie Impromptu, the largo movement. Ah ! fine ! fine !" 
 
 He flung his dish-cloth aside, ran to the piano and 
 began an accompaniment to his father's playing. 
 
 "Now, dad, the Largo once more before we close." 
 They did the Largo once and again, then springing from 
 the piano Barry cried : "That Largo is a means of grace 
 to me. There could be no better preparation for a reli- 
 gious meeting than that. If you would only come in 
 and play for them, it would do them much more good 
 than all my preaching." 
 
 "If you would only take your music seriously, Barry," 
 replied his father, somewhat sadly, "you would become 
 a good player, perhaps even a great player." 
 
 "And then what, dad?" 
 
 His father waved him aside, putting up his 'cello. 
 
 "No use going into that again, boy." 
 
 "Well, I couldn't have been a great player, at any rate, 
 dad." 
 
 "Perhaps not, boy, perhaps not," said his father. 
 "Great players are very rare. But it is time for your 
 meeting." 
 
 "So it is, dad. Awfully sorry I didn't finish up those 
 dishes. Let them go till I return. I wish you would, 
 dad, and come along with me." His voice had a wistful 
 note in it. 
 
 "Not to-night, boy, I think. We will have some talk 
 after. You will only be an hour, you know." 
 
 "All right, dad," said Barry. "Some time you may 
 come." He could not hide the wistful regret of his tone. 
 
 "Perhaps I shall, boy," replied his father. 
 
 It was the one point upon which there was a lack of 
 perfect harmony between father and son. When the
 
 46 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 boy went to college it was with the intention of en- 
 tering the profession of law, for which his father had 
 been reading in his young manhood when the lure of 
 Canada and her broad, free acres caught him, and he 
 had abandoned the law and with his wife and baby 
 boy had emigrated to become a land owner in the great 
 Canadian west. 
 
 Alas ! death, that rude spoiler of so many plans, broke 
 in upon the sanctity and perfect peace of that happy 
 ranch home and ravished it of its treasure, leaving a 
 broken hearted man and a little boy, orphaned and sickly, 
 to be cared for. The ranch was sold, the rancher moved 
 to the city of Edmonton, thence in a few years to a 
 little village some twenty-five miles nearer to the Foot- 
 hills, where he became the Registrar and Homestead In- 
 spector for the district. 
 
 Here he had lived ever since, training the torn ten- 
 drils of his heart about the lad, till peace came back 
 again, though never the perfect joy of the earlier days. 
 Every May Day the two were wont to go upon an expedi- 
 tion many miles into the Foothills, to a little, sunny 
 spot, where a strong, palisaded enclosure held a little 
 grave. So little it looked, and so lonely amid the great 
 hills. There, not in an abandonment of grief, but in 
 loving and grateful remembrance of her whose dust the 
 little grave now held, of what she had been to them, 
 and had done for them, they spent the day, returning to 
 take up again with hearts solemn, tender and chastened, 
 the daily routine of life. 
 
 That his son should grow to take up the profession 
 of law had been the father's dream, but during his uni- 
 versity course the boy had come under the compelling 
 influence of a spiritual awakening that swept him into 
 a world filled with new impressions and other desires. 
 Obeying what he felt to be an imperative call, the boy 
 chose the church as his profession, and after completing 
 his theological course in the city of Winnipeg, and spend- 
 ing a year in study in Germany, while still a mere youth
 
 A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE 47 
 
 he had been appointed as missionary to the district of 
 which his own village was the centre. 
 
 But though widely separate from each other in the 
 matter of religion, there were many points of contact 
 between them. They were both men of the great out-of- 
 doors, and under his father's inspiration and direction 
 the boy had come to love athletic exercises of all kinds. 
 They were both music-mad, the father having had in 
 early youth a thorough musical education, the boy pos- 
 sessing musical talent of a high order. Such training as 
 was his he had received from his father, but it was con- 
 fined to one single instrument, the violin. To this instru- 
 ment, upon which his father had received the tuition of 
 a really excellent master, the son devoted long hours of 
 study and practice during his boyhood years, and his 
 attainments were such as to give promise of something 
 more than an amateur's mastery of his instrument. His 
 college work, however, interfered with his music, and to 
 his father's great disappointment and regret he was 
 forced to lay aside his study of the violin. On the piano, 
 however, the boy developed an extraordinary power of 
 improvisation and of sight reading, and while his tech- 
 nique was faulty his insight, his power of interpretation 
 were far in excess of many artists who were his superiors 
 in musical knowledge and power of execution. Many 
 were the hours the father and son spent together through 
 the long evenings of the western winter, and among the 
 many bonds that held them in close comradeship, none 
 was stronger than their common devotion to music. 
 
 Long after his son had departed to his meeting the 
 father sat dreaming over his 'cello, wandering among 
 the familiar bits from the old masters as fancy led him, 
 nor was he aware of the lapse of time till his son re- 
 turned. 
 
 "Hello! Nine-thirty?" he exclaimed, looking at his 
 watch. "You have given them an extra dose to-night." 
 
 "Business meeting afterwards, which didn't come off 
 after all," said his son. "Postponed till next Sunday."
 
 48 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 With this curt announcement, and without further com- 
 ment he sat down at his desk. 
 
 But after a few moments he rose quickly, saying, "Let 
 us do some real work, dad." 
 
 He took up his violin. His father, who was used to his 
 moods, without question or remark proceeded to tune up. 
 An hour's hard practice followed, without word from 
 either except as regarded the work in hand. 
 
 "I feel better now, dad," said the young man when 
 they had finished. "And now for a round with you." 
 
 "But what about your wind, boy? I don't like that 
 asthma of yours this afternoon." 
 
 "I am quite all right. It's quite gone. I feel sure 
 it was the pollen from the beaver meadow." 
 
 They cleared back the table and chairs from the centre 
 of the room, stripped to their shirts, put on the gloves 
 and went at each other with vim. Their style was sim- 
 ilar, for the father had taught the son all he knew, ex- 
 cept that the father's was the fighting and the son's the 
 sparring style. To-night the roles appeared to be re- 
 versed, the son pressing hard at the in-fighting, the fa- 
 ther trusting to his foot work and countering with the 
 light touch of a man making points. 
 
 "You are boring in, aren't you?" said the father, stop- 
 ping a fierce rally. 
 
 "You are not playing up, dad," said his son. "I don't 
 feel like soft work to-night. Come to me!" 
 
 "As you say," replied the father, and for the next five 
 minutes Barry had no reason to complain of soft work, 
 for his father went after him with all the fight that was 
 in him, so that in spite of a vigorous defence the son was 
 forced to take refuge in a runaway game. 
 
 "Now you're going!" shouted the son, making a fierce 
 counter with his right to a hard driven left, which he 
 side-stepped. It was a fatal exposure. Like the dart of 
 a snake the right hand hook got him below the jaw, and 
 he was hurled breathless on the couch at the side of the 
 room.
 
 A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE 49 
 
 "Got you now!" said his father. 
 
 "Not quite yet," cried Barry. Like a cat he was on 
 his feet, breathing deep breaths, dodging about, fighting 
 for time. 
 
 "Enough!" cried his father, putting down his hands. 
 
 "Play up!" shouted Barry, who was rapidly recover- 
 ing his wind. "No soft work. Watch out !" 
 
 Again the father was on guard, while Barry, who 
 seemed to have drawn upon some secret source of 
 strength, came at him with a whirlwind attack, feinting, 
 jabbing, swinging, hooking, till finally he landed a short 
 half arm on the jaw, which staggered his father against 
 the wall. 
 
 "Pax !" cried the young man. "I have all I want." 
 
 "Great!" said his father. "I believe you could fight, 
 boy, if you were forced to." 
 
 In the shed they sluiced each other with pails of wa- 
 ter, had a rub down and got into their dressing gowns. 
 
 "I feel fine, now, dad, and ready for anything," said 
 Barry, glowing with his exercise and his tub. "I was 
 feeling like a quitter. I guess that asthma got at my 
 nerve. But I believe I will see it through some way." 
 
 "Yes?" said his father, and waited. 
 
 "Yes. They were talking blue ruin in there to-night 
 Finances are behind, congregation is running down, 
 therefore the preacher is a failure." 
 
 "Well, lad, remember this," said his father, "never let 
 your liver decide any course of action for you. Some 
 good stiff work, a turn with the gloves, for instance, is 
 the best preparation I know for any important decision. 
 A man cannot decide wisely when he feels grubby. Your 
 asthma this afternoon is a symptom of liver." 
 
 "It is humiliating to a creature endowed with con- 
 science and intellect to discover how small a part these 
 play at times in his decisions. The ancients were not far 
 wrong who made the liver the seat of the emotions." 
 
 "Well," said his father, "it is a good thing to remem-
 
 50 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 her that most of our bad hours come from our livers. 
 So the preacher is a failure? Who said so?" 
 
 "Oh, a number of them, principally Hayes." 
 
 "Thank God, and go to sleep," said his father. "If 
 Hayes were pleased with my preaching I should greatly 
 suspect my call to the ministry." 
 
 "But seriously, I am certainly not a great preacher, 
 and perhaps not a preacher at all. They say I have no 
 'pep/ which with some of them appears to be the distinc- 
 tive and altogether necessary characteristic of a popular 
 preacher." 
 
 "What said Innes ?" enquired his father. 
 
 "Did you ever hear Innes say much ? From his silence 
 one would judge that he must possess the accumulated 
 wisdom of the ages." 
 
 "When he does talk, however, he generally says some- 
 thing. What was his contribution?" 
 
 " 'Ah, weel,' said the silent one, 'Ah doot he's no a 
 Spurgeon, not yet a Billy Sunday, but ye'll hardly be ex- 
 pectin' thae fowk at Wapiti for nine hundred dollars a 
 year.' Then, bless his old heart, he added, 'But the bairns 
 tak to him like ducks to water, so you'd better bide a 
 bit.' So they decided to 'bide a bit' till next Sunday. 
 Dad, at first I wanted to throw their job in their faces, 
 only I always know that it is the old Adam in me that 
 feels like that, so I decided to 'bide a bit' too." 
 
 "It is a poor job, after all, my boy," said his father. 
 "It's no gentleman's job the way it is carried on in this 
 country. To think of your being at the bidding of a 
 creature like Hayes !" 
 
 He could have said no better word. The boy's face 
 cleared like the sudden shining of the sun after rain. 
 He lifted his head and said, 
 
 "Thank God, not at his bidding, dad. 'One is your 
 Master,' " he quoted. "But after all, Hayes has some- 
 thing good in him. Do you know, I rather like him. 
 He's " 
 
 "Oh, come now, we'll drop it right there," said his
 
 A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE 51 
 
 father, in a disgusted tone. "When you come to finding 
 something to like in that rat, I surrender." 
 
 "Who knows?" said the boy, as if to himself. "Poor 
 Hayes. He may be quite a wonderful man, considering 
 all things, his heredity and his environment. What would 
 I have been, dad, but for you?" 
 
 His father grunted, pulled hard at his pipe, coughed a 
 bit, then looked his son straight in the face, saying, "God 
 knows what any of us owe to our past." He fell into 
 silence. His mind was far away, following his heart to 
 the palisaded plot of ground among the Foothills and the 
 little grave there in which he had covered from his sight 
 her that had been the inspiration to his best and finest 
 things, and his defence against the things low and base 
 that had once hounded his soul, howling hard upon his 
 trail. 
 
 The son, knowing his mood, sat in silence with him, 
 then rising suddenly he sat himself on the arm of his 
 father's chair, threw his arm around his shoulder and said, 
 "Dear old dad ! Good old boy you are, too. Good stuff ! 
 What would I have been but for you? A puny, puling, 
 wretched little crock', afraid of anything that could spit 
 at me. Do you remember the old gander? I was near 
 my eternal damnation that day." 
 
 "But you won out, my boy," said his father in a croak- 
 ing voice, putting his arm round his son. 
 
 "Yes, because you made me stick it, just as you have 
 often made me stick it since. May God forget me if I 
 ever forget what you have done for me. Shall we read 
 now?" 
 
 He took the big Bible from its place upon the table, 
 and turning the leaves read aloud from the teachings of 
 the world's greatest Master. It was the parable of the 
 talents. 
 
 "Rather hard on the failure," he said as he closed the 
 book. 
 
 "No, not the failure," said his father, "the slacker, the
 
 52 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 quitter. It is nature's law. There is no place in God's 
 universe for a quitter." 
 
 "You are right, dad," said Barry. "Good-night." 
 
 He kissed his father, as he had ever done since his 
 earliest infancy. Their prayers were said in private, the 
 son, clergyman though he was, could never bring him- 
 self to offer to lead the devotions of him at whose knee 
 he had kneeled every night of his life, as a boy, for his 
 evening prayer. 
 
 "Good-night, boy," said his father, holding him by 
 the hand for a moment or so. "We do not know what 
 is before us, defeat, loss, suffering. That part is not 
 in our hands altogether, but the shame of the quitter 
 never need, and never shall be ours." 
 
 The little man stepped into his bedroom with his 
 shoulders squaad and his head erect. 
 
 "By Jove! He's no quitter," said his son to himself, 
 as his eyes followed him. "When he quits he'll be dead. 
 God keep me from shaming him!"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 REJECTED 
 
 hour for the church service had not quite ar- 
 JL rived, but already a number of wagons, buckboards 
 and buggies had driven up and deposited their loads at 
 the church door. The women had passed into the church, 
 where the Sunday School was already in session; the 
 men waited outside, driven by the heat of the July sun 
 and the hotter July wind into the shade of the church 
 building. 
 
 Through the church windows came the droning of 
 voices, with now and then a staccato rapping out of com- 
 mands heard above the droning. 
 
 "That's Hayes," said a sturdy young chap, brown as 
 an Indian, lolling upon the grass. "He likes to be boss- 
 ing something." 
 
 "That's so, Ewen," replied a smaller man, with a fish- 
 like face, his mouth and nose running into a single fea- 
 ture. 
 
 "I guess he's doin' his best, Nathan Pilley," answered 
 another man, stout and stocky, with bushy side whiskers 
 flanking around a rubicund face, out of which stared 
 two prominent blue eyes. 
 
 "Oh, I reckon he is, Mr. Boggs. I have no word agin 
 Hayes," replied Nathan Pilley, a North Ontario man, 
 who, abandoning a rocky farm :n Muskoka, had strayed 
 to this far west country in search of better fortune. "I 
 have no word agin Mr. Hayes, Mr. Boggs," he reiter- 
 ated. "In fact, I think he ought to be highly commended 
 for his beneficent work." 
 
 "But he does like to hear himself giving out orders, 
 all the same." oersisted the young man addressed as 
 Ewen. 
 
 53
 
 54 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Yes, he seems to sorter enjoy that, too, Ewen," 
 agreed Nathan, who was never known to oppose any 
 man's opinion. 
 
 "He's doin' his best," insisted Mr. Boggs, rather 
 sullenly. 
 
 "Yes, he is that, Mr. Boggs, he is that," said Nathan. 
 
 "But he likes to be the big toad in the puddle," said 
 Ewen. 
 
 "Well, he certainly seems to, he does indeed, Ewen." 
 
 Clear over the droning there arose at this point an- 
 other sound, a chorus of childish laughter. 
 
 "That's the preacher's class," said Boggs. "Quare 
 sort o' Sunday School where the kids carry on like that." 
 
 "Seems rather peculiar," agreed Nathan, "peculiar in 
 Sunday School, it does." 
 
 "What's the matter with young Pickles?" enquired 
 Ewen. 
 
 The eyes of the company, following the pointing fin- 
 ger, fell upon young Pickles standing at the window of 
 the little vestry to the church, and looking in. He was 
 apparently convulsed with laughter, with his hand hard 
 upon his mouth and nose as a kind of silencer. 
 
 "Do you know what's the matter with him, Pat?" con- 
 tinued Ewen. 
 
 Pat McCann, the faithful friend and shadow of young 
 Pickles, after studying the attitude and motions of his 
 friend, gave answer: 
 
 "It's the preacher, I guess. He's kiddin' the kids in- 
 side. He's some kidder, too," he said, moving to take 
 his place beside his friend. 
 
 "What's he doing anyway?" said Ewen. "I'm going 
 to see." 
 
 Gradually a little company gathered behind young 
 Pickles and Pat McCann. The window commanded a 
 view of the room, yet in such a way that the group were 
 unobserved by the speaker. 
 
 "Say, you ought to seen him do the camel a minute 
 ago," whispered Pickles.
 
 REJECTED 55 
 
 In the little vestry room were packed some twenty chil- 
 dren of all ages and sizes, with a number of grown- 
 ups who had joined the class in charge of some of its 
 younger members. There was, for instance, Mrs. Innes, 
 with the two youngest of her numerous progeny pil- 
 lowed against her yielding and billowy person ; and Mrs. 
 Stewart Duff, an infant of only a few weeks upon her 
 knee accounting sufficiently for the paleness of her sweet 
 face, and two or three other women with their small 
 children filling the bench that ran along the wall. 
 
 "Say ! look at Harry Hobbs," said Pat McCann to his 
 friend. 
 
 Upon the stove, which in summer was relegated to 
 the corner of the room, sat Harry Hobbs, a man of any 
 age from his appearance, thin and wiry, with keen, dart- 
 ing eyes, which now, however, were fastened upon the 
 preacher. All other eyes were, too. Even the smallest 
 of the children seated on the front bench were gazing 
 with mouths wide open, as if fascinated, upon the 
 preacher who, moving up and down with quick, lithe 
 steps, was telling them a story. A wonderful story, too, 
 it seemed, the wonder of it apparent in the riveted eyes 
 and fixed faces. It was the immortal story, matchless in 
 the language, of Joseph, the Hebrew shepherd boy, who, 
 sold into slavery by his brethren, became prime minis- 
 ter of the mighty empire of Egypt. The voice tone of 
 the minister, now clear and high, now low and soft, vi- 
 brating like the deeper notes of the 'cello, was made 
 for story telling. Changing with every changing emo- 
 tion, it formed an exquisite medium to the hearts of the 
 listeners for the exquisite music of the tale. 
 
 The story was approaching its climactic denouement; 
 the rapturous moment of the younger brother's revealing 
 was at hand ; Judah, the older brother, was now holding 
 the centre of the stage and making that thrilling ap- 
 peal, than which nothing more moving is to be found 
 in our English speech. The preacher's voice was throb- 
 bing with all the pathos of the tale. Motionless, the little
 
 56 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 group hung hard upon the story-teller, when the door 
 opened quickly, a red head appeared, a rasping voice 
 broke in: 
 
 "Your class report, Mr. Dunbar, please. We're wait- 
 ing for it." 
 
 A sigh of disappointment and regret swept the room. 
 
 "Oh, darn the little woodpecker !" said Ewen from the 
 outside, in a disgusted tone. "That's the way with Hayes. 
 He thinks he's the whole works, and that he never can 
 get in wrong." 
 
 The spell was broken, never to be renewed. The 
 story hurried to its close, but the great climax failed of 
 its proper effect. 
 
 "He's a hummer, ain't he?" exclaimed young Pickles 
 to his friend, Pat McCann. 
 
 "Some hummer, and then some!" replied Pat. 
 
 "I'm goin' in," said Pickles. 
 
 "Aw, what for? He ain't no good preachin' to them 
 folks. By gum! I think he's scared of 'em." 
 
 But Pickles persisted, and followed with the men and 
 boys who lounged lazily into the church, from which 
 the Sunday School had now been dismissed. 
 
 It appeared that the judgment of Pat McCann upon 
 the merits of the preacher would be echoed by the ma- 
 jority of the congregation present. While the service 
 was conducted in proper form and in reverent spirit, 
 the sermon was marked by that most unpardonable sin 
 of which sermons can be guilty; it was dull. Solid 
 enough in matter, thoughtful beyond the average, it was 
 delivered in a style appallingly wooden, with an utter 
 absence of that arresting, dramatic power that the 
 preacher had shown in his children's class. 
 
 The appearance of the congregation was, as ever, a 
 reflection of the sermon. The heat of the day, the re- 
 action from the long week in the open air, the quiet 
 monotony of the well modulated voice rising and falling 
 in regular cadence in what is supposed by so many 
 preachers to be the tone suitable for any sacred office.
 
 REJECTED 57 
 
 produced an overwhelmingly somnolent effect. Many of 
 them slept, some frankly and openly, others under cover 
 of shading hands, bowed heads, or other subterfuges. 
 Others again spent the whole of the period of the ser- 
 mon, except for some delicious moments of surreptitious 
 sleep, in a painful but altogether commendable struggle 
 against the insidious influence of the god of slumber. 
 
 Among the latter was Mrs. Innes, whose loyalty to her 
 minister, which was as much a part of her as her breath- 
 ing, contended in a vigorous fight against her much too 
 solid flesh. It was a certain aid to wakefulness that 
 her two children, deep in audible slumber, kept her in 
 a state of active concern lest their inert and rotund little 
 masses of slippery flesh should elude her grasp, and 
 wreck the proprieties of the hour by flopping on the 
 floor. There was also a further sleep deterrent in the 
 fact that immediately before her sat Mr. McFettridge, 
 whose usually erect form, yielding to the soporific influ- 
 ences of the environment, showed a tendency gradually 
 to sag into an attitude, relaxed and formless, which 
 suggested sleep. This, to the lady behind him, partook 
 of the nature of an affront to her minister. Conse- 
 quently she considered it her duty to arouse the snoozing 
 McFettridge with a vigorous poke in the small of the 
 back. 
 
 The effect was instantaneously apparent. As if her 
 insistent finger had touched a button and released an 
 electric current, Mr. McFettridge's sagging form shot 
 convulsively into rigidity, and impinging violently upon 
 the peacefully slumbering Mr. Boggs on the extreme end 
 of the bench, toppled him over into the aisle. 
 
 The astonished Boggs, finding himself thus deposited 
 upon the floor, and beholding the irate face of Mr. Mc- 
 Fettridge glooming down upon him, and fancying him 
 to be the cause of his present humiliating position, sprang 
 to his feet, swung a violent blow upon Mr. Fettridge's 
 ear, exclaiming sotto voce:
 
 58 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Take that, will you! And mind your own business! 
 You were sleeping yourself, anyway!" 
 
 Before the astonished and enraged Mr. McFettridge 
 could gather his wits sufficiently for action, there rang 
 over the astonished congregation a peal of boyish laugh- 
 ter. It was from the minister. A few irrepressible 
 youngsters joined in the laugh; the rest of the congre- 
 gation, however, were held rigid in the grip of a shocked 
 amazement. 
 
 "Oh, I say! do forgive me, Mr. McFettridge!" cried 
 the young man at the desk. "It was quite involuntary, 
 I assure you." Then, quickly recovering himself, he 
 added, "And now we shall conclude the service by sing- 
 ing the seventy-ninth hymn." 
 
 Before the last verse was sung he reminded the audi- 
 ence of the congregational meeting immediately follow- 
 ing, and without further comment the service was 
 brought to a close. 
 
 A number of the congregation, among them Barry's 
 father, departed. 
 
 "Sit down, Neil," said Mrs. Innes to Neil Eraser. 
 "You'll be wanted I doot." And Neil,, protesting that 
 he knew nothing about church business, sat down. 
 
 At the back of the church were gathered Harry Hobbs, 
 young Pickles, and others of the less important attend- 
 ants of the church, who had been induced to remain by 
 the rumour of a "scrap." 
 
 By a fatal mischance, the pliant Nathan Pilley was 
 elected chairman. This gentleman was obsessed by the 
 notion that he possessed in a high degree the two quali- 
 ties which he considered essential to the harmonious and 
 expeditious conduct of a public meeting, namely, an in- 
 vincible determination to agree with every speaker, and 
 an equally invincible determination to get motions passed. 
 
 In a rambling and aimless speech, Mr. Pilley set forth 
 in a somewhat general way the steps leading up to this 
 meeting, and then called upon Mr. Innes, the chairman
 
 REJECTED 59 
 
 of the Board of Management, to state more specifically 
 the object for which it was called. 
 
 Mr. Innes, who was incurably averse to voluble speech, 
 whether public or private, arose and said, in rolling 
 Doric : 
 
 "Weel, Mr. Chair-r-man, there's no much to be done. 
 We're behind a few hundred dollars, but if some one 
 will go about wi' a bit paper, nae doot the ar-rear-rs.wad 
 soon be made up, and everything wad be ar-richt." 
 
 "Exactly," said Mr. Pilley pleasantly. "Now will 
 some one offer a motion?" 
 
 Thereupon Mr. Hayes was instantly upon his feet, 
 and in a voice thin and rasping exclaimed: 
 
 "Mr. Chairman, there's business to be done, and we 
 are here to do it, and we're not going to be rushed 
 through in this way." 
 
 "Exactly, Mr. Hayes, exactly," said Mr. Pilley. "We 
 must give these matters the fullest consideration." 
 
 Then followed a silence. 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Hayes " continued the chairman, 
 
 looking appealingly at that gentleman. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Chairman," said Mr. Hayes, with an ap- 
 peased but slightly injured air, "it is not my place to 
 set forth the cause of this meeting being called. If 
 the chairman of the board would do his duty" here he 
 glared at the unconscious Mr. Innes "he would set be- 
 fore it the things that have made this meeting necessary, 
 and that call for drastic action." 
 
 "Hear! Hear!" cried Mr. Boggs. 
 
 "Exactly so," acquiesced the chairman. "Please con- 
 tinue, Mr. Hayes." 
 
 Mr. Hayes continued: "The situation briefly is this: 
 We are almost hopelessly in debt, and " 
 
 "How much?" enquired Neil Fraser, briskly interrupt- 
 ing. 
 
 "Seven hundred dollars," replied Mr. Hayes, "and 
 further " 
 
 "Five hundred dollars," said Mr. Innes.
 
 60 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "I have examined the treasurer's books," said Mr. 
 Hayes in the calmly triumphant tone of one sure of his 
 position, "and I find the amount to be seven hundred 
 dollars, and therefore " 
 
 "Five hundred dollars," repeated Mr. Innes, gazing 
 into space. 
 
 "Seven hundred dollars, I say," snapped Mr. Hayes. 
 
 "Five hundred dollars," reiterated Mr. Innes, without 
 further comment. 
 
 "I say I have examined the books. The arrears are 
 seven hundred dollars." 
 
 "Five hundred dollars," said Mr. Innes calmly. 
 
 The youngsters at the back snickered. 
 
 "Go to it!" said Harry Hobbs, under his breath. 
 
 Even the minister, who was sitting immediately be- 
 hind Harry, could not restrain a smile. 
 
 "Mr. Chairman," cried Mr. Hayes, indignantly, "I ap- 
 peal against this interruption. I assert " 
 
 "Where's the treasurer?" said Neil Fraser. "What's 
 the use of this chewin' the rag?" 
 
 "Ah! Exactly so," said the chairman, greatly re- 
 lieved. "Mr. Boggs Perhaps Mr. Boggs will en- 
 lighten us." 
 
 Mr. Boggs arose with ponderous deliberation. 
 
 "Mr. Chairman," he said, "in one sense Mr. Hayes is 
 right when he states the arrears to be seven hundred 
 dollars " 
 
 "Five hundred dollars A'm tellin' ye," said Mr. Innes 
 with the first sign of feeling he had shown. 
 
 "And Mr. Innes is also right," continued Mr. Boggs, 
 ignoring the interruption, "when he makes the arrears 
 five hundred dollars, the two hundred dollars difference 
 being the quarterly revenue now due." 
 
 "Next week," said Mr. Innes, reverting to his wonted 
 calm. 
 
 "Exactly so," said the chairman, rubbing his hands 
 amiably; "so that the seven hundred dollars we now 
 owe "
 
 REJECTED 61 
 
 This was too much even for the imperturbable Mr. 
 Innes. 
 
 He arose in his place, moved out into the aisle, ad- 
 vanced toward the platform, and with arm outstretched, 
 exclaimed in wrathful tones: 
 
 "Mon, did ye no hear me tellin* ye ? I want nae mon 
 to mak' me a le-ear." 
 
 At this point Mr. Stewart Duff, who had come to con- 
 vey his wife home, and had got tired waiting for her 
 outside, entered the church. 
 
 "Oh, get on with the business," said Neil Fraser, who, 
 although enjoying the scene, was becoming anxious for 
 his dinner. "The question what's to be done with the 
 five hundred dollars' arrears. I say, let's make it up 
 right here. I am willing to give " 
 
 "No, Mr. Chairman," shouted Mr. Hayes, who was 
 notoriously averse to parting with his money, and was 
 especially fearful of a public subscription. 
 
 "There is something more than mere arrears much 
 more " 
 
 "Ay, there is," emphatically declared Mr. McFettridge, 
 rising straight and stiff. "I'm for plain speakin'. The 
 finances is not the worst about this congregation. The 
 congregation has fallen off. Other churches in this village 
 has good congregations. Why shouldn't we? The 
 truth is, Mr. Chairman," Mr. McFettridge's voice rolled 
 deep and sonorous over the audience "we want a popu- 
 lar preacher a preacher that draws a preacher with 
 some pep." 
 
 "Hear! hear!" cried Mr. Boggs. "Pep's what we want 
 That's it pep." 
 
 "Pep," echoed the chairman. "Exactly so, pep." 
 
 "More than that," continued Mr. McFettridge, "we 
 want a minister that's a good mixer one that stands in 
 with the boys." 
 
 "Hear! Hear!" cried Mr. Boggs again. 
 
 "A mixer! Exactly!" agreed the chairman. "A 
 mixer!" nodding pleasantly at Mr. Boggs.
 
 62 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "And another thing I will say," continued Mr. McFet- 
 tridge, "now that I am on my feet. We want a preacher 
 that will stick to his job that will preach the gospel 
 and not go meddlin' with other matters with politics 
 and such like." 
 
 "Or prohibition," shouted Harry Hobbs from the rear, 
 to the undiluted joy of the youngsters in his vicinity. 
 
 The minister shook his head at him. 
 
 "Yes, prohibition," answered Mr. McFettridge, facing 
 toward the rear of the church defiantly. "Let him stick 
 to his preaching the gospel ; I believe the time has come 
 for a change and I'm prepared to make a motion that 
 we ask our minister to resign, and that motion I now 
 make." 
 
 "Second the motion," cried Mr. Boggs promptly. 
 
 "You have heard the motion," said the chairman, with 
 business-like promptitude. "Are you ready for the ques- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Question," said Mr. Hayes, after a few moments' si- 
 lence, broken by the shuffling of some members in their 
 seats, and by the audible whispering of Mrs. Innes, evi- 
 dently exhorting her husband to action. 
 
 "Then all those in favour of the motion will 
 please " 
 
 Then from behind the organ a little voice piped up, 
 "Does this mean, Mr. Chairman, that we lose our min- 
 ister?" 
 
 It was Miss Quigg, a lady whose years no gallantry 
 could set below forty, for her appearance indicated that 
 she was long past the bloom of her youth. She was 
 thin, almost to the point of frailness, with sharp, deli- 
 cately cut features; but the little chin was firm, and a 
 flash of the brown eyes revealed a fiery soul within. Miss 
 Quigg was the milliner and dressmaker of the village, 
 and was herself a walking model of her own exquisite 
 taste in clothes and hats. It was only her failing health 
 that had driven her to abandon a much larger sphere 
 than her present position offered, but even here her
 
 REJECTED 63 
 
 fame was such as to draw to her little shop customers 
 from the villages round about for many miles. 
 
 "Does this mean, sir, that Mr. Dunbar will leave us?" 
 she repeated. 
 
 "Well, yes, madam that is, Miss, I suppose, in a 
 way practically it would amount to that." 
 
 "Will you tell me yes or no, please," Miss Quigg' s neat 
 little figure was all a-quiver to ti.e tips of her hat plumes. 
 
 "Well," said the chairman, squirming under the un- 
 pleasant experience of being forced to a definite answer, 
 "I suppose, yes." 
 
 Miss Quigg turned from the squirming and smiling 
 Mr. Pilley in contempt. 
 
 "Then," she said, "I say no. And I believe there are 
 many here who would say no and men, too." The 
 wealth of indignation and contemptuous scorn infused 
 into the word by which the difference in sex of the hu- 
 man species was indicated, made those unhappy individ- 
 uals glance shamefacedly at each other "only they are 
 too timid, the creatures! or too indifferent." 
 
 Again there was an exchange of furtive glances and 
 smiles and an uneasy shifting of position on the part 
 of "the creatures." 
 
 "But if you give them time, Mr. Chairman, I believe 
 they will perhaps get up courage enough to speak." 
 
 Miss Quigg sat down in her place behind the organ, 
 disappearing quite from view except for the tips of her 
 plumes, whose rapid and rhythmic vibrations were elo- 
 quent of the beating of her gallant little heart. 
 
 "Exactly so," said the chairman, in confused but 
 hearty acquiescence. "Perhaps some one will say some- 
 thing." 
 
 Then Mr. Innes, forced to a change of position by the 
 physical discomfort caused by his wife's prodding, rose 
 and said, 
 
 "I dinna see the need o' any change. Mr. Dunbar is no 
 a great preacher, but Ah doot he does his best. And 
 the bairns all like him."
 
 64 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 Then the congregation had a thrill. In the back seat 
 rose Harry Hobbs. 
 
 "I'm near forty years old," he cried, in a high nasal 
 tone that indicated a state of extreme nervous tension, 
 "and I never spoke in meetin' before. I ain't had no 
 use for churches and preachers, and I guess they hadn't 
 no use for me. You folks all know me. I've been in 
 this burg for near eight years, and I was a drinkin', 
 swearin', fightin' cuss. This preacher came into the barn 
 one day when I was freezin' to death after a big spree. 
 He tuk me home with him and kep' me there for two 
 weeks, settin' up nights with me, too. Let me be," he 
 said impatiently to Barry, who was trying to pull him 
 down to his seat. "I'm agoin' to speak this time if it 
 kills me. Many a time I done him dirt sence then, but 
 he stuck to me, and never quit till he got me turned 
 'round. I was goin' straight to hell ; he says I'm goin' to 
 heaven now." Here he laughed with a touch of scorn. 
 "I dunno. But, by gum! if you fire him and do him 
 dirt, I don't know what'll become of me, but I guess I'll 
 go straight to hell again." 
 
 "No, Harry, no you won't. You'll keep right on, 
 Harry, straight to heaven." It was the preacher's voice, 
 full of cheery confidence. 
 
 Mrs. Innes was audibly sniffling; Mrs. Stewart Duff 
 wiping her eyes. It was doubtless this sight that brought 
 her husband to his feet. 
 
 "I don't quite know what the trouble is here," he said. 
 "I understand there are arrears. I heard some criticism 
 of the minister's preaching. I can't say I care much for 
 it myself, but I want to say right here that there are 
 other things wanted in a minister, and this young fellow 
 has got some of them. If he stays, he gets my money; 
 if he doesn't, no one else does. I'll make you gentle- 
 men who are kicking about finances a sporting proposi- 
 tion. I'm willing to double my subscription, if any other 
 ten men will cover my ante."
 
 REJECTED 65 
 
 "I'll call you," said Neil Eraser, "and I'll raise you 
 one." 
 
 "I'm willing to meet Mr. Duff and Mr. Fraser," said 
 Miss Quigg, rising from behind her organ with a tri- 
 umphant smile on her face. 
 
 "I ain't got much money," said Harry Hobbs, "but 
 I'll go you just half what I earn if you'll meet me on that 
 proposition." 
 
 "Ah may say," said Mr. Innes, yielding to his wife's 
 vigorous vocal and physical incitations, "A'm prepair-r-ed 
 to male' a substantial increase in my subscreeption 
 that is, if necessary," he added cautiously. 
 
 Then Barry came forward from the back of the church 
 and stood before the platform. After looking them over 
 for a few moments in silence, he said, in a voice clear, 
 quiet, but with a ring in it that made it echo in every 
 heart : 
 
 "Had it not been for these last speeches, it would have 
 been unnecessary to allow the motion to go before you. 
 I could not have remained where I am not wanted. But 
 now I am puzzled, I confess, I am really puzzled to know 
 what to do. I am not a great preacher, I know, but then 
 there are worse. I don't, at least I think I don't, talk 
 nonsense. And I am not what Mr. McFettridge calls a 
 'good mixer.' On the other hand, I think Mr. Innes is 
 right when he says the bairns like me; at least, it would 
 break" he paused, his lip quivering, then he went on 
 quietly "it would be very hard to think they didn't." 
 
 "They do that, then," said Mrs. Innes, emphatically. 
 
 "So you see, it is really very difficult to know what to 
 do. I would hate to go away, but it might be right to 
 go away. I suggest you let me have a week to think it 
 over. Can you wait that long?" 
 
 His handsome, boyish face, alight with a fine glow of 
 earnestness and sincerity, made irresistible appeal to all 
 but those who for personal reasons were opposed to him. 
 
 "You see," he continued, in a tone of voice delibera- 
 tive and quite detached, "there are a number of things to
 
 66 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 think about. Those arrears, for instance, are hardly my 
 fault at least, not altogether. I was looking over the 
 treasurer's books the other day, and I was surprised to 
 find how many had apparently quite forgotten to pay 
 their church subscription. It is no doubt just an over- 
 sight. For instance," he added, in the confidential tone 
 of one imparting interesting and valuable information, 
 "you will be surprised to learn, Mr. Duff, that you are 
 twenty-five dollars behind in your payments." 
 
 At this Neil Eraser threw, back his head with a loud 
 laugh. "Touche!" he said, in a joyous undertone. 
 
 The minister looked at him in surprise, and went 
 on, "And while Mr. Innes and Miss Quigg are both paid 
 up in full, Mr. Hayes has apparently neglected to pay 
 his last quarter." 
 
 "Hit him again," murmured Harry Hobbs, while Mr. 
 Hayes rose in virtuous indignation. 
 
 "I protest, Mr. Chairman!" he cried, "against these 
 personalities." 
 
 "Oh, you quite mistake me, Mr. Hayes," said the 
 preacher, "these are not personalities. I am simply show- 
 ing how easy it is for arrears to arise, and that it may 
 not be my fault at all. Of course, it may be right for me 
 to resign. I don't know about that yet, but I want to be 
 very sure. It would be easier to resign, but I don't want 
 to be a quitter." 
 
 "I move we adjourn," said Neil Fraser. 
 
 "I second the motion," said Stewart Duff. The mo- 
 tion was carried, and the meeting adjourned. 
 
 At the door the minister stood shaking hands with all 
 as they passed out, making no distinction in the hearti- 
 ness with which he greeted all his parishioners. To Miss 
 Quigg, however, he said, "Thank you. You were splen- 
 didly plucky." 
 
 "Nonsense !" cried the little lady, the colour flaming in 
 her faded cheeks. "But," she added hastily, "you did 
 that beautifully, and he deserved it, the little beast!"
 
 REJECTED 67 
 
 "Solar plexus !" said Neil Eraser, who was immediately 
 behind Miss Quigg. 
 
 The minister glanced from one to the other in per- 
 plexity, as they passed out of the door. 
 
 "But, you know, I was only " 
 
 "Oh, yes, we know," cried Miss Quigg. "But if those 
 men would only take hold ! Oh, those men !" She turned 
 upon Neil Fraser and shook her head at him violently. 
 
 "I know, Miss Quigg. We are a hopeless and help- 
 less lot. But we're going to reform." 
 
 "You need to, badly," she said. "But you need some 
 one to reform you. Look at Mr. Duff there, how vastly 
 improved he is," and she waved her hand to that gen- 
 tleman, who was driving away with his wife in their 
 buckboard. 
 
 "He is a perfect dear," sighed Mrs. Duff, as she bowed 
 to the minister. "And you, too, Stewart," she added, 
 giving his arm a little squeeze, "you said just the right 
 thing when those horrid people were going to turn him 
 out." 
 
 "Say ! Your preacher isn't so bad after all," said her 
 husband. "Wasn't that a neat one for old Hayes?" 
 
 "He rather got you, though, Stewart." 
 
 "Yes, he did, by Jove ! Not the first time, either, he's 
 done it. But I must look after that. Say, he's the limit 
 for freshness though. Or is it freshness? I'm not quite 
 sure." 
 
 "Will he stay with us?" said his wife. "I really do 
 hope he will." 
 
 "Guess he'll stay all right. He won't give up his job," 
 said her husband. 
 
 But next week proved Mr. Duff a poor prophet, for 
 the minister after the service informed his people that 
 he had come to the conclusion that another man might 
 get better results as minister of the congregation ; he had 
 therefore handed in his resignation to the Presbytery. 
 
 It was a shock to them all, but he adhered to his reso- 
 lution in spite of tearful lamentations from the women,
 
 68 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 wide-eyed amazement and dismay from the bairns of the 
 congregation, and indignation, loudly expressed, from 
 Neil Fraser and Stewart Duff, and others of their kind. 
 
 "Well," said Miss Quigg, struggling with indignant 
 tears, as she was passing out of the church, "you won't 
 see Harry Hobbs in this church again, nor me, either." 
 
 "Oh, yes, Miss Quigg, Harry has promised me that he 
 will stick by the church, and that he will be there every 
 Sunday. And so will you, dear Miss Quigg. I know 
 you. You will do what is right." 
 
 But that little lady, with her head very erect and a 
 red spot burning in each faded cheek, passed out of the 
 church saying nothing, the plumes on her jaunty little 
 hat quivering defiance and wrath against "those men, 
 who had so little spunk as to allow a little beast like 
 Hayes to run them."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE WAR DRUM CALLS 
 
 WELL, dad," said Barry next evening as they were 
 sitting in the garden after tea, "I feel something 
 like Mohammed's coffin, detached from earth but not 
 yet ascended into heaven. It's unpleasant to be out of 
 a job. I confess I shall always cherish a more intelli- 
 gent sympathy henceforth for the great unemployed. 
 But cheer up, dad ! You are taking this thing much too 
 seriously. The world is wide, and there is something 
 waiting me that I can do better than any one else." 
 
 But the father had little to say. He felt bitterly the 
 humiliation to which his son had been subjected. 
 
 Barry refused to see the humiliation. 
 
 "Why should I not resign if I decide it is my duty so 
 to do? And why, on the other hand, should not they 
 have the right to terminate my engagement with them 
 when they so desire? That's democratic government." 
 
 "But good Lord, Barry!" burst out his father, with 
 quite an unusual display of feeling; "to think that a gen- 
 tleman should hold his position at the whim of such 
 whippersnappers as Hayes, Boggs et hoc genus omne. 
 And more than that, that I should have to accept as my 
 minister a man who would be the choice of cattle like 
 that." 
 
 "After all, dad, we are ruled by majorities in this age 
 and in this country. That is at once the glory and the 
 danger of democratic government. There is no better 
 way discovered as yet. And besides, I couldn't go on 
 here, dad, preaching Sunday after Sunday to people who 
 I felt were all the time saying, 'He's no good' ; to peo- 
 
 69
 
 70 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 pie, in short, who could not profit by my preaching." 
 
 "Because it had no pep, eh ?" said his father with bit- 
 ter scorn. 
 
 "Do you know, dad, I believe that's what is wrong 
 with my preaching : it hasn't got pep. What pep is, only 
 the initiated know. But the long and the short of this 
 thing is, it is the people that must be satisfied. It is they 
 who have to stand your preaching, they who pay the 
 piper. But cheer up, dad, I have no fear for the future." 
 
 "Nor have I, my boy, not the slightest. I hope you 
 did not think for a moment, my son," he added with 
 some dignity, "that I was in doubt about your future." 
 
 "No, no, dad. We both feel a little sore naturally, but 
 the future is all right." 
 
 "True, my dear boy, true. I was forgetting myself. 
 As you say, the world is wide and your place is wait- 
 ing." 
 
 "Hello ! here comes my friend, Mr. Duff," said Barry 
 in a low voice. "He was ready to throw Mr. McFettridge 
 out of the meeting yesterday, body and bones. Awfully 
 funny, if it hadn't been in church. Wonder what he 
 wants! Seems in a bit of a hurry." 
 
 But hurry or not, it was a full hour before Mr. Duff 
 introduced his business. As he entered the garden he 
 stood gazing about him in amazed wonder and delight, 
 and that hour was spent in company with Mr. Dunbar, 
 exploring the garden, Barry following behind lost in 
 amazement at the new phase of character displayed by 
 their visitor. 
 
 "I have not had such a delightful evening, Mr. Dun- 
 bar, for years," said Duff, when they had finished making 
 the round of the garden. "I have heard about your gar- 
 den, but I had no idea that it held such a wealth and va- 
 riety of treasures. I had something of a garden myself 
 in the old country, but here there is no time apparently 
 for anything but cattle and horses and money. But if 
 you would allow me I should greatly like to have the
 
 THE WAR DRUM CALLS 71 
 
 pleasure of bringing Mrs. Duff to see your beautiful 
 garden." 
 
 Mr. Duff was assured that the Dunbars would have 
 the greatest pleasure in receiving Mrs. Duff. 
 
 "Do bring her," said Barry, "and we can have a little 
 music, too. She is musical, I know. I hear her sing in 
 church." 
 
 "Music! Why, she loves it. But she dropped her 
 music when she came here ; there seemed to be no time, 
 
 no time, no time. I wonder sometimes Well, I 
 
 must get at my business. It is this letter that brings me. 
 It is from an American whom you know, at least, he 
 knows you, a Mr. Osborne Rowland of Pittsburgh." 
 
 Mr. Dunbar nodded. 
 
 "He is planning a big trip up the Peace River country 
 prospecting for oil and mines, and later hunting. He 
 says you and your son engaged to accompany him, and 
 he asks me to complete arrangements with you. I am 
 getting Jim Knight to look after the outfit. You know 
 Jim, perhaps. He runs the Lone Pine ranch. Fine chap 
 he is. Knows all about the hunting business. Takes a 
 party into the mountains every year. He'll take Tom 
 Fielding with him. I don't know Fielding, but Knight 
 does. Mr. Howland says there will be three of their 
 party. Far too many, but that's his business. I myself 
 am rather anxious to look after .some oil deposits, and 
 this will be a good chance. What do you say?" 
 
 Father and son looked at each other. 
 
 "It would be fine, if we could manage it," said Mr. 
 Dunbar, "but my work is so pressing just now. A great 
 many are coming in, and I am alone in the office at pres- 
 ent. When does he propose to start?" 
 
 "In six weeks' time. I hope you can come, Mr. Dun- 
 bar. I couldn't have said so yesterday, but I can now. 
 Any man with a garden like this, the product of his own 
 planning and working, is worth knowing. So I do hope 
 you can both come. By the way, Knight wants a camp
 
 72 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 hand, a kind of roustabout, who can cook a handy man, 
 you know." 
 
 "I have him," said Barry. "Harry Hobbs." 
 
 "Hobbs? Boozes a bit, doesn't he?" 
 
 "Not now. Hasn't for six months. He's a new man. 
 I can guarantee him." 
 
 "You can, eh? Well, my experience is once a boozer 
 always a boozer." 
 
 "Oh," said Barry, "Hobbs is different. He is a mem- 
 ber of our church, you know." 
 
 "No, I didn't know. But I don't know that that makes 
 much difference anyway," said Duff with a laugh. "I 
 don't mean to be offensive," he added. 
 
 "It does to Hobbs, he's a Christian man now. I mean 
 a real Christian, Mr. Duff." 
 
 "Well, I suppose there is such a ti~g. In fact, I've 
 known one or two, but well, if you guarantee him I'll 
 take him." 
 
 "I will guarantee him," said Barry. 
 
 "Let me have your answer to-morrow," said Duff as 
 he bade them good-night. 
 
 The Dunbars discussed the matter far into the night. 
 It was clearly impossible for Mr. Dunbar to leave his 
 work, and the only question was whether or not Barry 
 should make one of the party. Barry greatly disliked the 
 idea of leaving his father during the hot summer months, 
 as he said, "to slave away at his desk, and to slop away 
 in his bachelor diggings." He raised many objec- 
 tions, but one consideration seemed to settle things for 
 the Dunbars. To them a promise was a promise. 
 
 "If I remember aright, Barry, we promised that we 
 should join their party on this expedition." 
 
 "Yes," added Barry quickly, "if our work permitted 
 it." 
 
 "Exactly," said his father. "My work prevents me, 
 your work does not." 
 
 Hence it came that by the end of August Barry found 
 himself in the far northern wilds of the Peace River
 
 THE WAR DRUM CALLS 73 
 
 country, a hundred miles or so from Edmonton, attached 
 to a prospecting-hunting party of which Mr. Osborne 
 Rowland was the nominal head, but of which the "boss" 
 was undoubtedly his handsome, athletic and impetuous 
 daughter Paula. The party had not been on the trail 
 for more than a week before every member was moving 
 at her command, and apparently glad to do so. 
 
 The party were camped by a rushing river at the 
 foot of a falls. Below the falls the river made a wide 
 eddy, then swept down in a turbulent rapid for some 
 miles. The landing was a smooth and shelving rock 
 that pitched somewhat steeply into the river. 
 
 The unfortunate Harry, who after the day's march had 
 exchanged his heavy marching boots with their clinging 
 hobnails for shoes more comfortable but with less cling- 
 ing qualities, in making preparation for the evening 
 meal made his way down this shelving rock of water. 
 No sooner had he filled his pail than his foot slipped 
 from under him, and in an instant the pail and himself 
 were in the swiftly flowing river. 
 
 His cry startled the camp. 
 
 "Hello!" shouted Duff, with a great laugh. "Harry is 
 in the drink ! I never knew he was so fond of water as 
 all that. You've got to swim for it now, old boy." 
 
 "Throw him something," said Knight. 
 
 Past them ran Barry, throwing off coat and vest. 
 
 "He can't swim," he cried, tearing at his boots. 
 "Throw him a line, some one." He ran down to the 
 water's edge, plunged in, and swam toward the unfor- 
 tunate Harry, who, splashing wildly, was being carried 
 rapidly into the rough water. 
 
 "Oh, father, he will be drowned!" cried Paula, rush- 
 ing toward a canoe which was drawn up on the shore. 
 Before any one could reach her she had pushed it out 
 and was steering over the boiling current in Barry's 
 wake. But after a few strokes of her paddle she found 
 herself driven far out into the current and away from 
 the struggling men. Paula had had sufficient experience
 
 74 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 with a canoe to handle it with considerable ease in smooth 
 water and under ordinary conditions, but in the swirl of 
 this rough and swift water the canoe took the manage- 
 ment of its course out of her hands, and she had all 
 she could do to keep afloat. 
 
 "For God's sake, men, get her!" cried Brand. "She 
 will be drowned before our eyes." 
 
 "Come on, Tom," cried Jim Knight, swinging another 
 canoe into the water. A glance he gave at the girl, an- 
 other at the struggling men, for by this time Barry could 
 be seen struggling with the drowning Hobbs. 
 
 "Get in, Tom," ordered Knight, taking the stern. "We 
 will get the men first. The girl is all right in the mean- 
 time." 
 
 "Get the girl!" commanded Brand. "For God's sake 
 go for the girl," he entreated in a frenzy of distress. 
 
 "No," said Knight, "the men first. She's all right." 
 
 "Here," said Duff to Brand, pushing out the remain- 
 ing canoe, "get into the bow, and stop howling. Those 
 men are in danger of being drowned, but Knight will 
 get them. We'll go for the girl." 
 
 It took but a few minutes for Knight and Fielding, 
 who knew their craft thoroughly and how to get the 
 best out of her in just such an emergency, to draw up 
 upon Harry and his rescuer. 
 
 "Say, they are fighting hard," said Fielding. "That 
 bloody little fool is choking the life out of Dunbar. My 
 God ! they are out of sight !" 
 
 "Go on," roared Knight. "Keep your eyes on the 
 spot, and for Heaven's sake, paddle!" 
 
 "They are up again! One of them is. It's Barry. 
 The other is gone. No, by Jove ! he's got him ! Hold 
 on, Barry, we're coming," yelled Tom. "Stick to it, old 
 boy!" 
 
 Swiftly the canoe sped toward the drowning men. 
 
 "They are gone this time for sure," cried Tom, as 
 the canoe shot over the spot where the men had last 
 been seen.
 
 75 
 
 "Not much!" said Knight, as reaching out of the 
 stern he gripped Barry by the hair. "Hold hard, Barry," 
 he said quietly. "No monkey work now or you'll drown 
 us all." Immediately Barry ceased struggling. 
 
 "Don't try to get in, Barry. We'll have to tow you 
 ashore." 
 
 "All right, Jim," he said between his sobbing breaths. 
 "Only hurry up I've got him here." 
 
 Knight reached down carefully, lifted Barry till his 
 hand touched the gunwale of the canoe. 
 
 "Not too hard, Barry," he said. "I'll ease you round 
 to the stern. Steady, boy, steady. Don't dump us." 
 
 "All right Jim but he's under the water here." 
 
 "Oh, never mind him. We'll get him all right. Can 
 you hold on now ?" said Knight. 
 
 "Yes I think so." 
 
 "Now, for God's sake, Tom, edge her into the shore. 
 See that little eddy there? Swing into that! You'll do 
 it all right. Goodman!" 
 
 By this time Knight was able to get Harry's head 
 above water. 
 
 In a few minutes they had reached the shore, and were 
 working hard over Harry's unconscious body, leaving 
 Barry lying on the sand to recover his strength. A 
 long fight was necessary to bring the life back into 
 Harry, by which time Barry was sufficiently recovered 
 to sit up. 
 
 "Stay where you are, Barry, until we get this man 
 back to camp," ordered Knight. "We'll light a bit of 
 a fire for you." 
 
 "I'm warm enough," said Barry. 
 
 "Warm enough? You may be, but you will be bet- 
 ter with a fire, and you lie beside it till we get you. 
 Don't move now." 
 
 "There's the other canoes coming," said Fielding. 
 "They'll make shore a little lower down. They're all 
 right. Say, she's handling that canoe like a man!" 
 
 "Who?" said Barry.
 
 76 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Why, Miss Rowland," said Fielding. "She was out 
 after you like a shot. She's a plucky one !" 
 
 Barry was on his feet in an instant, watching anxiously 
 the progress of the canoes, which were being slowly 
 edged across the river in a long incline toward the 
 shore. 
 
 "They'll make it, all right," said Knight, after ob- 
 serving them for a time. "Don't you worry. Just lie 
 down by the fire. We'll be back in a jiffy." 
 
 In an hour they were all safely back in camp, and 
 sufficiently recovered to discover the humorous points in 
 the episode. But they were all familiar enough with the 
 treacherous possibilities of rough and rapid water to 
 know that for Hobbs and his deliverer at least, there had 
 been some serious moments during their fierce struggle 
 in the river. 
 
 "Another minute would have done," said Fielding 
 to his friend, as they sat over the fire after supper. 
 
 "A half a minute would have been just as good," said 
 Knight. "I got Barry by the hair under water. He 
 was at his last kick, you bet ! And that rat," he added, 
 smiling good naturedly at Harry, "was dragging him 
 down for the last time." 
 
 "I didn't know nothin' about it," said poor Harry, 
 who was lying stretched out by the fire, still very weak 
 and miserable. "I didn't know nothin' about it, or you 
 bet I woudn't ha' done it. I didn't know nothin' after 
 he got me." 
 
 "After you got him, you mean," said Fielding. 
 
 "I guess that's right," said Harry, "but I wouldn't 
 ha' got him if he hadn't ha' got me first." 
 
 They all joined in the discussion of the event except 
 Paula, who sat distrait and silent, gazing into the fire, 
 and Barry, who lay, drowsy and relaxed, on a blanket 
 not far from her side. 
 
 "You ought to go to bed," said Paula at length 
 in a low voice to him. "You need a good night's sleep." 
 
 "I'm too tired to sleep," said Barry. "I feel rather
 
 THE WAR DRUM CALLS 77 
 
 rotten, in fact. I ought to feel very grateful, but some- 
 how I just feel rotten." 
 
 "Can one be grateful and feel rotten at the same 
 time?" said Paula, making talk. 
 
 "Behold me," replied Barry. "I know I am grateful, 
 but I do feel rotten. I don't think I have even thanked 
 you for risking your life for me," he added, turning 
 toward her. 
 
 "Risking my life? Nonsense! I paddled 'round in 
 the canoe for a bit, till two strong men came to tow me 
 in, and would have, if I had allowed them. Thank the 
 boys, who got you in time." She shuddered as she 
 spoke. 
 
 "I do thank them, and I do feel grateful to them," 
 said Barry. "It was rather a near thing. You see, I 
 let him grip me. I choked him off my arms, but he slid 
 down to my thigh, and I could not kick him off. Had to 
 practically drown him. Even then he hung on." 
 
 "Oh, don't speak about it," she said with a shudder, 
 covering her face with her hands. "It was too awful, 
 and it might have been the end of you." Her voice 
 broke a little. 
 
 "No, not an end," answered Barry, in a quiet voice. 
 "Not the end by a long way, not by a very long way." 
 
 "What do you mean ? Oh, you are thinking of immor- 
 tality, and all that," said Paula. "It's a chilly, ghostly 
 subject. It makes me shiver. I get little comfort out 
 of it." 
 
 "Ghostly it is, if you mean a thing of spirits," said 
 Barry, "but chilly! Why chilly?" Then he added to 
 himself in an undertone : "I wonder! I wonder! I wish 
 sometimes I knew more." 
 
 "Sometimes ?" cried Paula. "Always !" she added pas- 
 sionately. "It's a dreadful business to me. To be sud- 
 denly snatched out of the light and the warmth, away 
 from the touch of warm fingers and the sight of dear 
 faces! Ah, I dread it! I loathe the thought of it. I 
 hate it!"
 
 78 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "And yet," mused Barry, "somehow I cannot forget 
 that out there somewhere there is One, kindly, genial, 
 true, like my dad. How good he has been to me my 
 dad, I mean, and that Other, too, has been good. Some- 
 how I think of them together. Yes, I am grateful to 
 Him." 
 
 "Oh, God, you mean," said Paula, a little impatiently. 
 
 "Yes, to God. He saved me to-day. 'Saved,' I say. 
 It is a queer way to speak, after all. What I really ought 
 to say is that God thought it best that I should camp 
 'round here for a bit longer before moving in nearer." 
 
 "Nearer?" 
 
 "Yes, into the nearer circle. Life moves 'round a cen- 
 tre, in outer and inner circles. This is the outer circle. 
 Nearer in there, it is kindlier, with better light and 
 clearer vision. 'We shall know even as we are known.' ' 
 Barry mused on, as if communing with himself. 
 
 "But when you move in," said Paula, and there was 
 no mistaking the earnestness of her tone, "you break 
 touch with those you love here." 
 
 "I don't know about that," answered Barry quickly. 
 
 "Oh, yes you do. You are out of all this, all this," 
 she swept her hand at the world around her, "this good 
 old world, all your joy and happiness, all you love. Oh, 
 that's the worst of it; you give up your love. I hate 
 it!" she concluded with vehemence sudden and fierce, as 
 she shook her fist towards the stars. 
 
 "Give up your love ?" said Barry. "Not I ! Not one 
 good, honest affection do I mean to give up, nor shall I." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense! Don't be religious. Just be honest," 
 said Paula, in a low, intense voice. "Let me speak to 
 you. Suppose I I love a man with all my soul and 
 body and body, mind you, and he goes out, or goes in, 
 as you say. No matter, he goes out of my life. I lose 
 him, he is not here. I cannot feel and respond to his 
 love. I cannot feel his strong arms about me. My 
 God!" Her voice came with increasing vehemence. "I 
 want his arms. I want him as he is. I want his body
 
 THE WAR DRUM CALLS 79 
 
 I cannot love a ghost. No ! no !" she added in a low, 
 hopeless voice. "When he goes out I lose him, and lose 
 him as mine forever. Oh, what do I care for your 
 spirit love! The old Greeks were right. They are 
 shades shades, mere shades beyond the river. I don't 
 want a shade. I want a man, a strong, warm-hearted, 
 brave man. Yes, a good man, a man with a soul. But a 
 man, not a soul. My God !" she moaned, "how terrible 
 it all is ! And it came so near to us to-day. But I should 
 not be saying this to you, played out as you are. I am 
 going to bed. Good-night." 
 
 She put out her hand and gripped his in warm, strong, 
 muscular fingers. "Thank God, yes God, if you like, you 
 are still still in this outer circle," she broke into a 
 laugh, but there was little mirth in her laughter "this 
 good old outer circle, yet awhile." 
 
 "Yes," said Barry simply but very earnestly, "thank 
 God. It is a good world. But with all my soul I be- 
 lieve there is a better, and all that is best in love and 
 life we shall take with us. Good-night," he added, "and 
 thank you, at least for the will and the attempt to save 
 my life." 
 
 "Sleep well," she said. 
 
 "I hope so," he replied, "but I doubt it." 
 
 His doubts, it turned out, were justified, for soon after 
 midnight Mr. Howland was aroused by Harry Hobbs in 
 a terror of excitement. 
 
 "Will you come to Mr. Dunbar, sir?" he cried. "I 
 think he is dying." 
 
 "Dying?" Mr. Howland was out of his cot immedi- 
 ately and at Barry's side. He found him fighting for 
 breath, his eyes starting from his head, a look of infi- 
 nite distress on his face. 
 
 "My dear boy, what is it ? Hobbs says you are dying." 
 
 "That con-con-founded fool shouldn't have called 
 you. I forbade him," gasped Barry. 
 
 "But, my dear boy, what is the matter? Are you 
 in pain?"
 
 80 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "No, no, it's nothing only an old friend come 
 back for a call, a brief one let us hope. It's only 
 asthma. Looks bad feels worse but really not at 
 all dangerous." 
 
 "What can be done, my boy?" asked Mr. Rowland, 
 greatly relieved, as are most laymen, when the trouble 
 can be named. It is upon the terror inspired by the 
 unknown that the medical profession lives. 
 
 "Tell Harry to make a hot drink," said Barry, but 
 Harry had already forestalled the request, and appeared 
 with a steaming bowl. "This will help. Now go to 
 bed, Mr. Howland. Do, please. You distress me 
 by remaining there. Harry will look after me. Good- 
 night." 
 
 Next morning Barry appeared at breakfast a little 
 washed out in appearance, but quite bright and an- 
 nouncing himself fit for anything. 
 
 The incident, however, was a determining factor in 
 changing the party's plans. Already they were behind 
 their time schedule, to Mr. Cornwall Brand's disgust. 
 The party was too large and too heavily encumbered 
 with impedimenta for swift travel. Besides, as Paula 
 said, "Why rush? Are we not doing the Peace River 
 Country? We are out for a good time and we are hav- 
 ing it." Paula was not interested in mines and oil. She 
 did not announce just what special interest was hers. 
 She was "having a good time" and that was reason 
 enough for leisurely travel. In consequence their pro- 
 visions had run low. 
 
 It was decided to send forward a scouting party to 
 the Hudson's Bay Post some thirty miles further on to 
 restock their commissariat. Accordingly Knight and 
 Fielding were despatched on this mission, the rest of the 
 party remaining in camp. 
 
 "A lazy day or two in camp is what we all need," 
 said Mr. Howland. "I confess I am quite used up my- 
 self, and therefore I know you must all feel much the 
 same."
 
 THE WAR DRUM CALLS 81 
 
 On the fourth day the scouting party appeared. 
 
 "There's war!" cried Knight as he touched land. He 
 flung out a bundle of papers for Mr. Howland. 
 
 "War!" The word came back in tones as varied as 
 those who uttered it. 
 
 "War!" said Mr. Howland. "Between whom?" 
 
 "Every one, pretty much," said Knight. "Germany, 
 France, Russia, Austria, Servia, Belgium, and Britain." 
 
 "Britain!" said Barry and Duff at the same moment. 
 
 "Britain," answered Knight solemnly. 
 
 The men stood stock still, looking at each other with 
 awed faces. 
 
 "War!" again said Barry. "With Germany!" He 
 turned abruptly away from the group and said, "I am 
 going." 
 
 "Going ! Going where ?" said Mr. Howland. 
 
 "To the war," said Barry quietly. 
 
 "To the war ! You ? A clergyman ?" said Mr. How- 
 land. 
 
 ^You? You going?" cried Paula. At the pain in 
 her voice her father and Brand turned and looked at 
 Her. Disturbed by what he saw, her father began an 
 excited appeal to Barry. 
 
 "Why, my dear sir, it would surely be most unusual 
 for a man like you to go to war," he began, and 
 for quite ten minutes he proceeded to set forth in fluent 
 and excited speech a number of reasons why the idea of 
 Barry's going to war was absurd and preposterous to 
 him. It must be confessed that Barry was the only 
 one of the men who appeared to give much heed to 
 him. They seemed to be dazed by the stupendous fact 
 that had been announced to them, and to be adjusting 
 themselves to that fact. 
 
 When he had finished his lengthy and excited speech 
 Brand took up the discourse. 
 
 "Of course you don't think of going immediately," 
 he said. "We have this expedition in hand."
 
 82 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 The men made no reply. Indeed, they hardly seemed 
 to hear him. 
 
 "You don't mean to say," continued Brand with a 
 touch of indignation in his voice, addressing Duff, the 
 recognised leader of the party, "that you would break 
 your engagement with this party, Mr. Duff?" 
 
 Duff glanced at him, then looked away in silence, 
 studying the horizon. The world was to him and to 
 them all a new world within the last few minutes. 
 
 His silence appeared to enrage Brand. He turned 
 to Barry. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you approve of 
 this? Do you consider it right and fair that these men 
 should break their engagement with us? We have gone 
 to great expense, we have extremely important inter- 
 ests at stake in this exploration." 
 
 Barry stood looking at him in silence, as if trying 
 to take in exactly what he meant, then in a low and 
 awed tone he said: 
 
 "It is war! War with Germany!" 
 
 "We cannot help that," cried Brand. "What differ- 
 ence can this war make to you here a hundred miles 
 from civilisation? These men are pledged to us." 
 
 "Their first pledge is to their country, sir," said Barry 
 gravely. 
 
 "But why should you, a Canadian, take part in this 
 war?" argued Mr. Howland. "Surely this is England's 
 war." 
 
 Then Barry appeared to awake as from a dream. 
 
 "Yes, it is England's war, it is Britain's war, and 
 when Britain is at war my country is at war, and when 
 my country is at war I ought to be there." 
 
 "God in heaven!" shouted Duff, striking him on the 
 back, "you have said it! My country is at war, and I 
 must be there. As God hears me, I am off to-day now." 
 
 "Me, too!" said Knight with a shout. 
 
 "I'm going with you, sir," said little Harry Hobbs, 
 ranging himself beside Barry.
 
 THE WAR DRUM CALLS 83 
 
 "Count me in," said Tom Fielding quietly. "I have 
 a wife and three kids, but " 
 
 "My God!" gasped Duff. "My wife." His face went 
 white. He had not yet fully adjusted himself to the 
 fact of war. 
 
 "Why, of course," said Mr. Howland, "you married 
 men won't be called upon. You must be reasonable. For 
 instance you, Mr. Duff, cannot leave your wife." 
 
 But Duff had recovered himself. 
 
 "My wife, sir? My wife would despise me if I stayed 
 up here. Sir, my wife will buckle on my belt and spurs 
 and send me off to the war," cried Duff in a voice that 
 shook as he spoke. 
 
 With a single stride Barry was at his side, offer- 
 ing both his hands. 
 
 "Thank God for men like you! And in my soul I 
 believe the Empire has millions of them." 
 
 "Does your Empire demand that you desert those 
 you have pledged yourself to?" enquired Brand in a 
 sneering tone. 
 
 "Oh, Cornwall!" exclaimed Paula, "how can you?" 
 
 "Why, Brand," saiu Mr. Howland, "that is unworthy 
 of you." 
 
 "We will see you into safety, sir," said Duff, swing- 
 ing round upon Brand, "either to the Hudson's Bay 
 Company's post, where you can get Indians, or back to 
 Edmonton, but not one step further on this expedition 
 do I go." 
 
 "Nor I," said Knight. 
 
 "Nor I," said Fielding. 
 
 "Nor I," said Barry. 
 
 "Nor I," said Harry Hobbs. 
 
 "You are quite right, sir," said Mr. Howland, turn- 
 ing to Barry. "I apologise to you, sir, to all of you 
 Canadians. I am ashamed to confess that I did not at 
 first get the full meaning of this terrific thing that has 
 befallen your Empire. Were it the U.S.A. that was 
 in a war of this kind, hell itself would not keep me from
 
 84 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 going to her aid. Nor you either, Brand. Yes, you are 
 right. Go to your war. God go with you." 
 
 He shook hands solemnly with them one by one. "I 
 only wish to God that my country were with you, too, 
 in this thing," he said when he had performed this 
 function. 
 
 "Father," cried Paula, "do you think for one min- 
 ute that Uncle Sam won't be in this ? You put it down," 
 she said, swinging 'round upon Barry, "where it will 
 jump at you some day: We will be with you in this 
 scrap for all we are worth." 
 
 "And now for the march," said Barry, who seemed 
 almost to assume command. Then removing his hat and 
 lifting high his hand, he said in a voice thrilling with 
 solemn reverence, "God grant victory to the right! God 
 save the king!" 
 
 Instinctively the men took off their hats and stood 
 with bared and bent heads, as if sharing in a solemn 
 ritual. They stood with millions upon millions of their 
 kin in the old mother lands, and scattered wide upon 
 the seas, stood with many millions more of peoples and 
 nations, pledging to this same cause of right, life and 
 love and all they held dear, and with hearts open to that 
 all-searching eye, praying that same prayer, "God grant 
 victory to the right. Amen and amen. We ask no 
 other." 
 
 Then they faced to their hundred miles' trek en route 
 to the war.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE MEN OF THE NORTH 
 
 FIFTY miles not too bad, boy, not too bad for a 
 one day's go. We'll camp right here at the portage. 
 How is it, Knight?" 
 
 "Good place, Duff, right on that point Good wood, 
 good landing. Besides there's a deuce of a portage be- 
 yond, which we can do after supper to-night. How do 
 you feel, Barry?" asked Knight. "Hard day, eh?" 
 
 "Feeling fit, a little tired, of course, but good for an- 
 other ten miles," answered Barry. 
 
 "That's the stuff," replied Knight, looking at him 
 keenly, "but, see here, you must ease up on the carrying. 
 You haven't quite got over that ducking of yours." 
 
 "I'm fit enough," answered Barry, rather more curtly 
 than his wont. 
 
 They brought the canoes up to the landing, and with 
 the speed of long practice unloaded them, and drew 
 them upon the shore. 
 
 Knight approached Duff, and, pointing toward Barry, 
 said quietly : 
 
 "I guess we'll have to ease him up a bit. That fight, 
 you know, took it out of him, and he always jumps for 
 the biggest pack. We'd better hold him back to-morrow 
 a bit." 
 
 "Can't hold back any one," said Duff, with an oath. 
 "We've got to make it to-morrow night. There's the 
 devil of a trip before us. That big marsh portage is a 
 heartbreaker, and there must be a dozen or fifteen of 
 them awaiting us, and we're going to get through at 
 least, I am." 
 
 "All right," said Knight, with a quick flash of temper. 
 
 85
 
 86 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "I'll stay with you, only I thought we might ease him a 
 bit." 
 
 "I'm telling you, we're going to get through," said 
 Duff, with another oath. 
 
 "You needn't tell me, Duff," said Knight. "Keep your 
 shirt on." 
 
 "On or off, wet or dry, sink or swim, we're going to 
 make that train to-morrow, Knight. That's all about it." 
 
 Then Knight let himself go. 
 
 "See here, Duff. Do you want to go on to-night? If 
 you do, hell and blazes, say the word and I'm with 
 you." 
 
 His face was white as he spoke. He seized a tump- 
 line, swung the pack upon his head, and set off across the 
 portage. 
 
 "Come on, boys," he yelled. "We're going through 
 to-night." 
 
 "Oh, hold up, Knight!" said Duff. "What the hell's 
 eating you? We'll grub first anyway." 
 
 "No/' said Knight. "The next rapid is a bad bit of 
 water, and if we're going through to-night, I want that 
 bit behind me, before it gets too dark. So come along!" 
 
 "Oh, cut it out, Knight," said Duff, in a gruff but con- 
 ciliatory tone. "We'll camp right here." 
 
 "It's all the same to me," said Knight, flinring his 
 pack down. "When you want to go on, say the word. 
 You won't have to ask me twice." 
 
 Duff looked over the six feet of bone and sinew and 
 muscle of the young rancher, made as if to answer, 
 paused a moment, changed his mind, and said more 
 quietly : 
 
 "Don't be an ass, Knight. I'm not trying to hang 
 your shirt on a tree." 
 
 "You know damned well you can't," said Knight, who 
 was still white with passion. 
 
 "Oh, come off," replied Duff. "Anyway, I don't see 
 what young Dunbar is to you. We must get through 
 to-morrow night. The overseas contingent is camping
 
 87 
 
 at Valcartier, according to these papers and whatever 
 happens I am going with that contingent." 
 
 Knight made no reply. He was a little ashamed of 
 his temper. But during the past two days he had chafed 
 under the rasp of Duff's tongue and his overbearing 
 manner. He resented too his total disregard of Barry's 
 weariness, for in spite of his sheer grit, the pace was 
 wearing the boy down. 
 
 "We ought to reach the railroad by six to-morrow," 
 Said Duff, renewing the conversation, and anxious to ap- 
 pease his comrade. "There's a late train, but if we catch 
 the six we shall make home in good time. Hello, what's 
 this coming?" 
 
 At his words they all turned and looked in the direc- 
 tion in which he pointed. 
 
 Down a stream, which at this point came tumbling into 
 theirs in a dangerous looking rapid, came a canoe with a 
 man in the centre guiding it as only an expert could. 
 
 "By Jove! He can't make that drop," said Knight, 
 walking down toward the landing. 
 
 They all stood watching the canoe which, at the mo- 
 ment, hung poised upon the brink of the rapid like a 
 bird for flight. Even as Knight spoke the canoe entered 
 the first smooth pitch at the top. Two long, swallow- 
 like sweeps, then she plunged into the foam, to appear 
 a moment later fighting her way through the mass of 
 crowding, crested waves, which, like white-fanged wolves 
 upon a doe, seemed to be hurling themselves upon her, 
 intent upon bearing her down to destruction. 
 
 "By the living, jumping Jemima!" said Fielding, in 
 an awe-stricken tone, "she's gone !" 
 
 "She's through !" cried Knight. 
 
 "Great Jehoshaphat !" said Fielding. "He's a bird !" 
 
 With a flip or two of his paddle, the stranger shot his 
 canoe across the stream, and floated quietly to the land- 
 ing. 
 
 Barry ran down to meet him. 
 
 "I say, that was beautifully done," he cried, taking the
 
 88 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 nose of the canoe while the man stepped ashore and stood 
 a moment looking back at the water. 
 
 "A lee tie more to the left would have been better, I 
 think. She took some water," he remarked in a slow 
 voice, as if to himself. 
 
 He was a strange-looking creature. He might have 
 stepped out of one of Fenimore Cooper's novels. In- 
 deed, as Barry's eyes travelled up and down his long, 
 bony, stooping, slouching figure, his mind leaped at once 
 to the Pathfinder. 
 
 "Come far?" asked Duff, approaching the stranger. 
 
 "Quite a bit," he answered, in a quiet, courteous voice, 
 pausing a moment in his work. 
 
 "Going out?" enquired Duff. 
 
 "Not yet," he said. "Going up the country first to 
 the Post." 
 
 "Ah, we have just come down from there," said Duff. 
 "We started yesterday morning," he added, evidently 
 hoping to surprise the man. 
 
 "Yes," he answered in a quiet tone of approval. "Nice 
 little run ! Nice little run ! Bit of a hurry, I guess," he 
 ventured apologetically. 
 
 "You bet your life, we just are. This damned war 
 makes a man feel like as if the devil was after him," 
 said Duff., 
 
 "War!" The man looked blankly at him. "Who's 
 fightin'?" 
 
 "Why, haven't you heard? It's been going on for a 
 month. We heard only three days ago as we were going 
 further up the country. It knocked our plans endways, 
 and here we are chasing ourselves to get out." 
 
 "War !" said the man again. "Who's fightin' ? Uncle 
 Sam after them Mexicans ?" 
 
 "No. Mexicans, hell!" exclaimed Duff. "Germany 
 and Britain." 
 
 "Britain!" The slouching shoulders lost their droop. 
 "Britain!" he said, straightening himself up. "What's 
 she been doin' to Germany?"
 
 THE MEN OF THE NORTH 89 
 
 "What's Germany been doing to her, and to Belgium, 
 and to Servia, and to France?" answered Duff, in a 
 wrathful voice. "She's been raising hell all around. 
 You haven't seen the papers, eh ? I have them all here." 
 
 The stranger seemed dazed by the news. He made no 
 reply, but getting out his frying pan and tea pail, his only 
 utensils, he set about preparing his evening meal. 
 
 "I say," said Duff, "won't you eat with us? We're 
 just about ready. We'll be glad to have you." 
 
 The man hesitated a perceptible moment. In the wilds 
 men do not always accept invitations to eat. Food is 
 sometimes worth more than its weight in gold. 
 
 "I guess I will, if you've lots of stuff," he said at 
 length. 
 
 "We've lots of grub, and we expect to be home by 
 to-morrow night anyway, if things go all right. You are 
 very welcome." 
 
 The man laid down his frying-pan and tea-pail, and 
 walked with Duff toward his camp. 
 
 "Are you goin' ?" he enquired. 
 
 "Going?" 
 
 "To the war. Guess some of our Canadian boys will 
 be goin' likely, eh?" 
 
 "Going," cried Duff. "You bet your life I'm going. 
 But, come on. We'll talk as we eat. And we can't stay 
 long, either." 
 
 Duff introduced the party. 
 
 "My name's McCuaig," said the stranger. 
 
 "Scotch, I guess?" enquired Duff. 
 
 "My father came out with The Company. I was born 
 up north. -Never been much out, but I read the papers," 
 he added quickly, as if to correct any misapprehension 
 as to his knowledge of the world and its affairs. "My 
 father always got the Times and the Spectator, and I've 
 continued the habit." 
 
 "Any one who reads the Times and the Spectator/' 
 said Barry, "can claim to be a fairly well-read man. My 
 father takes the Spectator, too."
 
 90 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 As they sat down to supper, he noticed that McCuaig 
 took off his old grey felt and crossed himself before 
 beginning toast. 
 
 As a matter of courtesy, Barry had always been asked 
 to say grace before meals while with the Rowland 
 party. This custom, however, had been discontinued 
 upon this trip. They had no time for meals. They had 
 "just grabbed their grub and run," as Harry Hobbs said. 
 
 While they ate, Duff kept a full tide of conversation 
 going in regard to the causes of the war and its prog- 
 ress, as reported in the papers. Barry noticed that Mc- 
 Cuaig's comments, though few, revealed a unique knowl- 
 edge of European political affairs during the last quarter 
 of a century. He noticed too that his manners at the 
 table were those of a gentleman. 
 
 After supper they packed their stuff over the long 
 portage, leaving their tent and sleeping gear, with their 
 food, however, to be taken in the morning. For a long 
 time they sat over the fire, Barry reading, for McCuaig' s 
 benefit, the newspaper accounts of the Belgian atrocities, 
 the story of the smashing drive of the German hosts, and 
 the retreat of the British army from Mons. 
 
 "What," exclaimed McCuaig, "the British soldiers 
 goin' back! Runnin' away from them Germans!" 
 
 "Well, the Germans are only about ten to one, not 
 only in men but in guns, and in this war it's guns that 
 count. Guns can wipe out an army of heroes as easily 
 as an army of cowards," said Duff. 
 
 "And them women and children," said McCuaig. 
 "Are they killing them still?" 
 
 "You're just right, they are," replied Duff, "and will 
 till we stop them." 
 
 McCuaig's eyes were glowing with a deep inner light. 
 They were wonderful eyes, quick, darting, straight-look- 
 ing and fearless, the eyes of a man who owes his life 
 to his vigilance and his courage. 
 
 Before turning in for the night, Barry went to the 
 river's edge, and stood looking up at the stars holding
 
 THE MEN OF THE NORTH 91 
 
 their steadfast watch over the turbulent and tossing wa- 
 ters below. 
 
 "Quiet, ain't they?" said a voice at his shoulder. 
 
 "Why, you startled me, Mr. McCuaig; I never heard 
 you step." 
 
 McCuaig laughed his quiet laugh. 
 
 "Got to move quietly in this country," he said, "if 
 you are going to keep alive." 
 
 A moment or so he stood by Barry's side, looking up 
 with him at the stars. 
 
 "No fuss, up there," he said, interpreting Barry's mood 
 and attitude. "Not like that there pitchin', tossin', threat- 
 enin' water." 
 
 "No," said Barry, "but though they look quiet, I sup- 
 pose if we could really see, there is a most terrific whirl- 
 ing of millions of stars up there, going at the rate of 
 thousands of miles a minute." 
 
 "Millions of 'em, and all whirlin' about," said Mc- 
 Cuaig in an awe-stricken voice. "It's a wonder they 
 don't hit." 
 
 "They don't hit because they each keep their own or- 
 bit," said Barry, "and they obey the laws of their ex- 
 istence." 
 
 "Orbut," enquired McCuaig. " What's that?" 
 
 "The trail that each star follows," said Barry. 
 
 "I see," said McCuaig, "each one keeps its own trail, 
 its own orbut, and so there's peace up there. And I guess 
 there'd be peace down here if folks did the same thing. 
 It's when a man gets out of his own orbut and into an- 
 other fellow's that the scrap begins. I guess that's where 
 Germany's got wrong." 
 
 "Something like that," replied Barry. 
 
 "And sometimes," continued McCuaig, his eyes upon 
 the stars, "when a little one comes up against a big one, 
 he gets busted, eh?" 
 
 Barry nodded. 
 
 "And a big one, when he comes up against a bigger 
 one gets pretty badly jarred, eh?"
 
 92 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "I suppose so," said Barry. 
 
 "That's what's goin' to happen to Germany," said Mc- 
 Cuaig. 
 
 "Germany's a very powerful nation," said Barry. "The 
 most powerful military nation in the world." 
 
 "What!" said McCuaig. "Bigger than Britain?" 
 
 "Britain has two or three hundred thousand men in 
 her army; Germany has seven millions or more, with 
 seventy millions of people behind them, organised for 
 war. Of course, Britain has her navy, but then Ger- 
 many has the next biggest in tlie world. Oh, it's going 
 to be a terrific war." 
 
 "I say," said McCuaig, putting his hand on Barry's 
 shoulder. "You don't think it will bother us any to lick 
 her?" 
 
 "It will be the most terrible of all Britain's wars," re- 
 plied Barry. "It will take every ounce of Britain's 
 strength." 
 
 "You don't tell me !" exclaimed McCuaig, as if struck 
 by an entirely new idea. "Say, are you really anxious, 
 young man?" 
 
 "I am terribly anxious," replied Barry. "I know Ger- 
 many a little. I spent a year there. She is a mighty 
 nation, and she is ready for war." 
 
 "She is, eh !" replied McCuaig thoughtfully. He wan- 
 dered off to the fire without further word, where, rolling 
 himself in his blanket and scorning the place in the tent 
 offered him by Duff, he made himself comfortable for 
 the night. 
 
 At the break of day Duff was awakened by the smell 
 of something frying. Over the fire bent McCuaig, busy 
 preparing a breakfast of tea, bacon and bannocks, to- 
 gether with thick slices of fat pork. 
 
 Breakfast was eaten in haste. The day's work was 
 before them, and there was no time for talk. In a very 
 few minutes they stood ready for their trip across the 
 portage. 
 
 With them stood McCuaig. His blanket roll contain-
 
 THE MEN OF THE NORTH 93 
 
 ing his grub, with frying pan and tea pail attached, lay 
 at his feet; his rifle beside it. 
 
 For a moment or two he stood looking back up the 
 stream by which, last night, he had come. Then he 
 began tying his paddles to the canoe thwarts in prepa- 
 ration for packing it across the portage. 
 
 As he was tying on the second paddle, Duff's eye fell 
 on hi'm. 
 
 "What's up, McCuaig?" he said. "Aren't you going 
 up to the Post?" 
 
 "No, I guess I ain't goin' up no more," replied Mc- 
 Cuaig slowly. 
 
 "What do you mean? You aren't going back home?" 
 
 "No. My old shack will do without me for a while, 
 I guess. Say," he continued, facing around upon Duff 
 and looking him squarely in the face, "this young chap 
 says" putting his hand upon Barry's shoulder "Britain 
 is going to have a hell of a time licking Germany back 
 into her own orbut. Them papers said last night that 
 Canada was going in strong. Do you think she could 
 use a .fellow like me ?" 
 
 A silence fell upon the group of men. 
 
 "What! Do you mean it, McCuaig?" said Duff at 
 length. 
 
 The man turned his thin, eagle face toward the 
 speaker, a light in his eyes. 
 
 "Why, ain't you goin'? Ain't every one goin' that 
 can? If a fellow stood on one side while his coun- 
 try was fightin', where would he live when it's all over? 
 He read out of the papers that them Germans were 
 shootin' women and children. So " his face began to 
 work, "am I goin' to stand by and ask some one else 
 to make 'em quit? No, by God!" 
 
 The men stood watching his face, curiously twisted 
 and quivering. Then without a word Duff seized his 
 pack, and swung into the trail, every man following him 
 in his order. Without pausing, except for a brief half 
 hour at noon, and another later in the day for eating,
 
 94 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 they pressed the trail, running what rapids they could 
 and portaging the others, until in the early evening 
 they saw, far away, a dirty blur on the skyline. 
 
 "Hurrah!" yelled Fielding. "Good old firebus, wait- 
 ing for us." 
 
 "Somebody run ahead and hold her," said Duff. 
 
 Barry flung his pack down and started away. 
 
 "Come back here, Barry," cried Knight. "You're not 
 fit. You're all in." 
 
 "That's right, too," said McCuaig. "I guess I'll go." 
 
 And off he set with the long, shuffling, tireless trot 
 with which, for a hundred years, the "runners of the 
 woods" have packed their loads and tracked their game 
 in the wilds of northwestern Canada.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 
 
 city of Edmonton was in an uproar, its streets 
 thronged with excited men, ranchers and cowboys 
 from the ranches, lumberjacks from the foothill camps, 
 men from the mines, trappers with lean, hard faces, in 
 weird garb, from the north. 
 
 The news from the front was ominous. Belgium was 
 a smoking waste. Her skies were black with the burn- 
 ing of her towns, villages and homesteads, her soil red 
 with the blood of her old men, her women and children. 
 The French armies, driven back in rout from the Bel- 
 gian frontier, were being pounded to death by the Ger- 
 man hordes. Fortresses hitherto considered impregna- 
 ble were tumbling like ninepins before the terrible smash- 
 ing of Austrian and German sixteen-inch guns. Already 
 von Kluck with his four hundred thousand of conquer- 
 ing warriors was at the gates of Paris. 
 
 Most ominous of all, the British army, that gallant, 
 little sacrificial army, of a scant seventy-five thousand 
 men, holding like a bulldog to the flank of von Billow's 
 mighty army, fifty times as strong, threatened by von 
 Kluck on the. left flank and by von Housen on the right, 
 was slowing down the German advance, but was itself 
 being slowly ground into the bloody dust of the north- 
 ern and eastern roads of Northern and Eastern France. 
 
 Black days these were for the men of British blood. 
 Was the world to see something new in war ? Were Ger- 
 mans to overcome men of the race of Nelson, and Wel- 
 lington and Colin Campbell? 
 
 At home, hundreds of thousands were battering at the 
 recruiting offices. In the Dominions of the Empire over- 
 
 95
 
 96 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 seas it was the same. In Canada a hundred thousand 
 men were demanding a place in the first Canadian con- 
 tingent of thirty-five thousand, now almost ready to 
 sail. General Sam at Ottawa was being snowed under 
 by entreating, insistent, cajoling, threatening telegrams. 
 Already northern Alberta had sent two thousand men. 
 The rumour in Edmonton ran that there were only a 
 few places left to be filled in the north Alberta quota. 
 For these few places hundreds of men were fighting in 
 the streets. 
 
 Alighting from their train, Duff and his men stood 
 amazed, aghast, gazing upon the scene before them. 
 Duff climbed a wagon wheel and surveyed the crowd 
 packing the street in front of the bulletin boards. 
 
 "No use, this way, boys. We'll have to go around. 
 Come on." 
 
 They went on. Up side streets and lanes, through 
 back yards and shops they went until at length they 
 emerged within a hundred yards of the recruiting office. 
 
 Duff called his men about him. 
 
 "Boys, we'll have to bluff them," he said. "You're 
 a party of recruits that Col. Kavanagh expects. You've 
 been sent for. I'm bringing you in under orders. Look 
 as much like soldiers as you can, and bore in like hell. 
 Come on!" 
 
 They began to bore. At once there was an uproar, 
 punctuated with vociferous and varied profanity. 
 
 Duff proved himself an effective leader. 
 
 "Here, let me pass," he shouted into the backs of men's 
 heads. "I'm on duty here. I must get through to Colonel 
 Kavanagh. Keep up there, men ; keep your line ! Stand 
 back, please! Make way!" 
 
 His huge bulk, distorted face and his loud and au- 
 thoritative voice startled men into temporary submis- 
 sion, and before they could recover themselves he and 
 his little company of hard-boring men were through. 
 
 Twenty-five yards from the recruiting office a side rush 
 of the crowd caught them.
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 97 
 
 "They've smashed the barricades," a boy from a tele- 
 graph pole called out. 
 
 Duff and his men fought to hold their places, but they 
 became conscious of a steady pressure backwards. 
 
 "What's doing now, boy?" shouted Duff to the urchin 
 clinging to the telegraph pole. 
 
 "The fusileers they are sticking their bayonets into 
 them." 
 
 Before the line of bayonets the crowd retreated slowly, 
 but Duff and his company held their ground, allowing 
 the crowd to ebb past them, until they found themselves 
 against the line of bayonets. 
 
 "Let me through here, sergeant, with my party," said 
 Duff. "I'm under orders of Colonel Kavanagh." 
 
 The sergeant, an old British army man, looked them 
 over. 
 
 "Have you an order, sir a written order, I mean?" 
 
 "No," said Duff. "I haven't, but the colonel expects 
 us. He is waiting for me now." 
 
 "Sorry, sir," replied the sergeant, "my orders are to 
 let no one through without a written pass." 
 
 Duff argued, stormed, threatened, swore; but to no 
 purpose. The N.C.O. knew his job. 
 
 "Send a note in," suggested Barry in Duff's ear. 
 
 "Good idea," replied Duff, and wrote hurriedly. 
 
 "Here, take this through to your colonel," he said, 
 passing the note to the sergeant. 
 
 Almost immediately Colonel Kavanagh came out and 
 greeted Duff warmly. 
 
 "Where in this wide creation have you been, Duff?" 
 he exclaimed. "I've wanted you terribly." 
 
 "Here I am now, then," answered Duff. "Six of us. 
 We're going with you." 
 
 "It can't be done," said the colonel. "I have only 
 twenty places left; every one promised ten times over." 
 
 "That makes it easy, Kavanagh. You can give six of 
 them to us." 
 
 "Duff, it simply can't be done. You know I'd give
 
 98 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 it to you if I could. I've wires from Ottawa backing 
 up a hundred applicants, actually ordering me to put 
 them on. No! It's no use," continued the colonel, 
 holding up his hand. "Look here, I'll give you a pointer. 
 We have got word to-day that there's to be a second 
 contingent. Neil Fraser is out there in your district, 
 Wapiti, raising a company of two hundred and fifty 
 men. We have stripped that country bare already, so 
 he's up against it. He wants Wapiti men, he says. They 
 are no better than any other, but he thinks they are. You 
 get out there to-night, Duff, and get in on that thing. 
 You will get a commission, too. Now hike! Hike! 
 Go ! Honest to God, Duff, I want you with my battalion, 
 and if I can work it afterwards, I'll get you exchanged, 
 but your only chance now is Wapiti. Go, for God's sake, 
 go quick!" 
 
 "What do you say, boys ?" asked Duff, wheeling upon 
 his men. 
 
 "I say, go!" said Knight. 
 
 In this decision they all agreed. 
 
 "Go it is," said Duff. "Right about turn. Good luck, 
 Kavanagh, damn you. I see you have got a good ser- 
 geant there." 
 
 "Who? McDowell? None better. You couldn't beat 
 him, eh?" said the colonel with a grin. 
 
 The sergeant stood at attention, with a wooden face. 
 
 "He's the kind of man they want in the front lines," 
 said Duff. "The devil himself couldn't break through 
 where he is." 
 
 "That's why I have him. Good luck. Good-bye !" 
 
 Throughout the night they marched, now and then 
 receiving a lift from a ranch wagon, and in the grey 
 of the morning, weary, hungry, but resolute for a place 
 in the Wapiti company, they made the village. 
 
 Early as it was, Barry found his father astir, with 
 breakfast in readiness. 
 
 "Hello, boy!" cried his father running to him with 
 outstretched hands.
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 99 
 
 "Hello, dad!" answered Barry. His father threw a 
 searching glance over his son's face as he shook his 
 hand warmly. 
 
 "Not a word, Barry, until you eat. Not a word. Go 
 get ready for your bath. I'll have it for you in a 
 minute. No, not one word. Quick. March. That is 
 the only word these days. As you eat I'll give you the 
 news." 
 
 Resolutely he refused to talk until he saw his son be- 
 gin upon his breakfast. Then he poured forth a stream 
 of news. The whole country was aflame with war en- 
 thusiam. Alberta had offered half a million bushels 
 of oats for the imperial army, and a thousand horses 
 or more. The Calgary district had recruited two thou- 
 sand men, the Edmonton district as many more. All 
 over Canada, from Vancouver to Halifax, it was the 
 same. 
 
 From the Wapiti district twenty-six ranchers, furnish- 
 ing their own horses, had already gone. Ewen Innes 
 was in Edmonton. His brother Malcolm was in uni- 
 form, too, and his young brother Jim was keen to enlist. 
 Neil Eraser was busy raising a company of Wapiti men. 
 Young Pickles and McCann had joined up as buglers. 
 
 And so the stream flowed, Barry listening with grave 
 face but making no response. 
 
 "And I'm glad you're back, my boy. I'm glad you're 
 back," said his father, clapping him on the shoulder. 
 
 The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. They 
 were having each his own thoughts, and for the first 
 time in their life together, they kept their thoughts to 
 themselves. 
 
 "You're going to your office, Dad," said Barry, when 
 they had cleared away, and set the house in order. 
 
 "No, the office is closed, and will be for some time, 
 I imagine. I'm busy with Neil Eraser. I'm acting pay- 
 master, quartermaster, recruiting sergeant, and half a 
 dozen other things."
 
 100 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "I'll go down with you," said Barry, as his father 
 rose to go. 
 
 His father came back to him, put his hands on his 
 shoulders, and said: 
 
 "Barry, I want you to go to bed." 
 
 "Nonsense, dad. I'm all right. I'm going downtown 
 with you." 
 
 "Barry," said his father, "we have hard times before 
 us, and you must be fit. I ask you to go to bed and 
 sleep there this forenoon. You're half asleep now. This 
 afternoon we shall face up to our job. 
 
 His father's voice was quietly authoritative and Barry 
 yielded. 
 
 "All right, dad. I'll do as you say, and this after- 
 noon well, we'll see." 
 
 At the noonday meal they were conscious of a mutual 
 restraint. For the first time in their lives they were not 
 opening to each other their innermost souls. The ex- 
 perience was as distressing as it was unusual. The father, 
 as if in dread of silence, was obviously exerting himself 
 to keep a stream of talk flowing. Barry was listening 
 with a face very grave and very unlike the bright and 
 buoyant face he usually carried. They avoided each 
 other's eyes, and paid little heed to their food. 
 
 At length Barry pushed back his chair. 
 
 "Will you excuse me, dad," he said. "I think I shall 
 step out a moment into the garden." 
 
 "Do, Barry," said his father, in obvious relief. "You 
 are fagged out, my boy." 
 
 "Thanks, dad. I am a bit played out." 
 
 "And take it easy this afternoon, Barry. To-night 
 you will tell me about your trip, and and we'll have a 
 talk." 
 
 "Good old dad!" said Barry. "You do understand a 
 chap. See you later, then," he called back as he passed 
 through the door. 
 
 His father sat gazing before him for some moments 
 with a deep shadow on his face.
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 101 
 
 "There is something wrong with that boy," he said to 
 himself. "I wish I knew what it was." 
 
 He set his house in order, moving heavily as if a 
 sudden weight of years had fallen upon his shoulders, 
 and took his way slowly down the street. 
 
 "I wonder what it is," he mused, refusing to give form 
 to a horrible thought that hovered like a spectre about 
 the windows of his soul. 
 
 The first glance at his son's face at the time of the eve- 
 ning meal made his heart sing within him. 
 
 "He's all right again ! He's all right !" he said to him- 
 self jubilantly. 
 
 "Hello, dad," cried Barry, as his father entered the 
 room. "Supper's just ready. How do you feel, eh?" 
 
 "Better, my boy first rate, I mean. I'm properly 
 hungry. You're rested, I can see." 
 
 "I'm all right, dad! . I'm all right!" cried Barry, in 
 his old cheery way. "Dad, I want to apologise to you. 
 I wasn't myself to-day, but now I'm all right again. Dad, 
 I've joined up. I'm a soldier now," he said with a smile 
 on his face, but with anxious eyes turned on his father. 
 
 "Joined up!" echoed his father. "Barry, you have 
 enlisted! Thank God, my boy. I feared I thought 
 No, damned if I did!" he added, with such an unusual 
 burst of passion that Barry could only gaze at him with 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Forgive me, my boy," he said, coming forward 
 with outstretched hand. "For a moment I confess I 
 
 thought " Again he paused, apparently unable to 
 
 continue. 
 
 "You thought, dad," cried Barry, "and forgive me, 
 dad I thought too. I ought to have known you better." 
 
 "And I, you, my son." 
 
 They shook hands with each other in an ecstasy of 
 jubilation. 
 
 "My God, I'm glad that's through," said the older man. 
 "We were both fools, Barry, but thank God that horror 
 is past. Now tell me all about everything your trip,
 
 102 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 your plans. Let's have a good talk as we always do." 
 
 "Come on then, dad," cried Barry. "Let's have an eat 
 first. By Jove, I feel a thousand years younger. I go 
 to the M.O. to-morrow for an examination." 
 
 "He is quite unusually severe in his interpretation of 
 the regulations, I understand," said his father. "He is 
 turning men down right and left. He knows, of course, 
 that there are plenty to choose from. But there is no fear 
 of your fitness, Barry." 
 
 "Not much," said Barry, with a gay laugh. 
 
 Never had they spent a happier evening together. 
 True, the spectre of war would thrust itself upon them, 
 but they faced it as men with a full appreciation of its 
 solemn reality, but without fear, and with a quiet deter- 
 mination to make whatever sacrifice might be demanded 
 of them. The perfect understanding that had always 
 marked their intercourse with each other was restored. 
 The intolerable burden of mutual uncertainty in regard to 
 each other's attitude toward the war was lifted. All 
 shadows that lay between them were gone. Nothing else 
 really mattered. 
 
 The day following, Barry received a rude shock. The 
 M.O., after an examination, to his amazement and dis- 
 may, pronounced him physically unfit for service. 
 
 "And why, pray?" cried his father indignantly, when 
 Barry announced the astounding report. "Is the man a 
 fool ? I understood that he was strict. But you ! unfit ! 
 It is preposterous. Unfit! how?" 
 
 "Heart murmur," said Barry. "Sets it down to asthma. 
 You remember I told you I had a rotten attack after my 
 experience last week in the river. He suggested that I 
 apply for a position in an ambulance corps, and he is giv- 
 ing me a letter to Colonel Sidleigh at Edmonton. I am 
 going to-morrow to Edmonton to see Sidleigh, and be- 
 sides I have some church business to attend to. I must 
 call upon my superintendent. You remember I made an 
 application to him for another mission field." 
 
 He found Colonel Sidleigh courteously willing to ac-
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 
 
 cept his application, the answer to which, he was in- 
 formed, he might expect in a fortnight ; and so went with 
 a comparatively light heart to his interview with his 
 superintendent. 
 
 The interview, however, turned out not entirely as he 
 had expected. He went with an idea of surrendering his 
 appointment. His superintendent made him an offer of 
 another and greater. 
 
 "So they turned you down," said the superintendent. 
 "Well, I consider it most providential. You have applied 
 for a position on the ambulance corps. As fine as is that 
 service, and as splendid as are its possibilities, I offer you 
 something much finer, and I will even say much more 
 important to our army and to our cause. We are in need 
 of men for the Chaplain Service, and for this service we 
 demand the picked men of our church. The appointments 
 that have been made already are some of them most un- 
 suitable, some, I regret to say, scandalous. Let me tell 
 you, sir, of an experience in Winnipeg only last week. 
 It was my fortune to fall in with the commanding officer 
 of a Saskatchewan unit. I found him in a rage against 
 the church and all its officials. His chaplain had become 
 so hilarious at the mess that he was quite unable to carry 
 on." 
 
 "Hilarious?" inquired Barry. 
 
 "Hilarious, sir. Yes, plain drunk. Think of it. Think 
 of the crime! the shame of it! A man charged with the 
 responsibility of the souls of these men going to war 
 possibly to their death drunk, in their presence ! A man 
 standing for God and the great eternal verities, incapaci- 
 tated before them! I took the matter up with Ottawa, 
 and I have this satisfaction at least, that I believe that 
 no such appointment will ever be made again. That 
 chaplain, I may say too, has been dismissed. I have 
 here, sir, a mission field suitable to your ability and ex- 
 perience. I shall not offer it to you. I am offering you 
 the position of chaplain in one of our Alberta battalions." 
 
 Barry stood before him, dumb with dismay.
 
 104 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Of course, I want to go to the war," he said at length, 
 "but I am sure, sir, I am not the man for the position you 
 offer me." 
 
 "Sir," said the superintendent, "I have taken the liberty 
 of sending in your name. Time was an element. Ap- 
 pointments were being rapidly made, and I was extremely 
 anxious that you should go with this battalion. I confess 
 to a selfish interest. My own boy, Duncan, has enlisted 
 in that unit, and many of our finest young men with him. 
 I assumed the responsibility of asking for your appoint- 
 ment. I must urge you solemnly to consider the matter 
 before you decline." 
 
 Eloquently Barry pleaded his unfitness, instancing his 
 failure as a preacher in his last field. 
 
 "I am not a preacher," he protested. "I am not a 
 'mixer.' They all say so. I shall be impossible as a 
 chaplain." 
 
 "Young man," said the superintendent, a note of stern- 
 ness in his voice, "you know not what transformations in 
 character this war will work. Would I were twenty 
 years younger," he added passionately, "twenty years 
 sounder. Think of the opportunity to stand for God 
 among your men, to point them the way of duty, and fit 
 them for it, to bring them comfort, when they need com- 
 fort sorely, to bring them peace, when they most need 
 peace." 
 
 Barry came away from the interview more disturbed 
 than he had ever been in his life. After he had returned 
 to his hotel, a message from his superintendent recalled 
 him. 
 
 "I have a bit of work to do," he said, "in which I 
 need your help. I wish you to join me in a visitation of 
 some of the military camps in this district. We start this 
 evening." 
 
 There was nothing for it but to obey his superintend- 
 ent's orders. The two weeks' experience with his chief 
 gave Barry a new view and a new estimate of the chap- 
 lain's work. As he came into closer touch with camp life
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 105 
 
 and its conditions, he began to see how great was the 
 soldier's need of such moral and spiritual support as a 
 chaplain might be able to render. He was exposed to 
 subtle and powerful temptations. He was deprived of 
 the wonted restraints imposed by convention, by environ- 
 ment, by family ties. The reactions from the exhaustion 
 of physical training, from the monotonous routine of 
 military discipline, from loneliness and homesickness were 
 such as to call for that warm, sympathetic, brotherly aid, 
 and for the uplifting spiritual inspiration that it is a chap- 
 lain's privilege to offer. But in proportion as the service 
 took on a nobler and loftier aspect, was Barry con- 
 scious to a corresponding degree of his own unfitness 
 for the work. 
 
 When he returned to the city, he found no definite in- 
 formation awaiting him in regard to a place in the 
 ambulance corps. He returned home in an unhappy and 
 uncertain frame of mind. 
 
 But under the drive of war, events were moving 
 rapidly in Barry's life. He arrived late in the afternoon, 
 and proceeding to the military H.Q., he found neither his 
 father nor Captain Neil Fraser in the office. 
 
 "Gone out for the afternoon, sir," was the word from 
 the orderly in charge. 
 
 Wandering about the village, he saw in a field at its 
 outskirts, a squad of recruits doing military evolutions 
 and physical drill. As he drew near he was arrested by 
 the short, snappy tones of the N.C.O. in charge. 
 
 "That chap knows his job," he said to himself, "and 
 looks like his job, too," he added, as his eyes rested upon 
 the neat, upright, soldier-like figure. 
 
 Captain Neil he found observing the drill from a 
 distance. 
 
 "What do you think of that ?" he called out to Barry, 
 as the latter came within hailing distance. "What do you 
 think of my sergeant?" 
 
 "Fine," replied Barry. "Where did you get him ?" 
 
 "What? Look at him!"
 
 106 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "I am. Pretty natty sergeant he makes, too." 
 
 "Let's go out there, and I'll introduce him." 
 
 As they crossed the parade ground, the sergeant 
 dropped his military tone and proceeded to explain in his 
 ordinary voice some details in connection with the drill. 
 Barry, catching the sound of his voice, stopped short. 
 
 "You don't mean it, Captain Neil! Not dad, is it?" 
 
 "Nobody else," said Captain Neil. "Wait a minute. 
 Wait and let's watch him at his work." 
 
 For some time they stood observing the work of the 
 new sergeant. Barry was filled with amazement and 
 delight. 
 
 "What do you think of him?" inquired Captain Neil. 
 
 But Barry made no reply. 
 
 "My company sergeant major got drunk," continued 
 Captain Neil. "I had no one to take the drill. I asked 
 your father to take it. He nearly swept us off our feet. 
 In consequence, there he stands, my company sergeant 
 major, and let me tell you, he will be the regimental 
 sergeant major before many weeks have passed, or I'm 
 a German." 
 
 "But his age," inquired Barry, still in a maze of aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 "Oh, that's all right. You don't want them too young. 
 I assured the authorities that he was of proper military 
 age, telling them, at the same time, that I must have him. 
 He's a wonder, and the men just adore him." 
 
 "I don't wonder at that," said Barry. 
 
 Together they moved over to the squad. The ser- 
 geant, observing his officer, called his men smartly to 
 attention, and greeted the captain with a very snappy 
 salute. 
 
 "Sergeant major, let me introduce you to my friend, 
 Mr. Barry Dunbar," said Captain Neil with a grin. 
 
 "I say, dad," said Barry, still unable to associate his 
 father with this N.C.O. in uniform who stood before him. 
 "I say, dad, where did you get all that military stuff?"
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 107 
 
 "I'm very rusty, my boy, very rusty ! I hope to brush 
 up, though. The men are improving, I think, sir." 
 
 "I'm sure of it," said Captain Neil. "How is that wild 
 man from Athabasca doing?" 
 
 "He is finding it hard work, sir, I'm afraid. He finds 
 it difficult to connect up this drill business with the busi- 
 ness of war. He wants to go right off and kill Germans. 
 But he is making an effort to put up with me." 
 
 "And you, with him, eh, sergeant major? But turn 
 them loose. They have done enough for to-day, and I 
 know your son wants to take you off with him, and get 
 you to explain how you go into the army." 
 
 The explanation came as they were walking home to- 
 gether. v 
 
 "You see, boy, I felt keenly your disappointment in be- 
 ing rejected from the fighting forces of the country. I 
 felt too that our family ought to be represented in the 
 fighting line, so when Captain Fraser found himself in 
 need of a drill sergeant, I could hardly refuse. I would 
 have liked to have consulted you, my boy, but " 
 
 "Not at all, dad ; you did perfectly right. It was just 
 fine of you. I'm as proud as Punch. I only wish I could 
 go with you. I'd like to be in your squad. But never 
 mind, I've two jobs open to me now, and I sorely need 
 your advice." 
 
 Together they talked over the superintendent's offer 
 of the position of chaplain. 
 
 "I can't see myself a chaplain, dad. The position calls 
 for an older man, a man of wider experience. Many of 
 these men would be almost twice my age. Now the su- 
 perintendent himself would be the man for the job. You 
 ought to see him at his work with the soldiers. I really 
 can't think I'm fit." 
 
 In this opinion his father rather concurred. 
 
 "An older man would be better, Barry a man of more 
 experience would be of more service, and, yet I don't 
 know. One thing I am sure of, if you accept the posi-
 
 108 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 tion, I believe you will fill it worthily. After all, in every 
 department, this war is a young man's job." 
 
 "Of course," said Barry. "If I went as chaplain, it 
 would be in your unit, dad, and that would be altogether 
 glorious." 
 
 "I do hope so. But we must not allow that, however, 
 to influence our decision," replied his father. 
 
 "I know, I know!" hurriedly agreed Barry. "I trust 
 I would not be unduly influenced by personal considera- 
 tions." 
 
 This hope, however, was rudely dashed by an unex- 
 pected call for a draft of recruits from Captain Neil's 
 company that came through from Colonel Kavanagh to 
 replace a draft suddenly dispatched to make up to 
 strength another western regiment. Attached to the call 
 there was a specific request, which amounted to a demand 
 for the sergeant major, for whose special qualifications 
 as physical and military instructor there was apparently 
 serious need in Colonel Kavanagh's regiment. 
 
 With great reluctance, and with the expenditure of 
 considerable profanity, Captain Neil Fraser dispatched 
 his draft and agreed to the surrender of his sergeant 
 major. 
 
 The change came as a shock to both Barry and his 
 father. For some days they had indulged the hope that 
 they would both be attached to the same military unit, 
 and unconsciously this had been weighing with Barry in 
 his consideration of his probable appointment as chaplain. 
 
 The disappointment of their hope was the more bitter 
 when it was announced that Colonel Kavanagh's battalion 
 was warned for immediate service overseas, and the fur- 
 ther announcement that in all probability the new bat- 
 talion, to which the Wapiti company would be attached, 
 might not be dispatched until some time in the spring. 
 
 "But you may catch us up in England, Barry," said 
 his father, when Barry was deploring their ill luck. 
 "No one knows what our movements will be. I do wish, 
 however, that your position were definitely settled."
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 109 
 
 The decision in this matter came quickly, and was, 
 without his will or desire, materially hastened by Barry 
 himself. 
 
 Colonel Kavanagh's battalion being under orders to de- 
 part within ten days, a final Church Parade was ordered, 
 at which only soldiers and their kin were permitted to 
 be present. The preacher for the day falling ill from an 
 overweight of war work, and Barry being in the city 
 with nothing to do, the duty of preaching at this Parade 
 Service was suddenly thrust upon him. 
 
 To his own amazement and to that of his father, 
 Barry accepted without any fear or hesitation this duty 
 which in other circumstances would have overwhelmed 
 him with dismay. But to Barry the occasion was of such 
 surpassing magnitude and importance that all personal 
 considerations were obliterated. 
 
 The war, with its horrors, its losses, its overwhelming 
 sacrifice, its vast and eternal issues, was the single fact 
 that filled his mind. It was this that delivered him from 
 that nervous self-consciousness, the preacher's curse, that 
 paralyses the mental activities, chills the passions, and 
 cloggs the imagination, so that his sermon becomes a 
 lifeless repetition of words, previously prepared, cor- 
 rect, even beautiful, it may be in form, logical in argu- 
 ment, sound in philosophy, but dead, dull and impotent, 
 bereft of the fire that kindles the powers of the soul, 
 the emotion that urges to action, the imagination that 
 lures to high endeavour. 
 
 "I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of 
 God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, 
 acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service." 
 
 The voice, clear, vibrant, melodious, arrested with its 
 first word the eyes and hearts of his hearers, and so 
 held them to the end. With the earnest voice there was 
 the fascination of a face alight with a noble beauty, eyes 
 glowing as with lambent flame. 
 
 A second time he read the appealing words, then 
 paused and allowed his eyes to wander quietly over the
 
 110 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 congregation. They represented to him in that hour 
 the manhood and womanhood of his country. Sincerely, 
 with no attempt at rhetoric and with no employment of 
 any of its tricks, he began his sermon. 
 
 "This war," he said, "is a conflict of ideals eternally 
 opposed. Our ambitious and ruthless enemy has made 
 the issue and has determined the method of settlement. 
 It is a war of souls, but the method of settlement is not 
 that of reason but that of force a force that finds ex- 
 pression through your bodies. Therefore the appeal of 
 the Apostle Paul, this old-world hero, to the men of his 
 time reaches down to us in this day, and at this crisis of 
 the world's history. Offer your bodies these living 
 bodies these sacred bodies offer them in sacrifice to 
 God." 
 
 There was little discussion of the causes of the war. 
 What need? They knew that this war was neither of 
 their desiring nor of their making. There was no at- 
 tempt to incite hatred or revenge. There was little refer- 
 ence to the horrors of war, to its griefs, its dreadful 
 agonies, its irreparable losses. 
 
 From the first word he lifted his audience to the high 
 plane of sacrament and sacrifice. They were called upon 
 to offer upon the altar of the world's freedom all that 
 they held dear in life yea, life itself! It was the ancient 
 sacrifice that the noblest of the race had always been 
 called upon to make. In giving themselves to this cause 
 they were giving themselves to their country. They were 
 offering themselves to God. In simple diction, and in 
 clear flowing speech, the sermon proceeded without pause 
 or stumbling to the end. The preacher closed with an 
 appeal to the soldiers present to make this sacrifice of 
 theirs at once worthy and complete. These bodies of 
 theirs were sacred and were devoted to this cause. It 
 was their duty to keep them clean and fit. 
 
 For a few brief moments, he turned to the others pres- 
 ent at the service the fathers, mothers, wives and sweet- 
 hearts of the soldiers, and reminded them in tones thrill-
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 111 
 
 ing with tenderness and sympathy that though not priv- 
 ileged to share in the soldiers' service in the front lines, 
 none the less might they share in this sacrifice, by patient 
 endurance of the separation and loss, by a cheerful sub- 
 mission to trial, and by continual remembrance in prayer 
 to Almighty God of the sacred cause and its defend- 
 ers they might help to bring this cause to victory. 
 
 In the brief prayer that followed the sermon, in words 
 tender, simple, heart-moving, he led the people in solemn 
 dedication of themselves, soul and body, to their country, 
 to their cause, to their God. 
 
 The effect of the sermon and prayer was overpower- 
 ing. There were no tears, but men walked out with heads 
 more erect, because of the exaltation of spirit which was 
 theirs. And women, fearful of the coming hour of part- 
 ing, felt their hearts grow strong within them with the 
 thought that they were voluntarily sending their men 
 away. Upon the whole congregation lay a new and 
 solemn sense of duty, a new and uplifting sense of priv- 
 ilege in making the sacrifice of all that they counted 
 precious for this holy cause. 
 
 It was the sermon that brought the decision in the mat- 
 ter of Barry's appointment. 
 
 "What do you think of that, Colonel Kavanagh?" 
 asked Captain Neil Fraser, who came in for the service. 
 
 "A very fine sermon ! A very notable sermon !" said 
 the colonel. "Who is he ?" 
 
 "He is my own minister," said Captain Neil, "and he 
 gave me, to-day, the surprise of my life. I didn't know, 
 it was in him. I understand there is a chance of his be- 
 ing our chaplain. He is Sergeant Dunbar's son." 
 
 "I wish to Heaven we could take him with us ! What 
 about it, Fraser ? We've got the father, why not the son, 
 too ? They'd both like it." 
 
 "I say, Colonel, for Heaven's sake, have a heart. I 
 hated to surrender my company sergeant major. I don't 
 think I ought to be asked to surrender our chaplain." 
 
 "All right, Fraser, so be it. But you have got a won-
 
 derf ul chaplain in that boy. What a face ! What a voice ! , 
 And that's the kind of a spirit we want in our men." 
 
 That very afternoon, Captain Neil went straight away 
 to Colonel Leighton, the officer commanding the new 
 regiment to which Captain Neil's company belonged. To 
 the colonel he gave an enthusiastic report of the sermon, 
 with Colonel Kavanagh's judgment thereon. 
 
 "I would suggest, sir, that you wire Ottawa on the 
 matter," he urged. "If Colonel Kavanagh thought he 
 had a chance, he would not hesitate. We really ought 
 to get this fixed. I assure you he's a find." 
 
 "Go to it, then, Fraser. I'm rather interested to see 
 your earnest desire for a chaplain. The Lord knows you 
 need one! Go up to Headquarters and use my name. 
 Say what you like." 
 
 Thus it came that the following day Barry was in- 
 formed by wire of his appointment as chaplain of the new 
 regiment of Alberta rangers. 
 
 "It's at least a relief to have the matter" settled," said 
 his father, to whom Barry brought his wire. "Barry, 
 I'm glad of the opportunity to tell you that since yes- 
 terday, my mind has undergone considerable change. I 
 am not sure but that you have found your place and your 
 work in the war." 
 
 "No, dad," answered Barry, "I wasn't responsible for 
 that sermon yesterday. The war was very near and very 
 real to me. Those boys were looking up at me, and you 
 were there, dad. You drew that sermon stuff out of 
 me." 
 
 "If once, why not again? At any rate, it greatly re- 
 joiced me to know that it was there in you. I don't say 
 I was proud of you, my boy. I was proud of you, but that 
 is not the word that I should like to use. I was pro- 
 foundly grateful that I was privileged to hear a sermon 
 like that from a son of mine. Now, Barry," continued 
 his father, "this is our last day together for some months, 
 perhaps forever," he added in a low tone.
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 113 
 
 "Don't, daddy, don't," cried Barry, "I can't bear to 
 think of that to-day." 
 
 "All right, Barry, but why not? It is really far bet- 
 ter that we should face all the possibilities. But now 
 that we have this day and what a perfect day it is 
 for our last day together, what shall we do with it?" 
 
 "I know, dad I think you would wish that we take 
 our ride into the foothills to-day." 
 
 "It was in my mind, my boy. I hesitated to suggest 
 it. So let us go." 
 
 It was one of those rare November days that only 
 Alberta knows, mellow with the warm sun, and yet with 
 a nip in it that suggested the coming frost, without a 
 ripple of the wind that almost constantly sweeps the Al- 
 berta ranges. In the blue sky hung motionless, like white 
 ships at sea, bits of cloud. The long grass, brown, yellow 
 and green in a hundred shades, lay like a carpet over the 
 rolling hills and wide spreading valleys, reaching up on 
 every side to the horizon, except toward the west, where 
 it faded into the blue of the foothills at the bases of the 
 mighty Rockies. 
 
 Up the long trail, resilient to their horses' feet, they 
 cantered where the going was good, or picked their way 
 with slow and careful tread where the rocky ridges jut- 
 ted through the black soil. 
 
 They made no effort to repulse the thought that this 
 was their last day together, nor did they seek to banish 
 the fact of the war. With calm courage and hope they 
 faced the facts of their environment, seeking to aid each 
 other in readjusting their lives to those facts. They 
 were resolutely cheerful. The day was not to be spoiled 
 with tears and lamentations. Already each in his own 
 place and time had made his sacrifice of a comradeship 
 that was far dearer than life. The agony of that hour, 
 each had borne in silence and alone. No shadow should 
 fall across this sunny day. 
 
 By the side of the grave, in its little palisaded enclosure, 
 they lingered, the father recalling the days of his earlier
 
 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 manhood, which had been brightened by a love whose 
 fragrance he had cherished and shared with his son 
 through their years together, Barry listening with rever- 
 ent attention and tender sympathy. 
 
 "I had always planned that I too should be laid here, 
 Barry," said his father, as they prepared to take their 
 departure, "but do you know, boy, this war has made 
 many changes in me and this is one. It seems to me a 
 very little thing where my body lies, if it be offered, as 
 you were saying so beautifully yesterday, in sacrifice to 
 our cause." 
 
 Barry could only nod his head in reply. He was deep- 
 ly moved. 
 
 "You are young, Barry," said his father, noting his 
 emotion, "and life is very dear to you, my boy." 
 
 "No, dad, no! Not life," said Barry brokenly. "Not 
 life, only you, dad. I just want you, and, oh dad!" 
 continued the boy, losing hold of himself and making no 
 effort to check or hide the tears that ran down his face, 
 "if one of us is to go in this war, as is likely enough, 
 I only want that the other should be there at the time. 
 It would be terribly lonely dad to go out myself 
 without you. Or to have you go out alone. We have 
 always been together and you have been so very good 
 to me, dad. I can't help this, dad, I try but I am 
 not strong enough I'm not holding back from the sacri- 
 fice, dad," hurrying his words, "No, no, not that, but 
 perhaps you understand." 
 
 For answer, his father put both his arms around his 
 son, drew his head down to his breast, as if he had been 
 a child. 
 
 "There, there, laddie," he said, patting him on the 
 shoulder, "I know, I know ! Oh God, how I know. We 
 have lived together very closely, without a shadow ever 
 between us, and my prayer, since this war began, has 
 been that in death, if it had to be, we might be together, 
 and, Barry, somehow I believe God will give us that." 
 
 "Good old dad, good old boy ! What a brick you are !
 
 BARRICADES AND BAYONETS 115 
 
 I couldn't help that, dad. Forgive me for being a baby, 
 and spoiling the day " 
 
 "Forgive you, boy," still with his arms around his son, 
 "Barry, I love you for it. You've never brought me one 
 sorrow nor will you. To-day and every day I thank 
 God for you, my son." 
 
 They rode back through the evening toward the camp. 
 By the time they arrived there, the sun had sunk behind 
 the mountains, and the quiet stars were riding serenely 
 above the broken, floating clouds, and in their hearts was 
 peace.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A QUESTION OF NERVE 
 
 GENTLEMEN, may I introduce Captain Dunbar, 
 your sky-pilot, padre, chaplain, anything you like? 
 They say he's a devil of a good preacher. The Lord 
 knows you need one." 
 
 So Barry's commanding officer introduced him to the 
 mess. 
 
 He bowed in different directions to the group of offi- 
 cers who, in the ante-room of the mess, were having a 
 pre-prandial cocktail. Barry found a place near the 
 foot of the table and for a few minutes sat silent, getting 
 his bearings. 
 
 Some of the officers were known to him. He had met 
 the commanding officer, Colonel Leighton, a typical, 
 burly Englishman, the owner of an Alberta horse ranch, 
 who, well to do to begin with, had made money during 
 his five years in the country. He had the reputation of 
 being a sporting man, of easy morality, fond of his 
 glass and of good living. He owed his present position, 
 partly to political influence, and partly to his previous 
 military experience in the South African war. His pop- 
 ularity with his officers was due largely to his easy dis- 
 cipline, and to the absence of that rigidity of manner 
 which is supposed to go with high military command, 
 and which civilians are wont to find so irksome. 
 
 Barry had also met Major Bustead, the Senior Major 
 of the Battalion, and President of the mess, an eastern 
 Canadian, with no military experience whatever, but with 
 abounding energy and ambition; the close friend and 
 boon companion of Colonel Leighton, he naturally had 
 become his second in command. Barry was especially de- 
 
 116
 
 A QUESTION OF NERVE 117 
 
 lighted to observe Major Bayne, whom he had not seen 
 since his first meeting with him some months ago on the 
 Red Pine Trail. Captain Neil Eraser and Lieutenant 
 Stewart Duff were the only officers about the table whom 
 he recognised, except that, among the junior lieutenants, 
 he caught the face of young Duncan Cameron, the oldest 
 son of his superintendent, and a fine, clean-looking young 
 fellow he appeared. 
 
 Altogether Barry was strongly attracted by the clean, 
 strong faces about him. He would surely soon find good 
 friends among them, and he only hoped he might be 
 able to be of some service to them. 
 
 The young fellow on his right introduced himself as 
 Captain Hopeton. He was a young English public school 
 boy, who, though a failure as a rancher, had proved an 
 immense success in the social circles of the city. Because 
 of this, and also of his family connections "at home," he 
 had been appointed to a Civil Service position. A rather 
 bored manner and a supercilious air spoiled what would 
 otherwise have been a handsome and attractive face. 
 
 After a single remark about the "beastly bore" of mili- 
 tary duty, Hopeton ignored Barry, giving such atten- 
 tion as he had to spare from his dinner to a man across 
 the table, with whom, apparently, he had shared some 
 rather exciting social experiences in the city. 
 
 For the first half hour of the meal, the conversation 
 was of the most trivial nature, and was to Barry su- 
 premely uninteresting. "Shop talk" was strictly taboo, 
 and also all reference to the war. The thin stream of con- 
 versation that trickled from lip to lip ran the gamut of 
 sport, spiced somewhat highly with society scandal which, 
 even in that little city, appeared to flourish. 
 
 To Barry it was as if he were in a strange land and 
 among people of a strange tongue. Of sport, as under- 
 stood by these young chaps, he knew little, and of scan- 
 dal he was entirely innocent; so much so that many of 
 the references that excited the most merriment were to 
 him utterly obscure. After some attempts to introduce
 
 118 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 topics of conversation which he thought might be of 
 mutual interest, but which had fallen quite flat, Barry 
 gave up, and sat silent with a desolating sense of loneli- 
 ness growing upon his spirit. 
 
 "After the port," when smoking was permitted, he 
 was offered a cigarette by Hopeton, and surprised that 
 young man mightily by saying that he never smoked. 
 This surprise, it is to be feared, deepened into disgust 
 when, a few moments later, he declined a drink from 
 Hopeton's whisky bottle, which a servant brought him. 
 
 Liquors were not provided at the mess, but officers 
 were permitted to order what they desired. 
 
 As the bottles circulated, tongues were loosened. There 
 was nothing foul in the talk, but more and more pro- 
 fanity, with frequent apology to the chaplain, began to 
 decorate the conversation. Conscious of a deepening dis- 
 gust with his environment, and of an overwhelming sense 
 of isolation, Barry cast vainly about for a means of 
 escape. Of military etiquette he was ignorant; hence he 
 could only wait in deepening disgust for the O.C. to give 
 the signal to rise. How long he could have endured is 
 doubtful, but release came in a startling, and, to most 
 of the members of the mess, a truly horrifying manner. 
 
 In one of those strange silences that fall upon even 
 the noisiest of companies, Colonel Leighton, under the in- 
 fluence of a somewhat liberal indulgence in his whisky 
 bottle, began the relation of a tale of very doubtful 
 flavour. In the midst of the laughter that followed the 
 tale, Barry rose to his feet, his face white and his eyes 
 aflame, and in a voice vibrating with passion, said : 
 
 "May I be excused, sir?" 
 
 "Why, certainly," said the colonel pleasantly, add- 
 ing after a moment's hesitation, "is there anything 
 wrong, Dunbar ? Are you ill ?" 
 
 "No, sir." Barry's voice had the resonant quality of 
 a cello string. "I mean, yes, sir," he corrected. "I am 
 ill. The atmosphere surrounding such a tale is nauseat- 
 ing to me."
 
 A QUESTION OF NERVE 119 
 
 In the horrified silence that followed his remark, he 
 walked out from the room. Upon his ears, as he stood in 
 the ante-room, trembling with the violence of his passion, 
 a burst of laughter fell. A sudden wrath like a hot 
 flame swept his body. He wheeled in his tracks, tore 
 open the door, and with head high and face set, strode 
 to his place at the table and sat down. 
 
 Astonishment beyond all words held the company in 
 tense stillness. From Barry's face they looked toward 
 the colonel, who, too dum founded for speech or action, 
 sat gazing at his chaplain. Then from the end of the 
 table a few places down from Barry, a voice was heard. 
 
 "Feel better, Dunbar?" The cool, clear voice cut 
 through the tense silence like the zip of a sword. 
 
 "I do, thank you, sir," looking him straight in the 
 eye. 
 
 "The fresh air, doubtless," continued the cool voice. 
 "I always find myself that even a whiff of fresh air is a 
 very effective antidote for threatening vertigo. I re- 
 member once " continued the speaker, dropping into 
 
 a conversational tone, and leaning across the table slight- 
 ly toward Barry, "I was in the room with a company of 
 
 men " And the speaker entered upon a long and 
 
 none too interesting relation of an experience of his, the 
 point of which no one grasped, but the effect of which 
 every one welcomed with the prof oundest relief. He was 
 the regimental medical officer, a tall, slight man, with a 
 keen eye, a pleasant face crowned by a topknot of flaming 
 hair, and with a little dab of hair of like colour upon his 
 upper lip, which he fondly cherished, as an important 
 item in his military equipment. 
 
 "Say, the old doc is a lifesaver, sure enough," said a, 
 young subaltern, answering to the name of "Sally," col- 
 loquial for Sal ford, as he stood amid a circle of officers 
 gathered in the smoking room a few minutes later. "A 
 lifesaver," repeated Sally, with emphasis. "He can have 
 me for his laboratory collection after I'm through." 
 
 "He is one sure singing bird," said another sub, a
 
 120 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 stout, overgrown boy by the name of Booth. "The nerve 
 of him," added Booth in admiration. 
 
 "Nerve !" echoed a young captain, "but what about the 
 pilot's nerve?" 
 
 "Sui generis, Train, I should say," drawled Hopeton. 
 
 "Suey, who did you say?" inquired Sally. "What's 
 her second name ? But let me tell )'ou I could have fallen 
 on his neck and burst into tears of gratitude. For me," 
 continued Sally, glancing about the room, "I don't hold 
 with that dirt stuff at mess. It isn't necessary." 
 
 "Beastly bad form," said Hopeton, "but, good Lord! 
 Your Commanding Officer, Sally! There's such a thing 
 as discipline, you know." 
 
 "What extraordinary thing is it that Sally knows?" 
 inquired Major Bustead, who lounged up to the group. 
 
 "We were discussing the padre's break, Major, which 
 for my part," drawled Hopeton, "I consider rotten dis- 
 cipline." 
 
 "Discipline!" snorted the major. "By Gad, it was a 
 piece of the most damnable cheek I have ever heard at 
 a mess table. He ought to be sent to Coventry. I only 
 hope the O.C. will get him exchanged." 
 
 The major made no effort to subdue his voice, which 
 was plainly audible throughout the room. 
 
 "Hush, for. God's sake," warned Captain Train, as 
 Barry entered the door. "Here he is." 
 
 But Barry had caught the major's words. For a 
 moment he stood irresolute; then walked quietly toward 
 the group. 
 
 "I couldn't help hearing you, Major Bustead," he said, 
 in a voice pleasant and under perfect control. "I gather 
 you were referring to me." 
 
 "I was, sir," said the major defiantly. 
 
 "And why should I be sent to Coventry, or exchanged, 
 may I ask ?" Barry's voice was that of an interested out- 
 sider. 
 
 "Because," stuttered the Major, "I consider, sir, that 
 that you have been guilty of a piece of damnable
 
 A QUESTION OF NERVE 121 
 
 impertinence toward your Commanding Officer. I never 
 heard anything like it in my life. Infernal cheek, I call 
 it, sir." 
 
 While the major was speaking, Barry stood listen- 
 ing with an air of respectful attention. 
 
 "I wonder!" he said, after a moment's thought. "If 
 I thought I had been impertinent, I should at once apolo- 
 gise. But, sir, do you think it is part of my duty to allow 
 ary man, even my Commanding Officer, to pardon the 
 disgusting metaphor, it is not so disgusting as the action 
 complained of to spit in my soup, and take it without 
 protest? Do you, sir?" 
 
 "I you " The major grew very red in the face. 
 
 "You need to learn your place in this battalion, sir." 
 
 "I do," said Barry, still preserving his quiet voice and 
 manner. "I want to learn I am really anxious to learn 
 it. Do you mind answering my question?" His tone 
 was that of a man who is earnestly but quite respectfully 
 seeking information from a superior officer. 
 
 "Your question, sir?" stuttered the major, "your 
 your question. Damn your question, and yourself too." 
 
 The major turned abruptly away. Barry heard him 
 quite unmoved, stood looking after him in silence a 
 moment or two, then, shaking his head, with a puzzled 
 expression on his face, moved slowly away from the 
 group. 
 
 "Oh, my aunt Caroline," breathed Sally into his friend 
 Hopeton's ear, resting heavily meanwhile against his 
 shoulder. "What a score! What a score!" 
 
 "A bull, begad! a clean bull!" murmured Hopeton, 
 supporting his friend out of the room as he added, "A 
 little fresh air, as a preventative of vertigo, as the old doc 
 says, eh, Sally." 
 
 "Good Lord, is he just a plain ass, or what?" in- 
 quired young Booth, his eye following Barry down the 
 room. 
 
 "Ass ! A mule, I should say. And one with a good lot
 
 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 of kick in him," replied Captain Train. "I don't know 
 that I care for that kind of an animal, though." 
 
 Before many hours had passed, the whole battalion had 
 received with undiluted joy an account of the incident, 
 for though the Commanding Officer was popular with 
 his men, to have him called down at his own mess by one 
 of his own officers was an event too thrilling to give any- 
 thing but unalloyed delight to those who had to suffer in 
 silence similar indignities at the hands of their officers. 
 
 A notable exception in the battalion, however, was Ser- 
 geant Major McFetteridge, who, because of his military 
 experience, and of his reputation as a disciplinarian, had 
 been recently transferred to the battalion. To the ser- 
 geant major this act of Barry's was but another and more 
 flagrant example of his fondness for "buttin' in," and 
 the sergeant major let it be known that he strongly 
 condemned the chaplain for what he declared was an 
 unheard of breach of military discipline. 
 
 Of course there were others who openly approved, and 
 who admired the chaplain's "nerve in standing up to the 
 old man." In their opinion he was entirely justified in 
 what he had said. The O.C. had insulted him, and every 
 officer at the mess, by his off-colour story, but on the 
 whole the general result of the incident was that Barry's 
 life became more and more one of isolation from both 
 officers and men. For this reason and because of a 
 Haunting sense of failure the months of training preced- 
 ing the battalion's departure for England were for Barry 
 one long and almost uninterrupted misery. It seemed im- 
 possible to establish any point of contact with either the 
 officers or the men. In their athletics, in their social gath- 
 erings, in their reading, he was quietly ignored and made 
 to fee* that he was in no way necessary. An impalpable 
 but very real barrier prevented his near approach to those 
 whom he was so eager to serve. 
 
 This unexpressed opposition was quickened into active 
 hostility by the chaplain's uncompromising attitude on 
 the liquor question. By the army regulations, the bat-
 
 A QUESTION OF NERVE 123 
 
 talion canteen was dry, but in spite of this many, both of 
 the officers and the men, freely indulged in the use of 
 intoxicating drink. The effect upon discipline was, of 
 course, deplorable, and in his public addresses as well as 
 private conversation, Barry constantly denounced these 
 demoralising habits, winning thereby the violent dislike 
 of those especially affected, and the latent hostility of the 
 majority of the men who agreed with the sergeant major 
 in resenting the chaplain's "buttin' in." 
 
 It was, therefore, with unspeakable joy that Barry 
 learned that the battalion was warned for overseas serv- 
 ice. Any change in his lot would be an improvement, 
 for he was convinced that he had reached the limit of 
 wretchedness in the exercise of his duty as chaplain of 
 the battalion. 
 
 In this conviction, however, he was mistaken. On 
 shipboard, he discovered that there were still depths of 
 misery which he was called upon to plumb. Assigned to 
 a miserable stateroom in an uncomfortable part of the 
 ship, he suffered horribly from seasickness, and for the 
 first half of the voyage lay foodless and spiritless in his 
 bunk, indifferent to his environment or to his fate. His 
 sole friend was his batman, Harry Hobbs, but, of course, 
 he could not confide to Harry the misery of his body, or 
 the deeper misery of his soul. 
 
 It was Harry, however, that brought relief, for it was 
 he that called the M.O. to his officer's bedside. The M.O. 
 was shocked to find the chaplain in a state of extreme 
 physical weakness, and mental depression. At once, 
 he gave orders that Barry should be removed to his own 
 stateroom, which was large and airy and open to the sea 
 breezes. The effect was immediately apparent, for the 
 change of room, and more especially the touch of human 
 sympathy, did much to restore Barry to his normal health 
 and spirits. A friendship sprang up between the M.O. 
 and the chaplain. With this friendship a new interest 
 came into Barry's life, and with surprising rapidity he 
 regained both his physical and mental tone.
 
 124 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 The doctor took him resolutely in hand, pressed him to 
 take his part in the daily physical drill, induced him to 
 share the daily programme of sports, and, best of all, dis- 
 covering a violin on board, insisted on his taking a place 
 on the musical programme rendered nightly in the salon. 
 As might be expected, his violin won him friends among 
 all of the music lovers on board ship, and life for Barry 
 began once more to be bearable. 
 
 Returning strength, however, recalled him to the per- 
 formance of his duties as chaplain, and straightway in 
 the exercise of what he considered his duty, he came into 
 conflict with no less a personage than the sergeant major 
 himself. The trouble arose over his batman, Harry 
 Hobbs. 
 
 Harry was a man who, in his youthful days, had been 
 a diligent patron of the London music halls, and in con- 
 sequence had become himself an amateur entertainer of 
 very considerable ability. His sailor's hornpipes, Irish 
 jigs, his old English North-country ballads and his coster 
 songs were an unending joy to his comrades. Their grat- 
 itude and admiration took forms that proved poor 
 Harry's undoing, and besides some of them took an 
 unholy joy in sending the chaplain's batman to his officer 
 incapable of service. 
 
 Barry's indignation and grief were beyond words. He 
 dealt faithfully with the erring Hobbs, as his minister, 
 as his officer, as chaplain, but the downward drag of his 
 environment proved too great for his batman's powers 
 of resistance. Once and again Barry sought the aid of 
 the sergeant major to rescue Harry from his downward 
 course, but the old sergeant major was unimpressed with 
 the account of Harry's lapses. 
 
 "Is your batman unfit for duty, sir?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes, he is, often," said Barry indignantly. 
 
 "Did you report him, sir ?" inquired the sergeant 
 major. 
 
 "No, I did not." 
 
 "Then, sir, I am afraid that until you do your duty
 
 A QUESTION OF NERVE 125 
 
 I can do nothing," answered the sergeant major, with 
 suave respect. 
 
 "If you did your duty," Barry was moved to say, 
 "then Hobbs would not need to be reported. The regu- 
 lations governing that canteen should prevent these fre- 
 quent examples of drunkenness, which are a disgrace to 
 the battalion." 
 
 "Do I understand, sir," inquired the sergeant major, 
 with quiet respect, "that you are accusing me of a failure 
 in duty?" 
 
 "I am saying that if the regulations were observed 
 my batman and others would not be so frequently drunk, 
 and the enforcing of these regulations, I understand, is 
 a part of your duty." 
 
 "Then, sir," replied the sergeant major, "perhaps I 
 had better report myself to the Commanding Officer." 
 
 "You can please yourself," said Barry, shortly, as he 
 turned away. 
 
 "Very good, sir," replied the sergeant major. "I 
 shall report myself at once." 
 
 The day following, the chaplain received an order to 
 appear before the O.C. in the orderly room. 
 
 "Captain Dunbar, I understand that you are making 
 a charge against Sergeant Major McFetteridge," was 
 Colonel Leighton's greeting. 
 
 "I am making no charge against any one, sir," replied 
 Barry quietly. 
 
 "What do you say to that, Sergeant Major McFet- 
 teridge?" 
 
 In reply, the sergeant major gave a full and fair state- 
 ment of the passage between the chaplain and himself 
 the day before. 
 
 "Is this correct, Captain Dunbar?" asked the O.C. 
 
 "Substantially correct, sir, except that the sergeant 
 major is here on his own suggestion, and on no order of 
 mine." 
 
 "Then I understand that you withdraw your charge 
 against the sergeant major."
 
 126 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "I withdraw nothing, sir. I had no intention of laying 
 a charge, and I have laid no charge against the sergeant 
 major ; but at the same time I have no hesitation in say- 
 ing that the regulations governing the canteen are not 
 observed, and, as I understand that the responsibility for 
 enforcing these regulations is in the sergeant major's 
 hands, in that sense I consider that he has failed in his 
 duty." 
 
 But the sergeant major was too old a soldier to be 
 caught napping. He had his witnesses ready at hand to 
 testify that the canteen was conducted according to regu- 
 lations, and that if the chaplain's batman or any others 
 took more liquor than they should, neither the corporal 
 in charge of the canteen nor the sergeant major was 
 to be blamed. 
 
 "All I can say, sir," replied Barry, "is that soldiers are 
 frequently drunk on this ship, and I myself have seen 
 them when the worse for liquor going into the canteen." 
 
 "And did you report these men to their officers or to 
 me, Captain Dunbar, or did you report the corporal in 
 charge of the canteen ?" 
 
 "No, sir, I did not." 
 
 "Then sir, do you know that you have been guilty of 
 serious neglect of duty?" said the colonel sternly. 
 
 "Do I understand, sir, that it is my duty to report to 
 you every man I see the worse for liquor on this ship?" 
 
 "Most certainly," replied the colonel, emphatically. 
 "Every breach of discipline must be reported." 
 
 "I understood, sir, that an officer had a certain amount 
 of discretion in a matter of this kind." 
 
 "Where did you get that notion?" inquired the colonel. 
 "Let me tell you that you are wrong. Discretionary pow- 
 ers lie solely with me." 
 
 "Then, sir, I am to understand that I must report 
 every man whom I see the worse for liquor ?" 
 
 "Certainly, sir," 
 
 "And every officer, as well, sir?"
 
 The colonel hesitated a moment, fumbled with his 
 papers, and then blurted out : 
 
 "Certainly, sir. And let me say, Captain Dunbar, that 
 an officer, especially an officer in your position, ought to 
 be very careful in making a charge against a N.C.O., 
 more particularly the sergeant major of his battalion. 
 Nothing is more calculated to drag down discipline. The 
 case is dismissed." 
 
 "Sir," said Barry, maintaining his place before the 
 table. "May I ask one question?" 
 
 "The case is dismissed, Captain Dunbar. What do you 
 want?" asked the colonel brusquely. 
 
 "I want to be quite clear as to my duty, in the future, 
 sir. Do I understand that if any man or officer is found 
 under the influence of liquor, anywhere in this ship, and 
 at any hour of the day or night, he is to be reported 
 at once to the orderly room, even though that officer 
 should be, say, even the adjutant or yourself?" Barry 
 said, gazing up at the colonel with a face in which 
 earnestness and candour were equally blended. 
 
 The colonel gazed back at him with a face in which 
 rage and perplexity were equally apparent. For some 
 moments, he was speechless, while the whole orderly 
 room held its breath. 
 
 "I mean that you you understand of course," 
 stuttered the colonel, "that an officer must use common 
 sense. He must be damned sure of what he says, in 
 other words," said the colonel, rushing his speech. 
 
 "But, sir," continued Barry. 
 
 "Oh, go to the devil, sir," roared the colonel. "The 
 case is dismissed." 
 
 Barry saluted and left the room. 
 
 "Is the man an infernal and condemned fool, or what 
 is the matter with him?" exclaimed the colonel, turning 
 to his adjutant in a helpless appeal, while the orderly 
 room struggled with its grins. 
 
 "The devil only knows," said Major Bustead. "He
 
 128 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 beats me. He is an interfering and impertinent ass, in 
 my opinion, but what else he is, I don't know." 
 
 It is fair to say that the sergeant major bore the chap- 
 lain no grudge for his part in the affair. The whole 
 battalion, however, soon became possessed of the tale, 
 adorned and expanded to an unrecognisable extent, and 
 revelled in ecstasy over the discomfort of the C.O. The 
 consensus of opinion was that on the whole the sergeant 
 major had come off with premier honours, and as be- 
 tween the "old man" and the "Sky Pilot," as Barry was 
 coming to be called, it was about an even break. As for 
 the Pilot, he remained more than ever a mystery, and on 
 the whole, the battalion was inclined to leave him alone. 
 
 The chaplain, however, had partially, at least, achieved 
 his aim, in that the regulations governing the canteen 
 were more strictly enforced, to the vast improvement of 
 discipline generally, and to the immense advantage of 
 Harry Hobbs in particular. 
 
 Soon after this, another event occurred which aided 
 materially in bringing about this same result, and which 
 also led to a modification of opinion in the battalion in 
 regard to their chaplain. 
 
 To the civilian soldier the punctilio of military etiquette 
 is frequently not only a bore, but at times takes on the 
 appearance of wilful insult which no grown man should 
 be expected to tolerate. To the civilian soldier born and 
 brought up in wide spaces of the far Northwest this is 
 especially the case. 
 
 It is not surprising, therefore, that McCuaig, fresh 
 from his thirty-five years of life in the Athabasca wilds, 
 should find the routine of military discipline extremely 
 irksome and the niceties of military etiquette as from a 
 private to an officer not only foolish but degrading both 
 to officer and man. Under the patient shepherding of 
 Barry's father, he had endured much without protest or 
 complaint, but, with the advent of Sergeant Major Mc- 
 Fetteridge, with his rigid military discipline and his strict 
 insistence upon etiquette, McCuaig passed into a new at-
 
 A QUESTION OF NERVE 129 
 
 mosphere. To the f reeborn and f reebred recruit from the 
 Athabasca plains, the stiff and somewhat exaggerated 
 military bearing of the sergeant major was at first a 
 source of quiet amusement, later of perplexity, and 
 finally of annoyance. For McFetteridge and his minutiae 
 of military discipline McCuaig held only contempt. To 
 him, the whole business was a piece of silly nonsense 
 unworthy of serious men. 
 
 It was inevitable that the sergeant major should sooner 
 or later discover this opinion in Private McCuaig, and 
 that he should consider the holding of this opinion as a 
 tendency toward insubordination. It was also inevitable 
 that the sergeant major should order a course of special 
 fatigues calculated to subdue the spirit of the insubordi- 
 nate private. 
 
 It took McCuaig some days to discover that in these 
 frequent fatigues and special duties, he was undergoing 
 punishment, but once made, the discovery wrought in 
 him a cold and silent rage, which drove him to an undue 
 and quite unwonted devotion to the canteen, which in turn 
 transformed the reserved, self-controlled man of the wilds 
 into a demonstrative, disorderly and quarrelsome "rookie" 
 aching for trouble. 
 
 Under these circumstances, an outburst was inevitable. 
 Corporal Ferry, in charge of the canteen, furnished the 
 occasion. 
 
 "No more for you, McCuaig. You've got more aboard 
 now than you can carry." 
 
 To the injury of being denied another beer was added 
 the insult of suggesting his inability to carry what he 
 had. This to a man of McCuaig's experience in every 
 bar and camp and roadhouse from Edmonton to the 
 Arctic circle, was not to be endured. 
 
 He leaned over the improvised bar, until his face al- 
 most touched the corporal's. 
 
 "What?" he ejaculated, but in the single expletive there 
 darted out such concentrated fury, that the little cor- 
 poral sprang back as from a striking snake.
 
 130 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "You can't have any more beer, McCuaig," said the 
 corporal, from a safe distance. 
 
 "Watch me, sonny !" replied McCuaig. 
 
 With a single sweep of his hand, he snatched two bot- 
 tles from the ledge behind the corporal's head. Holding 
 one aloft, he knocked the top off the other, drank its con- 
 tents slowly and smashed the empty bottle at the spot 
 where the corporal's head had been; knocked the top 
 off the second bottle and was proceeding to drink it, 
 in a more or less leisurely fashion. 
 
 "Private Timms! Private Mulligan!" shouted Cor- 
 poral Ferry, reappearing from beneath the counter. "Ar- 
 rest that man!" 
 
 "Wait, sonny; give me a chance," cried McCuaig, in 
 a wild, high, singsong voice. Lifting his bottle to his 
 lips, he continued to drink slowly, keeping his eye upon 
 the two privates, who were considering the best method of 
 carrying out their orders. 
 
 "There, sonny, fill that up again," cried McCuaig, 
 goodnaturedly, when he had finished his drink, tossing the 
 second bottle at the head of the corporal, who, being on 
 the alert, again made a successful disappearance. 
 
 "Now, then, boys, come on," said McCuaig, backing 
 toward the wall, and dropping his hands to his hips. 
 With a curse of disappointment that he found himself 
 without his usual weapons of defence, McCuaig raised a 
 shout, sprang into the air, cracked his heels together in a 
 double rap, and swinging his arms around his head, 
 yelled : 
 
 "Come on, my boys! I'm hungry, I am! Meat! 
 Meat! Meat!" 
 
 With each "meat," his white teeth came together with 
 a snap like that of a hungry wolf. Such was the beastly 
 ferocity in his face and posture that both Private Timms 
 and Private Mulligan, themselves men of more than aver- 
 age strength, paused and looked at the corporal for fur- 
 ther orders. 
 
 "Arrest that man," said the corporal again, preserv-
 
 A QUESTION OF NERVE 131 
 
 ing at the same time an attitude that revealed a complete 
 readiness for swift disappearance. "Private McTav- 
 ish," he added, calling upon a tall Highlander who was 
 gazing with admiring eyes upon the raging McCuaig, 
 "assist Private Timms and Private Mulligan in arresting 
 that man." 
 
 "Why don't you come yourself, sonny?" inquired Mc- 
 Cuaig. With a swift sidestep and a swifter swoop of 
 his long arm, he reached for the corporal, who once more 
 found safety in swift disappearance. 
 
 At that instant, the Highlander, seeing his opportunity, 
 flung himself upon McCuaig, and winding his arms 
 around him, hung to him grimly, crying out : 
 
 "Get hold of his legs ! Queeck ! Will you ?" 
 
 When the sergeant major, attracted by the unwonted 
 uproar, appeared upon the scene, there was a man on 
 every one of McQuaig's limbs, and another one astride 
 his stomach. "Heavin' like sawlogs shootin' a rapid," 
 as Private Corbin, a lumberjack from the Eau Claire, 
 was later heard to remark. 
 
 "What is he like now?" inquired the colonel, after 
 listening to the sergeant major's report of the Homeric 
 combat. 
 
 "He is in a compartment in the hold, sir, and raging 
 like one demented. He very nearly did for Major Bus- 
 tead, smashing at him with a scantling that he ripped 
 from the ship's timbers, sir. He still has the scantling, 
 sir." 
 
 "Let him cool off all night," said the Commanding 
 Officer, after consultation with the adjutant. 
 
 Barry, who with difficulty had restrained himself dur- 
 ing the sergeant major's report, slipped from the room, 
 found the M.O., to whom he detailed the story and 
 dragged him off to visit the raging McCuaig. 
 
 They found a corporal on guard outside. 
 
 "I would not open the door, sir. He is really dan- 
 gerous." 
 
 "Oh, rot!" replied the M.O. "Open up the door!"
 
 132 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Excuse me, sir," said the corporal, "it is not safe. 
 At present, he is clean crazy. He is off his nut entirely." 
 
 The M.O. stood listening at the door. From within 
 came moaning sounds as from a suffering beast. 
 
 "That man is suffering. Open the door!" ordered the 
 M.O. peremptorily. 
 
 The corporal, with great reluctance, unlocked the pad- 
 lock, shot back the bolt, and then stood away from the 
 door. 
 
 "It is the medical officer, McCuaig," said the doctor, 
 opening the door slightly. 
 
 Bang! Crash ! came the scantling upon the door jamb, 
 shattering it to pieces. The whole guard flung themselves 
 against the door, shoved it shut, and shot the bolt. 
 
 "I warned you, sir," said the panting corporal. "Bet- 
 ter leave him until morning. He's a regular devil !" 
 
 "He is no more a devil than you are, corporal," said 
 Barry, in a loud, clear voice. "He is one of the best 
 men in the battalion. More than that, he is my friend, 
 and if he spends the night there, I spend it with him." 
 
 So saying, and before any one could stop him, Barry 
 shot back the bolt, opened the door, and with his torch- 
 light flashing before him, stepped inside. 
 
 "Hello, McCuaig," he called, in a quiet, clear voice, 
 "where are you? It's Dunbar, you know." 
 
 He drew the door shut after him. The corporal was 
 for following him, but the M.O. interposed. 
 
 "Stop out!" he ordered. "Stay where you are! You 
 have done enough mischief already." 
 
 "But, sir, he'll kill him!" 
 
 "This is my case," said the M.O. sharply. "Fall back 
 all of you, out of sight!" 
 
 Together they stood listening in awestruck silence, 
 expecting every moment to hear sounds of conflict, and 
 cries for help, but all they heard was the cool, even flow 
 of a quiet voice, and after some minutes had passed, the 
 sound of moans, mingled with a terrible sobbing.
 
 A QUESTION OF NERVE 133 
 
 The M.O., moving toward the corporal and his guard, 
 said in a low tone : 
 
 "Take your men down the passage and keep them 
 there until I call for you." 
 
 "Sir," began the corporal. 
 
 "Will you obey my orders?" said the M.O. "I'm in 
 command here ! Go !" 
 
 Without further words, the corporal moved his men 
 away. 
 
 Half an hour later, the sergeant major, going his 
 rounds, received a rude shock. In the passage leading to 
 McCuaig's compartment, he met four men, bearing on a 
 stretcher toward the sick bay a long silent form. 
 
 "Who have you got there, corporal?" he inquired in 
 a tone of kindly interest. 
 
 "McCuaig, sir." 
 
 "McCuaig?" roared the sergeant major. "And 
 who " 
 
 "Medical officer's orders." 
 
 "Silence there," said a sharp voice in the rear. "Carry- 
 on, men." 
 
 And past the astonished sergeant major, the proces- 
 sion filed with the medical officer and the chaplain at 
 its tail end. 
 
 After the sergeant major had made his report to the 
 O.C., as was his duty, the M.O. was sent for. What 
 took place at that interview was never divulged to the 
 mess, but it was known that whereas the conversation 
 began in very loud tones by the Officer Commanding, it 
 ended half an hour later with the M.O. being shown out 
 of the room by the colonel himself, who was heard to 
 remark : 
 
 "A very fine bit of work. Tell him I want to see him 
 when he has a few minutes, and thank you, doctor, thank 
 you!" 
 
 "Who does the old man want to see ?" inquired Sally, 
 who, with Hopeton and Booth, happened to be passing. 
 
 "The chaplain," snapped the M.O., going on his way.
 
 134 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "The chaplain? By Jove, he's a queer one, eh?" 
 
 The M.O. turned sharply back, and coming very close 
 to Sally, said in a wrathful voice: 
 
 "A queer one? Yes, a queer one! But if some of you 
 damned young idots that sniff at him had just half his 
 guts, you'd be twice the men you are. Shut up, Hope- 
 ton ! Listen to me " and in words of fiery rage that 
 
 ran close to tears, he recounted his experience of the last 
 hour. 
 
 "By Jove! Doc, some guts, eh?" said Sally in a low 
 tone, as he moved away.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 SUBMARINES, BULLPUPS, AND OTHER THINGS 
 
 ALONG, weird blast from the fog horn, followed by 
 two short, sharp toots, recalled Barry from his 
 morning dream. 
 
 "Fog," he grumbled, and turned over to re-capture the 
 enchantment of the Athabasca rapids, and his dancing 
 canoe. 
 
 Overhead there sounded the trampling of feet. 
 
 "Submarines, doc," he shouted and leaped to the floor 
 broad awake. 
 
 "What's the row?" murmured the M.O., who was a 
 heavy sleeper. 
 
 For answer, Barry ripped the clothes from the doctor's 
 bed. 
 
 "Submarines, doc," he shouted again, and buckling on 
 his Sam Brown, and seizing his lifebelt, he stood ready 
 to go. 
 
 "What! your boots off, doc?" 
 
 In the orders of the day before had been an announce- 
 ment that officers and men were to sleep fully dressed. 
 
 "Oh, the devil !" exclaimed the doctor, hunting through 
 his bedclothes in desperation. "I can't sleep in my boots. 
 Where's my tunic? Go on, old fellow, I'll follow you." 
 
 Barry held his tunic for him. 
 
 "Here you are! Wake up, doc! And here's your 
 Sam Brown." 
 
 Barry dropped to lace the doctor's boots, while the lat- 
 ter was buckling on the rest of his equipment. 
 
 "All right," cried the doctor, rushing from the room 
 and leaving his lifebelt behind him. 
 
 Barry caught up the lifebelt and followed.
 
 136 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Your lifebelt, doc," he said, as they passed up the 
 companion way. 
 
 "Oh, I'm a peach of a soldier," said the doctor, strug- 
 gling into his lifebelt, and swearing deeply the while. 
 
 "Stop swearing, doc ! It's a waste of energy." 
 
 "Oh, go to hell!" 
 
 "No, I prefer Heaven, if I must leave this ship, but 
 for the present, I believe I'm needed here, and so are 
 you, doc. Look there!" 
 
 The doctor glanced out upon the deck. 
 
 "By Jove ! You're right, old man, we are needed and 
 badly. I say, old chap," he said, pausing for a moment 
 to turn to Barry, "You are a dear old thing, aren't you?" 
 
 The deck was a mass of soldiers struggling, swearing, 
 fighting their way to their various stations. Officers, half 
 dressed and half awake, were rushing hither and thither, 
 seeking their units, swearing at the men and shouting 
 meaningless orders. Over all the stentorian voice of the 
 sergeant major was vainly trying to make itself under- 
 stood.- 
 
 In the confusion the cry was raised : "We're torpedoed ! 
 We're going down!" 
 
 There was a great rush for the nearest boats. Men 
 flung discipline to the winds and began fighting for a 
 chance of their lives. It was a terrific and humiliating 
 scene. 
 
 Suddenly, over the tumult, was heard a loud, ringing 
 laugh. 
 
 "Oh, I say, Duff ! Not that way ! Not that way !" 
 
 Again came the ringing laugh. 
 
 Immediately a silence fell upon the struggling crowd, 
 and for a moment they stood looking inquiringly at each 
 other. That moment of silence was seized by the ser- 
 geant major. Like a trumpet his sonorous voice rang 
 out steady and clear. 
 
 "Fall in, men! Boat quarters! Silence there!" 
 
 He followed this with sharp, intelligible commands to
 
 SUBMARINES, BULLPUPS, OTHER THINGS 137 
 
 his N.C.O.'s. Like magic, 'order fell upon the turbulent, 
 struggling crowd. 
 
 "Stand steady, you there !" roared the sergeant major, 
 who having got control of his men, began to indulge him- 
 self in a few telling and descriptive adjectives. 
 
 In less than two minutes, the men were standing steady 
 as a rock and the panic was passed. 
 
 "Who was it that laughed up there in that stampede ?" 
 inquired the O.C., when the officers were gathered about 
 him in the orderly room. 
 
 "I think it was the Sky Pilot, sir the chaplain, sir," 
 said Lieutenant Stewart Duff. 
 
 "Was it you that laughed, Captain Dunbar?" asked 
 the colonel, turning upon Barry. 
 
 "Perhaps I did, sir. I'm sorry if " 
 
 "Sorry!" exclaimed the colonel. "Dammit, sir, you 
 saved the situation for us all. Who told you it was a 
 false alarm?" 
 
 "No one, sir. I didn't know it was a false alarm. I 
 was looking at Lieutenant Duff " He checked him- 
 self promptly. "I mean, sir well, it seemed a good 
 place to laugh, so I just let it come." 
 
 The colonel's eyes rested with curious inquiry upon the 
 serene face of the chaplain, with its glowing eyes and 
 candid expression. "A good place for a laugh? It was 
 a damned good place for a laugh, and gentlemen, I thank 
 God I have one officer who finds in the face of sudden 
 danger a good place for a laugh. And now I have some- 
 thing to say to you." 
 
 The O.C.'s remarks did not improve the officers' opin- 
 ion of themselves, and they slunk out of the room no 
 other word properly describes the cowed and shamed ap- 
 pearance of that company of men they slunk out of 
 the room. They had failed to play the part of British 
 officers in the face of sudden peril. 
 
 In his speech to the men, the C.O. made only a single 
 reference to the incident, but that reference bit deep. 
 
 "Men, I am thoroughly ashamed and disappointed-
 
 138 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 You acted, not like soldiers, but like a herd of steers. 
 The difference between a herd of steers and a battalion 
 of soldiers, in the face of sudden danger, is only this : 
 the steers break blindly for God knows where, and end 
 piled up over a cut bank; soldiers stand steady listening 
 for the word of command." 
 
 If the O.C. handled the men with a light hand, the 
 sergeant major did not. His tongue rasped them to the 
 raw. No one knows a soldier as does his N.C.O., and no 
 N.C.O. is qualified to set forth the soldier's characteris- 
 tics with the intimate knowledge and adequate fluency of 
 the sergeant major. One by one he peeled from their 
 shivering souls the various layers of their moral cuticle, 
 until they stood, in their own and in each other's eyes, 
 objects of commiseration. 
 
 "There's just one thing more I wad like ta say to ye." 
 The sergeant major's tendency to Doric was more notice- 
 able in his moments of deeper feeling, "but it's something 
 for you lads to give heed ta. When ye were scrammlin' 
 up yonder, like a lot o' mavericks at a brandin', and 
 yowlin' like a bunch o' coyotes, there was one man in 
 the regiment who could laugh. There's lots o' animals 
 that the Almighty made can yowl, but there's only one 
 can laugh, and that's a mon. For God's sake, men, when 
 ye' re in a tight place, try a laugh." 
 
 For some weeks after this event the chaplain was 
 known throughout the battalion as "the man that can 
 laugh," and certain it is that from that day there existed 
 between the M.O. and the chaplain a new bond of 
 friendship. 
 
 As the ship advanced deeper into the submarine zone, 
 the sole topic of thought and of conversation came to be 
 the convoy. Where was that convoy anyway? While 
 the daylight lasted, a thousand pairs of eyes swept the 
 horizon, and the intervening spaces of tossing, blue-grey 
 water, for the sight of a sinister periscope, or for the 
 smudge of a friendly cruiser, and when night fell, a 
 thousand pairs of ears listened with strained intentness
 
 SUBMARINES, BULLPUPS, OTHER THINGS 139 
 
 for the impact of the deadly torpedo or for the signal of 
 the protecting convoy. 
 
 While still a day and a night out from land, Barry 
 awoke in the dim light of a misty morning, and proceeded 
 to the deck for his constitutional. There he fell in with 
 Captain Neil Fraser and Captain Hopeton pacing up and 
 down. 
 
 "Come along, Pilot!" said Captain Neil, heartily, be- 
 tween whom and the chaplain during the last few days 
 a cordial friendship had sprung up. "We're looking for 
 submarines. This is the place and the time for Fritz, 
 if he is going to get us at all." 
 
 Arm in arm they made the circle of the deck. The 
 mist, lying like a bank upon the sea, shifted the horizon 
 to within a thousand yards of the ship. 
 
 "I wish I knew just what lies behind that bank there," 
 said Captain Hopeton, pointing over the bow. 
 
 For some moments they stood, peering idly into the 
 mist. 
 
 "By Jove, there is something there," said Barry, who 
 had a hawk's eye. 
 
 "You've got 'em too, eh," laughed Hopeton. "I've 
 had 'em for the last forty-eight hours. I've been 'seein' 
 things' all night." 
 
 "But there is," insisted Barry, pointing over the port 
 bow. 
 
 "What is it like?" asked Captain Neil, while Hopeton 
 ran for his glass. 
 
 "I'll tell you what it's like exactly like the eye of an 
 oyster in its pulp. And, by Jove, there's another !" added 
 Barry excitedly. 
 
 "I can't see anything," said Captain Neil. 
 
 "But I can," insisted Barry. "Look there, Hopeton!" 
 
 Hopeton fixed his glass upon the mist, where Barry 
 pointed. ^ 
 
 "You're right! There is something, and there are 
 two of them."
 
 140 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Give the Pilot the glass, Hopeton," said Neil. "He's 
 got a good eye." 
 
 "There are two ships, boys, as I'm a sinner, but what 
 they are, I don't know," cried Barry in a voice tense with 
 excitement. "Here, Neil, take the glass. You know 
 about ships." 
 
 Long and earnestly, Captain Neil held the glass in the 
 direction indicated. 
 
 "Boys, by all that's holy, they're destroyers," he said 
 at length in a low voice. 
 
 Even as they gazed, the two black dots rapidly took 
 shape, growing out of the mist into two sea monsters, 
 all head and shoulders, boring through the seas, each 
 flinging high a huge comb of white spray, and with an 
 indescribable suggestion of arrogant, resistless power, 
 bearing down upon the ship at furious speed. 
 
 "Destroyers!" shouted Captain Neil, in a voice that 
 rang through the ship. "By gad, destroyers!" 
 
 There was no question of friend or foe; only Great 
 Britain's navy rode over those seas immune. 
 
 Upon every hand the word was caught up and passed 
 along. In a marvellously short space of time, the rails, 
 the boats, the rigging, all the points of vantage were 
 thronged with men, roaring, waving, cheering, like mad. 
 
 With undiminished speed, each enveloped in its cloud 
 of spray, the destroyers came, one on each side, rushed 
 foaming past, swept in a circle around the ship and took 
 their stations alongside, riding quietly at half speed 
 like bulldogs tugging at a leash. 
 
 "Great heavens, what a sight!" At the croak in Hope- 
 ton's voice, the others turned and looked at him. 
 
 "You've got it too, eh !" said Captain Neil, clearing his 
 own throat. 
 
 "I've got something, God knows !''" answered Hopeton, 
 wiping his eyes. 
 
 "I, too," said Barry, swallowing the proverbial lump. 
 "Those little little " 
 
 "Bulldogs," suggested Hopeton.
 
 SUBMARINES, BULLPUPS, OTHER THINGS 141 
 
 "Bulldog pups," said Captain Neil. 
 
 "That's it," said Barry. "That's what they are, little 
 bulldog pups, got me by the throat all right." 
 
 "Me, too, by gad !" said Captain Neil. "I should have 
 howled out loud in another minute." 
 
 "Listen to the boys!" cried Barry. 
 
 From end to end of the ship rose one continuous roar, 
 "Good old Navy ! Good old John Bull !" while Hopeton, 
 openly abandoning the traditional reserve and self-con- 
 trol supposed to be a characteristic of the English public 
 school boy, climbed upon the rail and, hanging by a 
 stanchion with one hand, and with the other frantically 
 waving his cap over his head, continued to shout : 
 
 "England! England! England forever!" 
 
 Then above the cheering cries was heard the battalion 
 band, and from a thousand throats in solemn chant there 
 rose the Empire's national anthem, "God Save the King." 
 
 That night they steamed into old Plymouth town, and 
 the following morning were anchored safe at Devonport 
 dock. Strict orders held the officers and men on board 
 ship until arrangements for debarkation should be com- 
 pleted, but to Barry and the doctor, the Commanding Of- 
 ficer gave shore leave for an hour. 
 
 "And I would suggest," he said, "that you go and have 
 a talk with that old boy walking up and down the dock 
 there. Yarn to him about Canada, he's wild to know 
 about it." 
 
 The old naval officer was indeed "wild to know about 
 Canada," so that the greater part of their shore leave 
 was spent in answering his questions, and eager though 
 he was to explore the old historic town, before Barry 
 knew it, he was in the full tide of a glowing description 
 of his own Province of Alberta, extolling its great 
 ranches, its sweeping valleys, its immense resources. 
 
 "And to think you are all British out there," exclaimed 
 the old salt. 
 
 "We're all British, of course," replied Barry, "but not 
 all from Britain."
 
 142 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "I know, I know," said the officer, "but that only makes 
 it more wonderful." 
 
 "Wonderful ! Why, why should it be wonderful ?" 
 
 "Yes, wonderful. Oh, you Canadians," cried the old 
 salt, impulsively stretching out his hand to Barry. "You 
 Canadians !" 
 
 Surprised, Barry glanced at his face. Those hard blue 
 eyes were brimming with tears; the leatherlike skin was 
 working curiously about the mouth. 
 
 "Why, sir, I don't quite understand what you mean," 
 said Barry. 
 
 "No, and you never will. Think of it, rushing three 
 thousand miles " 
 
 "Five thousand for some of us," interrupted Barry. 
 
 "Fancy that! Rushing five thousand miles in this 
 way, to help old mother England, and all of your own 
 free will. We didn't ask it of you. Though, by heaven, 
 we're grateful for it. I find it difficult, sir, to speak 
 quietly of this." 
 
 Not until that moment had Barry caught the British 
 point of view. To him, as to all Canadians, it had only 
 been a perfectly reasonable and natural thing that when 
 the Empire was threatened, they should spring into the 
 fight. They saw nothing heroic in that. They were do- 
 ing their simple duty. 
 
 "But think of the wonder of it," said the naval officer 
 again, "that Canada should feel in that way its response 
 to the call of the blood." 
 
 The old man's lips were still quivering. 
 
 "That is true, sir," said the M.O., joining in the talk, 
 "but there is something more. Frankly, my opinion is 
 that the biggest thing, sir, with some of us in Canada, is 
 not that the motherland was in need of help, though, of 
 course, we all feel that, but that the freedom of the 
 world is threatened, and that Canada, as one of the free 
 nations of the world, must do her part in its defence." 
 
 "A fine spirit," said the old gentleman.
 
 143 
 
 "This fight," continued the M.O., "is ours, you see, 
 as well as yours, and we hate a bully." 
 
 The old salt swore a great oath, and said : 
 
 "You are pups of the old breed, and you run true to 
 type. I'm glad to know you, gentlemen," he continued, 
 shaking them warmly by the hand. 
 
 After they had gone a few steps he called Barry back 
 to him. 
 
 "That's my card, sir. I should like you to come to see 
 me in London sometime when you are on leave." 
 
 Barry glanced at the card and read, "Commander 
 Howard Vincent, R.N.R." 
 
 "It was very decent of the old boy," he said to the Com- 
 manding Officer afterwards, when recounting the inter- 
 view. "I don't suppose I'll ever use the card, but I do 
 think he really meant it." 
 
 "Meant it," exclaimed the Commanding Officer. "Why, 
 Dunbar, I'm an old country man, and I know. Make 
 no mistake. These people, and especially these naval 
 people, do not throw their cards loosely about. You 
 will undoubtedly hear from him." 
 
 "It's not likely," replied Barry, "but the old gentleman 
 is great stuff, all right." 
 
 During the long, sunny spring day, their dinky little 
 train whisked them briskly through the sweet and rest- 
 ful beauty of the English southern counties. To these 
 men, however, from the wide sunbaked, windswept plains 
 of western Canada, the English landscape suggested a 
 dainty picture, done in soft greys and greens, with here 
 and there a vivid splash of colour, where the rich red 
 soil broke through the green. But its tiny fields set off 
 with hedges, and lines of trees, its little, clean-swept vil- 
 lages, with their picturesque church spires, its parks with 
 deer that actually stood still to look at you, its splendid 
 manor houses, and, at rare intervals, its turreted castles, 
 gave these men, fresh from the raw, unmeasured and un- 
 made west, a sense of unreality. To them it seemed a 
 toy landscape for children to play with, but, as they passed
 
 144 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 through the big towns and cities with their tall, clustering 
 chimneys, their crowding populations, with unmistakable 
 evidences of great wealth, their shipping, where the har- 
 bours bit into the red coast line, there began to waken in 
 them the thought that this tiny England, so beautifully 
 finished, and so neatly adorned, was something mightier 
 than they had ever known. 
 
 In these tiny fields, in these clean swept villages, in 
 these manor houses, in these castles, in factory and in 
 shipyard, were struck deep the roots of an England whose 
 greatness they had never yet guessed. 
 
 The next afternoon brought them to the great military 
 camp at Shorncliffe, in a misty rain, hungry, for their 
 rations had been exhausted early in the day, weary from 
 ship and train travel, and eager to get their feet once 
 again on mother earth. 
 
 At the little station they were kept waiting in a pouring 
 rain for something to happen, they knew not what. The 
 R.T.O., a young Imperial officer, blase with his ten 
 months of war in England, had some occult reason for 
 delaying their departure. So, while the night grew 
 every moment wetter and darker, the men sat on their kit- 
 bags or found such shelter as they could in the tiny sta- 
 tion, or in the lee of the "goods trains" blocking the rail- 
 road tracks, growing more indignant and more disgusted 
 with the British high command, the war in general, and 
 registering with increasing intensity vows of vengeance 
 against the Kaiser, who, in the last analysis, they consid- 
 ered responsible for their misery. 
 
 At length the "brass hat" for whom they had been 
 waiting appeared upon the scene, not in the slightest de- 
 gree apologetic, but very businesslike, and with a highly 
 emphasised military manner. After a little conversation 
 between the brass hat and their Commanding Officer, the 
 latter gave the command and off they set in the darkness 
 for their first route march on English soil. 
 
 Through muddy roads and lanes, over fields, slushy 
 and sodden, up hill and down dale, they plodded steadily
 
 SUBMARINES, BULLPUPS, OTHER THINGS 145 
 
 along. At the rear of the column marched Barry with 
 the M.O. 
 
 Long before they reached their destination, their con- 
 versation had given out, the M.O. sucking sullenly at 
 his pipe, the bowl upside down. The rear end of the 
 column was very frayed and straggling. Why it is that 
 a perfectly fit company will invariably fray out if placed 
 at the rear of a marching column, no military expert has 
 quite succeeded in satisfactorily explaining. 
 
 As he tramped along in the dark by the side of the 
 road, the M.O. stumbled over a soldier sitting upon the 
 soggy bank. 
 
 "Who are you ?" he inquired shortly. 
 
 "Corporal Thorn, sir." 
 
 "What's the matter with you?" 
 
 "I'm all in, sir. I've been sick all day, sir." 
 
 "Why didn't you report sick, then? Can't you get 
 on?" f , 
 
 "I don't think so, sir. Not for a while, at least." 
 
 "Have you any pain, any nausea ?" 
 
 "No, sir, I'm just all in." 
 
 "Do you know our route ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I've got the turns down." 
 
 "Well, come along then when you can. I'll send back 
 a waggon later, but don't wait for that." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Corporal Thorn. 
 
 "Come on, Dunbar! We'll send a waggon back for 
 these stragglers. There will be a good many of them 
 before long." 
 
 "You go on, doc. I'll come later," said Barry. "I'll 
 catch up to you." 
 
 But the M.O., at the various halts, waited in vain for 
 the chaplain to appear. 
 
 On arriving at the camp, after a long struggle, he suc- 
 ceeded in sending back an Army Service waggon to 
 bring in the stragglers, but just as the waggon was about 
 to leave, he heard coming up the road, a party stepping 
 out briskly to the music of their own whistling. In the
 
 146 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 rear of the party marched the chaplain, laden down with 
 one man's rifle and another man's kit-bag. 
 
 "They're all here, sir," said Corporal Thorn to the 
 M.O., with a distinct note of triumph in his voice. "All 
 here, sir," he repeated, as he observed the sergeant major 
 standing at the doctor's side. 
 
 "Well done, corporal," said the sergeant major. 
 "You brought 'em all in? That means that no man has 
 fallen out on our first march in this country." 
 
 The corporal made no reply, but later on, he explained 
 the matter to the sergeant major. 
 
 "It's that Sky Pilot of ours, sir," he said. "Blowed if 
 he'd let us fall out." 
 
 "Kept you marching, eh ?" 
 
 "No, it's his chocolate and his jaw, but more his jaw 
 than his chocolate. He's got lots of both. I was all in. 
 I'd been sick all day in the train. Couldn't eat a bite. 
 Well, the first thing, he gives me a cake of his chocolate. 
 Then he sets himself down in the mud beside me, and me 
 wishin' all the time he'd go on and leave me for the 
 waggon to pick up. Then he gives me a cigarette, and 
 then he begins to talk." 
 
 "Talk, what about?" 
 
 "Damned if I know, but the first thing I knew I was 
 tellin' him about the broncho bustin', that's my job, 
 you know and how I won out from Nigger Jake in the 
 Calgary Stampede, until I was that stuck on myself that 
 I said: 'Well, sir, we'd better get a move on/ and up 
 he gets with my kit-bag on his back. By and by, we 
 picks up another lame duck and then another, f eedin' 'em 
 with chocolate and slingin' his jaw, and when we was at 
 the limit, he halts us outside one of them stone shacks and 
 knocks at the door. 'No soldiers here,' snaps the red- 
 headed angel, shuttin' the door right in his face. Then 
 he opens the door and steps right in where she could see 
 him, and starts to talk to her, and us listening out in the 
 rain. Say! In fifteen minutes we was all standin' up to 
 a feed of coffee and buns, and then he gets Harry Hobbs
 
 SUBMARINES, BULLPUPS, OTHER THINGS 147 
 
 whistlin' and singin', and derned if we couldn't have 
 marched to Berlin. Say ! He's a good one, ain't no quit- 
 ter, and he won't let nobody else be a quitter." 
 
 And thus it came that with Corporal Thorn and his 
 derelicts the chaplain marched into a new place in the 
 esteem of the men of his battalion, and of its sergeant 
 major. 
 
 But of this, of course, Barry had no knowledge He 
 knew that he had made some little progress into the con- 
 fidence of both officers and men in his battalion. He had 
 made, too, some firm friendships which had relieved, to 
 a certain extent, the sense of isolation and loneliness that 
 had made his first months with the battalion so appalling. 
 But there still remained the sense of failure inasfar as his 
 specific duty as chaplain was concerned. 
 
 The experiences of the first weeks in England only 
 served to deepen in him the conviction that his influence 
 on the men against the evils which were their especial 
 snare was as the wind against the incoming tide, beating 
 in from the North Sea. He could make a ripple, a cer- 
 tain amount of fussy noise, but the tide of temptation 
 rolled steadily onward, unchecked in its flow. 
 
 The old temptations to profanity, drink and lust, that 
 had haunted the soldiers' steps at home, were found to be 
 lying in wait for them here and in aggravated form. 
 True, in the mess and in his presence among the men 
 there was less profanity than there had been at the first, 
 but it filled him with a kind of rage to feel that this 
 change was due to no sense of the evil of the habit, but 
 solely to an unwillingness to give offence to one whom 
 many of them were coming to regard with respect and 
 some even with affection. 
 
 "I hate that," he said to the M.O., to whom he would 
 occasionally unburden his soul. "You'd think I was a 
 kind of policeman over their morals." 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," said the M.O., to 
 whom the habit of profanity was a very venial sin. "You 
 ought to be mighty glad that your presence does act as
 
 148 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 a kind of moral prophylactic. And it does, I assure you. 
 I confess that since I have come to be associated with 
 you, I am conscious of a very real, and at times, dis- 
 tressing limitation of my vocabulary. I may not be more 
 virtuous, but certainly I am more respectable." 
 
 This sentiment, however, brought little comfort to the 
 chaplain. 
 
 "I am not a policeman," he protested, "and I am not 
 going to play policeman to these men. I notice them shut 
 up when I come around, but I know quite well that they 
 turn themselves loose when I pass on, and that they feel 
 much more comfortable. I am not and will not be their 
 policeman." 
 
 "What then would you be?" inquired the M.O. 
 
 Barry por iered this question for some time. 
 
 "To tell the truth," he said, at length, "I confess, I 
 don't quite know. I wish I did, doc, on my soul. One 
 thing I do know, the men are no better here in their 
 morals than they were at home." 
 
 "Better? They are worse, by Jove!" exclaimed the 
 M.O. "Look at the daily crime-sheet! Look at that 
 daily orderly room parade. It's something fierce, and 
 it's getting worse." 
 
 "The wet canteen?" inquired Barry, who had lost 
 prestige with some in the battalion by reason of the 
 strenuous fight he had made against its introduction since 
 coming to England. Not that the men cared so much 
 for their liquor, but they resented the idea that they were 
 denied privileges enjoyed by other battalions. 
 
 "The wet canteen?" echoed the doctor. "No, you 
 know I opposed, as you did, the introduction of the wet 
 canteen, although not upon the same grounds. I regard 
 it as a perfect nuisance in camp. It is the centre of every 
 disorder, it is subversive of discipline; it materially in- 
 creases my sick parade. But it is not the wet canteen 
 that is chiefly responsible for the growing crime-sheet and 
 orderly room parade. It is those damned I don't apol- 
 ogise "
 
 SUBMARINES, BULLPUPS, OTHER THINGS 149 
 
 "Please don't. Say it again!" exclaimed Barry fer- 
 vently. 
 
 "Those damned pubs," continued the M.O., "stuck at 
 every crossroads in this country. They're the cause of 
 ninety per cent, of the drunkenness in our army, and 
 more than that, I want to give you another bit of in- 
 formation that came out at our M.O. conference this 
 week, namely that these pubs account for ninety per 
 cent, of our tent hospital cases." 
 
 "Ninety per cent., doctor? That's surely high." 
 
 "I would have said so, but I am giving you the unani- 
 mous verdict of the twenty-six medical officers at the 
 conference. Cut out the damned beer and you know I 
 take my share of it cut out the beer and ninety per cent, 
 of the venereal disease goes. With me it is not a question 
 of morality but of efficiency." Here the M.O. sprang 
 from his chair and began to pace the hut. "This is the 
 one thing in this army business that makes me wild. We 
 come over here to fight these boys are willing to fight 
 and by gad they will fight ! They go out for a walk, they 
 have a few beers together, their inhibitory powers are 
 paralysed, opportunity comes their way, and they wake 
 up a little later diseased. God in heaven! I love this 
 dear old England, and I would die for her if need be, 
 but may God Almighty damn her public houses, and all 
 the infernal and vicious customs which they nourish." 
 
 "Thank you, doctor, go right on," said Barry. "I was 
 at the tent hospital this week for the first time. Ever 
 since, I have been wanting to say what you have said 
 just now. But what did your M.O. conference do about 
 it?" 
 
 "What could we do? The Home Office blocks the way. 
 Well, I've got that off my stomach, and I feel better," 
 added the M.O., with a slight laugh. 
 
 "But, doc, I want to say this," said Barry. "I don't 
 believe that the percentage of men who go in for this 
 sort of thing is large. I've been making inquiries from
 
 150 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 our chaplains and they all agree thatjvve have a mighty 
 fine and clean body of men in our Canadian army." 
 
 "Right you are! Of course, it is only a small per- 
 centage, a very small percentage a much smaller per- 
 centage than in our civilian population at home. But 
 small as it is, it is just that much too many. Hell and 
 blazes! These men are soldiers. They have left their 
 homes, and their folks, to fight. Their people their 
 people are the best in our land. There's that young Pent- 
 land. A finer young chap never threw a leg over a 
 broncho. He's in that tent hospital to-night. I know 
 his mother. Three sons she has given. Oh, damn it 
 all," the doctor's voice broke at this point. "I can't speak 
 quietly. Their mothers have given them up, to death, if 
 need be, but not to this rotten, damnable disease. Look 
 here, Pilot !" The doctor pointed a shaking and accusing 
 finger at Barry. "You have often spoken against this 
 thing, but next time you break loose, give them merry 
 hell over it. You can't make it too hot." 
 
 Long Barry sat silent overborne by the fury of the 
 doctor's passionate indictment. 
 
 "Cheer up, old chap !" said the doctor, when his wrath 
 had somewhat subsided. "We'll lick the Kaiser and beat 
 the devil yet." 
 
 "But, doctor, what can I do ?" implored Barry. "That's 
 part of my job, surely. Part of the job of the chaplain 
 service, I mean. Oh, that is the ghastly tragedy of this 
 work of mine. Somehow. I can't get at it. These evils 
 exist. I can speak against them and make enemies, but 
 the things go on just as before." 
 
 "Don't you believe it, Pilot, not quite as before. Be- 
 hold how you have already checked my profanity. Even 
 the old man has pretty much cut it out at mess. You don't 
 know where they would have been but for you. Cheer 
 up! Our wings may not be visible but, on the other 
 hand, there are no signs of horns and hoofs." 
 
 "Doctor, one thing I'll do," cried Barry, with a sudden
 
 SUBMARINES, BULLPUPS, OTHER THINGS 151 
 
 inspiration. "We've a meeting of the chaplains' corps 
 to-morrow. I'll give them your speech." 
 
 "Expurgated edition, I hope," said the M.O. 
 
 "No, I'll put in every damn I can remember, and, if 
 need be, a few more." 
 
 "Lord, I'd like to be there, old boy !" said the doctor, 
 fervently. 
 
 Barry was as good as his word. At the meeting of 
 the chaplains' corps, the time was mainly taken up in 
 routine business, dealing with arrangements for religious 
 services at the various camps within the area. 
 
 At the close of the meeting, however, one of the chap- 
 lains rose and announced that he had a matter to bring to 
 the attention of the corps a matter of the highest im- 
 portance, which demanded their immediate and serious 
 attention, and which they dared not any longer ignore. 
 It was the matter of venereal disease in our Canadian 
 army. 
 
 His statistics and illustrative incidents gripped hard the 
 hearts of the men present. He closed with a demand that 
 steps be taken that day to deal with the situation. The 
 Canadian people had entrusted them with the care of 
 their boys' souls. "Their souls," he cried. "I say our 
 first duty is to their bodies. I am not saying the per- 
 centage is large. It is not as large as in the civilian 
 population at home. But why any? We must care for 
 these men's bodies. They fight with their bodies." 
 
 His last sentence struck Barry to the heart. It re- 
 called his own sermon, spoken in Edmonton to his fath- 
 er's battalion. Immediately he was on his feet, and 
 without preface or apology, reproduced as far as he was 
 able the M.O.'s speech of the previous night, and that 
 without expurgation. 
 
 There was but little discussion. There was but one 
 opinion. It was resolved to call a joint meeting of the 
 chaplains and medical officers to decide upon a course of 
 action. 
 
 As Barry was leaving the meeting, the senior chaplain,.
 
 152 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 an old Anglican clergyman, with a saintly face and a smile 
 that set one's tenderest emotions astir, came to him, and 
 putting his hand affectionately upon his shoulder, said: 
 
 "And how is your work going, my dear fellow?" 
 
 It was to Barry as if his father's hand were upon his 
 shoulder, and before he was aware he was pouring out the 
 miserable story of his own sad failure as a chaplain. 
 
 "Poor boy ! Poor boy !" the old gentleman kept saying. 
 "I know how you ,feel. Just so, just so !" 
 
 When Barry had finished relieving his heart of the bur- 
 den that had so long lain upon it, the old gentleman took 
 him by the hand and said : 
 
 "My dear fellow, remember they are far from home. 
 These boys need their mothers. They sorely need their 
 mothers ! And, my boy, they need God. And they need 
 you. Good-bye!" 
 
 Barry came away with a warm feeling in his heart, 
 and in it a new purpose and resolve. No longer would 
 he be a policeman to his men. He would try to forget 
 their faults, and to remember only how sorely they need- 
 ed their mothers and their God, and that they needed 
 him, too. 
 
 He found the camp thrilling with great news, glorious 
 news. The day so long awaited had come. The bat- 
 talion was under orders for France. At that very 
 moment there was an officers' meeting in the orderly 
 room. 
 
 As Barry entered the room, the O.C. was closing his 
 speech. 
 
 Barry was immediately conscious of a new tone, a new 
 spirit, in the colonel's words. He spoke with a new 
 sense of responsibility, and what more than anything 
 else arrested Barry's attention, with a new sense of broth- 
 erhood toward his officers. 
 
 "In closing what I have to say, gentlemen, let me make 
 a confession. I am not satisfied with the battalion, nor 
 with my officers.. I am not satisfied with myself. I re- 
 member being indignant at the report sent in by the in-
 
 SUBMARINES, BULLPUPS, OTHER THINGS 153 
 
 specting officer concerning this battalion. I thought he 
 was unfair and unduly severe. I believe I said so. Gen- 
 tlemen, I was wrong. Since that time I have seen work 
 in some regiments of the Imperial Service, and especially, 
 I have seen the work on the front line. I think I know 
 now what discipline means. Discipline, gentlemen, is 
 the thing that saves an army from disaster. Some things 
 we must cut out absolutely. Whatever unfits for service 
 must go. I saw a soldier, a Canadian soldier, shot at 
 the front for being intoxicated. I pray God, I may never 
 see the like again. At this point, I wish to express my 
 appreciation of the work of our chaplain, who I am glad 
 to see has just come in. He has stood for the right thing 
 among us, and has materially helped in the discipline 
 and efficiency of this battalion. Gentlemen, you have 
 your orders. Let there be no failure. Obedience is de- 
 manded, not excuses. Gentlemen, carry on!" 
 
 Barry hurried away to his hut. The words of his 
 colonel had lifted him out of his despair. He had not 
 then so desperately failed. His colonel had found some- 
 thing in him to approve. And France was before him! 
 There was still a chance for service. The boys would 
 need him there.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 FRANCE 
 
 FRANCE, sunny France!" The tone carried concen- 
 trated bitterness and disgust. "One cursed fraud 
 after another in this war." 
 
 "Cheer up!" said Barry. "There's worse to come 
 perhaps better. This rain is beastly, but the clouds 
 will pass, and the sun will shine again, for in spite of 
 the rain this is 'sunny France.' There's a little homily 
 for you," said Barry, "and for myself as well, for I 
 assure you this combination of mat de mer and sleet 
 makes one feel rotten." 
 
 "Everything is rotten," grumbled Duff, gazing gloom- 
 ily through the drizzling rain at the rugged outline of 
 wharves that marked the Boulogne docks. 
 
 "Look at this," cried Duff, sweeping his hand toward 
 the deck. "You would think this stuff was shot out of 
 the blower of a threshing machine soldier's baggage, 
 kits, quartermaster's stores and this is a military organ- 
 isation. Good Lord!" 
 
 "Lieutenant Duff! Is Lieutenant Duff here?" It was 
 the O.C.'s voice. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Duff, going forward and saluting. 
 
 "Mr. Duff, I wish you to take charge of the Transport 
 for the present. Lieutenant Bonner is quite useless 
 helpless, I mean. You will find Sergeant Mackay a re- 
 liable man. Sorry I couldn't give you longer notice. I 
 think, however, you are the man for the job." 
 
 "I'll do my best, sir," said Duff, saluting, as the O. 
 C. turned away. 
 
 "What did I tell you, Duff?" said Barry. "You cer- 
 tainly are in for it, and you have my sympathy."
 
 FRANCE 155 
 
 "Sympathy! Don't you worry about me," said Duff. 
 "This is just the kind of thing I like. I haven't run a 
 gang of navvies in the Crow's Nest Pass for nothing. 
 You watch my smoke. But, one word, Pilot! When 
 you see me bearing down, full steam ahead, give me 
 room! I'll make this go or bust something." Then in 
 a burst of confidence, he took Barry by the arm, and 
 added in a low voice: "And if I live, Pilot, I'll be run- 
 ning something in this war bigger than the Transport of 
 a battalion before I'm done." 
 
 Barry let his eyes run over the powerful figure, the 
 rugged, passionate face, lit up now with gleaming eyes, 
 and said : 
 
 "I believe you, Duff. Meantime, I'll watch your 
 smoke." 
 
 "Do!" replied Duff with superb self-confidence. And 
 it was worth while during the next hour to watch Duff 
 evolve order out of chaos. First of all he put into 
 his men and into his sergeant the fear of death. But 
 he did more than that. He breathed into them some- 
 thing of his own spirit of invincible determination. He 
 had them springing at his snappy orders with an eager- 
 ness that was in itself the larger half of obedience, and 
 as they obeyed they became conscious that they were 
 working under the direction of a brain that had a per- 
 fected plan of action, and that held its details firmly in 
 its grasp. 
 
 Not only did Duff show himself a master of organisa- 
 tion and control, but in a critical moment he himself 
 leaped into the breach, and did the thing that balked his 
 men. Did a heavy transport wagon jamb at the gang- 
 way, holding up the traffic, with a spring, Duff was at the 
 wheel. A heave of his mighty shoulders, and the wagon 
 went roaring down the gangway. Did a horse, stupid 
 with terror, from its unusual surroundings, balk, Duff 
 had a "twitch" on its upper lip, and before it knew what 
 awful thing had gripped it, the horse was lifted clear 
 out of its tracks, and was on its way to the dock.
 
 156 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 Before he had cleared the ship, Duff had a circle of 
 admirers about him, gazing as if at a circus. 
 
 "An energetic officer you have there," said the brass 
 hat standing beside the colonel. 
 
 "A new man. This is his first time on the transport," 
 replied the colonel. 
 
 "Quite remarkable! Quite remarkable!" exclaimed the 
 brass hat. "That unloading must have been done in 
 record time, and in spite of quite unusual conditions." 
 
 The boat being clear and the loads made up, Duff 
 approached the Commanding Officer. 
 
 "All ready, sir," he announced. "Shall we move off? 
 I should like to get a start. The roads will be almost 
 impassable, I'm afraid." 
 
 "Do you know the route?" asked the Commanding 
 Officer. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I have it here." 
 
 "All right, go ahead, Duff. A mighty good piece of 
 work you have done there." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Duff, saluting and turning 
 away. 
 
 "Move off, there," he shouted to the leading team. 
 
 The driver started the team but they slipped, plunged 
 and fell heavily. Duff was at their heads before any 
 other man could move. 
 
 "Get hold here, men," he yelled. "Take hold of that 
 horse. What are you afraid of?" he cried to a groom 
 who was gingerly approaching the struggling animal. 
 "Now then, all together!" 
 
 When he had the team on their feet again, he said 
 to the grooms standing at their heads, "Jump up on 
 the horses' backs; that will help the them to hold their 
 footing." 
 
 There was some slight hesitation on the part of the 
 grooms. 
 
 "Come on!" he roared, and striding to the horse 
 nearest him, he flung himself upon its back. 
 
 A groom mounted the other, and once more a start
 
 FRANCE 157 
 
 was made, but they had not gone more than a few 
 steps, when the groom's horse fell heavily, and rolled 
 over on its side, pinning the unfortunate man beneath 
 him. 
 
 There was a shriek of agony. In an instant Duff was 
 off his horse and at the head of the fallen animal. 
 
 "Medical officer here!" he shouted. "Now then, two 
 of you men. One of you pull out that man while we 
 lift." 
 
 The horse's head and shoulders were lifted clear, and 
 the injured man was pulled out of danger. 
 
 "Take him out of the way, please, doctor," said Duff, 
 to the M. O., who was examining the groom. 
 
 "Sergeant!" 
 
 His sergeant literally sprang to his side. 
 
 "Get me a dozen bags," he said. 
 
 "Bags, sir? I don't know where " 
 
 "Bags," repeated Duff savagely. "Canvas, anything 
 to wrap around these horses' feet." 
 
 The sergeant without further words plunged into the 
 darkness, returning almost immediately with half a 
 dozen bags. 
 
 "Thanks, sergeant; that's the way to move. Now get 
 some more!" 
 
 Under Duff's directions the bags were tied about the 
 feet of the horses, thus enabling them to hold their 
 footing, and the transport moved off in the darkness. 
 
 Returning from the disposing of the injured man, the 
 M. O. found Barry shivering with the cold, and weak 
 from his recent attack of seasickness. 
 
 "There will be no end of a sick parade to-morrow 
 morning, and you'll be one of them," grumbled the M. 
 O. "If they don't move them out of here soon they'll 
 take them away in ambulances. There are a hundred 
 men at this moment fit to go to hospital, but the O.C. 
 won't hear of it." 
 
 "Doc, they ought to have something hot. The kitchens
 
 158 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 are left behind, I understand. Let me have a couple of 
 your men, and let me see what I can do." 
 
 "It's no use, I've tried all the hotels about here. 
 They're full up." 
 
 "No harm trying, doc," said Barry, and off he went. 
 
 But he found the hotels full up, as the doctor had 
 said. After much inquiry, he found his way to the 
 Y. M. C A. A cheerful but sleepy secretary, half dead 
 with the fatigue of a heavy day ministering to soldiers 
 "going up the line," could offer him no. help at all. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that there is no place in this 
 town," said Barry desperately, "where a sick man can 
 get a dish of coffee?" 
 
 "Sick man!" cried the secretary. "Why, certainly! 
 Why not try the R. A. M. C.? They've a hospital half 
 a mile up the street. They will certainly help you out. 
 I'll come with you." 
 
 "No, you don't," said Barry. "You go back to bed. 
 I'll find the place." 
 
 Half a mile up the street, as the secretary had said, 
 Barry came upon the flaring lantern of the R. A. M. C.,, 
 at the entrance to a huge warehouse, the gate of which 
 stood wide open. 
 
 Entering the courtyard, Barry found a group of men 
 about a blazing fire. 
 
 "May I see the officer in charge?" he asked, approach- 
 ing the group. 
 
 The men glanced at his rank badges. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said a sergeant, clicking his heels smartly. 
 "Can I do anything for you, sir?" 
 
 "Thank you," said Barry, and told him his wants. 
 
 "We have plenty of biscuits," said the sergeant, "and 
 coffee, too. You are welcome to all you can carry, but 
 I don't see how we can do any more for you. But 
 would you like to see the officer in charge, sir ?" 
 
 "Thank you," said Barry, and together they passed 
 into another room. 
 
 But the officer was engaged elsewhere. While they
 
 FRANCE 159 
 
 were discussing the matter, a door opened, and a young 
 girl dressed in the uniform of a V. A. D. (Voluntary 
 Aid Detachment) appeared. 
 
 "What is it, sergeant?" she inquired, in a soft but 
 rather tired voice. 
 
 The sergeant explained, while she listened with mild 
 interest. Then Barry took up the tale, and proceeded to 
 dilate upon the wretched condition of his comrades, out 
 in the icy rain. But his story moved the V. A. D. 
 not at all. She had seen too much of the real misery 
 and horrors of war. Barry began to feel discouraged, 
 and indeed a little ashamed of himself. 
 
 "You see, we have just come over," he said in an 
 apologetic tone, "and we don't know much about war 
 yet." 
 
 "You are Canadians?" cried the girl, a new interest 
 dawning in her eyes. As she came into the light, Barry 
 noticed that they were brown, and that they were very 
 lustrous. 
 
 "I love the Canadians," she exclaimed. "My brother 
 was a liaison artillery officer at Ypres ; with them, at the 
 time of the gas, you know. He liked them immensely." 
 Her voice was soft and sad. 
 
 Unconsciously Barry let his eyes fall to the black 
 band on her arm. 
 
 "He was with the Canadians, too, when he was 
 killed at Armentieres, three months ago." 
 
 "Killed!" exclaimed Barry. "Oh, I am so sorry for 
 you." 
 
 "I had two brothers," she went on, in her gentle even 
 tone. "One was killed at Landrecies, on the retreat from 
 Mons, you know." 
 
 "No," said Barry, "I'm afraid I don't know about it. 
 Tell me!" 
 
 "It was a great fight," said the girl. "Oh, a splendid 
 fight!" A ring came into her voice and a little colour 
 into her cheek. "They tried to rush our men, but they 
 couldn't. My oldest brother was there in charge of a
 
 160 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 machine gun section. The machine guns did wonderful 
 work. The colonel came to tell us about it He said 
 it was very fine." There was no sign of tears in her 
 eyes, nor tremor in her voice, only tenderness and pride. 
 
 "And your mother is alone now ?" inquired Barry. 
 
 "Oh, we gave up our house to the government for 
 a hospital. You see, father was in munitions. He's too 
 old for active service, and mother is matron in the 
 hospital. She was very unwilling that I should come 
 over here. She said I was far too young, but of course 
 that's quite nonsense. So you see, we are all in it." 
 
 "It is perfectly amazing," said Barry. "You British 
 women are wonderful!" 
 
 The brown eyes opened a little wider. 
 
 "Wonderful? Why, what else could we do? But the 
 Canadians! I think they're wonderful, coming all this 
 way to fight." 
 
 "I can't see that," said Barry. "That's what that old 
 naval boy at Devonport said, but I can't see that it's 
 anything wonderful that we should fight for our Empire." 
 
 "Devonport! A naval officer!" The girl lost her 
 calm. She became excited. "What was his name ?" 
 
 "I have his card here," said Barry, taking out his 
 pocket book and handing her the card. 
 
 "My uncle!" she cried. "Why, how perfectly splen- 
 did!" offering Barry her hand. "Why, we're really 
 introduced^ Then you're the man that Uncle How- 
 ard " She stopped abruptly, a flush on her. cheek. 
 
 Then she turned to the N. C. O. "Yes, sergeant, that 
 will do," as the man brought half a dozen large biscuit 
 cans and as many large bottles of prepared coffee. 
 
 As Barry's eyes fell upon the biscuit cans an idea 
 came to him. 
 
 "Will these cans hold water?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the sergeant. 
 
 "Then, we're fixed," cried Barry, in high delight. "This 
 is perfectly fine." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked the girl.
 
 FRANCE 161 
 
 "We'll dump the biscuits, and boil the coffee in the 
 cans. I haven't camped on the Athabasca for nothing. 
 Now we're all right and I suppose we must go." 
 
 The V. A. D. hesitated a moment, then she took the 
 sergeant to one side, and entered into earnest and 
 persuasive talk with him. 
 
 "It's against regulations, miss," Barry heard him say, 
 "and besides, you know, we're expecting a hospital train 
 any minute, and every car will be needed." 
 
 "Then I'll take my own car," she said. "It's all ready 
 and has the chains on, sergeant, I think." 
 
 "Yes, it's quite ready, but you will get me into trouble, 
 miss." 
 
 "Then, I'll get you out again. Load those things in, 
 
 while I run and change I'm going to drive you out 
 
 to your camp," she said to Barry as she hurried away. 
 
 The sergeant shook his head as he looked after her. 
 
 "She's a thoroughbred, sir," he said. "We jump when 
 she asks us for anything. She's a real blooded one ; not 
 like some, sir like some of them fullrigged ones. They 
 keep 'er 'oppin'." 
 
 "Fullrigged ones?" inquired Barry. 
 
 'Them nurses, I mean, sir. They loves to 'awe them 
 them young 'Vaddies,' as we call them V. A. D., 
 you know, sir. They keeps 'em a 'oppin' proper scrub- 
 bin' floors, runnin' messages, but Miss Vincent, she 
 mostly drives a car." 
 
 While the sergeant was dilating upon the virtues and 
 excellences of the young V. A. D., his men ran out 
 her car, and packed into it the biscuit tins and coffee. 
 By the time the sergeant was ready she was back, dressed 
 in a chauffeur's uniform. 
 
 Barry had thought her charming in her V. A. D. 
 dress, but in her uniform she was bewitching. He 
 noticed that her hair clustered in tiny ringlets about her 
 natty little cap, in quite a maddening way. One vagrant 
 curl over her ear had a particular fascination for his 
 eyes. He felt it ought to be tucked in just a shade.
 
 162 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 He was conscious of an almost irresistible desire to do 
 the tucking in. What would happen if 
 
 "Well, are you ready?" inquired the girl in a quick, 
 businesslike tone. 
 
 "What? Oh, yes," said Barry, recalled to the business 
 of the moment. 
 
 During the drive the girl gave her whole attention 
 to her wheel, as indeed was necessary, for the road was 
 dangerously slippery, and she drove without lights 
 through the black night. Barry kept up an endless stream 
 of talk, set going by her command, as she took her 
 place at the wheel. "Now tell me about Canada. I can 
 listen, but I can't talk." 
 
 In the full tide of his most eloquent passages, Barry 
 found himself growing incoherent at times, for his mind 
 was in a state of oscillation between the wonderful and 
 lustrous qualities of the brown eyes that he remembered 
 flashing upon him in the light of the fire, and that mad- 
 dening little curl over the girl's ear. 
 
 In an unbelievably short time, so it seemed to him, 
 they came upon the rear of a marching column. 
 
 "These are your men, I fancy," she said, "and this will 
 be your camp on the left; I know it well. I've often 
 been here." 
 
 She swung the car off the road into an open field, set 
 out with tents, and brought the car to a stop beside an 
 old ruined factory. 
 
 "This, I believe, will be the best place for your pur- 
 pose," she said, and sprang from her seat, and ran to 
 the ruin, flashing her torchlight before her. "Here you 
 are," she said. "This will be just the thing." 
 
 Barry followed her a few steps down into the long, 
 stone-flagged cellar. 
 
 "Splendid ! This is the very thing," he cried enthusi- 
 astically. "You are really the most wonderful person." 
 
 "Now get your stuff in here," she ordered. "But 
 what will you do for wood? There is always water," she 
 added, "in some tanks further on. Come, I'll show you."
 
 FRANCE 163 
 
 Barry followed her in growing amazement and admi- 
 ration at her prompt efficiency. 
 
 "Now then, there are your tanks," she said. "As for 
 wood, I don't know what you will do, but there is a gar- 
 den paling a little further on, and, of course " 
 
 "Don't worry about that," said Barry. 
 
 "I won't," with a gay laugh; "I know you Canadians, 
 you see." 
 
 Together they returned to the car. 
 
 Before she mounted to her seat she turned to Barry, 
 and offered him her hand and said : "I think it is per- 
 fectly ripping that we were introduced in this way. 
 Though I don't know your name yet," she added shyly. 
 
 "Awfully stupid of me," said Barry, and he gave her 
 his name, adding that of the regiment, and his rank. 
 
 "Good-bye, then," she said, climbing into her car, and 
 starting her engine. 
 
 "But," said Barry, "I must see you safely back." 
 
 She laughed a scornful but, as Barry thought, a most 
 delicious little laugh. 
 
 "Nonsense! We don't do that sort of thing here, you 
 know. We're on our own." 
 
 A little silence fell between them. 
 
 "W T hen does your battalion march?" she asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Perhaps to-morrow. I don't know." 
 
 "If you do go then," she said, with again that little 
 touch of shyness, "I suppose I won't see you again." 
 
 "See you again," exclaimed Barry, his tone indicating 
 that the possibility of such a calamity was unthinkable, 
 "why, of course I shall see you again. I must see you 
 again I I I just must see you again." 
 
 "Good night, then," she said in a soft, hurried voice, 
 throwing in her clutch. 
 
 Barry stood listening in the dark to the hum of her 
 engine, growing more faint every moment. 
 
 "Some girl, eh?" said a voice. At his side he saw 
 Harry Hobbs. Barry turned sharply upon him.
 
 164 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Now then, Hobbs, some wood and we will get a fire 
 going and look lively! And, Hobbs, I believe there's a 
 fence about fifty yards down there, which you might find 
 useful. Now move. Quick!" Unconsciously he tried 
 to reproduce, in uttering the last word, Duff's tone and 
 manner. The effect was evident immediately. 
 
 Hobbs without further words departed in the dark- 
 ness. Again Barry stood listening to the hum of the 
 engine, until he could no longer hear it in the noise and 
 confusion of the camp, but in his heart Harry's words 
 made music. 
 
 "Some girl, eh?" 
 
 As he stood there in the darkness, hearing that music 
 in his heart, a voice broke in, swearing hard and deep 
 oaths. It was the M. O. 
 
 "Hello, doc, my boy ; come here," cried Barry. 
 
 The M. O. approached. He was in a state of rage that 
 rendered coherent speech impossible. 
 
 "Oh, quit it, doc. Let me show you something." 
 
 He led him into the ruin, where his spoils were cached. 
 
 "Biscuits, my boy, and coffee. Hold on! Listen! 
 I'm going to get a fire going here and in twenty minutes 
 there'll be six cans of fragrant delicious coffee, boiling 
 hot." 
 
 "Why, how the " 
 
 "Doc, don't talk ! Listen to me ! You round up your 
 sick men, and bring them quietly over here. I don't know 
 how many I can supply, but at least, I think, a hundred." 
 
 "Why, how the devil ?" 
 
 "Go on ; I haven't time to talk to you. Get busy !" 
 
 Working by flashlight, the men cut open the tins, 
 dumped the biscuits on a blanket spread in a corner of 
 the cellar, while Barry made preparations for a fire. 
 
 "Here, Hobbs, you punch two holes in these cans, just 
 an inch from the top." 
 
 Soon the fire was blazing cheerily. In its light Barry 
 was searching through the ruin.
 
 FRANCE 165 
 
 "By Jove," he shouted, "the very thing. Just made 
 for us." 
 
 He pulled out a long steel rod from a heap of rubbish 
 and ran with it to the fire. 
 
 "Here, boys, punch a hole in this wall. Now then, for 
 the cans. String them on this rod." 
 
 In twenty minutes the coffee was ready. 
 
 "How is it?" he inquired anxiously, handing a mess 
 tin full to one of his men. 
 
 The boy tasted it. 
 
 "Like mother made," he said, with a grin. "Gee, 
 but it's good." 
 
 At that moment the doctor appeared at the cellar door. 
 
 "I say, old chap," he said, "there will be a riot here in 
 fifteen minutes. That coffee smells the whole camp." 
 
 "Bring 'em along, doc. The sick chaps first. By Jove, 
 here's the sergeant major himself." 
 
 "What's all this?" inquired the sergeant major in his 
 gruffest voice. "Who's responsible for this fire ?" 
 
 "Coffee, sergeant major?" answered Barry, handing 
 him a tin full. 
 
 "But what ?" 
 
 "Drink it first, sergeant major." 
 
 The sergeant major took the mess tin and tasted the 
 coffee. 
 
 "Well, this is fine," he declared, "and it's what the boys 
 want. But this fire is against orders, sir. I ought to 
 have it put out." 
 
 "You will have it put out over my dead body, ser- 
 geant major," cried the M. O. 
 
 "And mine," added Barry. 
 
 "By gad, we'll chance the zeps, sir," said the sergeant 
 major. "This freezin' rain will kill more men than a 
 bomb. Bring in your men, sir," he added to the M. O. 
 "But I must see the O. C." 
 
 The sergeant major's devotion to military discipline 
 was struggling hard with his humanity, which, under his 
 rugged exterior, beat warm in his heart.
 
 166 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Why bother with the O. C. ?" said the M. D. 
 
 "But I must see him," insisted the sergeant major. 
 
 He had not far to go to attain his purpose. 
 
 "Hello! What the devil is this?" exclaimed a loud 
 voice at the door. 
 
 "By gad, it's the old man himself," muttered the M. 
 O. to Barry. "Now look out for ructions." 
 
 In came the O. C., followed by a brass hat. Barry 
 went forward with a steaming tin of coffee. 
 
 "Sorry our china hasn't arrived yet, sir," he said 
 cheerfully, "but the coffee isn't bad, the boys say." 
 
 "Why, it's you, Dunbar," said the colonel, peering in- 
 to his face, and shaking the rain drops from his coat. 
 "I might have guessed that you'd be in it. Where there's 
 any trouble," he continued, turning to the brass hat 
 at his side, "you may be quite sure that the Pilot or the 
 M. O. here will be in it. By Jove, this coffee goes to 
 the right spot Have a cup, major?" he said as Barry 
 brought a second tin. 
 
 "It's against regulations, you know," said the major, 
 taking the mess tin gingerly. "Fires are quite forbidden. 
 Air raids, and that sort of thing, don't you know." 
 
 "Oh, hang it all, major," cried the O. C. "The coffee 
 is fine, and my men will be a lot better for it. This camp 
 of yours, anyway, is no place for human beings, and 
 especially for men straight off the boat. As for me, I'm 
 devilish glad to get this coffee. Give me another tin, 
 Pilot." 
 
 "It's quite irregular," murmured the major, still drink- 
 ing his coffee. "It's quite irregular! But I see the door 
 is fairly well guarded against light, and perhaps " 
 
 "I think we'll just carry on," said the colonel. "If 
 there, is any trouble, I'll assume the responsibility for it. 
 Thank you, Pilot. Just keep guard on the light here, 
 sergeant major." 
 
 "All right, sir. Very good, sir, we will hang up a 
 blanket." 
 
 Meanwhile the news had spread throughout the camp,
 
 FRANCE 167 
 
 and before many minutes had passed the cellar was 
 jammed with a crowd of men that reached through the 
 door and out into the night. The crowd was becoming 
 noisy and there was danger of confusion. Then the 
 pilot climbed up on a heap of rubbish and made a little 
 speech. 
 
 "Men," he called out, "this coffee is intended first of 
 all for the sick men in this battalion. Those sick men 
 must first be cared for. After that we shall distribute 
 the coffee as far as it will go. There is plenty of water 
 outside, and I think I have plenty of coffee. Sergeant 
 major, I suggest that you round up these men in some 
 sort of order." 
 
 A few sharp words of command from the sergeant 
 major brought order out of confusion, and for two hours 
 there filed through the cellar a continuous stream of 
 men, each bringing an empty mess tin, and carrying 
 it away full of hot and fragrant coffee. 
 
 By the time the men had been supplied the officers 
 were finished with their duties, and having got word of 
 the Pilot's coffee stall, came crowding in. One and all 
 they were vociferous in their praise of the chaplain, vot- 
 ing him a "good fellow" and a "life-saver" of the highest 
 order. But it was felt by all that Corporal Thorn ex- 
 pressed the general consensus of opinion to his friend 
 Timms. "That Pilot of ours," he declared, "runs a little 
 to the narrow gauge, but in that last round up he was 
 telling us about last Sunday there won't be the goat run 
 for him. It's him for the baa baas, sure enough." 
 
 And though in the vernacular the corporal's words did 
 not sound quite reverent, it was agreed that they ex- 
 pressed in an entirely satisfactory manner the general 
 opinion of the battalion. 
 
 An hour later, weaned as he was, Barry crawled into 
 his icy blankets, but with a warmer feeling in his heart 
 than he had known since he joined the battalion. But 
 before he had gone to sleep, there came into his mind 
 a thought that brought him up wide awake. He had
 
 168 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 quite forgotten all about his duty as chaplain. "What a 
 chance you had there," insisted his chaplain's conscience, 
 "for a word that would really hearten your men. This 
 is their first night in France. To-morrow they march 
 up to danger and death. What a chance! And you 
 missed it." 
 
 Barry was too weary to discuss the matter further, 
 but as he fell asleep he said to himself, "At any rate, the 
 boys are feeling a lot better," and in spite of his sense 
 of failure, that thought brought him no small comfort.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE NEW MESSAGE 
 
 I THINK," said Barry, to the M. O., "I really ought to 
 ride down to the R. A. M. C. hospital, and tell them 
 how the boys enjoyed the coffee last night." His face 
 was slightly flushed, but the flush might have been due 
 to the fact that he had been busily engaged in tying 
 up the thongs of his bed-roll, an awkward job at times, 
 
 "Sure thing," agreed the M. O. heartily. "Indeed it's 
 absolutely essential, and say, old chap, you might tell 
 her how I enjoyed my coffee. She will be glad to hear 
 about me." 
 
 Barry heaved his bed-roll at the doctor and departed. 
 
 At the R. A. M. C. Hospital the Officer Commanding, 
 to whom he had sent in his card, gave him a cordial 
 greeting. 
 
 "I am glad to know you, sir. We have quite a lot of 
 your chaps here now and then, and fine fellows they 
 seem to be. We expect a hospital train this morning, 
 and I understand there are some Canadians among them. 
 Rather a bad go a few days ago at St. Eloi. Heavy 
 casualty list. Clearing stations all crowded, and so they 
 are sending a lot down the line." 
 
 "Canadians?" asked Barry, thinking of his father. 
 "You have not heard what unit, sir?" 
 
 "No, we only get the numbers and the character of 
 the casualties and that sort of thing. Well, I must be 
 off. Would you care to look around?" 
 
 "Thank you, no. We are also on the march. I sim- 
 ply came to tell you how very greatly our men appre- 
 ciated your help last night." 
 
 169
 
 170 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Oh, that's perfectly all right. Glad the sergeant had 
 sense enough to do the right thing." 
 
 Barry hesitated. 
 
 "May I see ah the sergeant?" 
 
 "The sergeant? Why, certainly, but it's not neces- 
 sary at all." 
 
 The sergeant was called and duly thanked. The R. 
 A. M. C. officer was obviously anxious to be rid of his 
 visitor and to get off to his duty. 
 
 Still Barry lingered. 
 
 "There was also a young lady, sir, last night," he 
 said at length. 
 
 "A young lady?" 
 
 "Sister Vincent, sir," interjected the sergeant. "She 
 ran them up to the camp in her car, sir. The ambulances 
 and cars were all under orders." 
 
 "Ah ! Ran you up to the camp, eh ?" . 
 
 "Yes, she ran us up with the biscuits and coffee. It 
 was awfully kind of her." 
 
 "Ah! Um! Very good! Very good! Sergeant, 
 call her," said the O. C. abruptly. 
 
 "I'm afraid she'd be asleep now, sir. She was on 
 night duty, sir." 
 
 "Oh, then," said Barry, "please don't disturb her. I 
 wouldn't think of it. If you will be kind enough, sir, 
 to convey the thanks of the men and of myself to her." 
 
 "Surely, surely ! Well, I really must be going. Good- 
 bye! Good luck!" 
 
 He turned to his motor car. "I won't forget, sir," he 
 said to Barry. "Oh, I'll be sure to tell her," he added 
 with a significant smile. 
 
 As Barry was mounting his horse, the strains of the 
 battalion band were heard floating down the street. He 
 drew up his horse beside the entrance and waited. Down 
 the winding hill they came, tall, lean, hard-looking men, 
 striding with the free, easy swing of the men of the 
 foothills. Barry felt his heart fill with pride in his 
 comrades.
 
 THE NEW MESSAGE 171 
 
 "By Jove," he said to himself, "the boys are all right." 
 
 "Fine body of men, sir," said the sergeant, who with 
 his comrades had gathered about the gateway. 
 
 "Not too bad, eh, sergeant?" said Barry, with modest 
 pride. 
 
 "Sir," said the sergeant in a low voice, "the young 
 lady is up at the window to your left." 
 
 "Sergeant, you're a brick! Thank you," said Barry. 
 He turned in his saddle, and saw above him a window 
 filled with smiling nurses looking down at the marching 
 column, and among them his friend of the night before. 
 Her face was turned away from him, and her eyes were 
 upon the column, eagerly searching the ranks of the 
 marching men. 
 
 "Sergeant," said Barry, "your Commanding Officer 
 is a very busy man, and has a great many things to 
 occupy his attention. Don't you think it is quite possible 
 that that message of mine might escape his memory, and 
 don't you think it would be really more satisfactory if I 
 could deliver that message in person?" 
 
 The sergeant tilted his hat over one eye, and scratched 
 his head. 
 
 "Well, sir, the Commanding Officer does 'ave a lot 
 of things to think about, and though he doesn't often 
 forget, he might. Besides, I really think the young lady 
 would like to know just how the coffee went." 
 
 "Sergeant, you are a man of discernment. I'll just 
 wait here until the battalion passes." 
 
 He moved his horse a few steps out from the gateway, 
 and swung him around so that he stood facing the win- 
 dow. The movement caught the attention of the V. A. 
 D. in the window. She glanced down, saw him, and, 
 leaning far out, waved her hand in eager greeting and 
 with a smile of warm friendliness. 
 
 He had only time to wave his hand in reply, when the 
 head of the column drew opposite the gateway, forcing 
 him to turn his back to the window and stand at salute. 
 
 The Commanding Officer acknowledged the salute,
 
 172 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 glanced up at the window, waved his hand to the group 
 of nurses there gathered, then glanced back at Barry, 
 with a smile full of meaning, and rode on. 
 
 After the band had passed the entrance, it ceased play- 
 ing, and the men, catching sight of Barry and the smiling 
 group at the window above him, broke softly into a rather 
 suggestive music hall ditty, at that time popular with 
 the soldiers: 
 
 "Hello! Hello! Who's your lady friend; 
 Who's the little blossom by your side; 
 I saw you, with a girl or two, 
 Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! I'm surprised at you." 
 
 Down the length of the column the refrain passed, 
 gradually gaining in strength and volume, until by the 
 time the rear came opposite the entrance, the men were 
 shouting with wide open throats: 
 
 "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! I'm surprised at you," 
 
 with a growing emphasis and meaning upon every suc- 
 cessive "Oh!" 
 
 Barry's face was aflame and his heart hot with furious 
 indignation. She was not that kind of a girl. She 
 would be humiliated before her associates. He glanced 
 up at the window but she was gone. The battalion 
 marched on but Barry still remained, his eyes following 
 the swinging column, his face still flaming, and his 
 heart hot with indignation. 
 
 "Good morning, Captain Dunbar!" 
 
 He swung off his horse, and there smiling at him with 
 warm friendliness was the little V. A. D. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry," began Barry, thinking of the 
 impudent song of his comrades. "I mean I'm very glad 
 to see you. I just ran in to tell you how splendidly 
 the coffee went last night. There are a hundred fellows 
 marching along there that are fine and fit just because of 
 your kindness, and I'm here to give you their thanks."
 
 THE NEW MESSAGE 173 
 
 Barry felt that he was cutting a rather poor figure. His 
 words came haltingly and stumblingly. The suggestive 
 music hall ditty was still in his mind. 
 
 "What a splendid band you have," she said, "and how 
 splendidly the men sing." 
 
 "Sing!" cried Barry indignantly. "Oh, yes, they 
 do sing rather well, don't they?" he added, greatly re- 
 lieved. "I have only a minute," he added hurriedly, 
 "but I wanted to see you again, and I wonder if I may 
 drop you a little note now and then, just to well, hang 
 it all just to keep in touch with you. I don't want you 
 to quite forget me." 
 
 "Oh, I won't forget you," she said. The brown eyes 
 looked straight at him. "You see, after all, my uncle 
 knows you so well. Indeed, he told me about you. You 
 see, we really are friends, in a way, aren't we?" 
 
 "We are indeed, and you are awfully good. Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 "Goodbye," she said, "and if I leave here soon, I 
 promise to let you know." 
 
 And Barry rode away, his heart in such a turmoil as 
 he had never known. In his ears lingered the music of 
 that soft voice, and his eyes saw a bewildering complexity 
 of dancing ringlets and lustrous glances, until he drew 
 up at the rear of the column and found himself riding 
 once more beside his friend, the M. O. 
 
 "Congratulations, old man," said the doctor. "She's 
 a blossom, all right. Cheer up ; you may find her bend- 
 ing over your white face some day, holding your hand, or 
 smoothing your brow, in the approved V. A. D. manner." 
 
 "Oh, shut up, doc," said Barry with quite unusual curt- 
 ness. "She's not that kind of a girl." 
 
 "Ah, who knows!" said the doctor. "Who knows!" 
 
 At the railway station, the battalion was halted, await- 
 ing the making up of their train, the departure of which 
 was delayed by the incoming hospital train from up the 
 line. They had not long to wait. 
 
 "Here she is, boys!" called out a soldier. And into
 
 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 the station slowly rolled that hospital train, with its 
 freight of wounded men, mutilated, maimed, broken. Its 
 windows were crowded with faces, white as their swath- 
 ings, worn, spent, deep-lined, from which looked forth 
 eyes, indifferent, staring, but undaunted and indomitable. 
 
 Gradually, with stately movement, as befitted its noble 
 burden, the train came to rest immediately opposite the 
 battalion. With grave, fascinated, horror-stricken faces 
 the men of the battalion stood rigid and voiceless gazing 
 at that deeply moving spectacle. Before their eyes were 
 being paraded the tragic, pathetic remnants of a gallant 
 regiment, which but a few weeks before had stood where 
 they now stood, vital with life, tingling with courage. At 
 their country's bidding they had ascended that Holy 
 Mount of Sacrifice, to offer upon the altar of the world's 
 freedom their bodies as a living sacrifice unto God, holy 
 and acceptable. Now, their offering being made, they 
 were being borne back helpless, bruised, shattered but 
 unconquered and eternally glorious. 
 
 Silently the two companies gazed at each other across 
 the intervening space. Then from the window of the 
 train a soldier thrust a bandaged head and bandaged 
 arm. 
 
 "Hello there, Canada!" he cried, waving the arm. In- 
 stantly, as if he had touched a hidden spring, from the 
 battalion's thousand throats there broke a roar of cheers 
 that seemed to rock the rafters of the station building. 
 
 Again, again, and yet again! As if they could never 
 exhaust the burden of their swelling emotions, they 
 roared forth their cheers, waving caps and rifles high in 
 the air, while down their cheeks poured, unheeded and 
 unhindered, a rain of tears. 
 
 "Canada! Canada! Canada!" they cried. "Oh, you 
 Canadians ! Alberta ! Alberta !" 
 
 Feebly came the answering cheers, awkwardly waved 
 the bandaged hands and arms. 
 
 Then the battalion broke ranks and flinging rifles and 
 kitbags to the ground, they rushed across the tracks,
 
 THE NEW MESSAGE 175 
 
 eager to bring their tribute of pride and love to their 
 brothers from their own country, far across the sea. 
 
 "Malcolm ! Hello, Malcolm !" cried a voice from a win- 
 dow of the train, as the noise had somewhat subsided. 
 "Hey, Malcolm, here you are!" cried a wounded man, 
 raising himself from his cot to the window. 
 
 Malcolm Innes turned, scanned the train, then rushed 
 across the tracks to the window and clung fast to it. 
 
 It was his brother, Ewen. 
 
 "Is it yourself, Ewen, and are you hurted bad?" cried 
 the boy, all unconscious of his breaking voice and falling 
 tears. They clung together for some little time in 
 silence. 
 
 "Are you much hurted, Ewen? Tell me the God's 
 truth," again said Malcolm. 
 
 "Not much," said Ewen. "True as death, I'm tellin' 
 you. My arm is broke, that's all. We had a bad time 
 of it, but, man, we gave them hell, you bet. Oh, it was 
 great !" 
 
 Then again the silence fell between them. There 
 seemed to be nothing to say. 
 
 "Here, stand back there! You must get back, you 
 know, men!" 
 
 An N. C. O. of the R. A. M. C. tried to push Malcolm 
 back from the window. 
 
 "Here, you go to hell," cried Malcolm fiercely. "It's 
 my brother I've got." 
 
 The N. C. O., widely experienced in these tragic scenes, 
 hesitated a moment. An officer, coming up behind him, 
 with a single glance took in the situation. 
 
 "My boy," he said kindly, placing his hand on Mal- 
 colm's arm, "we want to get these poor chaps as soon 
 as possible where they will be comfortable." 
 
 Malcolm sprang back at once, saluting. 
 
 "Yes, sir," he said. "Certainly, sir." And backing 
 across the tracks, stood looking across at the window 
 from which his brother, wearied with his effort, had 
 disappeared.
 
 176 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 Meantime the R. A. M. C. were busy with their work. 
 With marvellous rapidity and speed the train was un- 
 loaded of its pathetic freight, the carrying cases into 
 ambulances and the walking cases into cars and wagons. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mac," called a voice as a car was driving 
 off. It was Ewen again. The wounded man spoke to 
 the driver, who immediately pulled up and swung over 
 to the platform where Malcolm was standing. 
 
 "Oh, are you sure, Ewen, you are goin' to be all 
 right? Man, you look awful white." 
 
 "All right, Mac. You bet I will. It's only my arm," 
 said Ewen, his brave, bright words in pathetic contrast 
 to his white face. 
 
 At this point Barry came rushing along. 
 
 "Why, Ewen! My poor fellow!" he cried, throwing 
 his arm about the wounded man's shoulder. "What is 
 it?" 
 
 "My arm, sir," said the boy, adding some words in a 
 low tone. "But I'm all right," he said brightly. "You'll 
 write my mother, sir, and tell her? You'll know what 
 to say." 
 
 "Surely I will. You'll be all right, old boy, God bless 
 you! Good luck, Ewen!" 
 
 Then leaning over the boy, he added in a low voice, 
 "Remember you are not all alone. God is with you. 
 You won't forget that!" 
 
 "I won't, sir. I know it well," said Ewen earnestly. 
 
 Most of the stretcher cases had been hurried away. 
 Only a few of the more seriously wounded remained. As 
 Barry turned away from the car, he saw the medical 
 officer and sergeant major approaching him. 
 
 "A terrible business," said Barry, in a horror-stricken 
 voice. "Splendid chaps. How plucky they are!" 
 
 The M. O. made no reply, but coming close to Barry, 
 he put his arm through his, the sergeant major taking 
 him by the other arm. 
 
 "I say, Barry, old chap," said the M. O. in a grave
 
 THE NEW MESSAGE 177 
 
 voice, calling him for the first time by his first name. 
 "There is some one here that you know well." 
 
 "Some one I know," said Barry, standing still and 
 looking from one to the other. 
 
 "Ay, sir. Some one we all know and greatly respect,'' 
 replied the sergeant major. 
 
 "Not not oh, not my father!" 
 
 The M. O. nodded. 
 
 "Bad, doctor? Not dying, doctor?" His face was 
 white even in spite of his tan. His hands closed about 
 the doctor's arm in a grip that reached to the bone. 
 
 "No, not dying, Barry, but in a bad way, I fear." 
 
 "Take me," muttered Barry, in a dazed way, and they 
 moved together rapidly across the platform. 
 
 "Wait a moment, doctor," said Barry, breathing hard. 
 
 They stood still, a silent and sympathetic group of 
 soldiers about them. Barry turned from them, walked 
 a few steps, his clasped hands writhing before him, then 
 stood with his face uplifted to the sky for a few mo- 
 ments. 
 
 "All right, doctor, I'll follow," he said, coming quietly 
 back. "Will he know me?" 
 
 "Sure thing, sir," said the sergeant major cheerily. 
 "He was asking for you." 
 
 On a stretcher, waiting to be lifted into the ambulance, 
 he found his father, lying white and still. 
 
 "Dad !" cried Barry, dropping to his knees beside him. 
 He put his arms around him on the stretcher, and kissed 
 him on both cheeks and on the lips. They all drew back 
 from the stretcher and turned their backs upon the two. 
 
 "Barry, my boy. Thank the good God! I feared I 
 would not see you. It's all right now. Everything is 
 all right now. I can't put my arms around you, boy. I 
 haven't any left." 
 
 Barry's shudder shook the stretcher. 
 
 "Dad, dad, oh, dad!" he whispered, over and over 
 again. 
 
 "It's all right," whispered his father. "We must not
 
 178 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 forget we're soldiers. Help me to keep up, boy. I'm 
 not very strong." 
 
 That pitiful word did for Barry what nothing else 
 could do. He lifted his head, stood up and drew a deep 
 breath. 
 
 "Sure thing, dad," he said, in a clear, steady voice. "I 
 mustn't keep you." 
 
 He motioned to the bearers. Then suddenly recollect- 
 ing that his duty would call him away from his father, 
 he turned to the M. O., an agony of supplication in his 
 voice. 
 
 "Oh, doctor, must I leave him here ?" he asked in a low 
 tone. 
 
 Just then an orderly came running up to him, and, 
 saluting, said: 
 
 "Sir, the Commanding Officer says you are to remain 
 behind with your father till till ' 
 
 "Until you are sent for," said the M. O. "I will see 
 to that." 
 
 "Where's the Commanding Officer?" cried Barry, 
 starting forward. 
 
 "He has gone off somevvheres, sir. He was sorry he 
 couldn't come himself, but he was called away. He sent 
 that message to you." 
 
 "Doctor, will you remember to thank the Command- 
 ing Officer for me?" he said briefly, and turned to follow 
 his father into the ambulance, which he discovered to be 
 in charge of his friend, the sergeant of the R. A. M. C. 
 
 At the hospital he was received with every mark of 
 solicitous care. He was made to feel that he was among 
 friends. 
 
 "How long, doctor?" he asked, after the doctor had 
 finished his examination. 
 
 "Not long, I'm afraid. A few hours, perhaps a day. 
 He will not suffer though," said the doctor. "But," he 
 added, taking Barry by the arm, "he is very weak, re- 
 member, and must not be excited."
 
 THE NEW MESSAGE 179 
 
 "I know, doctor," said Barry, quietly. "I won't worry 
 him." 
 
 Through the morning Barry sat by his father's cot, 
 giving him, under the directions of the nurse, such stimu- 
 lants as he needed, now and then speaking a quiet, 
 cheery word. 
 
 Often his father opened his eyes and smiled at him. 
 
 "Good to see you there, my boy. That was my only 
 grief. I feared I might not see you again. Thank the 
 good God that he allowed me to see you." 
 
 "He is good, dad, isn't He ? Good to me ; good to us 
 both." 
 
 "Yes, He is good," said his father, and fell asleep. 
 
 For almost two hours he slept, a sleep of exhaustion, 
 due to the terrific strain of the past forty-eight hours, 
 and woke refreshed, calm and strong. 
 
 "You are a lot better, dad," said Barry. "I believe 
 you are going to pull through, eh !" 
 
 "A lot better, Barry," said his father, "but, my boy, we 
 are soldiers, you and I. I shall not be long, but remem- 
 ber, we are soldiers." 
 
 "All right, dad. I'll try to play the game." 
 
 "That's the word, Barry. We must play the game, 
 and by God's grace we will, you and I our last game 
 together." 
 
 Through the afternoon they talked, between intervals 
 of sleep, resolved each to help the other in playing to 
 the end, in the manner of British soldiers, that last, great 
 game. 
 
 They talked, of course, of home and their happy days 
 together, going far back into the earlier years of struggle 
 on the ranch. 
 
 "Hard days, Barry, they were, but your mother never 
 failed me. Wonderful courage she had, and if we were 
 all right, you and I, Barry, she was always happy. Do 
 you remember her?" 
 
 "Yes, dad, quite well. I remember her smiling 
 always."
 
 180 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Smiling, my God ! Smiling through those days. Yes, 
 that's the way she played the game, and that's the only 
 way, boy." 
 
 "Yes, dad," said Barry, and his smile was brighter than 
 ever, but his knuckles showed white where he gripped 
 the chair. 
 
 The nurse came and went, wondering at their bright 
 faces and their cheery voices. They kept their minds 
 upon the old happy days. They recalled their canoe 
 trips, their hunting experiences, dwelling mostly upon the 
 humorous incidents, playing the game. Of the war 
 they spoke little; not at all of what was to be after 
 the past, the golden, happy past, rich in love and in 
 comradeship, that was their one theme. 
 
 As night fell, the father grew weary, and his periods 
 of sleep grew longer, but ever as he woke he found his 
 son's face smiling down upon him. 
 
 "Good boy, Barry," he said once, with an understand- 
 ing look and an answering smile. "Don't try too hard, 
 my boy." 
 
 "It's all right, dad. I assure you it's all right. You 
 know it is." 
 
 "I know, I know, my boy," he said, and fell asleep 
 again. 
 
 As the midnight hour drew on, Barry's head, from 
 sheer weariness, sunk upon his breast. In his sleep he 
 became aware of some one near him. He sat up, dazed 
 and stupid from his exhaustion and his grief, and found 
 a nurse at his side. 
 
 "Take this," she said softly. "You will need it." 
 She set a tray at his side. 
 
 "Oh, thank you, no!" he said. "I can't eat. I can't 
 touch anything." 
 
 "You need it," said the nurse. "You must take it, 
 for his sake, you know. He will need you." 
 
 Her voice aroused him. He glanced at her face. 
 
 "Oh, it's you!" he cried. 
 
 It was the little V. A. D.
 
 THE NEW MESSAGE 181 
 
 "Don't rise," she said, putting her hand on his shoul- 
 der, and pointing to his father. "Drink this first." She 
 handed him an eggrfog. "Now take your tea." There was 
 a quiet authority about her that compelled obedience. 
 He ate in silence while she stood beside him. He was 
 too weary and too sick at heart to talk, but he gradually 
 became aware that the overpowering sense of loneliness 
 that had been with him all day was gone. 
 
 When he had finished his slight meal, he whispered to 
 her: 
 
 "I wish I could thank you, but I can't. I did need it. 
 You have helped me greatly." 
 
 "You are better now," she said softly. "It's very, 
 very hard for you, so far from home, and from all 
 your friends." 
 
 "There is no one else," said Barry simply. "We have 
 no one but just ourselves." 
 
 At this point his father opened his eyes bright and 
 very wide-awake. 
 
 The V. A. D. began to gather up the tea things. Barry 
 put out his hand and touched her arm. 
 
 "Dad, this is your night nurse. She was very kind 
 to me last night, and again to-night. This is Miss 
 Vincent." 
 
 The brightness of the V. A. D.'s smile outshone his 
 own. 
 
 "I'm not a real nurse," she said. "I'm only a V. A. 
 D., you know. They use me to wash the floors and 
 dishes, and for all sorts of odd jobs. To-night they are 
 shorthanded, and have put me on this duty." 
 
 While she was speaking, she continued to smile, a smile 
 of radiant cheer and courage. 
 
 The wounded man listened gravely to her, his eyes 
 searching her face, her eyes, her very soul, it seemed to 
 her. In spite of her experience and her self-control, she 
 felt her face flushing under his searching gaze. 
 
 "My dear," he said at length, "I am glad to meet you. 
 You are a good and brave girl, I know." His eyes fell
 
 182 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 upon the black band upon her arm. "I see you are wear- 
 ing the badge of heroism. My dear, pardon me, you 
 have the same look Barry, she has your dear mother's 
 look, not so beautiful you will forgive me, my dear-~ 
 but the same look. She thinks of others and she has 
 courage to suffer. My dear, I cannot take your hands 
 in mine," he glanced with a pathetic smile at his 
 bandaged arms, but with a swift movement of indescrib- 
 able grace the girl stooped and kissed him on the fore- 
 head. 
 
 "Barry," he said, turning to his son, "that was a fine 
 courtesy. I count it an honour to have known you, Miss 
 Vincent." 
 
 He paused a moment or two, his searching eyes still 
 upon her face. 
 
 "You will befriend my boy, after after " 
 
 "I will try my best, sir," said the girl, the colour deep- 
 ening in her cheeks the while. "Good night, sir," she 
 said. "I shall be near at hand if I am wanted." 
 
 "Barry," said his father, after the girl had gone, 
 "that is a very charming and a very superior young lady, 
 one you will be glad to know." 
 
 "Yes, dad, I am sure she is," said Barry, and then he 
 told his father of the events of the previous night. 
 
 For some moments after he had finished his father 
 lay with his eyes shut, and quite still, and Barry, thinking 
 he slept, sat watching, his eyes intent upon the face he 
 loved best in all the world. 
 
 But his father was not asleep. 
 
 "Yes, Barry," he said, "she is like your dear mother, 
 and now," he added hurriedly, "I hope you will not 
 think I am taking a liberty " 
 
 "Oh, dad, I implore you !" said Barry. 
 
 "Barry, I would like to speak to you about your work." 
 
 Barry shook his head sadly. 
 
 "I'm not much good, dad," he said, "but I'm not going 
 to quit," he added quickly, noting a shadow on his 
 father's face.
 
 THE NEW MESSAGE 183 
 
 "Barry, I'm going to say something to you which I do 
 hope will not hurt you. I know the common soldier bet- 
 ter than you do, boy. Our Canadian soldiers do not like 
 to be rebuked, criticised or even watched too closely. 
 Forgive me this, my boy." 
 
 "Oh, dad, please tell me all that is in your heart!" 
 
 "Thank you, Barry. They don't like the chaplain to be 
 a censor over their words." 
 
 "I loathe it," said Barry passionately. 
 
 "Believe me, they are good chaps in their hearts. 
 They swear and all that, but that is merely a habit or a 
 mere expression of high emotion. You ought to hear 
 them as they 'go over.' Barry, let all that pass and re- 
 member that these boys are giving their lives their 
 lives, Barry, for right, for conscience, and ultimately, 
 though it may be unconsciously, for God. Barry, a man 
 that is giving his life for God may say what he likes. 
 Don't be too hard on them, but recall to mind, Barry, 
 that when they go up the line they feel terribly lonely 
 and terribly afraid, and that is a truly awful expe- 
 rience." 
 
 He paused a moment or two, and then lowered his 
 voice and continued: "Barry, you won't be ashamed of 
 me. I was terribly afraid, myself." 
 
 Bar y choked back a convulsive sob. 
 
 "You, dad, you !" He laughed scornfully. 
 
 "I didn't run, Barry, thank God! But the boys my 
 boys they are only lads, many of them lonely and 
 afraid and they must go on. They must go on. Oh, 
 Barry, in that hour they need some one to go with them. 
 They need God." 
 
 His son was listening with his heart in his eyes. He 
 was getting a new view of the soldier and of the sol- 
 dier's needs. 
 
 "Unhappily," continued his father, "God is at best a 
 shadowy being, to many of them a stranger, to some a 
 terror. Barry," he said, "they need some one to tell 
 them the truth about God. It's not fair to God, you
 
 184 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 know." Here again his father paused and then said very 
 humbly: "I think I may say, Barry, I know God now, 
 as I did not before. And you helped me, boy, to know 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, dad," cried Barry, passionately. "Not I ! I don't 
 know Him at all !" 
 
 "Let me tell you how you helped me, Barry. Before 
 I went up the last time, I wanted 
 
 He paused abruptly, his face working and his lip 
 quivering. 
 
 "Forgive me, my boy. I'm a little weak." 
 
 A few moments of silence and then he continued 
 quietly : 
 
 "I wanted you, Barry." 
 
 The boy's hands were writhing under his knees, but 
 his face and eyes were quite steady. 
 
 "I was terribly lonely. I thought of that strange, dear 
 bond that held us together, and then like a flash out of 
 the sky came those great words : 'Like as a father pitieth 
 his children,' and oh, boy, boy! It came to me then 
 that as I feel toward my boy God feels toward me. Barry, 
 
 listen " His voice fell to a whisper. "I am God's 
 
 son, as you are mine. There was no more fear, and I 
 was not nearly so lonely. Tell the boys tell the b ys 
 the truth about God." 
 
 He lay a long time silent, with his eyes closed, and as 
 Barry watched he saw two tears fall down the white 
 cheeks. It was to him a terrible sight. Never, not even 
 at his mother's grave, had he seen his father's tears. It 
 was more than he could endure. He put his face down 
 beside his father's on the pillow. 
 
 "Dad, I understand," he whispered. "I know now 
 what God is like. He is like you, dad. He gave him- 
 self for us, as you, dad, have given yourself all these 
 years for me." 
 
 He was sobbing, but very quietly. 
 
 "Forgive me, dad; I'm not crying. I'm just thinking
 
 THE NEW MESSAGE 185 
 
 about God and you. Oh, dad, you are both wonderful ! 
 Wonderful!" 
 
 "Barry, my boy, tell them. Don't worry yourself 
 about them. Just tell them about God. He is responsi- 
 ble for them, not you." 
 
 "Oh, I will, dad; I promise you I will. I've been all 
 wrong, but I'll tell them. I'll tell them." 
 
 "Thank God, my boy," said his father, with a deep 
 sigh. "Now I'm tired. Say 'Our Father.' ' 
 
 Together they whispered those greatest of words in 
 human speech, those words that have bound heaven to 
 earth in yearning and in hope for these two thousand 
 years. 
 
 "Don't move, Barry," whispered his father. "I like 
 you there." 
 
 With their faces thus together they fell asleep. 
 
 Barry was awakened by his father's voice, clear and 
 strong. 
 
 "Are you there, Barry?" it said. 
 
 "Here, dad, right here!" 
 
 "Good boy. Good boy. You won't leave me, Barry. 
 I mean you don't need to go?" 
 
 "No, dad, I'll never leave you." 
 
 "Good boy," again murmured his father softly. "Al- 
 ways a good boy, always, always " 
 
 He was breathing heavily, long deep breaths. 
 
 "Lift me up, Barry," he said. 
 
 Barry sat on the bed, put his arm around his father's 
 shoulders, and lifted him up. 
 
 "That's better hold me closer, Barry You won't 
 
 hurt me Oh, it's good to feel your arms strong 
 
 arms Barry." 
 
 "You made them strong, dad," said Barry, in a clear, 
 steady voice. 
 
 The father nestled his head upon his son's shoulder. 
 
 "Barry," he said in the low tone of one giving a con- 
 fidence, "don't ever forget to thank God for these
 
 186 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 eighteen years together You saved me from 
 
 despair eighteen years ago when she went away you 
 know and you have been all the world to me my 
 son " 
 
 "And you to me, dad," said his son in the same steady 
 tone. 
 
 "I've tried all my life to make you know how I 
 love you but somehow I couldn't " 
 
 "But I knew, dad," said Barry. "All my life I have 
 known." 
 
 "Really?" asked his father. "I wonder I don't 
 
 think you quite know Ah my boy my boy 
 
 You don't know you can't. Barry," he said, "I 
 think I'm going out I'm going out no, in your 
 word my boy in eh Barry ?" 
 
 "Yes, dad," said his son. "Going in. The inner cir- 
 cle, you know." 
 
 "The inner circle " echoed his father. "Warmth 
 
 light love Now I think I'll sleep Good 
 
 night Barry Oh my boy, you don't quite 
 
 know Kiss me Barry " 
 
 Barry kissed him on the lips. 
 
 "So Good night " 
 
 A deep breath he took; another Barry waited for 
 the next, but there was not another. 
 
 He laid his father down and looked into his quiet 
 face, touched even now with the noble stateliness of 
 death. He put his arms about the unresponsive form, 
 and his face to the cheek still warm. 
 
 "Dad, oh, dad," he whispered. "Do you know 
 
 Do you know Oh, God, tell him how I love him. 
 
 Tell him! Tell him! I never could." 
 
 The little V. A. D. came softly and stood looking from 
 a distance. Then coming to the bedside, she laid her 
 hand upon the head and then the heart of the dead man. 
 Then she drew back, and beckoning to an orderly, they 
 placed a screen about the cot. She let her eyes rest for
 
 THE NEW MESSAGE 187 
 
 a moment or two upon the kneeling boy, then went softly 
 away. 
 
 Death was to her an all too familiar thing. She had 
 often seen it unmoved, but to-night, as she walked away, 
 the brown eyes could not hold their tears.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A MAN OF GOD 
 
 BARRY was standing beside his father's grave, in a 
 little plot in the Boulogne cemetery set apart for 
 British officers. They had, one by one, gone away and 
 left him until, alone, he stood looking down on the simple 
 wooden cross on which were recorded the name, age, and 
 unit of the soldier with the date of his death, and under- 
 neath the simple legend, eloquent of heroic sacrifice, 
 "Died of wounds received in action." 
 
 Throughout the simple, beautiful burial service he had 
 not been acutely conscious of grief. Even now he won- 
 dered that he could shed no tears. Rather did an ex- 
 ultant emotion fill his soul as he looked around upon 
 the little British plot, with its rows of crosses, and he 
 was chiefly conscious of a solemn, tender pride that he 
 was permitted to share that glorious offering which his 
 Empire was making for the saving of the world. But, 
 in this moment, as he stood there alone close to his 
 father's grave, and surrounded by those examples of high 
 courage and devotion, he became aware of a mighty 
 change wrought in him during these last three days. He 
 had experienced a veritable emancipation of soul. He 
 was as if he had been born anew. 
 
 The old sense of failure in his work, the feeling of 
 unfitness for it, and the old dread of it, had been lifted 
 out of his soul, and not only was he a new man, but 
 he felt himself to be charged with a new mission, because 
 he had a new message for his men. No longer did he 
 conceive himself as a moral policeman or religious censor, 
 whose main duty it was to stand in judgment over the 
 faults and sins of the men of his battalion. No more 
 
 1 88
 
 A MAN OF GOD 189 
 
 would the burden of his message be a stern denunciation 
 of these faults and sins. Standing there to-day, he could 
 only wonder at his former blindness and stupidity and 
 pride. 
 
 "Who am I," he said in bitter self-humiliation, "that 
 I should judge my comrades? How little I knew my- 
 self." 
 
 "A man of God," his superintendent had said in his 
 last letter to him. Yes, truly a man of God! A man 
 not God ! A man not to sit in God's place in judgment 
 upon his fellow sinners, but to show them God, their 
 Father. 
 
 Barry thought of the frequent rebukes he had admin- 
 istered to the officers and men for what he considered 
 to be their sins. He groaned aloud. 
 
 "God will forgive me, I know," he said. "But will 
 they?" 
 
 He tried to recall what the burden of his message to 
 his battalion had been during these past months, but to 
 him there came no clear and distinct memory of aught 
 but warnings and denunciations, with reference to what 
 he judged to be faulty in their conduct. To-day it 
 seemed to him both sad and ternble. 
 
 How had he so failed and so nisconceived the Mas- 
 ter's plain teaching? He moved among sinners all His 
 days, not with denunciations in His heart or voice, but 
 only with pity and love. 
 
 "Be not anxious," He had said. "Consider the birds 
 of the air. Not one of them falleth to the ground with- 
 out your Father. How much more precious are you than 
 the birds." 
 
 What a message for men going up to face the terrors 
 and perils of the front line. "Be not anxious!" 
 
 "I was afraid," his father had said to him. That 
 to him was inconceivable. That that gallant spirit should 
 know terror seemed to him impossible. Yet even he had 
 said, "I was afraid." And for the loneliness, what a 
 message he now had. In their loneliness men cried out
 
 190 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 for the presence of a friend, and the Master had said: 
 "When ye pray, pray to your Father. Your Father 
 knoweth. When ye pray, say, 'Our Father'!" And he 
 had missed all this. What a mess he had made of his 
 work! How sadly misread his Master's teaching and 
 misinterpreted his Master's spirit! 
 
 Barry looked down upon the grave at his feet. 
 
 "But you knew, dad, you knew!" he whispered. 
 
 For the first time since he had become a chaplain, he 
 thought of his work with gratitude and eagerness. He 
 longed to see his men again. He had something to tell 
 them. It was this: that God to them was like their 
 fathers, their mothers, their brothers, their friends; only 
 infinitely more loving, and without their faults. 
 
 With his head high and his feet light upon the earth, 
 he returned to the R.A.M.C. Hospital, where he found 
 Harry Hobbs, with his handbag and a letter from his 
 O.C. 
 
 "Take a few days off," said the O.C. "We all sym- 
 pathise with you. We miss you and shall be glad to see 
 you, but take a few days now for yourself." 
 
 Barry was greatly touched, but he had only one desire 
 now, and that was to return to his unit. His batman 
 brought him also an order from the Assistant Director 
 of Chaplain Service, bidding him report at the earliest 
 moment. 
 
 At Headquarters he learned that the A.D.C.S. had 
 been in Boulogne, but had gone to Etaples, some thirty 
 or forty miles distant, to visit the large hospitals there. 
 He determined that to-morrow he would go to Etaples 
 and report, after which he would proceed to his battalion. 
 
 That evening, he visited the men in the hospital, com- 
 ing upon many Canadians whose joy in seeing a chaplain 
 from their own country touched Barry to the heart. He 
 took their messages which he promised to transmit to 
 their folks at home, and left with them something of the 
 serene and exultant peace that filled his own soul. 
 
 From Ewen Innes and others of the Wapiti draft, he
 
 A MAN OF GOD 191 
 
 learned something of his father's work and place in their 
 battalion. Soldiers are not eloquent in speech, but mostly 
 in silence. Their words halted when they came to speak 
 of their sergeant major's soldierly qualities, for his 
 father had become the sergeant major of the battalion 
 his patience, his skill, his courage. 
 
 "He knew his job, sir," said one of them. "He was 
 always onto it." 
 
 "It was his care of his men that we thought most of," 
 said Ewen, who continued to relate incidents that had 
 come under his own observation of this characteristic, 
 tears the while flowing down his cheeks. 
 
 "He never thought of himself, sir. It was our com- 
 fort first. He was far more than our sergeant major. 
 He watched us like a father; that's what he did." 
 
 As Barry listened to the soldiers telling of his father 
 in broken words, and with flowing tears, he almost won- 
 dered at them for their tears and wondered at himself 
 that he had none. Tears seemed to be so much out of 
 place in telling such a tale as that. 
 
 The train for Etaples leaving at an unearthly hour in 
 the morning, Barry went to take farewell of the V.A.D. 
 the night before. 
 
 "That is an awfully early hour," she said, "and, oh, 
 such a wretched train." There was in her voice an al- 
 most maternal solicitude for his comfort. 
 
 "That's nothing," said Barry. "When I see you here 
 at your unending work, it makes me feel more and more 
 like a slacker." 
 
 "Wait for me here a moment," she said, and hurried 
 away to return shortly in such a glow of excitement as 
 even her wonted calm and self-restraint could not quite 
 hide. 
 
 "I'm going to drive you to Etaples to-morrow in my 
 car. I know the matron and some of the nurses in the 
 American hospital there." 
 
 "You don't mean it," said Barry, "but are you sure 
 it's not a terrible bore for you? I am much afraid that
 
 192 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 I have been a nuisance to you, and you have been so very, 
 very good to me." 
 
 "A bore!" she cried, and the brown eyes were wide 
 open in surprise. "A bore, and you a Canadian! Why, 
 you are one of my brothers' friends, and besides you seem 
 to me a friend of our family. My uncle Howard, you 
 know, told me all about you. Besides," she added in a 
 voice of great gentleness, ''you remember, I promised." 
 
 Barry caught her hand. 
 
 "I wish I could tell you all I feel about it, but some- 
 how I can't get the words." 
 
 She allowed her hand to remain in his for a moment 
 or two ; then withdrawing it, said hurriedly, with a slight 
 colour showing in her cheeks : 
 
 "I think I understand." Then changing her tone ab- 
 ruptly, and dropping into the business-like manner of a 
 V.A.D., she said, "So, we'll go to-morrow. It will be 
 a splendid run, if the day is fine. We had better start 
 by nine o'clock to give us a long day." Then, as if for- 
 getting she was a V.A.D., she added with a little catch 
 in her voice, "Oh, I shall love it!" 
 
 The day proved to be fine, one of those golden days 
 of spring that have given to the land its name of "sunny 
 France." It was a day for life and youth and hope. A 
 day on which war seemed more than ever a cruel out- 
 rage upon humanity. But across the sunniest days, 
 across the shining face of France, and across their spirits, 
 too, the war cast its black shadow. They both, however, 
 seemed to have resolved that for that day at least they 
 would turn their eyes from that shadow and let them 
 rest only where the sun was shining. 
 
 The V.A.D. with her mind intent upon her wheel 
 could only contribute, as her share in the conversation, 
 descriptive and somewhat desultory comments upon 
 points of interest along the way. Barry, because it har- 
 monised with his mood, talked about his father and all 
 their years together but ever without obtrusion of his 
 grief. The experiences of the past three days, which
 
 A MAN OF GOD 193 
 
 they had shared, seemed to have established between them 
 a sense of mutual confidence and comradeship such as in 
 ordinary circumstances would have demanded years of 
 companionship to effect. This sense of sympathy and of 
 perfect understanding on the part of the girl at his side, 
 together with the fascinating charm of her beauty, and 
 her sweetness, was to Barry's stricken heart like a heal- 
 ing balm to an aching wound. 
 
 They were in sight of Etaples before Barry imagined 
 they could have made more than half the journey. 
 
 "Etaples, so soon! It cannot be!" 
 
 "But it is," said the girl, throwing a bright smile at 
 him, "and that's the hospital, on the hill yonder, where 
 the flag is flying." 
 
 "Why," exclaimed Barry, "that's the American flag! 
 What's the American flag doing there?" 
 
 "It's flying over an American hospital," said the 
 V.A.D. "I think it's such a beautiful flag. In the breeze, 
 it seems to me the most beautiful of all the flags. The 
 stripes seem to flow out from the stars. Of course," 
 she added hurriedly, "the Union Jack with dl its his- 
 toric meaning and its mingled crosses, is splendidly glori- 
 ous and is more decorative, but I always think, when I 
 see those floating stripes, that the Americans have the 
 most beautiful flag." 
 
 "I admit," said Barry, "it's a beautiful flag, but well, 
 I'm a Britisher, I suppose, and see it with British eyes. 
 But why is that flag flying here in France ? How do the 
 authorities allow that? It's a neutral flag awfully neu- 
 tral, too." 
 
 "I understand they have permission from the French 
 authorities to fly that flag over every American institu- 
 tion in France. And you know," continued the girl with 
 rising enthusiasm, "if they are neutral, they have im- 
 mensely helped us, too, haven't they? in munitions and 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 "That's true enough," agreed Barry, "and it's all the 
 more wonderful when you think of the millions of Ger-
 
 194 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 mans that they have in their country. I heard a very 
 fine thing, not long ago, from a friend of mine. A Pitts- 
 burgh oil man about to close a deal, with a traveller, with 
 millions in it, suddenly discovered that his oil was to go 
 to the Germans. At once the deal was off, and, though 
 the price was considerably raised, there was, in his own 
 words, 'Nothing doing!' 'No stuff of mine,' he said, 
 'shall go to help an enemy of the Anglo-Saxon race.' 
 That's the way I believe the real Americans feel." 
 
 'This is a wonderful hospital," said the V.A.D. 
 "Whenever I see it, I somehow feel my heart grow warm 
 to the American people for the splendid way in which 
 they have helped poor France, for, you know, in the first 
 months of the war, the French hospitals were perfectly 
 ghastly." 
 
 "I know, I know !" cried Barry. "And the Canadians, 
 too, have chipped in a bit. We have a Canadian hospital 
 in Paris, for the French, and others are being organised." 
 
 They turned in at the gate and found themselves in a 
 beautiful quadrangle, set out with grass plots and flow- 
 ers and cement walks. The building itself, an ancient 
 royal palace, had been enlarged by means of sun-parlours 
 and porches which gave it an air of wonderful cheeri- 
 ness and brightness. 
 
 "I will run in and see if any of my friends are about," 
 said the V.A.D. "Wait here for me. Unless you care 
 to come in," she added. 
 
 "No, I will wait here. I don't just feel like meeting 
 strangers but, if there are Canadians in the hospital, I 
 should like to see them. And perhaps you can discover 
 where my chief can be found, if you don't mind." 
 
 Hardly had she passed within the door, when another 
 car came swiftly to the gate and drew up a little in front 
 of Barry's. A girl leaped from the wheel and with a 
 spring in her step, which spoke of a bounding vitality, 
 ran up the steps. 
 
 What thought caught her it is difficult to say, but on
 
 A MAN OF GOD 195 
 
 the topmost step she spun around and looked straight into 
 Barry's eyes. 
 
 "Paula!" he shouted, and was out of the car and at 
 the foot of the steps, with hand outstretched, when, with 
 a single touch of her foot to the steps, she was at him, 
 with both hands reaching for his. 
 
 "Barry, oh, Barry! It can't be you!" she panted. Her 
 face went red, then white, then red again. "Oh, it's bet- 
 ter than a drink to see you. Whence, how, why, whither ? 
 Oh, never mind answering," she went on. "It's enough 
 to see you." 
 
 A step behind her diverted her attention from Barry. 
 Barry ran up the steps, and taking the V.A.D. by the 
 hand, led her down. 
 
 "I want you to meet a friend of mine," he said and 
 introduced Paula. 
 
 Paula's eyes, keen as a knife-point, were upon the 
 V.A.D.'s face. 
 
 "I'm glad to know you," she said frankly, offering her 
 hand. "Principally," she added, with a little laugh, "be- 
 cause you know Barry." 
 
 The V.A.D. bowed with the slight reserve character- 
 istic of her, and took Paula's hand. 
 
 "I, too, am pleased," she said, "to meet a friend of 
 Captain Dunbar." Then she added with increased cor- 
 diality, "and I'm glad to meet an American in France. 
 I know your matron, and some of the nurses." 
 
 "Good !" cried Paula. "Now, then, you'll both of you 
 take lunch with me." 
 
 The V.A.D. demurred. 
 
 "Of course you will," cried Paula. "Oh, Barry, I'm 
 just ready to die from seeing you again. Come along !" 
 she cried, impulsively, catching the V.A.D. by the arm. 
 "Come along and park your buzzwagon here beside 
 mine." 
 
 She ran to her car, sprang in and whirled it into place 
 before the V.A.D. had hers well started. 
 
 Barry waited where they had left him. The sudden
 
 196 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 appearing of Paula had stirred within him depths of feel- 
 ing that almost overpowered him. His mind was far 
 away in Athabasca, once more he was seeing the dark 
 pool, the swiftly flowing water, the campfire, and his 
 father bending over it. His heart was quivering as if a 
 hand had been rudely thrust into a raw wound in it. 
 
 The V.A.D. held Paula a few moments beside her car, 
 speaking quickly and earnestly. When they rejoined 
 Barry, Paula's eyes were soft with unshed tears, and her 
 voice was very gentle. 
 
 "I know, Barry," she said. "Miss Vincent just told 
 me. Oh, what terrible changes this war brings to us all. 
 We see so many sad things here every day. It's terribly 
 sad for you, Barry." 
 
 "Yes, it is sad, Paula, and it is going to be lonely. 
 You have brought back to me that bright day on the 
 Athabasca. But," he added earnestly, "after all, in this 
 war everything personal is so small. Besides, he was so 
 splendid, you know, and the boys told me he played the 
 game up there right to the end. So I'm not going to 
 shame him ; at least, I'm trying not to." 
 
 But bright as was Barry's smile, Paula caught the 
 quivering of his lips, and turned quickly away from him. 
 
 After a moment or two of silence, she cried, with 
 her old impulsiveness, "Now you will both lunch with 
 me. I'm the quartermaster of this outfit, and have a 
 small parlour of my own. We shall have a lovely, cosy 
 time, just Miss Vincent, you and myself together." 
 
 "But," replied the V.A.D., "I have just arranged with 
 the matron to lunch with her." 
 
 "Oh, rubbish ! I'll cut that out, all right. What's the 
 use of being quartermaster if I can't arrange a lunch 
 party to suit myself?" 
 
 Still the V.A.D. demurred. With her, breaking an en- 
 gagement for lunch was a serious affair was indeed tak- 
 ing a liberty which no English girl would think of doing. 
 
 "Oh, that's nonsense !" cried Paula. "I'll make it per- 
 fectly all right. Look here," she cried, wheeling upon
 
 A MAN OF GOD 19Y 
 
 the V.A.D., "you Britishers are so terribly correct. I'll 
 show you a little shirtsleeve diplomacy. Besides, if you 
 don't come in on this you can have the matron, and I'll 
 take Barry," she said with a threatening smile. "Watch 
 me !" she added, as she ran away. 
 
 "What a splendid girl!" said the V.A.D. "And that 
 captivating American way she has. Perfectly ripping, 
 I call it. I do hope we shall be friends." 
 
 In a short time Paula came rushing back into the room, 
 announcing triumphantly that arrangements had been 
 made according to her programme, with the matron in 
 hearty accord. 
 
 "And she sends her love," she said to the V.A.D. "She 
 would not have you on any account miss this party. She 
 is desperately grieved that she cannot accept my invita- 
 tion to join us. Of course, I knew the old dear couldn't. 
 And we are to meet her afterwards." 
 
 The little lunch party was, on the whole, a success. 
 To the conversation Paula contributed the larger part, 
 Barry doing his best to second her. But in spite of his 
 heroic efforts, his mind would escape him, far away to 
 the sunny Athabasca plains, and the gleaming river and 
 the smooth slipping canoe, and then with swift transition 
 to the little British plot in the cemetery at Boulogne. 
 
 At such times, Paula, reading his face, would momen- 
 tarily falter in her gay talk, only to begin again with re- 
 newed vivacity. On one topic, however, she had no 
 difficulty in holding Barry's attention. It was when she 
 told of the organising and Despatching of the American 
 Red Cross units to France, and more especially of her 
 own unit, organised and financed by her father. 
 
 "I am awfully sorry he is not here to-day. He would 
 have loved to have seen you again, Barry." 
 
 "And I to have seen him," said Barry. "He is a big 
 man, and it is fine of him to do this thing. It's just like 
 the big, generous-hearted Americans they are so un- 
 stinted in their sympathies, and they back them up for all 
 they are worth."
 
 198 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "And how efficient they are," added the V.A.D. in 
 warm admiration. "This hospital, you know," turning 
 to Barry, "is perfectly wonderful. Its equipment! Its 
 appliances! I have often heard our O.C. speak in the 
 most rapturous envy of the Etaples American Red Cross 
 unit." 
 
 "And why should not it be ?" cried Paula. "It's a ques- 
 tion of money after all. We are not 1 at war. We put 
 in a few little hospitals here in France. We have more 
 money thrown at us than we can use. And you talk about 
 efficiency," she added, turning to the V.A.D. "Good 
 Lord ! My pater has just come back from London, where 
 he was rubbering around with lords and dukes and things 
 in a disgustingly un-American way I told him, and now 
 he raves from morning until night over the efficiency of 
 the British. He's been allowed to see some of their mu- 
 nition works, you know. I simply had to declaim the 
 American Declaration of Independence to him three times 
 a day to revive his drooping Democratic sentiments, and 
 I had to sew Old Glory on to his pajamas so that he 
 might dream proper American dreams. No, to tell you 
 the truth," here Paula's voice took a deeper note, "every 
 last American of us here in France is hot with humilia- 
 tion and rage at his country's attitude, monkeying with 
 those baby-killing, woman-raping devils." 
 
 As she ended, her voice shook with passion, her cheeks 
 were pale, and in her eyes shone two bright tears. Im- 
 pulsively the V.A.D. rose from her place, ran around to 
 Paula, and putting her arm around her neck, said: 
 
 "Oh, I do thank you, and I love you for your words," 
 while Barry stood at attention, as if in the presence of 
 his superior officer. "I salute you," he said with grave 
 earnestness. "You worthily represent your brave and 
 generous people." 
 
 "Oh, darn it all!" cried Paula, brushing away her 
 tears. "I'm a fool, but you don't know how we Ameri- 
 cans feel real Americans, I mean, not the yellow hy- 
 phenated breed."
 
 A MAN OF GOD 199 
 
 After lunch, Barry went to look up his chief, the as- 
 sistant director of chaplain service, while Paula took 
 charge of the V.A.D., saying: 
 
 "Run away, Barry, and see your Brass Hat. I'll show 
 Miss Vincent how a quartermaster's department of a 
 real hospital should be run." 
 
 His hour with the A.D.C.S. was a most stimulating ex- 
 perience for Barry. He found himself at once in touch 
 with not an official thinking in terms of military reg- 
 ulations and etiquette, but a soldier and a man. For 
 the A.D.C.S. was both. Through all the terrible days 
 at Ypres, where the Canadians, in that welter of gas and 
 fire and blood, had won their imperishable fame as fight- 
 ing men, he had been with them, sharing their dangers 
 and ministering to their wants with his brother officers 
 of the fighting line. Physically an unimpressive figure, 
 small and slight, yet he seemed charged with concentrated 
 energy waiting release. 
 
 As Barry listened to his words coming forth in snappy, 
 jerking phrases, he was fascinated by the bulldog jaw and 
 piercing eyes of the little man. In brief, comprehensive, 
 vigorous sentences, he set forth his ideals for the chap- 
 lain service in the Canadian army. 
 
 "Three things," he said, "I tell my men, should mark 
 the Canadian chaplain service. The first, Unity unity 
 among themselves, unity with the other departments of 
 the army. Two words describe our chaplains Christian 
 and Canadians. I am an Anglican myself., but on this 
 side of the channel there are no Anglican, no Presby- 
 terian, no Methodist chaplains, only Christian and Ca- 
 nadian chaplains. I have had to fight for this with high 
 officials both in the army and in the church. I have won 
 out, and while I'm here this will be maintained. The 
 second thing is Spirituality. The Chaplain must be a 
 Christian man, living in touch with the Divine alive to- 
 ward God. Third, Humanity. He must be 'touched 
 with the feeling of our infirmity/ sharing the experiences 
 of the men, getting to know their feelings, their fears,
 
 200 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 their loneliness, their misery, their anxieties, and God 
 knows they have their anxieties for themselves and for 
 their folks at home." 
 
 As Barry listened, he heard again his father's voice. 
 "They need you. They are afraid. They are lonely. 
 They need God." 
 
 "And remember," said the A.D.C.S., as he rose to 
 dose the interview, "that I am at your back. If you 
 have any difficulty, let me know. If you are wrong, I 
 promise to tell you. If you are right, I'll back you up. 
 Now, let us go and look over the hospital. There are 
 some of our fellows there. If you feel like saying any- 
 thing in the convalescent ward, all right, but don't let it 
 worry you." 
 
 As they went through the wards, Barry could not but 
 notice how the faces of the patients brightened as his 
 chief approached, and how their eyes followed him after 
 he had passed. 
 
 They moved slowly through those long corridors, sanc- 
 tified by the sufferings and griefs and hidden tears of 
 homesick and homelonging men, to many of whom it 
 seemed that the best of life was past. 
 
 When they had gone the length of the convalescent 
 ward, the A.D.C.S. turned and, after getting permission 
 of the medical superintendent, briefly introduced Barry 
 to the wounded men, as "a man from the wild and woolly 
 Canadian west, on his way up the line, and therefore 
 competent to tell us about the war, and especially when 
 it will end." 
 
 Beside them stood a piano, and on it lay a violin in 
 its open case. Barry took up the violin, fingered its 
 strings in an absent-minded way, and said : 
 
 "I don't know anything about the war, men, but I do 
 know when it will end, and that is when we lick those 
 Huns good and plenty, as our American friends would 
 say," bowing to the doctor at his side. "I'm an awfully 
 poor speaker, boys," he continued in a confidential tone, 
 "but I can make this thing talk a bit."
 
 A MAN OF GOD 201 
 
 Without further preface he began to play. He had 
 not held a violin in his hands since he had played with his 
 father at home. Unconsciously his fingers wandered into 
 the familiar notes of Handel's Largo. He found the 
 violin to possess an exceptionally rich and pure quality 
 of tone. 
 
 As he began to play, a door opened behind them, ad- 
 mitting Paula, the V.A.D. and two or three young doc- 
 tors, who took their places in the corner about the piano. 
 
 "Do you know this?" whispered Paula to the V.A.D., 
 as she caught the strains of the Largo. 
 
 "Yes. I used to play it with my brother." 
 
 "Go to it, then," said Paula. 
 
 But the V.A.D. hesitated. 
 
 "Go on! Look at the boys, and look at his face." 
 
 The V.A.D. glanced about the room at the lines of 
 pale and patient faces, which, in spite of the marks of 
 pain, were so pathetically and resolutely bright. Then 
 she glanced at Barry's face. He had forgotten all about 
 his surroundings, and his face was illumined with the 
 light from those hidden lamps that burn deep in the soul 
 of genius, a light enriched and warmed by the glow of 
 a heart in sympathy with its kind. 
 
 In obedience to Paula's command and a little push upon 
 her shoulder, the V.A.D. sat down at the piano and 
 touched the notes softly, feeling for the key, then fell 
 in with the violin. 
 
 At the first note, Barry turned sharply about and as 
 she found her key and began to follow, he. stepped back 
 to her side. Immediately, from his instrument, there 
 seemed to flow a richer, fuller stream of melody. From 
 the solemn and stately harmonies of the Largo, he 
 passed to those old familiar airs, that never die and never 
 lose their power over the human heart "Annie Laurie" 
 and "Ben Bolt," and thence to a rollicking French chan- 
 son, which rather bowled over his accompanist, but only 
 for the first time though, for she had the rare gift of 
 improvisation, and sympathetic accompaniment.
 
 202 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 Then with a full arm bowing, he swept them into the 
 fiercely majestic strains of the ''Marseillaise," bringing 
 the blue-coated orderlies about the door, and such pa- 
 tients as could stand, and the group about the piano to 
 rigid attention. From the "Marseillaise" it was easy to 
 pass into the noble simplicity of his own national song, 
 "Oh, Canada!" where again his accompanist was quite 
 able to follow, and thence to the Empire's National An- 
 them, which had for a hundred years or more lifted to 
 their feet British soldiers and sailors the world over. 
 
 As he drew his bow over the last chord, Paula stepped 
 to his side, and whispered in his ear: 
 
 "Where's America in this thing?" 
 
 Without an instant's break in the music, he dropped 
 into a whimsical and really humorous rendering of "Yan- 
 kee Doodle." Quickly the V.A.D. moved from the stool, 
 caught Paula and thrust her into the vacant place. Then 
 together the violin and piano rattled into a fantastic 
 and brilliant variation of that famous and trifling air. 
 Again, with a sudden change of mood, Barry swung into 
 that old song of the homesick plantation negro, "The 
 Suwanee River" a simple enough air, but under the ma- 
 nipulations of a master lending itself to an interpretation 
 of the deep and tender emotions which in that room and 
 in that company of French, British, Canadian, American 
 folk were throbbing in a common longing for the old 
 home and the "old folks at home." Before he had played 
 the air once through, the grey-haired American doctor 
 was openly wiping his eyes, and his colleagues looking 
 away from each other, ashamed of the tears that did 
 them only honour. 
 
 Paula's flushed face and flashing eyes were eloquent 
 of her deep emotion, while at her side the V.A.D. stood 
 quiet, controlled, but with a glow of tender feeling shin- 
 ing in her face and in her soft brown eyes. 
 
 Not long did Barry linger amid those deeps of emo- 
 tion, but straightening his figure to its full height, and 
 throwing up his head, he, in full octaves, played the open-
 
 A MAN OF GOD 203 
 
 ing bars of what has come to be known as America's na- 
 tional anthem, "The Star Spangled Banner." 
 
 Instantly the A.D.C.S., the orderlies about the door, 
 the wounded French, British and Canadian soldiers that 
 could stand, sprang to attention and so remained while 
 the violin, with its piano accompaniment, throbbed forth 
 the sonorous chords. With the last bar, Barry dropped 
 his bow to his side, but held the violin still at his chin. 
 Not one of that company moved, but stood with their 
 eyes fastened upon his face. After a moment's pause, 
 he quietly lifted his bow again, and on the silence, still 
 throbbing to the strains of that triumphant martial air, 
 there stole out pure, sweet, as from some ethereal source, 
 the long drawn, trembling notes of that old sacred mel- 
 ody, which, sounding over men and women in their hours 
 of terror and anguish and despair, has lifted them to 
 peace and comfort and hope "Nearer, My God, to 
 Thee." 
 
 The tension which had held the company was relaxed, 
 the wounded men sank to their seats, the A.D.C.S. re- 
 moved his hat, which, according to military regulations, 
 he had worn to this moment. On all sides", heads dropped 
 in an attitude of reverence, and so continued until Barry 
 had drawn the last deep, vibrating note to a close. 
 
 When he had laid his violin in its case, the old Ameri- 
 can doctor came forward, with his hand extended. 
 
 "Let me, as an American and a Christian, thank you, 
 sir," he said. 
 
 One by one the group of Americans came to shake 
 hands with him, the last being Paula, who held his hand 
 a moment and said softly : 
 
 "Thank you, Barry. I believe all that stuff now. I 
 have learned it here." 
 
 The last of all to come was the V.A.D. Shyly, with 
 a smile radiant through her tears, she offered her hand, 
 saying: "Thank you! He would have liked that, I 
 know."
 
 204 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Captain Dunbar, where's your own violin?" The 
 abrupt tone of the A.D.C.S. startled them all. 
 
 "At home, sir. I didn't think a chaplain would need 
 one." 
 
 "Whose violin in this?" asked the A.D.C.S. in his 
 brusque manner. 
 
 "I rather think this is mine," said one of the doctors. 
 
 "Will you sell it? I'll buy it from you, at any price 
 you say. I want it for him." 
 
 "You can't buy it, colonel," said the doctor. "It's his 
 now. I never knew it had all that heart stuff in it." 
 
 He took up the violin, and handed it to Barry. But 
 Barry drew back in astonishment. Then the old doctor 
 came forward. 
 
 "No, Travis," he said, "we'll do better than that. What 
 did your fiddle cost?" 
 
 "A hundred and fifty dollars, I think." 
 
 "Travis, this company of Americans, representing their 
 country here in France, as a token of their sympathy with 
 the allies and their sacred cause, and of gratitude to you, 
 sir," bowing to Barry, "will buy this instrument and pre- 
 sent it to this young man, on condition that he repeat 
 in similar circumstances the service he has rendered this 
 afternoon. Am I right?" he asked, looking about him. 
 
 "You bet you are ! Right you are !" said the doctors. 
 
 "Oh, doctor, you are a dear old thing!" exclaimed 
 Paula. 
 
 Barry stood holding the instrument in his hand, un- 
 able to find his voice. The A.D.C.S. came to his aid. 
 
 "In the name of my chaplain, and in the name of thou- 
 sands of Canadian soldiers to whom I promise you he 
 will bring the blessing that he has brought us this after- 
 noon, I thank you for this very beautiful and very char- 
 acteristic American act." 
 
 "Well," said the old doctor, "I don't know how you 
 folks feel, but I feel as if I had been to church." 
 
 "Now, sir," said the A.D.C.S. to Barry, in his military 
 tone, "I am organising a company of musicians who will
 
 A MAN OF GOD 205 
 
 go through our camps and help the boys as you have 
 helped us to-day. I would like you to be one of them. 
 What do you say?" 
 
 "Oh, sir," exclaimed Barry hastily, laying the violin 
 upon the piano and standing back from it, "don't make 
 that an order, sir. I want to stay with my men." 
 
 His face was quivering with deep emotion. The 
 A.D.C.S. looked into the quivering face. 
 
 "All right, Dunbar," he said, with a little laugh, and 
 putting his hand on Barry's shoulder. "I guess you are 
 all right." 
 
 "Some boy ! What ?" said the American doctor. "Here 
 I think you had better take your fiddle along," handing 
 Barry the violin. "It doesn't belong to any one in this 
 bunch." 
 
 The burst of laughter that followed, all out of pro- 
 portion to the humour of the remark, revealed the tensity 
 of the strain through which they had passed. 
 
 Through the little town of Etaples they drove to- 
 gether in almost complete silence, until they had emerged 
 into the country, lying spread out about them in all the 
 tender beauty of the soft spring evening. As the car 
 moved through the sweet silence of the open fields, the 
 V.A.D. said softly: 
 
 "Oh, Captain Dunbar, I " 
 
 "My name is Barry," he said gently. 
 
 A quick flush came into the beautiful face and a soft 
 light to the brown eyes, as she answered : 
 
 "And mine is Phyllis." Then she hurried to add, "I 
 was going to say that you helped me this afternoon as 
 nothing has since my dear brothers went." 
 
 "Thank you, Phyllis. What you have been to me 
 through all these days, I wish I could tell, but I can't 
 find words." 
 
 Then they rode together in silence that was more 
 eloquent than any words of theirs could be. At length 
 Barry burst forth enthusiastically:
 
 206 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Those Americans! What a beautiful and gracious 
 act of kindness that was to me." 
 
 "Oh," replied Phyllis, with answering enthusiasm, 
 "aren't they fine! That was perfectly ripping of them/'
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 INTENSIVE TRAINING 
 
 BARRY'S return to the battalion was like a coming 
 home. In the mess there was no demonstration of 
 sympathy with him in his loss, but the officers took oc- 
 casion to drop in casually with an interesting bit of news, 
 seeking to express, more or less awkwardly, by their 
 presence what they found it impossible to express in ac- 
 tual words. 
 
 It was to Barry an experience as new as it was delight- 
 ful. Hitherto, as far as any real fellowship was con- 
 cerned he had lived a life of comparative isolation among 
 his fellow officers, and while they were careful to pre- 
 serve the conventions and courtesies imposed by their 
 mutual relations, he had ever been made to feel that 
 in that circle he was an outsider. 
 
 Among the officers who came to call upon him, none 
 surprised him more than did Major Bayne. While that 
 officer had always been careful to maintain an attitude 
 toward him, at once correct and civil, there had never 
 been any approach to friendliness. As a matter of fact, 
 Major Bayne was too entirely occupied with his own 
 interests to have either the leisure or the inclination for 
 anything but a casual concern for the chaplain and his 
 affairs. That was not to be wondered at. Life in the 
 army, notwithstanding all its loyalties and its fine unsel- 
 fishnesses, is, in some of its phases, a brutally self-cen- 
 tred form of existence. Its routine consists in the con- 
 tinual performance of "duties" under an authority ruth- 
 less in its exactions and relentless in its penalties. Only 
 after months of experience of its iron rigidity does the 
 civilian, accustomed as he is to self-determination, with 
 a somewhat easygoing regard for the conventions of his 
 
 207
 
 208 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 community, arrive at the state of mind in which uncon- 
 sciously and as a matter of second nature he estimates 
 the quality of the most trivial act by its relation to the 
 standard set by the Military High Command. Like a 
 spectre does that solemn, impalpable, often perfectly un- 
 reasonable omniscient and omnipotent entity lurk in the 
 shadow ready to reach out a clutching hand, and for 
 some infraction of regulations, wilful or inadvertent, 
 hale the luckless and shivering defaulter to judgment. 
 It therefore behooves a man to take heed to himself and 
 to his ways, for, with the best intention, he may discover 
 that he has been guilty of an infraction, not of a regu- 
 lation found in K. R. & O., with which he has painfully 
 made himself familiar and which he has diligently exer- 
 cised himself to observe, but of one of those seventeen 
 hundred and sixty-nine "instructions" and "informa- 
 tions" which from time to time have appeared in those 
 sacred writings known as Army, Divisional, Brigade, or 
 Battalion Orders. 
 
 In consequence, an officer with a conscience toward his 
 duty, or an ambition for promotion, gives himself so com- 
 pletely to the business of "watching his step" that only 
 by a definite exercise of his altruistic faculties can he in- 
 dulge himself in the commendable civilian luxury of car- 
 ing for his neighbour. 
 
 And so it came about that Major Bayne, possessing in 
 a large measure the quality of "canniness" characteristic 
 of his race a quality which for the benefit of the un- 
 initiated Saxon it may be necessary to define as being a 
 judicious blending of shrewdness and caution, and be- 
 ing as well, again after the manner of his race, ambi- 
 tious for his own advancement, and, furthermore, being 
 a man of conscience, had been so entirely engrossed in 
 the absorbing business of "watching his step" that he had 
 paid slight heed to the affairs of any other officer, and 
 least of all to those of the chaplain, whose functions in 
 the battalion he had regarded, it must be confessed, as 
 more or less formal, if not merely decorative.
 
 INTENSIVE TRAINING 209 
 
 M 
 
 But, in spite of all this, in the major the biggest thing 
 was his heart, which, however, true to his race type again, 
 he kept stored in the deepest recesses of his system. To 
 "touch" the major's "heart" was an operation of more 
 than ordinary difficulty. It was that very thing, however, 
 which the letter to the battalion Commanding Officer 
 from the A.D.C.S. had achieved. The effect of this let- 
 ter upon the members of the mess, and most especially 
 upon the junior major in regard to their relation to their 
 chaplain, was revolutionary. Hence the major's visit to 
 Barry upon the evening of his return. 
 
 It was with an unusually cordial handshake that he 
 greeted the chaplain. 
 
 "We are glad to have you back with us, Captain Dun- 
 bar," he said. "We missed you, and we have discovered 
 that we need you. Things have been moving while you 
 were away. This battalion is undergoing a transforma- 
 tion. The O.C. is tightening down the screws of dis- 
 cipline. He sees, and we all are beginning to see, that 
 we are up against a different proposition from what we 
 had imagined, and right here, Captain Dunbar, I want to 
 say for myself, and I believe for the rest of the boys, 
 that we have not given you a square deal." 
 
 His attitude and his words astounded Barry. 
 
 "Don't say that, major," he said, in a voice husky with 
 emotion. "Don't say that. I have been all wrong. I am 
 not going to talk about it, but I am awfully glad to get 
 a second chance." 
 
 "If you need a second chance, Pilot," said the major, 
 for the first time using the friendly western sobriquet, 
 "believe me, you'll get it." 
 
 The major sat down, pulled out his pipe, and began to 
 impart some interesting bits of news. 
 
 "Things are moving rather swiftly with us these days. 
 There are many changes taking place. Duff has gone 
 permanently to the transport, and is in the way for a 
 captaincy. Hopeton has gone for a machine gun course. 
 Sally is to be company commander in his place. Booth
 
 210 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 takes charge of the bombers. Your friend, Sergeant 
 Knight, is slated for a commission. He is doing awfully 
 well with the signallers, and, by the way, there is some- 
 thing I want to show you to-morrow, something quite 
 unique and remarkable, our new instructor in bayonet 
 fighting. Do you know we were rather stuck on our 
 bayonet fighting, but he has made the boys feel that they 
 didn't know anything about bayonet fighting, or, for that 
 matter, about anything else. I think you will enjoy him. 
 The boys are all up on their toes. There is nothing like 
 the scream of a live shell 'coming in' to speed up the 
 training." 
 
 When the major had departed, he left Barry in a maze 
 of wonder and gratitude. That the battalion were glad 
 to have him back, that all the old feeling of latent hos- 
 tility of which he had been conscious was gone, and that 
 they felt that they really needed him stirred in his heart 
 a profound sense of humility and gratitude. 
 
 Late as it was he felt he must go out for a stroll about 
 the camp just to see the men and give them greeting. 
 
 Wherever he went he was greeted with a new respect 
 and a new cordiality. It was as if he had passed through 
 some mystic initiation ceremony and had been admitted 
 into a magic circle of comradeship with the common 
 soldier, than which no privilege is more dearly coveted 
 by the officers, from the colonel himself to the youngest 
 sub, and which is indeed, in the last analysis, the sine 
 qua non of effective leadership. 
 
 As Barry was passing the sergeants' mess-room the 
 door opened and there came out Sergeant Major McFet- 
 teridge himself, with two others of the mess. 
 
 "Good evening, sergeant major," said Barry quietly 
 passing on his way. 
 
 "Good evening, sir," said the sergeant major with his 
 usual stiff salute. "Oh, it's you, sir," he cried as the light 
 fell upon Barry's face. "We're glad to see you back, 
 sir." 
 
 "Thank you, sergeant major," replied Barry, offering
 
 INTENSIVE TRAINING 
 
 his hand, "and I'm glad to be back with you all again." 
 
 'Thank you, sir. I assure you we're glad to have you. 
 Won't you come in, sir? The boys will all want to see 
 you," and so saying the sergeant major threw wide open 
 the door. 
 
 Nowhere is class privilege more appreciated and more 
 jealously guarded than in the sergeants' mess. It is 
 the most enclusive of all military circles. Realising this, 
 Barry was glad to accept the invitation. The hut was 
 filled with sergeants in easy deshabille, smoking, loung- 
 ing, playing various games. 
 
 "The chaplain, boys," announced the sergeant major, 
 and instantly every man was on his feet, and at attention. 
 
 "It's all right, boys," said the sergeant major. "The 
 chaplain has just dropped in for a minute for a friendly 
 call, and we want you to feel, sir," he added, for the 
 sergeant major loved a little ceremonial, "that we re- 
 spectfully sympathise with you in your loss, and that we 
 consider ourselves honoured by your presence here to- 
 night." 
 
 Barry was so deeply touched by the unexpected warmth 
 of their welcome, and by the reference to his recent sor- 
 row, that he could not trust himself to speak. Without 
 a word he passed around the group, shaking hands with 
 each man in turn. By the time he had finished the round, 
 he had his voice in control, and said : 
 
 "Sergeant major, this is very kind of you. I thank 
 you for this welcome, and I am grateful for your sym- 
 pathy." He hesitated a moment or two; then, as if he 
 heard his father's voice, "Tell them ! Tell them ! They 
 don't know Him," he added: "And, sergeant major, if 
 you will allow me, I have something I want to say to all 
 the men when I get a chance. I cannot say it all to-night 
 to the sergeants, but this much I would like to say : That 
 since I saw you, I believe I have got a new idea of my 
 work in the battalion. I got it from a sergeant major 
 whose men told me that he was a fine soldier and a brave 
 man, and more than that, that he was 'like a father to
 
 212 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 them.' That, sergeant major, was my own father. 
 From him I learned that my job was not to jump on men 
 for their faults, but to help men to know God, who is our 
 Father in Heaven, and, men, I think if I can do this, I 
 shall count myself happy, for He is worth knowing, and 
 we all need Him." 
 
 His words gripped them hard. Then he added, "Be- 
 fore I say 'good night,' may I have the privilege of lead- 
 ing you to Him in words that you have all learned at 
 your mother's knee?" Then simply he spoke the words 
 of that immortal prayer, the men joining in low and 
 reverent voices. 
 
 After the prayer, he quietly said, "Good night!" and 
 was passing out of the hut. He had not got to the door, 
 however, when the sergeant major's voice arrested him. 
 
 "Sir, on behalf of the sergeants, I thank you for com- 
 ing in and I thank you for your words. You have done 
 us all good." 
 
 The following morning, a sergeant from a neigh- 
 bouring battalion, visiting the transport lines, and ob- 
 serving Barry passing along with Major Bayne on the 
 battalion parade ground, took occasion to remark : 
 
 "That is your padre, ain't it? He checks you fellows 
 up rather short, don't he?" 
 
 "Yes, that is our padre, or Pilot, as we like to call 
 him," was Sergeant Mackay's answer, "but I want to tell 
 you that he can just check us up until our heads touch the 
 crupper, and it's nobody's damned business but our own." 
 
 "Well, you needn't get so blasted hot over it. I ain't 
 said nothing against your padre that I haven't heard from 
 your own fellows." 
 
 "That's all right, sergeant. That was before we got 
 to the war. I'm not huntin' for any trouble with any- 
 body, but if any one wants to start up anything with any 
 one, sergeant, in this battalion, he knows how to do it." 
 
 And this came to be recognised as an article in the 
 creed of the sergeant's mess. 
 
 The bayonet-fighting squad were engaged in some pre-
 
 INTENSIVE TRAINING 213 
 
 liminary drill of the more ordinary kind when Major 
 Bayne and the chaplain arrived on the ground. 
 
 "We'll just watch the little beggar a while from here 
 and go up later," said the major. 
 
 As Barry watched the drill sergeant on his job, it 
 seemed to him that he had never seen a soldier work be- 
 fore. In figure, in pose, in action there was a perfection 
 about him that awakened at once admiration and envy. 
 Below the average height, yet not insignificant, erect, 
 without exaggeration, precise in movement without an- 
 gularity, swift in action without haste, he was indeed a 
 joy to behold. 
 
 "Now, did you ever see anything like that?" enquired 
 the major, after their eyes had followed the evolutions 
 of the drill sergeant for a time. 
 
 "Never," said Barry, "nor do I hope to again. He is 
 a I was going to say dream, but he's no dream. He's 
 much too wide awake for that. He's a poem ; that's what 
 he is." 
 
 Back and forth, about and around, stepped the little 
 drill sergeant, a finished example of precise, graceful 
 movement. He was explaining in clean cut, and evidently 
 memorised speech the details of the movements he wished 
 executed, but through his more formal and memorised 
 vocabulary his native cockney would occasionally erupt, 
 adding vastly to the pungency and picturesqueness of his 
 speech. 
 
 "He knows we are here all right," said the major, 
 "but he would not let on if it were King George himself. 
 I'll bet you a month's pay, though, that we can't get one 
 foot beyond what he considers the saluting point before 
 he comes to attention, and as for his salute, there is noth- 
 ing like it in the whole Canadian army. Talk about a 
 poem, his salute has Shakespeare faded. Now he's going 
 to move them off. Watch and listen !" 
 
 "Ye-a-ou-w !" came the long-drawn cry, fiercely threat- 
 ening, representing in English speech the word "squad." 
 Then followed an expletive, "Yun !" which for explosive
 
 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 quality made a rifle crack seem a drawl, and which ap- 
 peared to release in the men a hidden spring drawn to 
 its utmost tension. The slack and sagging line leaped 
 into a rigid unit, of breathless, motionless humanity. 
 
 "Aw-e-ou-aw !" a prolonged vocalisation, expressive of 
 an infinite and gentle pity, and interpreted to the initiated 
 ear to mean "As you were !" released the rigid line to its 
 former sagging state. 
 
 "N-a-w then," said the voice in a semi-undertone, slow 
 and tense, "this ain't no arter dinner bloomin' siester. A 
 little snap pie ease !" The last word in a sharply ris- 
 ing inflection, tightening up the spring again for the ex- 
 plosive "Ye-a-ou-w yun!" (Squad attention.) "Aw- 
 e-ou-r yun ! ! ! Aw-e-ou-r yun ! ! !" 
 
 Without warning came the commands, repeating "As 
 you were !" "Attention !" He walked up and down be- 
 fore the rigid line, looking them over and remarking 
 casually, 
 
 "Might be a little worse," adding as an afterthought, 
 "per-haps!" After which, with a sharp right turn, and 
 a quick march, he himself leading with a step of clean- 
 cut, easy grace, he moved them to the bayonet-fighting 
 ground. 
 
 "By Jove!" breathed Barry. "Did you ever imagine 
 anything like that?" 
 
 "The result of ten years in the regular army," said the 
 major. 
 
 "It's almost worth it," answered Barry. 
 
 Arriving at the bayonet-fighting ground, the little ser- 
 geant major put the squad through their manual as if 
 they had been recruits, to a running comment of biting 
 pleasantries. After bringing them to attention, he walked 
 slowly down the line, then back again, and remarked 
 after due deliberation : 
 
 "I have seen worse not often " Then, in a tone 
 
 of resignation, he gave the order : 
 
 "Stan-a-yeh!!!" 
 
 The men "stood at ease," and then "stood easy."
 
 INTENSIVE TRAINING 215 
 
 "Now, then," said the major, "we'll steal in on him, 
 if we can." They moved forward toward the little ser- 
 geant major, who remained studying the opposite hori- 
 zon in calm abstraction until their toes had reached a 
 certain line, when, like the crack of a whip, there came 
 once more the long-drawn cry with its explosive termina- 
 tion: 
 
 "Ye-a-ou-w! Yun!!!" with the result that the line 
 was again thrown into instantaneous, breathless and mo- 
 tionless rigidity. 
 
 Toward the advancing officers the sergeant major 
 threw himself into a salute with one smooth, unbroken 
 movement of indescribable grace and finish. 
 
 "Good morning, sergeant major," said Major Bayne. 
 "Captain Dunbar, this is Sergeant Major Hackett." 
 
 Again came the salute, with a barely perceptible dimi- 
 nution of snap, as befitted a less formal occasion. 
 
 "Sergeant major," said Barry, "I would give a great 
 deal to be able to do that." 
 
 "Wot's that, sir?" enquired the sergeant major. 
 
 "That salute of yours." 
 
 "Quite easy wen you knaow 'ow !" permitting himself 
 a slight smile. 
 
 "You are doing some bayonet-fighting, I see, sergeant 
 major," said Major Bayne. 
 
 "Yes, sir, goin' to do a bit, sir," replied the sergeant 
 major. 
 
 "Very well, carry on!" 
 
 And the sergeant major "carried on," putting into his 
 work and into his every movement and utterance an 
 unbelievable amount of concentrated and even vicious 
 energy. 
 
 On the bayonet-fighting ground, the first line of the 
 enemy was represented by sacks stuffed with straw, hung 
 upon a frame, the second by stuffed sacks deposited on 
 the parapet of a trench. In bayonet-fighting the three 
 points demanding special emphasis are the "guarding"
 
 216 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 of the enemy's attack, a swift bayonet thrust and an 
 equally swift recovery, each operation, whether in case 
 of a living enemy or in the stuffed effigy, being attended 
 with considerable difficulty. Barry was much interested 
 in the psychological element introduced into the exercises 
 by the drill master. 
 
 "You must halways keep in mind 'that the henemy is 
 before you. It's important that you should visualise your 
 foe. The henemy is hever before you. Anything be-ind 
 a British soldier won't trouble anybody, and you are to 
 remember that hit's either you or J im." 
 
 In moments of rapid action the sergeant major evi- 
 dently had difficulty with his aspirates. 
 
 "The suspended sacks before you represent the hen- 
 emy. You are to treat 'em so." 
 
 Having got his line within striking distance of the 
 swinging sacks, the exercise was directed by two com- 
 mands, "On guard!" and "Point!" the first of which 
 was supposed to knock off the enemy's thrust, and the 
 second to drive the bayonet home into his vitals, after 
 which, without command, there must be a swift recovery. 
 
 "Naw then, "Hn-gah ! Pint ! ! !" 
 
 For some moments, in response to these orders, the 
 squad practised "guarding" and "pointing," not, how- 
 ever, to the complete satisfaction of the sergeant. 
 
 "Naw, then, number five, stick it hinto 'im. Ye ain't 
 'andin' a lidy an unbreller!" 
 
 Another attempt by number five being still suggestive 
 of the amenities proper to a social function, the ser- 
 geant major stepped up to the overgentle soldier. 
 
 "Naw, then," he said, "hobserve ! There's my henemy. 
 See 'is hugly mug. Hn-gah ! Pint ! ! !" 
 
 At the words of command, the sergeant major threw 
 himself into his guard and attacked with such appalling 
 ferocity as must have paralysed an ordinary foe, sending 
 his bayonet clean through to his guard, and recovering 
 it with a clean, swift movement.
 
 INTENSIVE TRAINING 217 
 
 Having secured a fairly satisfactory thrust, the ser- 
 geant major devoted his attention to the recovery of the 
 bayonet. 
 
 "Fetch it hout!" he cried fiercely. "There's another 
 man comin'. Fetch it hout ! Ye may fetch 'is spinial col- 
 umn with it. No matter, 'e won't need it." 
 
 The final act in this gruesome drama was the attack 
 upon the second line represented by the sacks lying upon 
 the parapet of the trench beyond. The completed action 
 thus included the guard, thrust, recovery, the leap for- 
 ward past the swinging line of sacks, and a second thrust 
 at the figure prone upon the parapet, with a second re- 
 covery of the weapon, this second recovery being ef- 
 fected by stamping the foot upon the transfixed effigy^ 
 and jerking back the bayonet with a violent upwarcr 
 movement. 
 
 This last recovery appeared to cause number rive again 
 some difficulty. 
 
 "Now then, number five, put a little aight (hate) into 
 it. Stamp your bleedin' 'obnyles (hobnails) on his fice, 
 and fetch it hout! This wye!" As he took the rifle 
 from number five, the sergeant major's face seemed to 
 be transformed into a living embodiment of envenomed 
 hate, his attack, thrust, recovery, gathering in intensity 
 until with unimaginable fury he leaped upon the pros- 
 trate figure, drove his bayonet through to the hilt, 
 stamped his hobnails upon the transfixed enemy, jerked 
 his weapon out, and stood quivering, ready for any foe 
 that dared to approach. The savage ferocity of his face, 
 the fierce energy in his every movement, culminating in 
 that last vicious leap and stamp, altogether constituted 
 such a dramatic and realistic representation of actual 
 fighting that the whole line burst into a very unsoldierly 
 but very hearty applause, which, however, the sergeant 
 major immediately and sternly checked. 
 
 "What do you think of that?" enquired the major. 
 "Isn't he a scream?"
 
 218 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "He is perfectly magnificent," said Barry, "and, after 
 all, he is right in his psychology. There is no possibility 
 of training men to fight, without putting the 'aight 
 into it!"'
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 
 
 period of intensive training was drawing to a 
 A close. The finishing touches in the various depart- 
 ments that had come to be considered necessary in mod- 
 ern warfare had been given. With the "putting on the 
 lacquer" the fighting spirit of the men had been sharp- 
 ened to its keenest edge. They were all waiting impa- 
 tiently for the order to "go up." The motives under- 
 lying that ardour of spirit varied with the temperament, 
 disposition and education of the soldier. There were 
 those who were eager to "go up" to prove themselves in 
 that deadly struggle where their fellow Canadians had 
 already won their right to stand as comrades in arms 
 with the most famous fighting battalions of the British 
 army. Others, again, there were in whose heart burned 
 a deep passion to get into grips with those hellish fiends 
 whose cruelties, practised upon defenceless women and 
 children in that very district where they were camped, 
 and upon wounded Canadians, had stirred Canada from 
 Vancouver to Halifax with a desire for revenge. 
 
 But, with the great majority there was little of the 
 desire either for military glory or for revenge. Their 
 country had laid upon them a duty for the discharge of 
 which they had been preparing themselves for many 
 months, and that duty they were ready to perform. 
 More than that, they were eager to get at it and get done 
 with it, no matter at what cost. With all this, too, there 
 was an underlying curiosity as to what the thing would 
 be like "up there." Far down below all their feelings 
 there lay an unanswered interrogation which no man 
 dared to put to his comrade, and which indeed few men 
 
 219
 
 220 THE SKY PILOT IN 'NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 put to themselves. That interrogation was : "How shall 
 I stand up under the test?" 
 
 The camp was overrun with rumours from returning 
 battalions of the appalling horrors of the front line. 
 Ever since that fateful 22nd of April, 1915, that day of 
 tragedy and of glory for the Canadian army, and for the 
 Canadian people, the Ypres salient, the point of honour 
 on the western front from Dixmude to Verdun, had been 
 given into the keeping of the Canadian army. During 
 those long and terrible months, in the face of a continued 
 bombardment and of successive counter-attacks, with the 
 line growing thinner, week by week, backed up by woe- 
 fully inadequate artillery, the Canadian army had held 
 on with the grim tenacity of death itself. There was 
 nothing that they could do but hold on. To push the 
 salient deeper into the enemy lines would only emphasise 
 the difficulty and danger of their position. The role as- 
 signed them was that of simply holding steady with what 
 ultimate objective in view no one seemed to know. 
 
 Week by week, and month after month, the Canadian 
 battalions had moved up into the salient, had done their 
 "tours," building up their obliterated parapets, digging 
 out their choked-up water-courses, revetting their crum- 
 bling trenches, and rebuilding their flimsy dugouts, and 
 then returning to their reserve lines, always leaving be- 
 hind them in hastily dug graves over the parados of their 
 trenches, or in the little improvised cemeteries by Hooge, 
 or Maple Copse or Hill 60, a few more of their comrades, 
 and ever sending down the line their maimed and broken 
 to be refitted for war or discharged again to civilian 
 life. It was altogether a ghastly business, a kind of war- 
 fare calling for an endurance of the finest temper and a 
 courage of the highest quality. 
 
 From this grim and endless test of endurance, the Ca- 
 nadians had discovered a form of relief known as a 
 "trench raid," a special development of trench warfare 
 which later came to be adopted by their comrades of the 
 French and British armies. It was a form of sport, grim
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 221 
 
 enough, deadly enough, greatly enjoyed by the Canadian 
 soldiers; and the battalion which had successfully pulled 
 off a trench raid always returned to its lines in a state 
 of high exaltation. They had been able to give Fritz a 
 little of what they had been receiving during these weary 
 months. 
 
 While the battalion waited with ever-growing impa- 
 tience for the order that would send them "up the line/' 
 a group of officers was gathered in the senior major's 
 hut for the purpose of studying in detail some photo- 
 graphs, secured by our aircraft, of the enemy trenches 
 immediately opposite their own sector of the front line. 
 They had finished their study, and were engaged in the 
 diverting and pleasant exercise of ragging each other. 
 The particular subject of that discussion was their vari- 
 ous sprinting abilities, and the comparative usefulness of 
 various kinds of funk-holes as a protection against 
 "J.J.s" (Jack Johnsons), "whizzbangs," or the uncertain 
 and wobbling "minniewafers." 
 
 Seldom had Barry found occasion to call upon Major 
 Bustead, with whom he had been unable to establish any- 
 thing more than purely formal relations. A message, 
 however, from the orderly room to Lieutenant Cam- 
 eron, which he undertook to deliver, brought him to the 
 senior major's hut. 
 
 "Come in, padre," said the major, who of late had be- 
 come more genial, "and tell us the best kind of a funk- 
 hole for a 'minniewafer.' ' 
 
 "The deepest and the closest for me, major, I should 
 say," said Barry, "from what I have heard of those un- 
 certain and wobbling beasts." 
 
 "I understand that chaplains do not accompany their 
 battalions to the front line, but stay back at the casualty 
 clearing stations," suggested the major. "Wise old 
 birds, they are, too." The major had an unpleasant 
 laugh. 
 
 "I suppose they go where they are ordered, sir," re- 
 plied Barry, "but if you will excuse me, I have here a
 
 222 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 chit for Lieutenant Cameron, sir, which has just come 
 in," and Barry handed Cameron his message. 
 
 "Will you allow me, sir?" said Cameron. 
 
 "Certainly, go on, read it," said the major. 
 
 Cameron read the message, and on his face there ap- 
 peared a grave and anxious look. 
 
 "It's from the casualty clearing station, sir. One of 
 our chaps from Edmonton is there dangerously wounded, 
 and wants to see me. I'd like to go, sir, if I might." 
 
 "Oh, certainly. I'll make it all right with the O.C. 
 Get a horse from the transport. Which casualty clearing 
 station is it?" 
 
 Cameron looked at his message. 
 
 "Menin Mill, sir." 
 
 "Menin Mill! By gad, I thought it was Brandthoek, 
 but Menin Mill, good Lord, that's a different proposition. 
 That's way beyond Ypres, you know. Right up on the 
 line. You can't take a horse there. Do you think you 
 ought to go up at all?" 
 
 "I think I should like to go, sir," replied Cameron. "I 
 know the chap well. Went to school and college with 
 him." 
 
 "Then," said the major, "you had better hurry up and 
 attach yourself to one of the transports going in. You 
 will barely be in time." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Cameron, and left the room. 
 
 Barry went out with him. "Who is it, Cameron ?" he 
 said. "Do I know him?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir, whether you do or not. It's young 
 McPherson of Edmonton, an awfully decent chap, and 
 my very best friend." 
 
 "May I go up with you, Duncan? I know Colonel 
 Tait and Captain Gregg, who are at the Mill, I under- 
 stand." 
 
 "I would be awfully glad if you would, but I hardly 
 liked to ask you. It hasn't the reputation of being a very 
 healthy place, I hear." 
 
 "All right, Cameron. I'm going up," said Barry.
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 223 
 
 Upon enquiry they found that they were too late for 
 the transports, and again the question arose as to 
 whether, in view of the major's order, they should make 
 the attempt by themselves. 
 
 "It was not really an order, I think, sir," said Cam- 
 eron. "It was more in the way of a suggestion. I think 
 I'll go. The note said, 'dangerously wounded,' and he 
 sent for me." 
 
 "All right," said Barry, "we'll go on, and we'll al- 
 most certainly pick up some one who will be able to 
 direct us to the Mill." 
 
 Their road, which took them to Vlammertinghe, led 
 through level fields, lying waste and desolate with rank, 
 overgrowing weeds. As they approached that historic 
 village, they saw on every hand the cruel marks of war. 
 On either side of the road were roofless and shattered 
 cottages, grown around with nettles and briars. Among 
 these ruins, as they found on a later day, were the old 
 garden flowers, pansies and daisies, bravely trying to 
 hold their own. Among the rank weeds was to be seen 
 the half-hidden debris of broken farm gear. Here and 
 there stood the ruins of what had been a thrifty home- 
 stead, with its stone-flagged courtyard, around which 
 clustered its stables. Now nettles and briars grew around 
 the broken walls and shattered, staring windows. At 
 rare intervals, a great house appeared, with pretentious 
 gateway, and grass-grown drive winding up between 
 stately and mutilated trees. Over the whole countryside 
 hung a melancholy and weird desolation, cottages, home- 
 steads, fields, the very trees crying aloud to high heaven 
 for pity and vengeance. 
 
 At Vlammertinghe, itself, the church tower still stood 
 whole, but the church itself was wrecked, as were most 
 of the village shops and dwellings. In the village was to 
 be seen no living thing except some soldiers, who in the 
 broken cellars were making their bivouacs. The village 
 stood deserted of its inhabitants, ever since the terrific 
 onslaught of the Huns, on the 22nd of April, 1915, which
 
 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 had driven them forth from their homes, a panic- 
 stricken, terror-hunted crowd of old men, women and lit- 
 tle babes, while over them broke, with a continuous and 
 appalling roar, a pitiless rain of shells. 
 
 At the cross-roads stood a mounted officer, directing 
 the traffic, which here tended to congestion. As they 
 entered the village, the sentry halted them to enquire as 
 to their bona fides. Having satisfied him, they enquired 
 their way to the Menin Mill. 
 
 "Menin!" The rising inflection of the sentry's voice 
 expressed a mild surprise. "The old Mill! Are you 
 going there?" 
 
 "Yes," said Barry, answering his inflection. "Why 
 not?" 
 
 "Well, sir, you know, it's rather a bad road. Warm 
 bit of country up there, but " He shrugged his shoul- 
 ders in quite a French manner as if to say it was no 
 business of his. "If you are going to Menin, you keep 
 this road straight through past Wipers past the Cloth 
 Hall, out by the Menin Gate. A hot place, that, sir. Then 
 straight on, taking the right incline for about a mile and 
 a half. You will see a big cemetery on your left. The 
 Mill stands near a big school on your right. But why 
 not drop into the dressing station, here, sir, right here in 
 this old mill, which stands at the cross-roads ? You may 
 catch an ambulance going straight up to the Mill." 
 
 "Thank you very much," said Barry. "We'll do that 
 very thing." 
 
 "Good luck, sir," said the sentry, saluting. 
 
 They found an ambulance about to start, and asked 
 for a lift. 
 
 "All right, sir," said the driver, "but you'd better step 
 in and ask the officer." 
 
 - They passed into a large and high-vaulted stone build- 
 ing, which in peace days had been a mill. The old-fash- 
 ioned, massive machinery was still standing intact. Ob- 
 taining permission from the officer, they took their places
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 225 
 
 beside the driver of the ambulance, and were soon on their 
 way. 
 
 It wa"s already growing dark, but, although the sur- 
 face of the stone pave was frequently broken with shell- 
 holes, the ambulance, dodging round the holes, rushed 
 without pause along at a high rate of speed. 
 
 "You don't use your lights?" asked Barry. 
 
 "No, not lately, sir," said the driver. "That's the new- 
 est order," he added in a tone of disgust. 
 
 The road lay between double rows of once noble trees, 
 centuries old, with the first delicate green of spring 
 softening their bare outlines. Now, splintered, twisted, 
 broken, their wounds showing white in the darkening 
 light through the delicate green, they stood silently elo- 
 quent of the terrific force of the H.E. shell. 
 
 As they went speeding along the shell-marked road 
 they came upon a huge trunk of a mighty elm, broken 
 clear from its stump, lying partially cross their track, 
 which soldiers were already busy clearing away. With- 
 out an instant's pause, the driver wheeled his car off the 
 pave, crashed through the broken treetops, and continued 
 on his way. 
 
 Barry looked upon the huge trunk with amazement. 
 
 "Did a single shell break that tree off like that?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "You bet," was the reply, "and all these you see along 
 here. It's the great transport road for our front line, 
 and the boches shell it regularly. Here comes one now," 
 he added, casually. 
 
 There was a soft woolly "whoof" far away, a high, 
 thin whine, as from a vicious insect overhead, with every 
 fractional second coming nearer and yet nearer, ever 
 deepening in tone, ever increasing in volume, until, like 
 an express train, with an overwhelming sense of speed 
 and power, and with an appalling roar, it crashed upon 
 them. In the field on their left, there leaped fifty yards 
 into the air a huge mass of earth and smoke. Then a 
 stunning detonation.
 
 226 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 Insensibly Barry and Cameron both crouched down in 
 the car, but the driver held his wheel, without the ap- 
 parent quiver of a muscle. 
 
 "There'll be three more, presently, I guess," he said, 
 putting on full speed. 
 
 His guess proved right. Again that distant woolly 
 "whoof," the long-drawn whine, deepening to a scream, 
 the appalling roar and crash, and a second shell fell in the 
 road behind them. 
 
 "Two," said the driver coolly. "There will be 
 a couple more." 
 
 Again and yet again, each time the terror growing 
 deeper in their souls, came the two other shells, but they 
 fell far behind. 
 
 "Oh, Fritzie," remonstrated the driver, "that's rotten 
 bad work. You'll have to do better than that." 
 
 Again and again, in groups of four, the shells came 
 roaring in, but the car had passed out of that particular 
 zone of danger, and sped safely on its way. 
 
 "Do you have this sort of thing every night?" en- 
 quired Barry. 
 
 "Oh, no," cheerfully replied the driver. "Fritzie 
 makes a lot better practice than that, at times. Do you 
 see this?" He put his finger upon a triangular hole a 
 few inches above his head. "I got that last week. We 
 don't mind so much going up, but it's rather annoying 
 when you're bringing down your load of wounded." 
 
 As they approached Ypres, the road became more and 
 more congested, until at length they had to thread their 
 way between two continuous streams of traffic up and 
 down, consisting of marching battalions, transports, ar- 
 tillery wagons, ambulances, with now and then a motor 
 or a big gun. 
 
 About a mile from the city, they came to a large 
 red brick building, with pretentious towers and sur- 
 rounded by a high brick wall. 
 
 "An asylum," explained the driver. "Now used as a 
 dressing station. We'll just run in for orders."
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 227 
 
 At what seemed to Barry reckless speed, he whirled 
 in between the brick posts, and turned into a courtyard, 
 on one side of which he parked his ambulance. 
 
 "Better come inside, sir," said the driver. "They 
 sometimes throw a few in here, seeing it's a hospital." 
 
 They passed down the wide stairs, the centre of which 
 had been converted into a gangway for the passage of 
 wheeled stretchers, into a large basement, with concrete 
 floors and massive pillars, lit by flaring gasjets. Along 
 the sides of the outer room were rows of wounded sol- 
 diers, their bandaged heads and arms no whiter than 
 their faces, a patient and pathetic group, waiting with- 
 out complaint for an ambulance to carry them down the 
 line. 
 
 In an inner and operating room, Barry found two or 
 three medical officers, with assistants and orderlies, in- 
 tent upon their work. While waiting there for their 
 driver, they heard overhead again that ominous and ter- 
 rifying whine, this time, however, not long drawn, but 
 coming in with terrific speed, and ending with a sharp 
 and shattering crash. Again and again and again, with 
 hardly a second between, there came the shells. It seemed 
 to Barry as if every crash was fair upon the roof of 
 the building, but no man either of the medical attendants 
 or of the waiting wounded paid the slightest heed. 
 
 At length there came a crash that seemed to break 
 within the very room in which they were gathered. The 
 lights flickered, some of them went out, there was a sound 
 as if a tower had crashed down upon the roof. Dust and 
 smoke filled the room. 
 
 "Light up that gas," said the Officer Commanding. 
 An orderly sprang to obey. The gasjets were once more 
 lighted and the work went on. 
 
 "Rather near, wasn't that one?" asked Barry of a 
 wounded man at his side. 
 
 "Yes," he replied casually, "they got a piece that time/' 
 and again he sunk into apathetic silence.
 
 228 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 In a few moments the driver had obtained his orders 
 and was ready to set forth. 
 
 "Better wait a bit," said the sergeant at the door, "un- 
 til their Evening Hate is over." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," said the driver. "I guess Fritz 
 is pretty well through. They are rather crowded there 
 at the mill, and I guess we'll go on." 
 
 In his heart, Barry earnestly hoped that the sergeant 
 would interpose with a more definite command, but, in- 
 asmuch as the bombardment had apparently ceased, and 
 as if it were all in a day's work, the driver, buttoning 
 up his coat, said : 
 
 "We'll go, sir, if you are ready." 
 
 A few minutes' run brought them to the gate of the 
 ruined city. As the car felt its way through the ghostly 
 town, Barry was only vaguely conscious in the darkness 
 of its ghostly skeletonlike ruins. Fifteen minutes brought 
 them to the Menin gate. 
 
 "Sounds rather hot out there," remarked the driver. 
 "Well, Fritzie, I guess we won't join your party this 
 time. We prefer to wait, if you don't mind, really." 
 
 He ran the car into the lee of the ramparts, by the side 
 of the gateway, waited there half an hour or so, until the 
 "Evening Hate" was past; then onward again to the 
 Menin Mill. 
 
 They lifted the blanket covering the sandbagged en- 
 trance, passed through a dark corridor and came into a 
 cellar, lit by lanterns, swinging from the roof, and by 
 candles everywhere upon ledges or upon improvised 
 candlesticks. 
 
 No sooner had they come into the light, than Barry 
 saw across the room his friend, Dr. Gregg, his coat off, 
 and his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. 
 
 "Hello, Dunbar," said the doctor, coming forward. 
 "I guess I won't shake hands just now. Sit down. 
 Won't you have a cup of coffee? Jim," turning to an 
 orderly, "give Captain Dunbar a cup of coffee." 
 
 Barry presented Cameron to his friend, and together
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 
 
 they sat down and waited. When the doctor was through 
 with his patient, he came and sat down with them. 
 
 "We came up to see a young chap named McPherson. 
 I think you sent a note down about him to-day." 
 
 "McPherson," said the doctor. "I don't remember, 
 but I will see." 
 
 He turned to a desk and turning over the pages of a 
 record, apparently found the name, and returned to 
 Barry. 
 
 "I am sorry to say that McPherson died this after- 
 noon," he said. 
 
 "Dead," said Barry. He turned to Cameron. "I'm 
 awfully sorry, Duncan." 
 
 "Was there anybody with him?" he enquired of the 
 doctor. "He was Lieutenant Cameron's very close 
 friend, and college companion." 
 
 "Oh, awfully sorry," replied the doctor. "Yes, I think 
 Captain Winter, the chaplain of the th, was with him 
 at the last. He's not here just now r . I can tell you where 
 to get him. To-morrow is his day here." 
 
 "Is is is his body still here?" enquired Cameron, 
 after a few moments' silence. 
 
 "Yes, it's in the next room. Do you want to see it? 
 He was pretty badly smashed up, I'm afraid." 
 
 "I think I should like to see him," said Cameron. "I 
 know his people, you see, and I would like to tell them 
 that I saw him." 
 
 "Oh, all right," said the doctor. He called an or- 
 derly. 
 
 "Come this way, sir," said the orderly. 
 
 Together they followed the orderly into the next room, 
 apparently a storehouse for grain. There lying upon the 
 floor they saw three silent shapes, wrapped in grey blan- 
 kets. 
 
 "This is McPherson, sir," said the orderly, looking at 
 the card attached to the blanket. 
 
 He stooped, drew down the blanket from the face and 
 stepped back. In civil life, both Barry and Cameron had
 
 230 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 seen the faces of the dead, but only in the coffin, after 
 having been prepared for burial by those whose office it 
 is to soften by their art death's grim austerities. 
 
 Cameron gave one swift glance at the shapeless, bloody 
 mass, out of which stared up at him wide-open glassy 
 eyes. 
 
 "Oh, my God, my God !" he gasped, gripping Barry by 
 the arm, and staggering back as if he had received a blow. 
 He turned to the door as if to make his escape, but Barry, 
 himself white and shaken, held him firmly. 
 
 "Steady, old boy," he said. "Steady, Duncan!" 
 
 "Oh, let me go ! Let me get out of here !" 
 
 "Duncan, there are a lot of wounded chaps out there." 
 
 The boy he was only nineteen was halted at the 
 word, stood motionless and then muttered: 
 
 "You are right, sir. I was forgetting." 
 
 "And, Duncan, remember," said Barry, in a quiet and 
 solemn voice, "there's more than that to McPherson. 
 That fine young chap whom you knew and loved is not 
 that poor and battered piece of clay. Your friend has 
 escaped from death and all its horrors." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know," whispered Cameron, still shaking. 
 "We'll go out now, sir. I'll be all right. I assure you 
 I'm all right." 
 
 They passed out into the dressing-room again, where 
 the wounded were continuing to arrive. Cameron was 
 for departing at once, but Barry held him back, unwill- 
 ing that the lad should be driven away beaten and un- 
 nerved by what he had seen. 
 
 "I say, Duncan, let's see some of these boys. We can 
 perhaps cheer them up a bit They need it badly enough, 
 God knows." 
 
 "All right," muttered Cameron, sitting down upon a 
 bench in the shadow. They waited there till Dr. Gregg 
 came along. 
 
 "Hello, Dunbar, you are looking seedy. Feeling rot- 
 ten, eh?" said the doctor, eying him critically for a few 
 moments.
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 231 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right/' said Barry. "The truth is, I've 
 just been in there with young- Cameron. Rather a ghastly 
 sight. Cameron's badly knocked up. Can you do any- 
 thing for him?" 
 
 "Sure thing," said the doctor cheerfully. "Stay right 
 there where you are. I'll bring you something in a mo- 
 ment or two. Now sit right there, do you hear? Don't 
 move." 
 
 In a few moments he returned, bringing hot coffee for 
 them both. 
 
 "There," he said in a cheerful matter-of-fact voice, 
 "drink that." 
 
 Barry gulped it down, Cameron taking his more slowly, 
 and with evident distaste. The doctor continued to con- 
 verse with them in tones of cheerful and, as Barry 
 thought, of almost careless indifference. 
 
 "Now, I must leave you," said the doctor. "I see 
 there's a case of shell shock. We didn't know how to 
 handle that for a while. The British R.A.M.C. for some 
 months declined to recognise it as requiring treatment at 
 all. You might care to look at this chap. Poor devil!" 
 
 Barry had been looking at the man ever since he had 
 come into the room, supported by two of his comrades. 
 He was indeed an object of pity. Of splendid physique, 
 six feet and powerfully built, with the fine intelligent 
 face of an educated man, he stood there white, twitching 
 in every muscle, in a state of complete nerve-collapse. 
 
 Colonel Tait, who had been observing hirrt keenly ever 
 since his entering the room, now approached him, greeted 
 him with a cheerful "Hello !" took him by the hand and 
 felt his pulse. 
 
 "How are you, old chap ? Feeling a little better than 
 you were, aren't you?" 
 
 "Yes <loc tor. Rather rotten though Be all 
 right to-morrow " 
 
 "Sure you will! Still a little rest won't do you any 
 harm. We'll send you down for a couple of weeks, and
 
 232 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 then you will be fit enough to have another go at the 
 boche." 
 
 So saying he turned him over to an assistant, and went 
 on with his work. At this point Cameron, from whose 
 eyes the look of horror had not yet faded, leaned over 
 to Barry and whispered : 
 
 "Let's get out of this. For Heaven's sake, this thing is 
 getting me." He glanced at Barry. "What, are you ill, 
 too?" 
 
 "Ill," answered Barry between his clenched teeth. 
 "111? No, why should I be ill? Look at these boys. I 
 see myself ill. By Jove!" he added under his breath, 
 "here's another shell shock. Sit down, Cameron !" His 
 voice took on a sterner tone. "Sit down. Don't be an 
 ass!" 
 
 Once more Colonel Tait took in hand the shell-shock 
 man. This second was a stretcher case. The man was 
 very violent, requiring two men to hold him on his 
 stretcher. 
 
 "Oh, let him go! Let him go!" said Colonel Tait. 
 "What's wrong with you?" he said to the man. "Have 
 you any wounds?" 
 
 "No, sir," chattered the man miserably. "Shell- 
 shock, sir. Buried twice by a shell. Oh! Ah!" 
 
 The colonel had a few moments' conversation with 
 Gregg, who came over to where Barry was sitting and 
 said: 
 
 "I say, Dunbar, watch this case. You will see some 
 fun." 
 
 "Fun," echoed Barry, shaken and indignant. "Not 
 much fun for that poor chap." 
 
 "Stand up," said the colonel sharply. 
 
 The man stood up without much apparent difficulty. 
 
 "Ah!" said the colonel. "Shell shock. Bad case, 
 too." His voice was kind and sympathetic. He gripped 
 the man by the arm and ran his hand down his spine 
 until he came to the small of his back. 
 
 "Pain there, eh?" he said, giving the man a poke.
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 233 
 
 "Yes, yes ! Ouw ! Doctor. Awful." 
 
 "Thought so," said the doctor. "Bad case! Poor 
 chap! A curious feeling in the legs, eh?" 
 
 The man nodded vigorously, still twitching violently 
 and making animal meanings. 
 
 Still pursuing his investigations and continuing to 
 sympathise with his patient, the doctor enquired as to 
 other symptoms, to all of which the patient promptly 
 confessed. When the examination was completed, the 
 doctor gave his man a hearty slap on the back and said : 
 
 "You're all right, my boy. Go treat yourself to a cup 
 of cocoa, and a good, thick slice of bread and rasp- 
 berry jam raspberry, remember and to-morrow you 
 can report to your battalion medical officer." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the man. "Doctor, I can't go up 
 again. I'm not fit to go up." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you can, my boy. You'll be in good fight- 
 ing trim to-morrow. You'll see! You'll see! Come 
 back here some day, perhaps, with a V. C." 
 
 Thereupon the man began to swear violently. 
 
 "Here, none of that," said the doctor sharply, "or up 
 you go to-night." 
 
 A grin ran around the dressing station, in which none 
 joined more heartily than the first shell-shock man, wait- 
 ing to be conveyed down the line. 
 
 "They don't get by the old man often, nowadays," 
 was Dr. Gregg's comment. 
 
 "You don't often get cases like this, though, do you?" 
 enquired Barry. 
 
 "Not often. We have passed through this dressing 
 station some thousands of cases, and we may have had 
 eight or ten malingerers. But this is not all sham. There 
 is a strong mixture of hysteria and suggestion with the 
 sham. A chap with a highly organised temperament 
 gets buried by a shell. That is a terrific nerve shock. 
 He sees two or three chaps blown to bits. Another 
 nerve shock. Now he has heard about shell shock as 
 a result of a similar experience. Immediately the sug-
 
 234 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 gestion begins to work and the man discovers in him- 
 self the well known symptoms of genuine shell shock, 
 and, begad! I don't wonder. What we have just given 
 him is part of the treatment for hysteria a little nerve 
 tonic. A good sleep may put him all right by to-morrow 
 morning. The chances are, however, that the O. C. will 
 send him down for a few days' rest and change. If 
 so, the chap will be as happy as a clam. The boys will 
 rag him half to death down there, so that he will be 
 keen to get back again, and the chances are may get 
 his V. C. Oh, we all get scared stiff," laughed Gregg. 
 "We are none of us proud about here. That hero stuff 
 that you read about in the home papers, we don't know 
 much about. We just 'carry on'." 
 
 "By Jove, Gregg! That's all right, but to just 'carry 
 on' in this business, it seems to me, calls for some pretty 
 fine hero stuff." 
 
 "Well, we don't call it so," said Gregg. "Now I'll 
 see about your ambulance. I believe there's one about 
 ready to go. I think I can find a place for you and 
 your friend, and it will save you a long walk." 
 
 They came away from the old mill with mingled feel- 
 ings. Barry had to a certain extent recovered from his 
 shock, and had himself somewhat firmly in hand. Cam- 
 eron was still silent and obviously shaken. 
 
 It was grey dawn when they arrived at the camp, 
 physically weary, nervously exhausted, and sick at heart. 
 Barry wakened Hobbs, who greeted them with the news 
 that the battalion was under orders to go up that night. 
 By his own state Barry was able to gauge that of his 
 friend Cameron. The experiences of the last ten hours 
 had been like nothing in his previous life. The desola- 
 tion wrought by war upon the face of the country, upon 
 the bodies of men, upon their souls, had sickened and 
 unnerved him ; and this he remembered was an experi- 
 ence of only a brief ten hours. He was conscious of a 
 profound self-distrust and humiliation, as he thought 
 of those other men, those medical officers, with their
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 235 
 
 orderlies, the ambulance drivers, those wounded soldiers. 
 How could they endure this horror, day in and day out, 
 for weeks and for months? In a few hours he would 
 have to meet his fellow officers and the men. They could 
 not fail to read in his face all this that he carried in his 
 heart. 
 
 By his grey, haggard face he knew that the same hor- 
 ror and fear had gone deep into his friend's soul. 
 There came to him the sudden thought that Cameron, 
 too, must meet his fellow officers, and must endure their 
 searching chaff, and that he would reveal himself to 
 his undoing; for no man can ever live down in his bat- 
 talion the whisper that he is a "quitter." That very 
 night Cameron would be forced to lead up his platoon 
 into the front line, and must lead them step by step 
 over that same Vlammertinghe road, where the trans- 
 ports were nightly shelled. In the presence of any dan- 
 ger soever, he must not falter. When the shells would 
 begin to fall, he knew well how the eyes of his men 
 would turn to their leader and search his very soul to 
 see of what quality he was. Far better a man should 
 die than falter. He had not failed to notice the startled 
 look in Cameron's eyes when Hobbs blurted out his 
 news. Some way must be found for the bracing up of 
 the nerve, the steadying of the courage of his friend. 
 
 "Come in with me, Cameron," he said, standing at 
 the door of his hut. "I'm dead beat and so are you. 
 We'll have coffee and some grub, and then sleep for a 
 couple of hours until reveille." 
 
 Cameron hesitated. The thing he most longed for at 
 that moment was to be alone. 
 
 "Come on!" insisted Barry. "Hobbs will have a fire 
 going, and hot coffee in ten minutes. Come on, old chap. 
 I want you to." 
 
 He threw his arm around Cameron's shoulder and 
 dragged him in. The boy dropped onto Barry's cot, 
 and, as he was, boots and coat on, was asleep before the 
 coffee was ready. His boyish face, with its haggard
 
 236 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 look, struck pity to Barry's heart, and recalled his fa- 
 ther's words, "These boys need their mothers." If ever 
 a lad needed his mother, it was young Cameron, and 
 just in that hour. 
 
 He woke the boy up, gave him his coffee, had Hobbs 
 remove his boots, made him undress and covered him 
 up in his blankets. Then, taking his own coffee, he lay 
 down on Hobbs' bed. 
 
 "Harry," he said, "give us every minute of sleep you 
 can. Wake us just one-half hour before reveille with 
 coffee and everything else good you can rustle, and, 
 Harry, waken me before Mr. Cameron." 
 
 When he lay down to sleep he made an amazing 
 discovery that his own horror and fear and self- 
 distrust had entirely passed away. He felt himself quite 
 prepared to "carry on." How had this thing come to 
 pass? His physical recuperation by means of coffee and 
 food? This doubtless in part, but only in part. In his 
 concern for his friend he had forgotten himself, and in 
 forgetting himself he had forgotten his fear. It was 
 an amazing discovery. 
 
 "Thank the good God," he said. /'He never forgets 
 a fellow, and I won't forget that." 
 
 He woke to find Hobbs at his side, with coffee, toast 
 and bacon, and on the floor beside his cot his tub await- 
 ing him the tub being a rubber receptacle exactly eight- 
 een inches in diameter. 
 
 He hurried through his dressing, and his breakfast, all 
 the while Cameron lying like a dead man, and with al- 
 most a dead man's face. 
 
 Barry hated to waken him, but reveille was but a 
 bare thirty minutes off, and he had an experiment to 
 work upon his friend. 
 
 "Bring the coffee, Harry. Not the bacon, yet," he 
 ordered. 
 
 "Hello, Cameron, old boy ! Wake up." 
 
 Cameron rolled over with a groan and opened his 
 eyes, still dull and heavy with sleep.
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 237 
 
 "Here you are. Pipe this down your tunnel and look 
 lively, too. You have got thirty minutes twenty-five, 
 really to reveille, and you have your toilet to perform 
 shave, massage, manicure and all the rest so go to it. 
 Here's your tub. You can't get into it, but soap yourself 
 over, and Hobbs will sluice you with a pail or two 
 outside." 
 
 "Why all this Spartan stuff? It's awfully cold. I 
 think I'll content myself with a nose rub this morning." 
 
 "Get out of bed, and be quick about it," commanded 
 Barry, "unless you'd rather take your tub where you 
 are." 
 
 So saying he jerked the clothes clear off the cot, threat- 
 ening Cameron with the tub. Cameron sprang up, 
 stripped, soaped himself over, groaning and shivering 
 the while; then stood outside in the open, while Hobbs 
 administered the order of the bath, and after a vigorous 
 rub, came in glowing. 
 
 "By jingo! That's bully! It's a pity a fellow can't 
 always feel just how bully it is before he takes it." 
 
 "Na-a-w then! a little snap!" ordered Barry, in at- 
 tempted imitation of the inimitable Sergeant Major 
 Hackett. "A little speed, pie-ease! That's better. I've 
 seen worse not often!" 
 
 And so he rattled on through Cameron's dressing and 
 shaving operations. 
 
 "Now then, 'Obbs, a little Delmonico 'ere. Shove this 
 bacon against your fice, Cameron." 
 
 "What about yours, sir ?" said Cameron, as he sat down 
 to the luxuries which somehow Hobbs had "rustled." 
 
 "Had it, you slacker." Then with a swift change of 
 voice and manner he added: "Listen to me, Cameron. 
 I'm going to have my prayers. You won't bother me 
 any, and if you don't mind I'll do them out loud. Don't 
 you stop eating, though. Hobbs, stop your wandering 
 around there and sit down and listen." Barry took his 
 Bible. 
 
 "Cameron," he said, "one comfort in reading the Bible
 
 238 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 to a chap with a father like yours is that you know all 
 about the thing already context, historical references 
 and theological teaching therefore, no need of comment. 
 Also you have a good imagination to see things. Turn 
 on the juice while I read. Hobbs, you waken up, too." 
 
 Then he began to read the vivid words which picture 
 as in miniature etchings the life stories of the heroes 
 of Faith who in their day held their generation steady 
 and pointed the way to duty and victory. As he read 
 his face became alight, his dark eyes glowed, his voice 
 thrilled under the noble passion of the words he read. 
 Then he came to this stately peroration : 
 
 "And what shall I more say ? For the time would fail 
 me to tell of Gideon," and so on through the list of 
 heroes, "Who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought 
 righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of 
 lions, (of whom the world was not worthy). Where- 
 fore seeing we also are compassed about with so great 
 a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and 
 the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with 
 patience the race that is set before us, looking unto 
 Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who, for the 
 joy that was set before him, endured the cross, despis- 
 ing the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the 
 throne of God." 
 
 Both reader and hearers were swept along upon the 
 tide of dramatic passion. They were themselves a part 
 of the great and eternal conflict there pictured ; they, too, 
 were called upon to endure the cross. 
 
 Cameron had forgotten his breakfast, and with his 
 kindling eyes fastened upon the reader's face, was listen- 
 ing to the noble music of the thrilling words, 
 
 Barry closed his book and laid it down. 
 
 "Great, eh! Wonderful company! All the finest 
 and the best of the war's heroes are in it. Now r then ; 
 
 prayer " He dropped on his knees, Cameron and 
 
 Hobbs following his example. 
 
 It was a prayer chiefly of thanksgiving for those who
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 239 
 
 in their day and in the face of anguish and terror and 
 death had kept the faith; of thanksgiving, too, for all 
 who in this present day of sacrifice in the home land 
 and of sacrifice upon the field of battle were keeping 
 that same faith for the Empire and for this same sacred 
 cause of humanity. The prayer closed with a simple 
 petition that they in the battalion might be found worthy 
 of a humble place in that great company. 
 
 As they were repeating together the prayer "Our 
 Father," the notes of the reveille sounded shrilly over 
 the camp. 
 
 "Go out, Hobbs, for a minute," said Barry after they 
 had risen from their prayer. He knew well that Cam- 
 eron would want a few minutes with him alone. 
 
 "Sir," said the boy, and his voice was quiet and steady, 
 "I'm not going to try to thank you, but I believe I can 
 'carry on' now." 
 
 "You bet you can," said Barry, gripping his hand. 
 "You bet you can ! It's the point of view after all, old 
 man, isn't it? For ourselves it doesn't matter, but we 
 have got to think of the boys, and we have got to stay 
 with the game." 
 
 Eighteen hours later the relief was completed, and the 
 battalion was in its place in the line, all but the sentries 
 asleep in their flimsy dugouts and behind their rotten 
 parapets. 
 
 An hour later, Barry, who was sleeping with the M.O. 
 in the regimental aid post, was wakened from a dead 
 sleep by the M. O. 
 
 "There's something doing out there," he said. 
 "Listen!" 
 
 There was a quick succession of sharp explosions. 
 
 "Bombs!" said the M.O. 
 
 The explosions were followed by the rat-tat-tat tat- 
 tat tat-tat-tat of the machine guns. Instantly they 
 were both on their feet and out in the trench. . 
 
 "I guess Fritzie is trying to put something over on us,
 
 being our first night," said the M. O. "I'll get my boys 
 out." 
 
 He ran to the adjoining dugout, where his corporal 
 and stretcher bearers were sleeping, roused them and sent 
 them up the trench. There was the sound of subdued 
 voices and of quick marching feet along the communi- 
 cation trench a few yards away. They stood together 
 listening for a few minutes. 
 
 "I'm going," said Barry, hurrying off in the direction 
 of the sound. "Come on." 
 
 "Captain Dunbar/'called the M. O. sharply, "my place 
 is here, and I think this is where you will be most useful 
 as well. They will bring the wounded to us right here." 
 
 In a few minutes all was still again, except for the 
 machine guns, which still kept up their incessant tattoo. 
 
 The M. O. was correct in his forecast. In a few min- 
 utes down the communication trench came a wounded 
 man walking, jubilant in spite of his wounds. 
 
 "Fritzie tried to put one over on us," he exclaimed, 
 while the doctor was dabbing with iodine and tying up 
 his wounded arm, "but I think he's got another guess 
 coming. You ought to have seen our officer," he added. 
 "The first one in the bunch to be 'at 'em.' With a bay- 
 onet, too, mind you. Grabbed one from a private as 
 he ran past, and bombs bursting like hell all around. 
 Beg pardon, sir," he added, turning to Barry. "He's 
 some kid, poor chap. He's got his, I guess." 
 
 "Who is he?" asked the M. O. 
 
 "Lieutenant Cameron, sir." 
 
 "Cameron!" cried Barry. "Where is he?" 
 
 "They are carrying the stretcher cases right down 
 to the dressing station, I hear," said the man. 
 
 "I'm going, doc," said Barry, and was off at a run. 
 
 At the casualty clearing station there was no excite- 
 ment, the doctors and orderlies "carrying on" as usual, 
 receiving the wounded, dressing their wounds, sending 
 them down with the smoothness and despatch character- 
 istic of their department.
 
 A TOUCH OF WAR 241 
 
 "Cameron ?" said the doctor in answer to Barry's ques- 
 tion. "Why certainly, I'll show you." And he led him to 
 Cameron's cot. 
 
 "Well, old chap," said the doctor cheerily, "we're go- 
 ing to send you down in a minute or two. Now don't 
 talk." 
 
 Cameron's eyes welcomed Barry. 
 
 "Dear old boy," said Barry, dropping on his knees be- 
 side him. "I'm awfully sorry." 
 
 "It's all right," whispered Cameron. "They never 
 
 knew. You'll write dad and tell him I kept " 
 
 The voice trailed off into silence. The morphia was do- 
 ing its merciful work. 
 
 "Kept the faith," said Barry. 
 
 "Yes," whispered Cameron with a smile, faint but 
 exultant. 
 
 "Good old boy," whispered Barry. 
 
 "Yes, I kept I kept- 
 
 The bearers came to carry out the stretcher. 
 
 "Will he recover?" whispered Barry to the doctor. 
 
 "Recover? Surest thing you know," said the doctor 
 in a loud cheery voice. "We can't spare this kind of 
 stuff, you know." 
 
 And again Barry leaned over the stretcher and said, 
 patting Cameron on the shoulder : 
 
 "Good old boy. You make us proud of you. You 
 kept the faith."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THINNING RANKS 
 
 months in that hell-hole of the salient have 
 made their mark on this battalion," said Transport 
 Sergeant Mackay. 
 
 "Yes, there's quite a lot of these round the first line and 
 back about here," replied the pioneer sergeant, who was 
 putting the finishing touches upon some crosses, that were 
 to be sent up the line that night. 
 
 "That's so, Fatty. Whose is that cross you are fin- 
 ishing?" 
 
 "That's Lieutenant Sal ford's, a fine young officer he 
 was, too. Always had a smile. The deeper the mud the 
 more Sally smiled. And this here is Lieutenant Booth's. 
 There's a chap now that picked up wonderful. Two 
 months ago everybody thought he was a big soft slob, 
 and those bombers say that he was all right. And here's 
 the M. O.'s. Poor old doc! There was a man, now, if 
 there ever was one. He wasn't afraid of nothing. He 
 would go walking about with a smile when a bombard- 
 ment was on, and in that last big show the other day, 
 they say him and the chaplain there's another peach 
 they 'carried on' wonderful. I wasn't around there at 
 the time, but the boys at the dressing station told me that 
 them two worked back and forward getting out the 
 wounded, I think they had about thirty injured up at 
 that time, as if it was a kind of er summer shower that 
 was falling, let alone H. E.'s and whizzbangs, and then 
 after they got the last man out, the M. O. went in with 
 some stretcher bearers, just lookin' around before he left, 
 and a shell came and got 'em all, and they say it was 
 about the last shell that was throwed. And that's where 
 
 242
 
 THINNING RANKS 
 
 poor Harry Hobbs got his, too. The Pilot went out just 
 a minute before, and when he came back that's what he 
 saw. They say he was terrible cut up over the M. O. 
 Funny thing, the M. O.'s face was just as quiet as if he 
 had gone to sleep, but the rest of the boys, well you could 
 hardly get 'em together, and the Pilot walkin' up and 
 down there lookin' like a lost man. We buried 'em right 
 there by Maple Copse. I want to tell you, sergeant, that 
 that's the hardest job I ever done in this war. The Pilot^ 
 he broke right down in the middle of the service. It 
 must have been hard for him. I've been with him now 
 at every funeral and he stands up to his work like a man. 
 He takes it kind of cheery almost, but when we was put- 
 tin' down the M. O. and poor Harry, the Pilot just 
 couldn't appear to stand it. I cried like a baby, and you 
 ought to have seen the crowd, the O. C. and the adjutant 
 and the pioneers, and they are all pretty hardened up by 
 this time. They have done enough plantin' anyhow. 
 They just all went to pieces. The shells was goin' over- 
 head among the trees, something awful, but nobody 
 minded more than if they had been pea-shooters. First 
 time I ever seen the Pilot break, and I have been with 
 him ever since the first one we buried, and that was big~ 
 Jim Berry. A sniper got him. You don't remember? 
 I guess you don't see much or get much of the news 
 back here." 
 
 "Back here!" exclaimed Sergeant Mackay. "What 
 do you mean, 'back here' ? Don't I have to go up every 
 night with the transport, and through that barridge, too. 
 This aint no 'safety first' job." 
 
 "I know, sergeant. I'm not sayin' you ain't at war. 
 Believe me, I'd rather be up front than to go up round 
 Hell Fire Corner and come back by the Menin Gate every 
 night like you fellows. I ain't sayin' nothing about that, 
 but you don't see things that I see, and you don't get 
 the news same as I do. Now, about Jim Berry, you 
 know, he was goin' to do some snipin' in place of Me- 
 Cuaig, who went to the machine gun company."
 
 244 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "McCuaig, in the machine gun company! I never 
 heard that." 
 
 "Well, that's what I'm sayin'," said Sergeant Mat- 
 thews, "you don't get some of the chances to get news 
 down here, same as me. You see, when we're sewin' up 
 the boys and fixin' 'em up like, and when we're fixin' 
 up the graves and puttin' on the crosses, you get kind 
 of thinkin' about things, and kind of lonesome, and so 
 the boys keep telling the news to cheer themselves up, 
 and that's how I heard about McCuaig. You see, Mc- 
 Cuaig was snipin' the first tour, and he's a killer, you 
 bet, and he had only cut three natches in his rifle. The 
 boys say he had got four of the Huns, but he had only 
 put down three natches on his rifle to be sure, and after 
 he seen the machine gun work, stoppin' a raid, he comes 
 to the officer, and says he, givin' him his rifle: 'Say, 
 this is all right for sport, but it ain't good enough for 
 killin' these devils. I'd like to get on to your gang, 
 if I can,' and they put him right onto the machine gun. 
 Say, he's sleepin' with that Lewis gun ever since. Just 
 pets it like a baby. What was I tellin' you? Oh, yes, 
 about McCuaig and Jim Berry. Well, he took McCuaig's 
 place snipin' and a good sniper he was too. He used to 
 hunt, you know, up in the mountains with Jim Knight 
 every fall. Well, he started out snipin' the day after 
 McCuaig quit, and McCuaig gave him his rifle too, and 
 took him up to the 'hide.' Well, big Jim was always a 
 careless cuss, you know. He gets his eye on the hole, 
 sightin' his rifle, and McCuaig was watchin' through one 
 of them new things " 
 
 "Perry's scope." 
 
 "Yes, that's it, Paris cope. Them French is mighty 
 smart fellows, you bet. When along walks a Hun. 
 'There he comes!' sings out McCuaig. 'Didn't see him 
 until he got past,' says Jim, pretty mad, because Jim 
 hated to show that he'd got 'buck fever,' or something, 
 and waited for the next. 'Here he comes!' says Mc- 
 Cuaig, again. 'Bang!' goes Jim. 'I've got him,' he
 
 THINNING RANKS 245 
 
 shouts, hoppin' up to get a good look, when McCuaig 
 grabs him and jerks him down, swearin' somethin' 
 awful, and tellin' him he wasn't shootin' no mountain 
 goats. 'Oh shaw!' says Jim. 'They can't get me.' 
 'You keep your head down, Jim,' said McCuaig. That's 
 the very last words he said to him, just as he was leavin' 
 him. He wasn't down the next day when bang! goes 
 Jim's rifle, and again up he jumps to see what he'd got, 
 when ping! goes a Boche bullet right through his head. 
 You know McCuaig was real mad, and he stood quiet 
 at that hole for three hours. Then he got Corporal 
 Thorn to shove up a hat on a rifle, when ping! comes 
 the bullet and bang! goes Jim's rifle. 'Guess he won't 
 shoot no more, unless there's shootin' in hell,' says he, 
 and makes another natch. Say, the boys all felt bad 
 about Jim and so did the Pilot. Well, we had to plant 
 him that night, as we was goin' out next day. It was 
 out beyond the Loop. You don't know where that is, I 
 guess." 
 
 "Of course, I do," asserted Mackay indignantly. "I've 
 been all around that front line. What are you givin' 
 us!" 
 
 "Oh, you have, eh ! Well, I wouldn't unless I had to, 
 you bet. It's no place for a man with a waist line like 
 mine. Well, as I was sayin', that cemetery was right 
 out in the open, right under observation, and exposed 
 to machine guns, snipers, whizbangs, all the hull bloody 
 lot of 'em. Wasn't no place for a cemetery anyway, I 
 say. I'm not after any bomb proof job but a cemetery 
 should be " 
 
 "Should be a quiet and retired spot," suggested one 
 of the transport boys. 
 
 "Yes. What's the use of getting livin' men shot up 
 when they're buryin' dead men, I want to know. Not 
 saying anything about the officers that's always round, 
 and the chaplain. I say a cemetery should be some- 
 where out of sight, like Maple Copse; now, there's a 
 good place, except that the roots make it hard diggin'.
 
 246 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 Up against a railway bank like that down at Zillebeck, 
 by the Railway Dugouts, there's a lovely place." 
 
 "How would the Ramparts do, sergeant?" enquired 
 another transport lad. 
 
 "Ramparts? You mean at Ypres? Yes," said the 
 sergeant, with a grin, "but I'd hate to turn out the 
 Brigade Headquarters Staff." 
 
 "Go on, sergeant." 
 
 "Well, as I was sayin', that's no place for a cemetery 
 up there beyond the Loop, but I didn't know so much 
 about it then, you bet. That's where we had to bury 
 Jim. It was a awful black night, and of course, just as 
 we got out to the trench to go 'overland' to the ceme- 
 tery, them flares started up something awful. I don't 
 know what they was lookin' for, but when they went 
 up, I want to tell you, I felt about the size of a tree, 
 and I wisht I was one. Well, Jim, you know, was pretty 
 heavy, an awful heavy carry he was for the boys. I was 
 tryir? to hurry 'em along, but that Pilot, he heads the 
 procession, and on he goes at a funeral march pace. 
 Now I believe in doin' things right. I've heard of some 
 pioneers that hurries their job. I don't believe in that, 
 but when you are going across the open on a dark 
 night, with them flares going up, I say between flares 
 is a good time to get a move on, but, no, that there Pilot, 
 he just goes that pace and no more. I want to tell you 
 the boys was nervous and the officers too. The O. C. 
 and Major Bustead was there. I could see the major 
 fusein' to get on. Well, we got Jim down all right, 
 and just as the Pilot got started, darned if they didn't 
 open up the biggest kind of a machine gun chorus you 
 ever heard." 
 
 "What did you do, sergeant?" 
 
 "Me? Well, I started huggin' mud and saying all the 
 good words I could think of. Even the O. C. got down 
 on his knees, and the major, he near got into the grave, 
 but that darned Pilot stood up there getting taller every 
 minute, and goin' on with his prayer, and the boys
 
 THINNING RANKS 247 
 
 sayin' 'Amen!' that loud and emphatic that I thought 
 he'd take the hint and cut out somethin', but cut out 
 nothin' ! Seemed as if his memory was workin' over 
 time, the way he kept a fetchin' up things that he couki 
 a easily forgot, and when he comes to the benediction, 
 the whizbangs begin to come. Up goes his hand, the 
 way they do. I thought to myself that that was a kind 
 of unnecessary display. I looks up and there he was, 
 more like a tree than ever. In fact, I says to myself- 
 it's queer how you think things at times like that 
 darned if they won't think the darned fool is a tree, 
 for nothin' but a darned tree would stand up in the 
 flare light and look so much like a tree anyhow. I 
 guess that's what saved him. He never moved until he 
 was done, and then didn't he stay with us pioneers after 
 the rest had gone until we filled up. Say, he's all right." 
 
 "You bet he's all right," said Sergeant Mackay, "and 
 he's gettin' in his work with the boys." 
 
 "What do you mean, 'gettin' in his work'?" enquired 
 the pioneer sergeant. 
 
 "Oh, well, you know," said Sergeant Mackay awk- 
 wardly, "he's makin' 'em think a lot different about 
 things. I know he has 'em tied up all right in their 
 language." And this was as near to a confession of 
 faith as the sergeant cared to go. 
 
 "Oh, I can see a difference myself up the line," said 
 the pioneer sergeant, "^'he boys used to get out of 
 his way. He used to jump on 'em something fierce. You 
 remember?" 
 
 "Huh-uh!" 
 
 "Well, they just love to have him drop in now and they 
 tell him things. I saw Corporal Thorn the other night 
 showin' him his girl's picture, and the Pilot thought 
 she was a fine girl too, and got her address down, and 
 said he was going to write her and tell her what a fine 
 chap the corporal was, and you ought to see Corporal 
 Thom swell up until he 'most bust his tunic."
 
 24,8 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Oh, I know the corporal's dippy about the Pilot," 
 said Sergeant Mackay. 
 
 "Yes, and the officers, too," said the pioneer ser- 
 geant. "There's Captain Duff. Well, you know what a 
 holy terror he is." 
 
 "He's all right," said Sergeant Mackay stoutly. "He 
 was my chief for about a month here, and he was the 
 first one to get this transport licked into shape, you 
 bet." 
 
 "I'm not saying anything against Captain Duff, but 
 he was a roughneck, you know well enough, and I guess 
 he hadn't much use for the Pilot." 
 
 "Oh, I know all about that," said Sergeant Mackay. 
 "The Pilot used to go up with us on the transport. It 
 was' awful hard on Captain Duff, handlin' the column and 
 the mules and all the rest, to hold in when the Pilot was 
 along. The captain, he had to come round now and 
 then to the rear. There he would have a lovely time 
 for a few minutes, with the Pilot safe up in front. But 
 the Pilot calmed him down all right." 
 
 "Yes, and there's that young Captain Fraser," said the 
 pioneer sergeant, with a note of enthusiasm in his 
 monotonous voice. "There a soldier. He just loved 
 fightin'. I remember the night he got his wound. It was 
 on a raid of course. If there was a raid on, Captain Neil 
 was sure to be there. He just about got his arm blown 
 off, but they say he's goin' to be all right. I was at the 
 regimental aid post when they fetched him in. Oh, he 
 was a dirty mess, face all cut up, and his arm hangin', 
 and not a word out of him until the Pilot comes along. 
 Then he begins to chirp up and the Pilot starts jollyin' 
 him along one minute and sayin' Psalms to him the next 
 minute, and little prayers, and the boys around listenin', 
 sometimes grinnin' and sometimes all choked up, but I'm 
 awful glad Captain Neil is comin' round all right." 
 
 By this time the pioneer sergeant had his crosses fin- 
 ished. 
 
 "Well," he said, as he set the crosses against the wall,
 
 THINNING RANKS 
 
 "there's three of the finest officers we ever had in this 
 battalion. You take 'em up to-night when you go, ser- 
 geant" 
 
 "We're not going up to-night. The boys are coming 
 out this evening," replied Sergeant Mackay. 
 
 "No? Is that so? I never heard that. Guess I'll 
 have to go up with some other outfit. Comin' out this 
 evening? Well, it's time they were. They've had one 
 hell all the time, I hear, this tour." 
 
 "Yes," continued Sergeant Mackay, "and the High- 
 landers are sending up their band to meet them and play 
 them out. I call that a mighty fine thing to do. You 
 know our own band had to go up with water and ra- 
 tions last night, and they can't get out until to-night. 
 So the Highlanders' band " 
 
 "Pretty good band, too, isn't it?" 
 
 "Best pipe band in the army," said Sergeant Mackay 
 with enthusiasm. 
 
 "Oh, a pipe band!" exclaimed the pioneer sergeant 
 in a disappointed tone. 
 
 "Yes, a pipe band, what else?" enquired Sergeant 
 Mackay truculently. 
 
 "Why don't they send up their real band, when they're 
 doin' it, anyway?" 
 
 "What!" shouted Sergeant Mackay. "I'll tell you. 
 For the same reason that they don't make you O. C. 
 in this battalion, you damned fat lobster! There now, 
 you've started me swearin' again, and I was quittin' it." 
 
 Sergeant Mackay's wrath at the slur cast upon the pipe 
 band, the only band, in his opinion, worthy of any real 
 man's attention, was intensified by his lapse into his 
 habit of profanity, which, out of deference to the Pilot, 
 he for some weeks had been earnestly striving to hold in 
 check. 
 
 "Oh well, Scotty, don't spoil your record for me. I 
 guess a pipe band is all right for them that likes that 
 kind of music. For me, I can't ever tell when they quit 
 tunin' up and begin to play."
 
 260 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 Sergeant Mackay looked at him with darkening face, 
 evidently uncertain as to what course he should adopt 
 whether to "turn himself loose" upon this benighted 
 Englishman or to abandon him to his deserved condi- 
 tion of fatuous ignorance. He decided upon the latter 
 course. In portentous silence he turned his back upon 
 Fatty Matthews and walked the whole length of the line 
 to get a mule back over the rope. It took him some little 
 time for the mule had his own mind about the manoeuvre 
 and the sergeant was unwontedly deliberate and gentle 
 with him. Then, the manoeuvre executed, he walked 
 slowly back to the pioneer sergeant and in restrained 
 and carefully chosen speech addressed him. 
 
 "Look here, Fatty, I'm askin' you, don't you ever say 
 things like that outside of these lines, for the sake of 
 the regiment, you know. I'd really hate the other bat- 
 talions to know we had got such " He halted him- 
 self abruptly and then proceeded more quietly, "A man 
 as you in this battalion. My God, Fatty, they'd think 
 your brains had run down into your pants. I know they 
 haven't, because I know you haven't any." He took a 
 fresh breath, and continued his address in a tone of 
 patient remonstrance. "Why, man, don't you know that 
 wherever the British Army has gone, its Highland regi- 
 ments have cleared the way; and that when the pipes 
 get playin' the devil himself couldn't hold them back?" 
 
 "I don't wonder," said Fatty innocently. "They make 
 a man feel like fightin' all right." 
 
 Sergeant Mackay scanned his face narrowly, uncer- 
 tain as to whether he should credit the pioneer sergeant 
 with intelligence sufficient to produce a sarcasm. 
 
 "What I mean is," exclaimed Fatty, seeking to ap- 
 pease the wrathful transport sergeant, "when you hear 
 them pipes, you get so stirred up, you know, that you 
 just feel like killin' somebody." 
 
 This apparently did not improve matters with Ser- 
 geant Mackay. 
 
 "Oh, darn it, you know what I mean !"
 
 THINNING RANKS 251 
 
 "No, Fatty," said the sergeant solemnly. "I don't 
 know what you mean, but I'll suggest this to you, Fatty. 
 You go down to that Pete mule, down there at the end 
 of the line and talk to him. I guess he'll understand you. 
 I'm busy just now." 
 
 "I don't /see what you're so hot about," said the 
 pioneer sergeant in an aggravated voice, "but I'm going 
 to see the boys come in anyway." 
 
 When the distant sound of the pipes coming from the 
 direction of the front line was heard in camp, men of 
 the various transport lines and base units lined up to 
 watch the battalion come in. For the rumour had run 
 that they had had a bad go, that they had beaten back 
 no less than three rather formidable raids of the enemy 
 and had been badly cut up. More than that, by reason 
 of the lack of reinforcements, they had had to do a 
 double tour, so that they were returning from an ex- 
 perience of thirteen days, in what was indeed the veri- 
 table mouth of hell. 
 
 "I guess they are all pretty well all in," said Sergeant 
 Matthews, who, standing with his pioneers, had been 
 carefully avoided by his friend Sergeant Mackay. That 
 enthusiastic Scot had for the time being abandoned his 
 transport, and was fraternising with the transport men 
 of the Highlanders, with whom he was sure he would 
 feel himself in more complete accord. 
 
 "Here they come, boys," said a Scot, as the sound of 
 the pipes grew louder. "There's a drummer for ye. Lis- 
 ten 'til that double roll, wull ye ?" 
 
 "Ay, Danny, the boys will be shovin* out their chests 
 and hitchin' their hips about something awful." 
 
 "Ye may say that, Hec. Will ye look at young Angus 
 on the big drum, man, but he has got the gr-rand style 
 on him." 
 
 "Ay, boys, they are the la-ads," said Sergeant Mac- 
 kay, yielding to the influence of his environment and 
 casually dropping into the cadence of the Highlanders 
 about him, which, during his ten years in the west, his
 
 252 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 tongue had well-nigh lost. "It's a very fine thing, your 
 pipers are doing, playing our boys out in this way, and 
 we won't be forgetting that in a hurry." 
 
 "Why for no?" enquired Hec, in surprise. "It's the 
 Highlanders themselves that love a bonny fighter." 
 
 Down the road, between lines of silent men, came the 
 pipers with waving kilts and flying tartans, swinging 
 along in their long swaying stride, young Angus doing 
 wonders on the big drum, with his whirling sticks, and 
 every piper blowing his loudest, and marching his proud- 
 est. Behind them came the men of the battalion march- 
 ing at attention, their colonel at their head, grave of 
 face and steady. Behind the colonel marched Major 
 Bayne, in place of the senior major, whom illness had 
 prevented from accompanying the battalion on this last 
 tour, no longer rotund and cheery as was his wont, but 
 with face grey, serious and deep lined. After him at 
 the head of A Company marched Captain Duff, his rug- 
 ged, heavy face looking thinner and longer than its wont 
 but even fiercer than ever. With eyes that looked straight 
 before them, heedless of the line of silent onlookers, the 
 men marched on, something in their set, haggard faces 
 forbidding applause. At the rear of the column marched 
 the chaplain alone, and every one knew that he had left 
 up in the Salient behind him his friend and comrade, the 
 M. O., whose place in all other marching had been at his 
 right hand. All knew too how during this last go, in the 
 face of death in its most terrifying form, they had car- 
 ried out their wounded comrades one by one until all 
 were brought to safety. And all knew too, how the chap- 
 lain carried with him that day a sore and lonely heart for 
 the loss of one who was more to him than batman, and 
 who had become his loyal and devoted friend. The 
 chaplain's face was gaunt and thin, with hollow cheeks, 
 but for all that, it wore a look of serene detachment. 
 
 "Say, he looks awful tough," said a voice in Sergeant 
 Mackay's ear.
 
 THINNING RANKS 253 
 
 Sergeant Mackay turned sharply around upon Fatty 
 Matthews. 
 
 "Tough! Tough!" he exclaimed, with a choke in his 
 voice. "You're a damned liar, that's what you are. He 
 looks fine. He looks fine," he added again iuriously. 
 "He looks as if hell itself couldn't scare him." 
 
 In the sergeant's eyes strange lights were glisten- 
 ing. 
 
 "Yes, you're right, sergeant," said Fatty Matthews 
 humbly. "You're right, and that's where he's been, too, I 
 guess." 
 
 Bravely and gallantly, with the historic and immor- 
 tal "Cock o' the North" shrilling out on the evening air, 
 the pipers played them on to the battalion parade 
 ground, where they halted, silent still and with that 
 strange air of detached indifference still upon them. 
 They had been through hell. Nothing else could sur- 
 prise them. All else, indeed, seemed paltry. 
 
 Briefly, but with heart-reaching words, the colonel 
 thanked the pipers for what he called "an act of fine 
 and brotherly courtesy." Then turning to his men, he 
 spoke a few words before dismissal. 
 
 "Men, you have passed through a long and hard time 
 of testing. You have not failed. I am not going to 
 praise you, but I want you to know that I am proud of 
 you. Proud to be your commanding officer. I know 
 that whatever is before us, you will show the same spirit 
 of endurance and courage. 
 
 "We have lost this time twenty-nine men, eleven of 
 them killed, and with these three very brave and very 
 gallant officers, among them our medical officer, a very 
 great loss to this battalion. These men did their duty 
 to the last. We loved them. We shall miss them, but 
 to-day we are proud of them. Let us give three cheers 
 for our gallant dead." 
 
 With no joyous outburst, but with a note of fierce, 
 strained determination, came the cheers. In spite of 
 all he could do, Barry could not prevent a shudder as he
 
 254 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 heard the men about him cheering for those whom he 
 had so recently seen lying, some of them sorely muti- 
 lated, in their grey blankets. 
 
 "Now, men," concluded the O. C, "we must 'carry 
 on.' You will have a couple of hours in which to clean 
 up and have supper, and then we shall have to-night a 
 cinema show, to which I hope you will all come, and 
 which I hope you will ail greatly enjoy." 
 
 The colonel's little speeches, as a rule, elicited appre- 
 ciative cheers, but this afternoon there was only a grave 
 silence. After dismissal, the men went to their huts 
 and were soon busy giving themselves a "high mark 
 scrub" preliminary to the hot bath and "jungle hunt" 
 in which they would indulge themselves to-morrow. 
 
 As Barry was moving off the parade ground, the 
 junior major caught up to him, and took him by the arm 
 and said : 
 
 "I have sent around my batman to your hut. He will 
 look after you until I can pick out a man from the new 
 draft. We all know how you feel about Hobbs, old 
 man." 
 
 "Thank you, major," said Barry quietly. "I appre- 
 ciate that." 
 
 "You will be around to-night," continued the major. 
 
 "No, I think not. I have a lot of things to do. All 
 those letters to write." Barry shuddered 'as he spoke. 
 For nothing in all his ministerial experience was to him 
 a more exhausting and heartbreaking task than the writ- 
 ing of these letters to the relatives and friends of his 
 dead comrades. 
 
 "I think you had better come," said the major earn- 
 estly. "I know the O. C. would like it, and the boys 
 would like it too." 
 
 "Do you think so?" said Barry. "Then I'll be there." 
 
 "Good man," said IVIajor Bayne, patting him on the 
 shoulder. "That's the stuff we like in this battalion." 
 
 Barry found his hut in order, his things out for airing, 
 his tub ready, and supper in preparation.
 
 THINNING RANKS 255 
 
 "Thanks, Monroe," he said to Major Bayne's batman, 
 as he passed into his hut. 
 
 As he entered his hut and closed the door, for the 
 first time there swept over his soul an appalling and 
 desolating sense of loneliness. It was his first moment 
 of quiet, his first leisure to think of himself for almost 
 two weeks. With the loss of his batman there had been 
 snapped the last link with that old home life of his, now 
 so remote but all the dearer for that. It came to him 
 that while he remained a soldier, this was to be his con- 
 tinual experience. Upon his return from every tour new 
 gaps would stare at him. Up in the lines they did not 
 so terribly obtrude themselves, but back here in rest 
 billets they thrust themselves upon him like hideous 
 mutilations upon a well loved face. He could hardly 
 force himself to remove his muddy, filthy clothes. He 
 would gladly have laid himself down upon his cot just as 
 he was, and given himself up to the luxury of his grief 
 and loneliness, until sleep should come, but his life as a 
 soldier had taught him something. These months of 
 discipline, and especially these last months of compan- 
 ionship with his battalion through the terrible experi- 
 ences of war, had wrought into the very fibre of his life 
 a sense of unity with and responsibility for his com- 
 rades. His every emotion of loss, of grief, of heart- 
 sickness carried with it the immediate suggestion and 
 remembrance that his comrades too were passing through 
 a like experience, and this was his salvation. Weary, 
 sick, desolate as he felt himself in this hour, he remem- 
 bered that many of his comrades were as he, weary, and 
 sick and desolate. He wondered how the major's bat- 
 man felt. 
 
 "Well, Monroe," he said with an attempt at a voice 
 of cheer, "pretty tough go this time." 
 
 "Yes, sir, very tough," said Monroe. "I lost my chum 
 this time," he added after a few moments' silence. 
 
 "Poor chap," said Barry. "I'm awfully sorry for you. 
 It's hard to leave a friend up there."
 
 256 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "It is that, sir," replied Monroe, and then he added 
 hurriedly but with hesitation, "and if you will pardon 
 me, sir, we all know it's awful tough for you. The boys 
 all feel for you, sir, believe me." 
 
 The unexpected touch of sympathy was too much 
 for Barry's self-control. A rush of warm tears came 
 to his eyes and choked his voice. For some minutes he 
 busied himself with his undressing, but Monroe con- 
 tinued speaking. 
 
 "Yes, sir, the Wapiti bunch is getting pretty small. 
 Corporal Thorn was with me " 
 
 "Corporal Thorn !" cried Barry. "Was Corporal Thorn 
 your chum?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, for six years we was on the Bar U. M. 
 together. We was awful close friends. He was a good 
 chum." 
 
 "Corporal Thorn!" exclaimed Barry again; "he was 
 your chum ! He was a great friend of mine too. You 
 have indeed suffered a great loss." 
 
 "He thought a lot of you, sir," said Monroe. "He 
 has often talked to me about you." 
 
 "But what a splendid death!" cried Barry. "Per- 
 fectly glorious!" 
 
 "I didn't hear, sir," said Monroe; "I came down three 
 days ago, and only heard that a bomb got him." 
 
 "Oh, splendid," said Barry. "Nothing finer in the 
 war. Let me tell you about it. There was an enemy 
 raid coming up. The corporal had got wind of it and 
 called his men out. They rushed into the front line 
 bay. Just as they got there, eight or ten of them, a 
 live bomb fell hissing among them. They all rushed 
 to one end of the bay, but the corporal kicked the 
 bomb to the other end, and then threw himself on top 
 of it. He was blown to pieces, but no one else was 
 hurt." 
 
 During the recital of this tale, Monroe stood looking at 
 Barry and when he had finished his eyes were shining 
 with tears.
 
 THINNING RANKS 257 
 
 "Ay, sir, he was a man, sir," he said at length. 
 
 "Yes, you have said it, Monroe. He was a man, just 
 a common man, but uncommonly like God, for He did 
 the same thing. He gave Himself for us." 
 
 Monroe turned away to his work in silence. 
 
 "Monroe," said Barry, calling him back, "look here, 
 lad, it would not be right for us to grieve too much for 
 Corporal Thorn. We ought to be thankful for him and 
 proud of him, should we not?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I know, sir, but," he added while his lip 
 trembled, "you hate to lose your chum." 
 
 Only under compulsion of his conscience did Barry 
 go to the cinema show that night, which in this camp was 
 run under the chaplain service and by a chaplain. He 
 knew what the thing would be like. His whole soul 
 shrunk from the silly, melodramatic films which he knew 
 would constitute the programme as from a nauseating 
 dose of medicine. The billboard announced a double 
 header, a trite and, especially to Canadians, a ridiculous 
 representation of the experiences of John Bull and his 
 wife and pretty daughter as immigrants to the Canadian 
 Northwest, which was to be followed by the immortal 
 Charlie Chaplin. 
 
 The cinema hut was jammed the whole battalion, 
 now much reduced in numbers, officers and men being 
 present, and with them the men of the base units and 
 transports of other battalions. It was in some senses 
 an unusual gathering. There was an entire absence of 
 the wonted chaff and uproarious horseplay; instead a 
 grave and almost bored air rested upon the men's faces. 
 The appalling experiences of the past thirteen days seemed 
 to dwarf all other things in comparison. They had been 
 in the presence of the Big Thing; all else seemed petty; 
 they had been looking into death's cold eyes; after that 
 other sights seemed trivial. Many of them carried sore 
 hearts for their comrades with whom they had at other 
 times foregathered in just such circumstances as these, 
 but nevermore again.
 
 258 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 It was the custom in the battalion, as the officers came 
 into such gatherings as this, to receive them with a ripple 
 of applause, but to-night there was silence. Barry ar- 
 rived late. When he appeared there fell upon the men a 
 hush, and then as he moved toward the front seats re- 
 served for the officers, the men began to rise until the 
 whole battalion was standing silent and motionless, and 
 so remained until he had found a seat. It was Major 
 Bayne who called his attention to this unusual demon- 
 stration, which was reserved only for great occasions and 
 for nothing less than a battalion commander. 
 
 "They are saluting you, Pilot," said Major Bayne in 
 a whisper, himself standing with the other officers. 
 
 Barry quickly lifted his eyes, saw the men standing, 
 with all eyes directed toward him, slowly looked over the 
 rows of faces, smiled a bright but slightly wavering 
 smile; turned and saluted the Commanding Officer, and 
 sat down all trembling and shaken by this most touching 
 tribute of sympathy and affection. 
 
 The show began with some pictures of great allied 
 leaders which excited a mild interest and drew some per- 
 functory applause. Then came the tragic comedy of 
 John Bull's experiences as an immigrant, when just as 
 the interest began to deepen, the machine blew up, and the 
 pictures were off for the night. 
 
 Ordinarily such a contretemps would have been by no 
 means fatal to the evening's enjoyment, for in the bat- 
 talion there was no lack of musical and other talent, and 
 an impromptu entertainment was easily possible. Ordi- 
 narily, too, in such an emergency there would at once 
 have arisen a demand for the chaplain, who had come to 
 be recognised as a great standby in times of need such 
 as this. To-night, however, everything seemed changed. 
 The mild suggestion of one of the men that the chaplain 
 should take the piano was promptly discouraged by the 
 dissenting growls of the others present. They knew well 
 how their chaplain was feeling. 
 
 "What shall we do?" asked Major Bayne of Barry.
 
 THINNING RANKS 259 
 
 "Get Coleman to the piano. He is a perfect wizard," 
 suggested Barry, indicating a young lieutenant who had 
 come to the battalion with the recent draft, and who had 
 done some accompaniments for Barry's violin playing. 
 
 Lieutenant Coleman, on being called for, went to the 
 piano, and began to play. He was indeed a wizard as 
 Barry had said, with a genius for ragtime and popular 
 music hall ditties, and possessed also of the further gift 
 of improvisation that made his services invaluable on 
 just such an occasion as this. 
 
 From one popular air to another he wandered, each 
 executed with greater brilliance than the last, but he 
 failed to excite anything more than a mild interest and 
 approval. The old songs which on other occasions had 
 been wont to let loose the song birds of the battalion 
 seemed to have lost their power. It was not gloom, but 
 a settled and immovable apathy which apparently nothing 
 could break. 
 
 "This is going awfully slow," said Major Bayne to 
 Barry. "I wish something could be done." 
 
 "The boys are tired out," answered Barry, himself 
 weary and sick of the performance and longing more 
 than anything else for solitude and his cot. 
 
 The Commanding Officer came over and sat beside 
 them. He was obviously worried and uneasy. 
 
 "I don't like this," he said to the major. "Coleman 
 is doing his best, and is doing mighty well, but there is 
 no heart in the boys, and it isn't entirely due to physical 
 weakness. I wish we could start something that would 
 wake them up before they leave. They would sleep 
 much better." 
 
 "The Pilot here can do it," said Major Bayne in an 
 undertone, "but I rather hate to ask him for he is pretty 
 much all in." 
 
 They sat a little while longer listening to the men's 
 half hearted drawling of "The Tulip and the Rose." 
 
 "This won't do," said the O. C. abruptly. "Get Dun- 
 bar over here."
 
 260 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Dunbar," said the O. C. when Barry had come to 
 him. "This thing is as dull as ditchwater. I want to 
 get the boys started up a bit. They are hopelessly dull. 
 Look at their eyes. Do you know what they are see- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Barry, "they are seeing what they 
 have been looking at for the last thirteen days." 
 
 "You are right, Dunbar, and that's what I want them 
 to forget. Now I know you don't feel very fit, and I 
 hate to ask you, but I believe you can do something for 
 the men with that violin of yours. What do you say?" 
 
 "I have already sent a man for it," said Major Bayne. 
 "I knew he'd do it, and his violin lies there under the 
 piano." 
 
 Without announcement or preface Barry walked 
 straight to the stage where Coleman, having miserably 
 failed to strike fire with "The Tulip and the Rose," was 
 grinding out, with great diligence and conscientious 
 energy, "Irish Eyes." Barry picked up his violin from 
 the floor, mounted the stage, laid his violin on the piano, 
 then he took his place behind the pianist and, bending 
 over him, reached down, caught him under the legs and 
 while still in full tide of his performance, lifted him 
 squarely off the stool and deposited him upon a chair at 
 one side of the stage. Then, ignoring the amazed look 
 upon Coleman's face, he proceeded gravely to tune his 
 violin to the piano. The act itself, the cool neatness with 
 which it was performed, the astonished face of the out- 
 raged pianist, all together created a situation excessively 
 funny. The effect upon the audience was first one of 
 surprise, then of unalloyed delight. Immediately every 
 man in the hall was wide awake, and as the humour of 
 the situation grew upon them, they began to cheer in 
 quite a lively manner. 
 
 When Barry put his violin to his chin they cheered 
 again, for often had he bewitched them with the magic 
 of his instrument. 
 
 Before he began to play, he glanced over his shoulder
 
 THINNING RANKS 261 
 
 at the discomfited Coleman and remarked in an under- 
 tone, perfectly audible throughout the hall, "Now we'll 
 have some music." 
 
 Again the audience went off in a perfect storm of 
 delighted cheers, which were renewed from time to time 
 as Barry would turn looking with a grave face upon 
 the still amazed Coleman, not yet quite recovered from 
 his first astonishment. 
 
 When quiet was finally restored, Barry began to play. 
 For his opening number he made a daring choice. It 
 was the intricate but altogether tuneful Ballade and 
 Polonaise by Vienxtemps. Throughout the somewhat 
 lengthy number he held his audience fixed under the 
 mastery of his art. It was a triumph immediate and 
 complete. When he had finished the last brilliant move- 
 ment of the Polonaise, the men burst again into enthu- 
 siastic cheering, moved not only by the music but more 
 by the spirit of their chaplain, which they could not fail 
 to understand and appreciate. 
 
 He had already achieved what the O. C. had desired, 
 but he was not yet done with them. Having finished 
 his classical selection, which he was quite well aware 
 Coleman could not touch, he turned to the latter and 
 gravely motioned him to the piano stool. Coleman hesi- 
 tated, not knowing quite what would be demanded of 
 him. 
 
 "Come on, Coleman, be a sport," shouted a young offi- 
 cer, the audience joining once more in encouraging 
 cheers. 
 
 Still Coleman hesitated. One never knew just what 
 vagary the chaplain might put on. Failing to move him 
 by imploring gesture, Barry finally approached him, and 
 with elaborate, courteous formality, offered him his hand, 
 and finally conducted him to the piano stool. Again the 
 delighted audience went into a roar of cheers. 
 
 From that moment, and for a full hour, Barry had 
 them at his will, now listening spellbound to some simple 
 old heart song, now beating hand and foot to a reel,
 
 262 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 now roaring to the limit of their lung power some old 
 and well-loved popular air. 
 
 "Ain't he a bird ?" said the major to the Commanding 
 Officer. 
 
 "He's fine," assented the Commanding Officer with a 
 great sigh. "I can't tell you what a burden he has lifted 
 from me. It's worth a week's rest to the men, and, poor 
 chaps, they need it." Lowering his voice, he leaned 
 over to the major and said, "We may be going up again 
 to-morrow night." 
 
 "To-morrow night, colonel!" exclaimed the major, 
 aghast. 
 
 "Not a word, but I have exceedingly grave news. The 
 front line is driven in. One of the battalions holding 
 is completely wiped out." 
 
 "Wiped out? Good God, and where are the enemy?" 
 
 "As far as I can hear, although I haven't the particu- 
 lars, they have broken through from Hooge to Hill 60, 
 are through Sanctuary Wood, and down to Maple Copse. 
 Two relief battalions have gone up and are holding. 
 The chances are we shall have to go to back them up 
 to-morrow evening. It's hard on the boys, for they have 
 come through a long and bitter experience, but not a 
 word of this, major, to any one. We shall let them 
 have their rest to-night. That's why I was so anxious 
 about this entertainment. That's why I am particularly 
 grateful to that Pilot of ours. He is a wonder, and by 
 the look of him he is about all in. He is staying mag- 
 nificently with the game. And now, major, I am going 
 to do something that will please him immensely. At 
 least I think it will." 
 
 At a pause in the music, the O. C. arose and moved 
 toward the stage. Barry at once stepped back to the 
 rear. Standing before the men, the O. C. spoke briefly : 
 
 "I wish to thank in your name, men, our chaplain, 
 and his assistant, Mr. Coleman, for the very delightful 
 evening they have given us. I know how you feel by 
 the way I feel myself. I need say no more, and now,
 
 THINNING RANKS 263 
 
 seeing that we have missed our parade service for the 
 last two Sundays, and as I should not like the chaplain 
 to become rusty in his duty, I'm going to ask him to bring 
 our very pleasant evening to a close with a little service 
 such as he himself would suggest." 
 
 Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when Barry 
 took up his violin and said : 
 
 "Boys, did you have a good time to-night?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; you bet we had, sir." 
 
 "Well, then, if you had, sing this," and recited for 
 them the first verses of the old hymn, 
 
 "Abide with me, fast falls the even tide." 
 
 When they had sung the first verse, he said again : 
 "Now sing these words," and once more he recited the 
 stirring verse: 
 
 "I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless." 
 
 When they had finished the verse, he said to them : 
 "Shall we have another?" 
 
 "Go on, sir!" they said. "Sure thing!" "Finish it 
 up!" 
 
 "Then," said Barry, "sing these words" : 
 
 "I need Thy presence every passing hour, 
 
 What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power." 
 
 Then when he had finished the verse, he dropped the 
 violin and, moving to the edge of the platform, said, in 
 a voice vibrant with emotion : 
 
 "Don't sing these words, but say them as I play them 
 for you." 
 
 He then recited the moving words with which the old 
 hymn closes : 
 
 "Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes; 
 Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;
 
 264 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows 
 
 flee, 
 In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me." 
 
 "I want every one of you to say the words to himself as 
 I play them." 
 
 In long-drawn, tremulous notes he voiced the beautiful 
 plea for aid in the hour of man's supreme need, which 
 finds expression in the first two lines. Then, with his 
 bow gripping the strings in a great sweeping crescendo, 
 he poured forth in full strong chords the triumphant 
 faith with which the hymn closes. 
 
 He laid his violin on the piano, stood quite a few 
 moments looking upon them, then said: 
 
 "Men, listen to these great words. They might have 
 been written for us, and for these days ;" and he recited 
 to them the words of the Hebrew psalm, eloquent of 
 courage in the face of a crumbling world : 
 
 "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help 
 in trouble. 
 
 Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be re- 
 moved, and though the mountains be carried into 
 the midst of the sea. 
 
 Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, 
 though the mountains shake with the swelling 
 thereof. Selah. 
 
 There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad 
 the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles 
 of the Most High. 
 
 God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved. 
 God shall help her and that right early. 
 
 The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved; he ut- 
 tered his voice, the earth melted.
 
 THINNING RANKS 265 
 
 The Lord of hosts is with us ; the God of Jacob is our 
 refuge. Selah. 
 
 Come, behold the words of the Lord, what desolations 
 he hath made in the earth. 
 
 He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; 
 he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder : 
 he burneth the chariot in the fire. 
 
 Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted 
 among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth. 
 
 The Lord of hosts is with us ; the God of Jacob is our 
 refuge." 
 
 Then they followed him in the General Confession, 
 and the Lord's prayer. 
 
 "Captain Dunbar," said the O. C, offering him his 
 hand, "you have done for us to-night a greater thing than 
 you know just now. You will understand better to- 
 morrow. With all my heart I thank you on the men's 
 behalf and on my own behalf, for I assure you I needed 
 it as much as they did. I want to assure you, too, sir, 
 that I received to-night the thing I needed." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Barry simply, too weary to 
 utter another word, and staggered out, half dead with 
 exhaustion. 
 
 Half an hour later, as he was leisurely undressing, and 
 drinking the cup of cocoa which Monroe had prepared 
 for him, a message summoned him to the orderly room. 
 There he found Colonel Leighton with Major Bayne and 
 the company commanders. 
 
 "I have a communication here for you, Captain Dun- 
 bar," said the O. C., "from your D.A.C.S.," and he 
 passed him a little slip. 
 
 It was the announcement of his "leave."
 
 266 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Well, what do you think of that?" said the O. C. 
 "How does that suit you?" 
 
 "Well, sir," said Barry, uncertainty and hesitation in 
 his voice, "I'd like the leave, all right, but can I con- 
 veniently be spared just now?" 
 
 "Most certainly," said the O. C., "and, what's more, 
 I want you to go to-night. Can you get ready?" 
 
 "I suppose so, sir," said Barry, wearily. 
 
 "By Jove! listen to him," said the O. C. "He hates 
 to leave us, doesn't he?" And they all laughed. "Now, 
 Dunbar," he said, "no more posing. You catch the leave 
 train to-night at Poperinghe. As a matter of fact, I 
 think it starts somewhere about twelve." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Barry. "I think I can catch it." 
 
 "Then good luck!" said the O. C., rising from his 
 chair. "Every one of us here would like to be in your 
 place, but since it isn't himself, every man is glad that 
 it should be you." 
 
 Still Barry hesitated. 
 
 "I really hate to leave you, sir, just now," he said. "I 
 mean that," he added with a little nervous laugh. 
 
 "Oh, come on, Dunbar," said the O. C. in a voice 
 whose gruffness might signify almost any emotion, but 
 with a touch upon his shoulder that Barry knew meant 
 comradeship. "Say good-bye to the boys here, and get 
 out." 
 
 They had just finished the plan for the campaign of 
 the next night, and every man in that little company knew 
 that for him this might be his last "Good-bye" to the 
 chaplain. It only added to the depth of their feeling 
 that they knew that of all this Barry was unconscious. 
 But, whether it was that unconsciously he had gathered 
 something of the real significance of the situation, or 
 whether it was that he himself had reached the limit of 
 emotional control, as he passed from man to man, shak- 
 ing hands in farewell, his lips refused to utter a single 
 word, but in his eyes were unshed tears that spoke for 
 him.
 
 THINNING RANKS 267 
 
 Major Bayne followed him to the door, and outside: 
 "Take my horse and Monroe with you, and good-bye, 
 old man. All sorts of good luck. Remember that we 
 all feel to-night that you are really one of us, and that 
 we are better men because we have known you. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 Again Barry was conscious of that strange suggestion, 
 almost of impending calamity. 
 
 "I hate to go, major," he said. "I believe I'll wait." 
 "Nonsense," said the major impatiently. "Take your 
 leave when you get your chance, and have a good time. 
 You have earned it."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE PASSING OF MCCUAIG 
 
 AT Poperinghe the leave train was waiting in the 
 station, and a little company of. officers and men 
 were having their papers examined preparatory to their 
 securing transportation. Some of the officers were from 
 his own brigade and were known to Barry. 
 
 "A big push on at the front, I hear," said one of them 
 to a friend. 
 
 "Yes, major," said his friend. "They have been 
 having a perfect hell of a time." 
 
 "By the way, your men are going in to-morrow, I 
 understand," said the major, turning to Barry. 
 
 "I don't think so, major," replied Barry. "We have 
 just come out." 
 
 "Oh, well, I had it from fairly good authority that 
 they were going in to-morrow night." 
 
 Barry hunted up Monroe, whom he found talking to 
 a signaller of the battalion. 
 
 "Did you boys hear anything about the battalion going 
 up to-morrow?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the signaller promptly. "We had it 
 over the wires. They are going in, all right, to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 Monroe kicked the signaller on the ankle. 
 
 "Did you hear anything about it, Monroe?" enquired 
 Barry. 
 
 "No, sir. I don't believe these rumours at all. They 
 are always flying about." 
 
 "But you say you got it over the wires?" said Barry 
 to the signaller. 
 
 "Yes, sir. That is, sir, of course, we get a lot of 
 
 268
 
 THE PASSING OF McCUAIG 269 
 
 messages. Perhaps I'm mixed up," said the signaller in 
 very evident confusion. 
 
 "And you haven't heard anything, Monroe?" said 
 Barry. 
 
 "No, sir, not a thing, and I think I would have heard 
 if there had been any truth in it." 
 
 Something in the childlike expression of innocence 
 upon Monroe's face wakened Barry's suspicion. 
 
 "Look here, Monroe," he said, "don't lie to me. Now, 
 I'm talking to you as your chaplain. Tell me the truth. 
 Have you heard of the battalion going in to-morrow?" 
 
 Under Barry's eye Monroe began to squirm. 
 
 "Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I did hear a rumour 
 of that kind." 
 
 "And you?" said Barry, turning upon the signaller, 
 "tell me the truth." 
 
 "Well, sir, it's just as I said. We had it over the 
 wires. The battalion is going in." 
 
 "Very well, get my stuff, Monroe," said Barry, quietly. 
 "I'm going back." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir." 
 
 "Do you hear me? Get my stuff; I'm not going out 
 to-night." Barry's tone admitted no further talk, and 
 Monroe, swearing deeply at his friend the signaller and 
 at his own stupidity, and especially at his own "lack of 
 nerve to see his lie through," hunted out Barry's bag- 
 gage and stood ready for his officer to return. 
 
 "Hello, Dunbar," said the major, as he saw Barry 
 about to mount his horse. "What's up? Forgotten 
 something? You'll surely miss your train." 
 
 "I'm not going," said Barry briefly, getting himself 
 settled in his saddle. 
 
 "Not going!" exclaimed the major. "What do you 
 mean? I thought you were on leave." 
 
 "Changed my mind," said Barry cheerfully. 
 
 "I say, old man," said the major, "there may be noth- 
 ing in what I told you about the push. Anyway, you
 
 270 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 know we cannot postpone our leave until all the fighting 
 is over." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," replied Barry. "There are lots 
 of you combatant chaps in a battalion, but there is only 
 one chaplain." 
 
 "Oh, hang it all," cried the major, "take your leave. 
 Well," seeing that Barry paid no heed to his advice, "the 
 best of luck, old man," he said, offering his hand. "I 
 guess you're all right after all." 
 
 The exhilaration that had sustained Barry during the 
 evening suddenly fled, leaving him flat in spirit and limp 
 in body. What he wanted most of all was sleep, and 
 morning was not so far away. He rode back to his hut, 
 and, bidding Monroe let him sleep all day, he tumbled 
 into bed and knew nothing until late in the afternoon. 
 Monroe, too, had slept in, and, after rising, had been 
 busy about the hut, so that he had no further informa- 
 tion as to the battalion's movements. The chaplain's 
 hut was some distance from Headquarters and from 
 the battalion camp. Hence it came that while Barry 
 was writing hard at his letters throughout the remainder 
 of the afternoon, he was quite unaware of what was 
 taking place. Monroe, however, returned about six 
 o'clock to say that the battalion had been "standing to" 
 all afternoon, but that the general feeling was that there 
 would be no advance until late at night. 
 
 Glad of the opportunity to catch up with his corre- 
 spondence, Barry paid little heed to the passing of time. 
 His last letter was to the V.A.D., in which he poured 
 out the bitterness of his disappointment that he was not 
 even now on his way to Boulogne and to her, and ex- 
 pressing the hope that after this "show" was over, he 
 would be granted leave, upon which happy event he 
 would with all speed proceed to her. She had been 
 speaking of a trip to England. Would it not be a very 
 wise and proper proceeding that she should make her 
 leave to synchronise with his ? Now he must be off, and
 
 THE PASSING OF McCUAIG 271 
 
 so with love to her, and with the hope that they might 
 see London together 
 
 Just then Monroe came with the startling news that 
 the battalion had "moved up" hours ago. 
 
 "Which road?" enquired Barry, springing to his feet. 
 
 "Don't know, sir," replied Monroe, who had evidently 
 his own opinion about matters. "But I met a padre," 
 he continued, "who told me that there was a stream of 
 wounded passing through the Brandhoek Clearing Sta- 
 tion. He said they were very short-handed there, sir," 
 and Monroe regarded his officer with anxious eyes. 
 
 "I hate to take you up there, Monroe," said Barry 
 with a smile. 
 
 "Oh, that's all right, sir," said Monroe, hastily, "but 
 I guess we'll have to hurry." 
 
 "I remember, Monroe, that your major and you would 
 have sent me out of this, but you know well enough that 
 there's only one place for me to-night, and the question 
 is, where is the battalion Ypres Barracks, Chateau 
 Beige, Zillebeck, or where?" 
 
 "I enquired at the transports, sir," said Monroe, "and 
 no one appeared to know. They moved out quietly and 
 left no word behind." 
 
 "All right, we'll go up to Chateau Beige, and if they 
 are not there, we'll make a shot at Zillebeck," said Barry. 
 "We'll go right away. We don't need a lot of truck 
 this trip." 
 
 It was a long and tiresome march, but Barry found 
 himself remarkably fit, and already under the exhilara- 
 tion of what was before him. At the Chateau Beige 
 they found no word of their battalion, but they were in- 
 formed that the shelling on the Kruisstraat road had 
 been bad all afternoon, and was still going on. The 
 Boches were paying particular attention indeed to the 
 crossroads. 
 
 "All right," said Barry. "We'll go up and have a 
 look at it, anyway." 
 
 A hundred yards further up the road they were held
 
 272 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 up by a sudden burst of H.E. shells, which fell in near 
 proximity to the crossroads before them. 
 
 "Well, we'll just wait here a few minutes until we 
 can time these things," said Barry, sitting down by the 
 roadside. 
 
 As they were waiting there, three soldiers passed them 
 at quick march. 
 
 "Better wait, boys," called Barry; "they are dropping 
 quite a few shells at the crossroads." 
 
 "We are runners, sir," said one of them. "I guess 
 we'll just take a chance, thank you, sir." 
 
 "All right, boys, if you think best," replied Barry. 
 "Good luck!" 
 
 "Thank you, sir," they said, and set off at a smart 
 pace. 
 
 While Barry sat listening to the sound of their foot- 
 steps upon the pavement, there came that terrific whine, 
 followed by an appalling crash, as a H.E. shell landed 
 full upon the road. Barry sprang to his feet. Three 
 other shells followed in quick succession, then there 
 came the sound of hurrying feet and a man appeared, 
 bleeding horribly and gasping. 
 
 "Oh, my God! My God! They are gone! They are 
 gone !" 
 
 "Sit down," said Barry. "Now, where's your wound?" 
 
 "My arm, sir," said the man. 
 
 Barry cut off the blood-soaked sleeve, ripped open his 
 first aid dressing, and bound the wound up tightly. Then 
 he put a tourniquet upon the arm above the wound. 
 
 "The other boys killed, you say?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes, sir, blown to pieces. Oh, my God !" he groaned, 
 shuddering. "My chum's whole head was blown off, 
 and the other has his belly all torn up." 
 
 "Now look here, old man," said Barry, "you lie down 
 here where you are, and keep perfectly still," for the 
 man was throwing himself about, more from shock than 
 from pain. "We'll get you to the dressing station in a
 
 THE PASSING OF McCUAIG 273 
 
 few minutes. Monroe, run and get the stretcher bear- 
 ers, and I'll go and see how things are up yonder." 
 
 He threw his coat over the wounded man, and set off 
 at a run toward the crossroads. He found matters as 
 the man had said, the two bodies lying in a dark patch 
 of bloodsoaked dust, one with head quite blown off, and 
 the other with abdomen horribly torn. 
 
 He hurried back to the wounded man, who had re- 
 covered somewhat from his shock and was now lyifcg 
 on his side quietly moaning. Barry got from him the 
 names and units of the men who had been killed. 
 
 "I will drop a note to your mother, too, my boy," 
 he said, "and tell her about your wound." 
 
 "Oh, sir," said the boy quickly he was only a boy 
 after all "don't tell her at least, tell her Pm all right. 
 I'll be all right, won't I?" 
 
 "Sure thing," said Barry, "don't you fear. I won't 
 alarm her, and I'll tell her what good stuff you are, boy." 
 
 "All right, sir. Thank you, sir," said the boy quietly. 
 
 "And I'll tell her, too, that you are not worrying a 
 bit, and that you know that you are in the keeping of 
 your Heavenly Father. How is that?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the boy in a low voice. "I will be 
 glad to have you tell her that. She taught me all that, 
 sir. Poor mother, she'll worry though, I know," he 
 added with a little catch in his throat. 
 
 "Now you brace up," said Barry firmly. "You have 
 got off mighty well. You have got a nice little blighty 
 there, and you are going to be all right. I'll give your 
 mother the best report about you, so that she won't 
 worry." 
 
 "Oh, thank you," said the boy, with fervent gratitude, 
 "that will be fine. And you are right," he added, a note 
 of resolution coming into his voice. "I got off mighty 
 well, and it's only my left arm, thank goodness. I'll 
 brace up, sir, never fear," he added between his teeth, 
 choking back a groan. 
 
 Barry accompanied the stretcher-bearer back to the
 
 274 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 chateau and gave the man over into the care of the 
 C. A. M. C. 
 
 "Can you put a squad on to digging a grave?" he in- 
 quired of the officer in charge. "If so, though I'm in 
 an awful hurry, I'll stay to bury those poor chaps." 
 
 "Sure thing, we can," said the officer. "We'll do the 
 very best we can to hurry it." 
 
 In about an hour and a half Barry was on his way 
 again. He dodged the shelling at the crossroads, and 
 following a track across the open fields, arrived at the 
 Zillebeck Bund without adventure. 
 
 Here to his relief he found the battalion. He made 
 his way at once to Headquarters, and walked in upon a 
 meeting of officers. 
 
 "Well, I'm " exclaimed Colonel Leighton, check- 
 ing himself hard, "who have we here ! What in hell are 
 you doing here, Pilot? I thought you would be safely 
 in old Blighty by this time," he added, shaking him 
 warmly by the hand. 
 
 "Oh, you couldn't work that game on me, colonel," 
 said Barry cheerily, going round the group of men, who 
 gave him an eager welcome. "You thought you had 
 shipped me off, just as the fun was starting, but I got 
 on to you." 
 
 "Well, I'll be darned," said Major Bayne. "How 
 did you find out?" 
 
 Barry told him, adding, "You will have to train your 
 man to lie more cheerfully." 
 
 "That's what comes of a man's environment," said 
 the major, disgustedly. "I was always too truthful, 
 anyway." 
 
 "Well, sir," said Barry, turning to the colonel. "I'm 
 awfully glad to find you here. I was afraid I'd lost 
 you." 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," said the colonel, "you have all 
 got your orders. Does any one want to ask a question? 
 Well, then, it's pretty simple after all. Two companies 
 advance as far as Maple Copse, and gradually work
 
 THE PASSING OF McCUAIG 275 
 
 up until they feel the enemy, then put in a block and 
 hold against attack, at all costs. The other two com- 
 panies are to follow up in support at Zillebeck Village. 
 Later on, when our reserves come up, and when our 
 guns return I hear they are pushing them up rapidly 
 we are promised a go at those devils. Meantime we 
 have got to hold on, but I expect the battalion will be 
 pulled out very shortly." 
 
 The flickering candles lit up the faces of the men 
 crowding the dugout. They were elaborately careless 
 and jolly, but their eyes belied their faces. Under the 
 careless air there was a tense and stern look of expecta- 
 tion. They were all sportsmen, and had all experienced 
 the anxious nervous thrill of the moments preceding a 
 big contest. Once the ball was off, their nervousness 
 would go, and they would be cool and wary, playing the 
 game for all they had in them. 
 
 "Now, gentlemen," said the colonel, as they prepared 
 to leave the dugout, "before I let you go, there is one 
 thing I want to say. It's a tradition of the British army 
 that any soldier or officer who has lost his unit marches 
 toward the sound of the guns. I am proud to-night 
 that we have an example of that old tradition here. We 
 left our chaplain behind, and he didn't know where his 
 battalion had gone, but he moved toward the sound of 
 the guns. That is what I would expect from any of 
 you, gentlemen, but it's none the less gratifying to find 
 one's expectations realised." 
 
 Only his flaming face revealed Barry's emotion as the 
 colonel was speaking. 
 
 "Now then, gentlemen, carry on, and the best of luck." 
 
 "Sir," said Barry, "what about a little prayer?" 
 
 "Fine," said the colonel heartily, while round the room 
 there ran a murmur of approval. 
 
 Barry pulled out his little Bible and read, not one of 
 the "fighting psalms" but the tenderly exquisite words 
 of the Shepherd's song. His voice was clear, steady 
 and ringing with cheery confidence. His prayer was
 
 276 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 in the spirit of the psalm, breathing high courage and 
 calm trust, even in the presence of the ultimate issue. 
 
 In a single sentence he commended his comrades to 
 the keeping of the Eternal God of Truth and Justice 
 and Mercy, asking that they might be found steadfast 
 in their hour of testing and worthy of their country and 
 their cause. 
 
 Together they joined in the Lord's prayer; then lifting 
 over them his hands, he closed the little service with that 
 ancient and beautiful formula of blessing, which for 
 two thousand years has sent men out from the Holy 
 Place of Meeting to face with hearts resolved whatever 
 life might hold for them. 
 
 One by one, as they passed out the officers shook 
 hands with Barry, thanking him for the service, and 
 expressing their delight that he was with them again. 
 
 "What are we going to do with you, Pilot ?" inquired 
 the colonel. 
 
 "I thought I'd stick around with the boys," said Barry. 
 
 "Well," said the colonel, gravely, "of course, there's 
 no use of your going up to the attack. You would only 
 be in the way. You would be an embarrassment to the 
 officers. That reminds me, there was a call from Menin 
 Mill for you this afternoon. They are having an awful 
 rush there. Our own R. A. P. will be in Zillebeck Vil- 
 lage, and our Headquarters will be there." 
 
 "I'll go there, sir, if you agree," said Barry, and after 
 some discussion the matter was so arranged. 
 
 In a ruined cellar in the village of Zillebeck, a mile 
 and a half further in, the R. A. P. was established and 
 there carried on during the desperate fighting of the next 
 three days. Through this post a continuous stream of 
 wounded passed, the stretcher cases all night, the walk- 
 ing cases all day and all night. In spite of its scenes of 
 horror and suffering the R. A. P. was a cheery spot. 
 The new M. O. was strange to his front line business, 
 but he was of the right stuff, cool, quick with his fingers, 
 and undisturbed by the crashing of bursting shells. The
 
 THE PASSING OF McCUAIG 277 
 
 stretcher bearers and even the wounded maintained an 
 air of resolute cheeriness, that helped to make bear- 
 able what otherwise would have been a nightmare of un- 
 speakable horror. Attached to the R. A. P. was an outer 
 building wherein the wounded men were laid after treat- 
 ment. Thither in a pause of his work, Barry would run 
 to administer drinks, ease the strain of an awkward posi- 
 tion, speak a word of cheer, say a prayer, or sing snatches 
 of a hymn or psalm. There was little leisure for reflec- 
 tion, nor if there had been would he have indulged in 
 reflection, knowing well that only thus could he main- 
 tain his self-control and "carry on." 
 
 With each wounded man there came news of the prog- 
 ress of the fighting. The boys were holding splendidly, 
 indeed were gradually eating into the enemy front. 
 They brought weird stories of his comrades, incidents 
 pathetic, humorous, heroic, according to the temperament 
 of the narrator. But from more than one source came 
 tales of Knight's machine gun section to which McCuaig 
 was attached. Knight himself had been killed soon after 
 entering the line, and about his men conflicting tales 
 were told : they were holding a strong point, they were 
 blown up, they had shifted their position, they were 
 wiped out, they were still "carrying on." McCuaig was 
 the hero of every tale. He was having the time of his 
 life. He had gone quite mad. He was for going "out 
 and over" alone. 
 
 The first authentic account came with young Pickles, 
 now a runner, who made his way hobbling to Head- 
 quarters with a message from A Company, and who 
 reported that he had fallen in with McCuaig by the 
 way, and by him had been commandeered to carry am- 
 munition, under threat of instant death. 
 
 "Where did you see McCuaig first, Pickles?" Barry 
 inquired, anxious to learn the truth about his friend. 
 
 "Way up Lover's Walk," said young Pickles, who 
 was in high spirits, "under a pile of brush and trees. I 
 though it was a wildcat, or something moving and snarl-
 
 278 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 ing the light was kind of dim and when I went up 
 there was McCuaig. He was alone. Two or three men 
 were lying near him, dead, I guess, and he was swearing, 
 and talking to himself something fierce. I was scart stiff 
 when he called me to him. I went over, and he says to 
 me, 'Say, youngster/ just like that, 'you know where 
 this walk used to drop down into the trench? Well, 
 there's a lot of machine gun ammunition over there, all 
 fixed up and ready. You go and bring it up here.' I 
 tried to get out of it, sayin' I was bringing a 'hurry up' 
 message down, but he turns his machine gun on me, and 
 says, 'Young man, it's only a couple of hundred yards 
 down there, and fairly good cover. They can't see you. 
 Go and bring that stuff here. If you don't I'll blow you 
 to hell just where you stand.' You bet I promised. I 
 got that ammunition so quick. Oh, of course, he's crazy, 
 all right," said young Pickles, "but he is fighting like 
 hell. I beg pardon, sir." 
 
 "Doctor, I'm going after him," said Barry. "He will 
 stay there until he bleeds to death. He is my oldest 
 friend." 
 
 "All right, padre, if you say so," said the M. O., "but 
 it's a nasty job. I should not care for it." 
 
 Barry knew the area thoroughly. He got from young 
 Pickles an exact description of the location of the spot 
 where McCuaig had last been seen, and with the return- 
 ing stretcher bearers set off for the wood, which was 
 about a thousand yards further on. 
 
 The communication trench leading up to the wood, 
 which had been constructed with such care and of which 
 the Canadians were so proud, had been blown up from 
 end to end by the systematic and thorough bombardment 
 of the three days before. The little party, therefore, 
 were forced to make their way overland by the light of 
 the star shells. 
 
 They reached the wood in safety. Barry looked about 
 him in utter bewilderment. Every familiar feature of 
 the landscape was utterly blotted out. The beautiful
 
 THE PASSING OF McCUAIG 279 
 
 ambrosial wood itself, of heavy trees and thick under- 
 brush, was a mat of tangled trunks, above which stood 
 splintered stubs. Not a tree, not a branch, hardly a 
 green leaf was left. Under that mat of fallen trunks 
 were A and C Companies, somewhere, holding, blocking, 
 feeling up toward the Hun. 
 
 The shells were whining overhead, going out and com- 
 ing" in, but mostly coming in. None, however, were 
 falling on the wood because here friend and foe were 
 lying almost within bayonet length of each other. Only 
 an occasional burst from a machine gun broke the si- 
 lence that hung over this place of desolation and death. 
 
 "That's the company Headquarters," said the stretcher 
 bearer, pointing to what looked like a bear den, under 
 some fallen trees. Barry pushed aside the blanket and 
 poking his head in, found Duff and a young lieutenant 
 working at a table by the light of a guttering candle. 
 
 "For the love of God, Pilot," exclaimed Duff, spring- 
 ing up and gripping Barry's hand, "it's good to see you, 
 but what are you doing here?" 
 
 "I came up for McCuaig," said Barry, after a warm 
 greeting to both. 
 
 "Oh, say, that's good. We have got him as far as the 
 next dugout here, the old bear. I've been trying to get 
 him out for half a day. There's a soldier for you ! He's 
 been potting Boches with his blessed machine gun, scout- 
 ing from one hole to another for the last two days, and 
 he's got a nasty wound. I'm awfully glad you have, 
 come." 
 
 "How are things going, Duff?" 
 
 "We have got the s so that they can't move a 
 
 foot, and we'll hold them, unless they bring up a lot of 
 reserves." 
 
 "By Jove ! Duff, you boys are wonderful." 
 
 "I say," said Duff, brushing aside the compliment, 
 "did young Pickles get through? That young devil is 
 the limit. You'd have thought he was hunting coyotes."
 
 280 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Yes, he got through. Got a blighty though, I guess. 
 It was he that told me about McCuaig." 
 
 "Well, Pilot, old man," said Duff, taking him by the 
 arm, "get out ! Get out ! Don't waste time. There may 
 be a break any minute. Get out of here." 
 
 Duff was evidently in a fever of anxiety. "You had 
 no right to come up here anyway; though, by Jove, I'm 
 glad to see you." 
 
 "What's the fuss, Duff?" said Barry. "Am I in any 
 more danger than you? I say," he continued, with tense 
 enthusiasm, "do you realise, Duff, that as long as Canada 
 lasts they will talk of what you are doing up here these 
 days?" " 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Pilot, get out," said Duff crossly. 
 "You make me nervous. Besides, you have got to get 
 that wounded man out, you know. Come along." 
 
 He hustled Barry out and over to the neighbouring 
 dugout, where they found McCuaig with his beloved 
 machine gun still at his side. The wounded man was 
 very pale, but extremely cheerful, smoking a cigarette. 
 
 "I'm glad to see you, sir," he said quietly, reaching 
 out his hand. 
 
 "Good old man," said Barry, gripping his hand hard, 
 "but you are a blamed old fool, you know." 
 
 McCuaig made no reply, but there was a happy light 
 on his face. Under Duff's compelling urging they got 
 the wounded man on a stretcher and started on their 
 long and painful carry. 
 
 "Now, boys," warned Duff, "you are all right up here, 
 except for machine guns, but don't take any chances 
 further out. That's where the danger is. When the 
 shells come, don't rush things. Take your time. Now, 
 good-bye, Pilot, it's worth a lot to have seen you any- 
 way." 
 
 "Good-bye, old man," said Barry, smiling at him. 
 "You're the stuff. Good luck, old man. God keep 
 you."
 
 THE PASSING OF McCUAIG 281 
 
 Duff nodded, and waved him away. The return trip 
 was made in comparative quiet. 
 
 "What do you think, doctor?" said Barry, after the 
 M. O. had completed his examination. 
 
 "Oh, we'll pull him through all right," said the M. O. 
 "When did you get this, McCuaig?" he continued, touch- 
 ing a small wound over the kidney. 
 
 "Dunno, rightly. Guess I got it when we was blown 
 up, yesterday." 
 
 "Then why didn't you come in at once?" inquired the 
 M. O. indignantly. 
 
 McCuaig looked at him in mild surprise. 
 
 "Why, they was all blown up, and there wasn't any- 
 body to run the gun." 
 
 The M. O. examined the wound more closely and 
 shook his head at Barry. 
 
 "We won't touch that now. We'll just bandage it up. 
 Are you feeling pretty comfortable?" 
 
 "Fine," said McCuaig with cheerful satisfaction. 
 "We held them up, I guess. They thought they was 
 going to walk right over us. They was comin' with 
 their packs on their backs. But the boys changed their 
 minds for them, I guess." 
 
 A reminiscent smile lingered upon the long, eaglelike 
 face. 
 
 Half an hour later Barry found a minute to run into 
 the adjoining room where the wounded lay. 
 
 "Anything you want, McCuaig?" he asked. 
 
 "A drink, if you ain't too busy, but I hate to take 
 your time." 
 
 "Oh, you go to thunder," said Barry. "Take my 
 time! What am I for? Any pain, Mac?" 
 
 "No, not much. I'm a little sleepy." 
 
 Barry turned the flash-light on his face. He was 
 startled to find it grey and drawn. He brought the M. 
 O., who examined the wounded man's condition. 
 
 "No pain, eh, Mac?" 
 
 "No, sir," said McCuaig cheerfully.
 
 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "All right, boy, just lie still," said the M. O., beckon- 
 ing Barry after him. 
 
 "He is going out," he said when they reached the 
 dressing room, "and he's going fast. That wound in 
 the back has been bleeding a long time." 
 
 "Oh, doctor, can't anything be done ? You know he's 
 got a remarkable constitution. Can't something be 
 done?" 
 
 "There are times when a doctor wishes he had some 
 other job," said the M. O., "and this is one of them." 
 
 "I say, doctor, will you get along without me for a 
 while?" said Barry. 
 
 "Go on," said the M. O., nodding to him. 
 
 Barry took a candle and went in beside his friend. 
 As he sat there gazing upon the greying face, the 
 wounded man opened his eyes. 
 
 "That you, Barry?" he asked with a quiet smile. 
 
 Barry started. Only in the very first weeks of their 
 acquaintance had McCuaig called him by his first name, 
 and never during the past months had he used anything 
 but his rank title. Now all rank distinctions were obliter- 
 ated. They were as man to man. 
 
 "Yes, Mac, it's me. Do you know what I was think- 
 ing about? I was thinking of the first time I saw you 
 coming down that rapid in your canoe." 
 
 "I remember well, Barry. I often think of it. It's 
 a long time ago," said McCuaig in his soft, slow voice. 
 "I've never been sorry but once that I come, and that 
 time it was my own fault, but I didn't understand the 
 game." 
 
 "You've made a great soldier, Mac. We are all proud 
 of you," said Barry, putting his hand upon McCuaig's. 
 McCuaig's long thin fingers tightened upon Barry's 
 hand. 
 
 "I think I'm going out," he said, with his eyes on 
 Barry's face. "What do you think?" 
 
 It was the time for truth telling. 
 
 "Oh, Mac, old man," said Barry, putting his head
 
 THE PASSING OF McCUAIG 283 
 
 down close to him to hide from him the rush of tears 
 that came to his eyes, "I'm afraid you are, and I hate 
 to have you go." 
 
 "Why, Barry, you crying for me?" asked McCuaig in 
 a kind of wonder. "Say, boy, I'm awful glad you feel 
 that way. Somehow I don't feel quite so lonely now." 
 
 "Oh, Mac, you are my oldest, my best friend in the bat- 
 talion, in all the world," said Barry. 
 
 "Oh, I just love to hear you say that, boy. Do you 
 know I wanted to tell you how I felt about that time 
 on the boat, you remember/"' Barry nodded. "Barry, 
 tell me, honest Injun, did I make good as a soldier?" 
 
 "The best ever," said Barry. "They all say so, offi- 
 cers and men. I heard the colonel say so the other day." 
 
 Again the smile came. 
 
 "Barry, it was you that done that for me. You 
 showed me, and you done it so nice. I never forgot 
 that, and I always wanted to tell you how I felt about 
 it. Barry, you done a lot for me." 
 
 "Oh, Mac, don't talk like that," said Barry, trying to 
 keep his voice steady. "I did so little and I wanted to 
 do so much." 
 
 "Say, I like to hear you. I'd like to stay a little longer 
 just to be with you, Barry. I've watched you just like 
 you was my own boy, and I've been awful proud of you, 
 but I didn't like to say so." 
 
 The uncovering of the great love of this simple, hum- 
 ble hearted man broke down Barry's self-control. He 
 made no effort to check his falling tears. 
 
 "I'm getting kind of weak, Barry," whispered Mc- 
 Cuaig. "I guess I won't be long, mebbe." 
 
 His words recalled Barry's nerve. , 
 
 "Mac, would you like me to say a prayer?" he asked. 
 "Just as you feel about it, you know." 
 
 "Yes I would but I ain't your religion you 
 know though I like awful well the way you talk 
 about Him." 
 
 "I know you are R. C, Mac, but after all you know
 
 284 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 we have just the one Father in Heaven and the one 
 Saviour." 
 
 ''Yes, I know, Barry. It's all the same." 
 
 Barry had a sudden inspiration. 
 
 "Wait, Mac, a minute," he said. 
 
 He hurried out to the dressing room, seeking a cruci- 
 fix, but could find none there. 
 
 "I'll run across to Headquarters," he said. 
 
 "Say, there's a machine gun playing that street awful," 
 said the M. O.'s sergeant, "to say nothing of whizz- 
 bangs." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," said Barry. "I'll make a dash 
 for it." 
 
 But at Headquarters he was no more successful. He 
 went out into the garden in the rear of the R. A. P., 
 and returned with two small twigs. The M. O. bound 
 them together in the form of a cross. Barry took it and 
 hastened to McCuaig's side. 
 
 The hurried breathing and sunken cheeks of the 
 wounded man showed that the end was not far. As 
 Barry knelt beside him, he opened his eyes. There was 
 a look of distress upon his face, which Barry understood. 
 God was near. And God was terrible. He wanted his 
 priest. 
 
 "Barry," he whispered, "I've not been a good man. 
 I haven't been mean to anybody, but I used to swear 
 and fight, and " 
 
 "Mac, listen to me. We're all the same," said Barry, 
 in a quiet, clear voice. "Suppose I'd injured you." 
 
 "You wouldn't Barry." 
 
 "But suppose I did some real mean thing to you, and 
 then came and said I was sorry, would you forgive me ?" 
 
 "Would I I'd never think of anything you did 
 to me, Barry." 
 
 "Mac, that's the way your Father in Heaven feels to 
 you. We have all done wrong, but He says, 'I will blot 
 out all your sins.' You needn't fear to trust Him, Mac." 
 
 "I guess that's so, Barry I guess that's all right."
 
 THE PASSING OF McCUAIG 285 
 
 "Yes, it's all right. Now I'll say a prayer. Look, 
 Mac!" 
 
 He held up the little wooden cross before his eyes. A 
 smile of joy and surprise transfigured the dying face. 
 
 "I see it ! I see it !" he whispered, and made a move- 
 ment with his lips. Barry laid the cross upon them, and 
 with that symbol of the Divine love and of the Divine 
 sacrifice pressed to the dying lips, he prayed in words 
 such as a child might use. 
 
 For some time after the prayer McCuaig lay with his 
 eyes shut, then with a sudden accession of strength, he 
 opened them and looking up into Barry's eyes, said: 
 
 "Barry, I'm all right now. . . . You helped me 
 again." 
 
 The long thin hands, once of such iron strength, 
 began to wander weakly over the blanket, until touching 
 Barry's they closed upon it, and held it fast. 
 
 "I won't forget you ever " he whispered. 
 
 The nerveless fingers with difficulty lifted Barry's hand 
 to the cold lips. "Good bye Bar ry " he said. 
 
 "Good-bye, dear old comrade. Good-bye, dear old 
 friend," said Barry in a clear quiet voice, gazing through 
 his falling tears straight into the dying eyes. 
 
 "Good night " The whisper faded into silence. 
 
 A quiet smile lay on the white face. The eyes closed, 
 there was a little tired sigh, and the brave tender spirit 
 passed on to join that noble company of immortals who 
 abide in the Presence of the Eternal God of Truth and 
 Love, and "go no more out forever," because they are 
 akin to Him. 
 
 In the sorely tortured graveyard, beside the little shell- 
 wrecked Zillebeck church, in a hole made by an enemy 
 shell, they laid McCuaig a fitting resting place for one 
 who had lived his days in the free wild spaces of the 
 Canadian west, a fitting tomb for as gallant a soldier as 
 Canada ever sent forth to war to make the world free. 
 
 That night the battalion was relieved. Worn, spent, 
 but with spirit unbroken, they crawled out from under
 
 286 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 that matted mass of tangled trunks, sending out their 
 wounded before them, and leaving their buried dead be- 
 hind them, to hold with other Canadian dead the line 
 which from St. Julien, by Hooge, Sanctuary Wood, and 
 Maple Copse, and Mount Sorel, and Hill 60, and on to 
 St. Eloi, guards the way to Ypres and to the sea. To 
 Canada every foot of her great domain, from sea to 
 sea, is dear, but while time shall last Canada will hold 
 dear as her own that bloodsoaked sacred soil which her 
 dead battalions hold for Honour, Faith and Freedom.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 LONDON LEAVE AND PHYLLIS 
 
 THE leave train pulled into the Boulogne station ex- 
 actly twenty-six hours late. As Barry stepped off 
 the train he was met by the R. T. O., an old Imperial 
 officer with a brisk and important military manner. 
 
 "You are the O. C. train, sir?" he inquired. 
 
 "I am, sir," replied Barry, saluting. 
 
 "You have had a hard time, I understand," said the 
 R. T. O., drawing him off to one side and speaking in a 
 low tone. 
 
 "Yes sir, we have had a hard time," replied Barry, 
 "at least the men have. This is my report, sir." 
 
 The R. T. O. took the document, opened it, glanced 
 hurriedly through it. 
 
 "Ah," he said, "ninety-seven casualties, thirteen fatal. 
 Very bad. Six burned. This is truly terrible." 
 
 "There were only two soldiers burned, sir," replied 
 Barry, "but it is terrible, especially when you think that 
 the men were going on leave and were supposed to have 
 got quit of the danger zone." 
 
 "Very, very terrible," said the officer. "You ran off 
 the track, I understand." 
 
 "No, sir, it was a collision. There must have been 
 gross carelessness, sir," said Barry. "I trust there will 
 be an investigation. I have taken the liberty to suggest 
 that, sir, in my report." 
 
 Barry's voice was stern. 
 
 "You need have no apprehension on that score, sir," 
 said the R. T. O., with his eyes still upon the report. 
 "This is very clear and concise. I see you make no 
 mention of your own services in connection with the af- 
 
 287
 
 288 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 fair, but others have. I have had a most flattering tele- 
 gram from the officer commanding the R. A. M. C., 
 as also from the Divisional Commander, mentioning 
 your initiative and resourcefulness. I assure you this 
 will not be forgotten. I understand you are a padre?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied Barry, who was getting rather 
 weary of the conversation. 
 
 "All I have to say, then, sir, is that the Canadian army 
 must be rich in combatant officers for, if you will pardon 
 me, it strikes me that there is a damned good combatant 
 officer lost in you." 
 
 "If I were a better padre," replied Barry, "I would 
 be content." 
 
 "I fancy you have little ground for complaint on that 
 score," said the R. T. O., for the first time smiling at 
 him. 
 
 "May I ask, sir," replied Barry, "if my responsibility 
 ends here ?" 
 
 "Yes, unless you want to take charge of the boat." 
 
 "I'd rather not, sir, if you please. How long before 
 she sails?" 
 
 "About three hours. Have you anything to do?" 
 
 "I should like to visit the R. A. M. C. hospital. I 
 should also like to phone the American hospital at 
 Etaples." 
 
 "Very well, you can easily do both. I will run you 
 up in my car, if you care to wait a few moments until 
 I put through some little matters here. Then if you 
 will be good enough to join me at breakfast, I can drive 
 you up afterwards to the hospital. This is my car. I 
 think you had better step in and sit down ; you look rather 
 used up." 
 
 "Will you allow me to speak to some of the men first, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly. Do anything you like. There are 
 your men." 
 
 As Barry moved along the line of men drawn up on 
 the platform, he was followed by a rising murmur of
 
 LONDON LEAVE AND PHYLLIS 289 
 
 admiration, until, as he reached a group of officers at 
 the end, a little Tommy, an English cockney, lifting high 
 his rifle, sang out : 
 
 "Naow then, lads, 'ere's to our O. D," adding after 
 the cheers, " 'e's a bit ov ol raa-ght, 'e is !" 
 
 "Men," said Barry, "I thank you for your cheers, but 
 I thank you more for your splendid behaviour night be- 
 fore last. It was beyond praise. You couldn't save all 
 your comrades, but you would willingly have given 
 your lives to save them. That's the true spirit of the 
 Empire. It's the spirit of Humanity. It's the spirit of 
 God. If I were a combatant officer " 
 
 "You'd be a good 'un, sir," cried a voice. 
 
 "If I were a combatant officer, I should like to lead 
 men like you into action." 
 
 "We'd follow you to 'ell, sir," shouted the little cock- 
 ney. 
 
 "Oh, I hope not," replied Barry. "I'm not going that 
 way. May I say, in wishing you every good luck, that 
 you are a credit to your country, and I can say nothing 
 higher. I wish to thank the officers who so splendidly 
 did their duty and gave such valuable service. Good 
 luck to you, boys, and give my love to all at home." 
 
 Again the men broke into cheers, and Barry, shaking 
 hands with the officers, turned away toward the car. As 
 he was entering the car, Sergeant Matthews came over 
 to him. 
 
 "I want to thank you, sir, for getting me free of the 
 R. A. M. C. up there. I feel rather bad, but since my 
 wife is waiting to meet me in London, I was anxious to 
 get through." 
 
 "All right, sergeant," replied Barry. "I'll get you to 
 a hospital in London, when we arrive. You are not feel- 
 ing too badly, I hope." 
 
 "A little shook up, sir," said the sergeant. 
 
 At the R. A. M. C. hospital a bitter disappointment 
 awaited him. He found that the V. A. D. had departed 
 for England, but just where no one seemed to know.
 
 290 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 In her last letter to him, received before the last tour 
 in the trenches, she had mentioned the possibility of 
 a visit to London, and had promised him further infor- 
 mation before her departure, but no further word had 
 he received. 
 
 His inquiry at Etaples was equally unproductive of 
 result. Paula and her father had also gone to England. 
 They had taken the V. A. D. with them, and their ad- 
 dress was unknown. The matron of the hospital be- 
 lieved that they had planned a motor trip to Scotland, 
 for they had carried Captain Neil Eraser off with them, 
 and were planning a visit to his home. They expected 
 to return in about three weeks. 
 
 By the bitterness of his disappointment, Barry realised 
 how greatly he had counted on this meeting with his 
 friends. Were it not for the hope of being able to dis- 
 cover them in England, he would have turned back up 
 the line, there and then, and found among the only 
 friends he had on this side of the ocean relief from the 
 intolerable weight of loneliness that was bearing him 
 down. 
 
 He walked out to the cemetery, and stood beside his 
 father's grave. There for the first time it came over 
 him that henceforth he must go all the way of his life 
 without the sight of that face, without the touch of that 
 hand on his shoulder, without the cheer of that voice. In 
 floods his sense of loss swept his soul. It took all his 
 manhood to refrain from throwing himself prone upon 
 the little mound and yielding to the agony that flooded 
 his soul, and that wrought in his heart physical pain. 
 By a resolute act of will, he held himself erect. While 
 he blamed and despised himself for his weakness, he 
 was unable to shake it off. He did not know that his 
 mental and emotional state was in large measure a phys- 
 ical reaction from the prolonged period of exhausting 
 strain, his treble tour in the trenches, with its unrelieved 
 sense of impending destruction, that its endless proces- 
 sion of broken, torn bodies, with its nights of sleepless
 
 LONDON LEAVE AND PHYLLIS 291 
 
 activity, with its eternal struggle against depression, con- 
 sequent upon the loss of his comrades, its eternal striv- 
 ing after cheeriness and more than all the shock of the 
 train wreck, with its scenes of horror; all this had com- 
 bined to reduce his physical powers of resistance to the 
 point of utter exhaustion. 
 
 As he stood there in that cemetery with its rows of 
 crosses, silently eloquent of heroism and of sacrifice, 
 the spirit of the place seemed to breathe into him new 
 life. As his eyes fell upon the cross bearing his father's 
 name, he seemed to see again that erect and gallant fig- 
 ure, instinct with life and courage. There came to him 
 the memory of a scene he had never forgotten. Again 
 he was with his father in the little home cottage. How 
 dear it had been to him then! How dear to him, to- 
 day ! Once more he felt the strong grip of his father's 
 hand and heard his father's voice: 
 
 "Good night, boy. We don't know what is before us, 
 defeat, loss, suffering, that part is not in our hands alto- 
 gether, but the shame of the quitter never need and never 
 shall be ours." 
 
 Unconsciously as if he were in the presence of a su- 
 perior officer, he lifted his hand in salute, and with a 
 sense of renewal of his vital energies he returned to 
 the boat. 
 
 During the crossing his mind was chiefly occupied 
 with the problem of discovering the whereabouts of the 
 V. A. D. or his American friends. He had never learned 
 her London address, if indeed she had one. He remem- 
 bered that she had told him that her home had been 
 turned into a hospital. He had some slight hope that 
 he might be able to trace her by the aid of her uncle. 
 
 Arrived in London, his first duty was to see Sergeant 
 Matthews, whose injuries in the wreck were apparently 
 more serious than at first supposed, safely disposed in 
 a hospital ambulance. Thereupon he proceeded to the 
 Hotel Cecil, and set himself seriously to the solution of 
 his problem. He was too weary for clear thinking and
 
 292 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 as the result of long, confused and very vexing cogita- 
 tion, he resolved upon a letter to Commander Howard 
 Vincent, R. N. R. This, after much labour, he succeeded 
 in accomplishing. Thereafter, much too weary for food, 
 he proceeded to his room, where he gave himself up to 
 the unimaginable luxury of a bath in a clean tub, and 
 with an unstinted supply of clean towels, after which 
 riotous indulgence, he betook himself to bed. As he 
 lay stretched between the smooth clean sheets, he found 
 it impossible to recall a state of existence when clean 
 sheets had been a nightly experience. The chief regret 
 of these semi-unconscious moments preceding slumber 
 was that sleep would rob him of this delicious sense of 
 physical cleanness and well-being. 
 
 He was wakened by a knock at his door, followed by 
 a hesitating apology for intrusion. Rejoicing in the 
 luxury of his surroundings, and in the altogether satis- 
 fying discovery that he might sleep again, he turned over 
 and once more was lost in profound slumber. A second 
 time he was aroused by a mild but somewhat anxious in- 
 quiry as to his welfare. 
 
 "I want nothing, only a little more sleep," and again 
 luxuriating for a few moments in his clean sheets and 
 his peaceful environment, he resigned himself to sleep, 
 to waken with a comfortable sense of pleasant weariness, 
 which gradually passed into a somewhat acute sense of 
 hunger. 
 
 He decided, after due consideration, that he would 
 plumb the depths of bliss, unmeasured and unknown, 
 and have breakfast in bed. He went to the window and 
 looked out upon the murky light of a London day. He 
 decided that it was still early morning, and rang for the 
 waiter. He was informed by that functionary that 
 breakfast was impossible, but that if he desired he could 
 be supplied with an early dinner. 
 
 "Dinner!" exclaimed Barry. 
 
 He looked at his watch, but found that he had neg- 
 lected to wind it, and that consequently it had stopped.
 
 LONDON LEAVE AND PHYLLIS 293 
 
 "What time do you make it, waiter?" 
 
 "Half after six, sir." 
 
 He decided that he would rise for dinner, 'phoned for 
 a paper and his mail, and lay back between the sheets 
 once more, striving to recapture that rapturous sense of 
 welfare that had enwrapped him the night before. 
 Luxuriating in this delightsome exercise, he glanced 
 lazily at the heading of his paper, and then cried, as the 
 paper boy was leaving the room, 
 
 "Hello! here, boy! what day is this?" 
 
 "Friday, sir," said the boy, gazing at him in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Friday? Are you sure?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, Friday, sir. What does the paper say, sir ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course. All right." 
 
 He had gone to bed on Wednesday night. He knew 
 that because he remembered the date of his letter to 
 Commander Howard Vincent, R. N. R. He made the 
 astounding discovery that he had slept just forty- four 
 hours. Then he made a second discovery and that was 
 that of his precious eight days' leave, three were already 
 gone. 
 
 After he had dined he inquired at the desk for his 
 mail, and searched through the telegrams, but there was 
 nothing for him. 
 
 Then he betook himself to the streets, aware that the 
 spectre of loneliness was hard on his trail, and swiftly 
 catching up with him. London was roaring around him 
 in the dark, like a jungle full of wild beasts, of whose 
 shapes he could catch now and then horrid glimpses. 
 Among all the millions in the city, he knew of no living 
 soul to whom he could go for companionship, nor was 
 there anything in form of amusement that specially in- 
 vited him. 
 
 There was Grand Opera, of course, but from its as- 
 sociations with his father he knew that that would bring 
 him only acute misery. Gladly would he have gone to 
 the hospitals, but they would be shut against him at this
 
 294 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 hour. He bought an evening paper, and under a shaded 
 lamp studied the amusement columns. Some of the 
 Revues he knew to be simply tiresome, others disgust- 
 ing. None of them appealed to him. Aimlessly he wan- 
 dered along the streets, heedless of his direction, con- 
 scious now and then of an additional pang of wretched- 
 ness as he caught a glimpse now and then at a theatre 
 door of young officers passing in with sweet faced girls 
 on their arms. 
 
 At length in desperation he followed one such pair, 
 and found himself listening to Cinderella. Its light 
 and delicate fancy, its sweet pathos, its gentle humour 
 lured him temporarily from his misery, but often there 
 came back upon him the bitter memory of his comrades 
 in their horrid environment of filth, danger and wretch- 
 edness. 
 
 He found some compensation in the thought that these 
 officers beside him were like himself on leave, and while 
 he envied them, he did not grudge them their delight in 
 the play, and their obviously greater delight in their 
 lovely companions beside them, but this again was neu- 
 tralised by the bitter recollection of his own hard fate 
 which denied him a like joy. 
 
 After the play he stood in the entrance hall, observing 
 the crowd, indulging his sense of ill-usage at the hands 
 of fate as he saw the officers lingering with many un- 
 necessary touches over the cloaking of their fair partners, 
 and as he caught the answering glances and smiles that 
 rewarded their attentions. 
 
 His eyes followed the manceuvrings of the painted 
 ladies as they hovered about the doors, boldly busy with 
 their profession. He understood as never before the na- 
 ture of their lure and the overpowering subtlety of the 
 temptation cast by them over the lonely soldier in Lon- 
 don. 
 
 Close at his side he heard a voice: 
 
 "How do you like it, boy? Not bad, eh?" 
 
 "Awfully jolly, dad. It's perfectly fine of you."
 
 LONDON LEAVE AND PHYLLIS 295 
 
 He turned and saw a grey-haired gentleman, with up- 
 right soldierly figure, and walking with him, arm in 
 arm, a young officer, evidently his son. He followed 
 them slowly to the door, and eager to share if he might 
 the joy of their comradeship, he listened to their talk. 
 Then as they disappeared into the darkness, sick at heart, 
 he passed out of the door, stood a moment to get his 
 bearings, and sauntered beyond the radius of the sub- 
 dued light about the entrance, into the darkness fur- 
 ther on. 
 
 He had gone but a few paces, and was standing be- 
 neath a shaded corner light, meditating the crossing of 
 the roaring street, when he heard behind him an eager 
 voice crying, 
 
 "Captain Dunbar! Captain Dunbar!" 
 
 Swiftly he turned, and saw in the dim light a dainty 
 figure, opera coat flowing away from gleaming arms and 
 shoulders, a face with its halo of gold brown hair, with 
 soft brown eyes ashine and eager parted lips, a vision of 
 fluttering, bewildering loveliness bearing down upon him 
 with outstretched hands. 
 
 "What," he gasped, "you ! Oh, you darling !" 
 
 He reached for her, gathered her in his arms, drew 
 her toward him, and before either he or she was aware 
 of what he intended to do, kissed her parting lips. 
 
 "Oh, how dare you!" she cried, aghast, pushing him 
 back from her, her face in a red flame. "Oh, I'm so 
 glad. I was afraid I should lose you." 
 
 Barry, appalled at his own temerity, his eyes taking 
 in the sweet beauty of her lovely face, stood silent, trem- 
 bling. 
 
 "Well, aren't you going to tell me you are glad to see 
 me?" she cried, smiling up at him saucily. 
 
 "Phyllis," he murmured, moving toward her. 
 
 "Stop," she said, putting her hands out before her, 
 as if to hold him off. "Remember where you are. I 
 ought to be very angry, indeed." 
 
 She drew him toward a dark wall.
 
 296 THE SIT r PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "But you aren't angry, Phyllis. If you only knew 
 how I have wanted you in this awful place. Oh, I have 
 wanted you." 
 
 She saw that he was white and still trembling. 
 
 "Have you, Barry?" she asked, gently. "Oh, you 
 poor boy. I know you have been through horrible 
 things. No, Barry, don't. You awful man," for his 
 hands were moving toward her again. "You must re- 
 member where you are. Look at all these people star- 
 ing at us." 
 
 "People," he said, as if in a daze. "What difference 
 do they make? Oh, Phyllis, you are so wonderfully 
 lovely. I can't believe it's you, but it is, it is! I know 
 your eyes. Are you glad to see me?" he asked shyly, 
 his hungry eyes upon her face. 
 
 "Oh, Barry," she whispered, the warm flush rising 
 again in her cheeks, "can't you see? Can't you see? 
 But what am I thinking about? Come and see mamma, 
 and there's another dear friend and admirer of yours 
 with her." 
 
 "Who? Not Paula?" 
 
 "No, not Paula," she said, with a subtle change in her 
 voice. "Come and see !" 
 
 She took his arm and brought him back to a motor 
 standing at the theatre entrance. 
 
 "Oh, mamma, I have had such a race," she cried ex- 
 citedly, "and I have captured him. Barry, my mother." 
 
 Barry took the offered hand, and gazed earnestly into 
 the sad brown eyes that searched his in return. 
 
 "And here's your friend," said Phyllis. 
 
 "Hello, Pilot," said a voice from a dark corner of the 
 car. 
 
 "What, Neil! Oh, you boy," he cried in an ecstasy, 
 pushing both hands at him. "You dear old boy. How 
 is the arm, eh ? all right ?" 
 
 "Oh! doing awfully well," said Captain Neil. "And 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, never so well in all my life," cried Barry. "Yet,
 
 LONDON LEAVE AND PHYLLIS 297 
 
 to think of it, ten minutes ago, or when was it, I was 
 in there a miserably homesick creature, envious of all 
 the happy people about me, and now " 
 
 While he was speaking, his eyes were on Mrs. Vin- 
 cent's face, but his hand was holding fast to her daugh- 
 ter's arm. "Now it's a lovely old town, and full of 
 dear people." 
 
 "Where are you putting up?" asked Mrs. Vincent. 
 
 "The Cecil."" 
 
 "Let us drive you there then," she said. 
 
 During the drive Barry sat silent for the most part, 
 listening to Phyllis talking excitedly and eagerly beside 
 him, answering at random the questions which came like 
 rapid fire from them all, but planning meanwhile how he 
 should prolong these moments of bliss. 
 
 "How about supper?" he cried, as they arrived in the 
 courtyard of the hotel. "Come in. I want you to; you 
 see I have so much to ask and so much to tell Captain 
 Fraser here, and three of my days are gone already. Be- 
 sides, I want you to awfully." 
 
 Mrs. Vincent looked at his face, which for all its 
 brightness was worn and deep-lined, and her compas- 
 sionate motherly heart was stirred. 
 
 "Of course we'll come. We want to see you and to 
 hear about your experiences." 
 
 "Oh, bully!" cried Barry. "I shall always remember 
 how good you are to me to-night." 
 
 He was overflowing with excitement. 
 
 "Oh, this is great, Neil. It's like having a bit of the 
 old battalion here to see you again." 
 
 While waiting for their orders to be filled at the sup- 
 per table, Captain Neil turned suddenly to Barry and 
 said, "What's all this about a train wreck and the gal- 
 lant O. C. train?" 
 
 "Yes, and this rescuing of men from burning cars," 
 exclaimed Phyllis. 
 
 "And knocking out insubordinates." 
 
 "And being mentioned in despatches."
 
 298 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "And receiving cheers at the station." 
 
 "Now where did you get all that stuff?" inquired 
 Barry. 
 
 "Why, all London is ringing with it," said Captain 
 Neil. 
 
 "Nonsense," said Barry; "who's been stuffing you?" 
 
 "Well," said Phyllis, "we came across your sergeant 
 to-day in the hospital. Such a funny man." 
 
 "Who? Fatty Matthews?" asked Barry, turning to 
 Captain Neil. 
 
 "Yes, it was Fatty," said Captain Neil, "and if you had 
 your rights by his account, you ought to be in command 
 at this moment of an army corps at the very least. But 
 you were O. C. leave train, were you not?" 
 
 "Yes, to my dismay I was made O. C., but I met a 
 chap, Captain Courtney, a very decent fellow, my adju- 
 tant, and made him carry on." 
 
 "My word, that was a stroke!" 
 
 "We had a wreck, a ghastly affair it was, though it 
 might have been a lot worse. The R. A. M. C. people 
 did magnificently, and the men behaved awfully well, 
 so that we managed to get through." 
 
 "And what about the O. C. ?" inquired Captain Neil. 
 
 "Oh, nothing special. He just saw that the others 
 carried on. Now tell me about you people. What have 
 you been doing and what are you going to do?" 
 
 "Well, 'we're here, because we're here,' " chanted 
 Captain Neil. 
 
 "And why didn't you send me word as to your move- 
 ments?" said Barry. "What hours of agony you would 
 have spared me!" 
 
 "But I did," replied Phyllis. "I sent you our town 
 address and told you everything." 
 
 "Now isn't that rotten!" exclaimed Barry. "Never 
 mind, I've found you, and now what's the programme?" 
 
 "Well," cried Captain Neil with great enthusiasm, "we 
 are all off to Edinburgh to-morrow, where we meet the
 
 LONDON LEAVE AND PHYLLIS 299 
 
 Rowlands, and then for a motor trip through the High- 
 lands and to my ancestral home." 
 
 Barry's face fell. "To-morrow?" he said blankly, 
 with a quick look at Phyllis. "And you are all going?" 
 
 "Not I," said Mrs. Vincent, "but why should you not 
 join the party? You need just such a change. It would 
 do you good." 
 
 "Sure thing he will," cried Captain Neil. 
 
 During the supper they had firmly resolved to taboo 
 the war. They talked on all manner of subjects, chiefly 
 of the proposed motor trip, but in spite of the ban their 
 talk would hark back to the trenches. For Captain Neil 
 must know how his comrades were faring, and how his 
 company was carrying on, and Barry must tell him of 
 their losses, and all of the great achievements wrought 
 by the men of their battalion. And Barry because his 
 own heart was full of all their splendid deeds let himself 
 go. He told how Sally and Booth had met their last 
 call, of the M. O. and his splendid work in rescuing the 
 wounded. 
 
 "No word in all of this of the Pilot, I observe," inter- 
 jected Captain Neil. 
 
 "Oh, he just carried on !" 
 
 Then he told how at last the M. O. went out, and 
 how on his face there was only peace. He had to tell 
 of Corporal Thorn, and how he gave himself for his com- 
 rades and how Cameron kept the faith, a long list of 
 heroes he had to enumerate, of whom the world was not 
 worthy, whose deeds are unknown to fame, but whose 
 names are recorded in the books of God. And then rev- 
 erently he told of McCuaig. 
 
 As Barry talked, his heart was far away from London. 
 He was seeing again that line of mud bespattered men, 
 patiently plodding up the communication trench. He 
 was looking upon them sleeping with worn and weary 
 faces, in rain and mudsoaked boots and puttees, down 
 in their flimsy, dark dugouts. He was hearing again the 
 heavy "crash" of the trench mortar, the earth shaking
 
 300 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "crumph" of the high explosive, the swift rush of the 
 whizbang. Before his eyes he saw a steady line of bayo- 
 nets behind a crumbling wall, then a quick rush to meet 
 the attack, bomb and rifle in hand. He saw the illumined 
 face of his dying friend. 
 
 As he told his tale, his face was glowing, his eyes 
 gleaming as with an inner fire. 
 
 "Oh, God's Mercy!" he cried, "they are men! They 
 are men ! Only God could make such men." 
 
 "Yes, only God," echoed Mrs. Vincent after a long 
 pause. "They are God's men, and to God they go at 
 last. Truly they are God's own men." 
 
 While Barry was speaking, Phyllis, her hands tightly 
 clasped, was leaning forward listening with glistening 
 eyes and parted lips. Suddenly she rose, and went hur- 
 riedly to the door. 
 
 "Forgive me," said Barry, turning to Mrs. Vincent. 
 "I should not have talked about these things. It's Neil 
 here that drew me out. It's his fault." 
 
 In a few minutes Captain Neil arose and saying, "I'll 
 see where Phyllis has gone," went out at the same door. 
 
 "They are very great friends," said Mrs. Vincent. 
 "We are very fond of Captain Fraser. Indeed, he is like 
 one of our family." 
 
 "A fine, brave chap he is," said Barry warmly, but 
 with a queer chill at his heart. 
 
 "Phyllis has made some very delightful friends in 
 France. Those Americans at Etaples were very good 
 to her," and she continued to chat in her soft, gentle 
 voice, to which Barry gave a courteous hearing but very 
 casual replies. His heart and his ears were attentive for 
 the returning footsteps of those who had so abruptly de- 
 serted them. While Mrs. Vincent was talking, an ugly 
 question was thrusting itself upon his attention, demand- 
 ing an answer. He could see any one with eyes could 
 see that there was between Phyllis and his friend Cap- 
 tain Neil some understanding. Just what was between 
 them Barry longed to know. It flashed upon him that
 
 LONDON LEAVE AND PHYLLIS 301 
 
 upon the answer to that question his whole future hung, 
 for if this girl was more than friend to Captain Neil, 
 then the joy of life had for him been quenched. No 
 motor trip for him to-morrow. He had had enough 
 heart-wrenching to bear as it was without that. No! 
 If between these two a closer relation than that of mere 
 friendship existed, his way was clear. He would return 
 to the trenches to-morrow. 
 
 "Oh, here you are, dear," said Mrs. Vincent, as 
 Phyllis and Captain Neil returned to the room. "You 
 found the air too close, I fear." 
 
 "No," said Phyllis with simple sincerity, "it was 
 Barry. I saw those men, and I could not bear it. I 
 can't bear it now." Her lips were still trembling, and 
 her eyes were filled with tears. 
 
 "And yet," said Barry, "when you were over there in 
 the midst of it all, you never once weakened. That's 
 the wonder of it. You just go on, doing what you must 
 do. You haven't time to reflect, and it's God's mercy 
 that it is so. Thank God we have our duty to do no 
 matter what comes. Without that life would be un- 
 bearable." 
 
 "Now, what about to-morrow?" said Captain Neil 
 briskly, as Mrs. Vincent rose from the table. "We must 
 settle that. What about it, Barry?" 
 
 "I don't know. Do you think I should go? It's your 
 party and it's already made up." 
 
 "Not quite," said Phyllis, looking shyly at him. "You 
 belong to the party more than any of us, you know." 
 
 "Then what about Paula?" said Barry. "This is her 
 party, is it not?" 
 
 Phyllis was silent. 
 
 "I think, Captain Dunbar," said Mrs. Vincent, "if you 
 would like it, you ought to go. You need something of 
 the kind, and you will fit in admirably with the party, I 
 am quite sure. To-day," she added with a little laugh, 
 "I was doubtful as to the propriety of these young peo- 
 ple going off all the way to Edinburgh by themselves,
 
 302 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 but you know in these war times we do extraordinary 
 things, but now if you join them, my scruples will be 
 removed." 
 
 "Some chaperon," whispered Captain Neil audibly to 
 Phyllis. Then he added briskly, "Well, then, that's set- 
 tled. To-morrow at 8 137 we meet at King's Cross, 8 137, 
 remember." 
 
 But for Barry the matter was far from settled. 
 
 "I can't quite make up my mind to-night," he said. 
 "I shall be at King's Cross, however, in the morning at 
 any rate." 
 
 "But, Barry," began Phyllis, protesting, "you must 
 I want " 
 
 She ceased speaking abruptly, her face flushing and 
 then going suddenly white. 
 
 "Oh, rot, old man," said Captain Neil, impatiently, 
 "you will come. Of course he'll come," he added to 
 Phyllis. 
 
 They moved together out of the room, Mrs. Vincent 
 and Captain Neil leading the way. 
 
 "Oh, Barry, aren't you going?" said Phyllis in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "How can I answer that?" he replied, almost in anger. 
 "Do you ask me to go? Do you want me to go?" 
 
 "Of course, we all want you to go," said the girl. 
 
 "Is that your answer?" His voice was tense; his fac 
 strained. "If that is all, Phyllis, I must say 'Good-bye' 
 to-night. Why should I go with you? Why should I 
 stay here in London? There's nothing for me here. 
 The war is the only place " 
 
 "Oh, Barry," she said, her eyes bright with tears, 
 "how unkindly, how terribly you talk." Then with a 
 swift change of mood she turned upon him. "What 
 right have you to talk like that?" she cried in sudden 
 wrath. "What have I done what have we done to 
 you?" 
 
 "Wait, Phyllis," he cried desperately. "Oh, let them 
 go on," he added impatiently. "For Heaven's sake, is
 
 LONDON LEAVE AND PHYLLJS 303 
 
 there no place about here where I can talk to you?" 
 They were both pale and trembling. "I must talk to you 
 to-night now at once." He stood between her and 
 the door. "Can't you see I love you? I love you, do 
 you hear? If you don't love me, why should I live?" 
 
 "Oh, Barry," said the girl, in a hurried voice. "You 
 must not talk like this. Come this way. I know this 
 place." She hurried out by a side door, down a corridor, 
 and into a small parlour, with cosy corners, where they 
 were alone. 
 
 "Now, Phyllis," said Barry, facing her, with a settled 
 fierceness in his voice and manner. "I am quite mad, I 
 know, to love you, but I do. I can't help it any more 
 than breathing. I have no right to tell you this, perhaps. 
 I am nobody, and I have nothing to offer any girl. I 
 see that now. Oh, I see that clearly now, but I never 
 thought of that part of it before. I only loved you. 
 How could I help it? I hardly knew myself until to- 
 night. But I know now," he added in a voice of triumph, 
 the gloom lifting from his face, and the fierce light fad- 
 ing from his eyes. "Yes, I know now, Phyllis. I love 
 you. I shall always love you. I love you and I am glad 
 to love you. Nothing can take that from me." 
 
 All this time she was standing before him, her face 
 white, her lips parted, a look of wonder, almost of fear, 
 in the brown eyes, so bravely holding his, her hands 
 pressed hard upon her bosom, as if to stay its tumult. 
 
 "I have no right to say this to you." said Barry again. 
 "You belong to a great family. Perhaps you are rich. 
 Great Heavens !" he groaned. "I never thought of that. 
 You are beautiful. Many men will love you, great men 
 and rich men will love you. You are so wonderful. 
 Why, there's Captain Neil, he " 
 
 "Captain Neil," echoed Phyllis, with infinite scorn in 
 her voice. 
 
 "Well, many men." 
 
 "Many men," she repeated, her lips beginning to trem- 
 ble. "Oh, Barry, can't you see? You blind boy. There's
 
 304 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 only one man for me, Barry, and that's you, just you." 
 
 She came near to him, laid her hands upon his breast, 
 her eyes looking into his. 
 
 "Phyllis," he said, putting his arms round her, a great 
 wonder in his voice. "It can't be true! Oh, it can't be 
 true! Yet your eyes, your dear eyes say so. Phyllis, 
 I do believe you love me." 
 
 The little hands slid up around his neck ; he drew her 
 close. 
 
 "Phyllis, my dear, dear, love," he whispered. 
 
 He felt her body suddenly relax, and as she leaned 
 backwards in his arms, still clinging to him, he bent over 
 her and his lips met hers in a long kiss.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A WEDDING JOURNEY 
 
 JUST a moment, if you please, Paula. I should like 
 to get down a few notes of this bit. Oh, what a 
 view ! Lake, moor, hills, mountains, village !" 
 
 Mr. Rowland sprang from the car, sketchbook in 
 hand, and ran forward to a jutting rock that commanded 
 the wide valley, flanked by hills, in whose bosom lay a 
 loch, shimmering in the morning light. The car drew 
 up on the brow of a long and gently sloping incline, 
 which the road followed until it disappeared in a turn 
 at the village at the loch's end. 
 
 "Get the little church tower in, father, and a bit of the 
 castle. I can see it from here," said Paula, standing 
 upon the motor seat. 
 
 "I shall try this further rock," said her father. "Ah, 
 here it is. Do come, all of you, and get this. Oh, what 
 a perf ectly glorious view !" 
 
 The little group gathered about him in silence, upon 
 a little headland that overlooked the valley, and feasted 
 upon the beauty that spread itself out before them, the 
 undulating slope and shimmering loch, the wide moors 
 and softly rounded hills, the dark green masses of 
 ragged firs, and the great white Bens in the far distance, 
 and below them, in the midst the human touch, in a 
 nestling village with its Heaven-pointing spire. 
 
 "Hark!" said Paula. 
 
 From across the loch there floated up to them, soft 
 and mellow as an angel's song, the sound of a bell. 
 
 Mr. Howland dropped his sketchbook, took off his 
 hat, and stood as if in worship. The other men followed 
 his example. 
 
 305
 
 306 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Father," said Paula, "let's go to church." 
 
 "Hush," said her father, putting up his hand, and so 
 stood for some moments. 
 
 "Oh, Scotland, Scotland!" he cried, lifting his arms 
 high above his head, "no wonder your children in exile 
 weep for their native land." 
 
 "And your men fight and die for you," added Paula, 
 glancing at Captain Neil. 
 
 "Thank you," said Captain Neil, aiming quickly away. 
 
 "Yes," said Paula, "we shall go to church here, 
 father." 
 
 The church stood against a cluster of ancient firs, in 
 the midst of its quiet graves, yew shaded here and there. 
 Beside it stood the manse, within its sweet old garden, 
 protected by a moss covered stone wall. 
 
 At its gate the minister stood, a dark man with sil- 
 vering hair, of some sixty years, but still erect and with 
 a noble, intellectual face. 
 
 "Let us speak to him," said Paula, as they left their 
 car. 
 
 With characteristic reserve, Barry and Neil shrank 
 from greeting a stranger, but with fine and easy cour- 
 tesy Mr. Howland bared his head, and went up to the 
 minister. 
 
 "We heard your bell's invitation, sir," he said, "and 
 we came to worship with you." 
 
 A grave smile touched the dark face. 
 
 "You rightly interpreted its message," he said. "Let 
 me repeat its welcome." 
 
 "We are Americans, at least my daughter and I are," 
 said Mr. Howland, presenting Paula, a frank smile 
 upon her beautiful face, "and this is her young friend 
 from London, Miss Vincent, and these young officers 
 are of the Canadian army." 
 
 "Canadians!" exclaimed the minister, meeting them 
 with both hands. "Oh, you are indeed welcome." 
 
 "We are all in the war, sir, I would have you know," 
 added Mr. Howland.
 
 A WEDDING JOURNEY 307 
 
 The minister looked puzzled. 
 
 "Let me explain," said Barry. "Mr. Rowland and 
 his daughter are on leave from their own hospital which 
 they have set up in France. Miss Vincent is from the 
 base hospital in Boulogne." 
 
 Like the sun breaking upon the loch in a dull day, a 
 smile broke over the dark face. He threw the gate 
 wide open. 
 
 "In the name of my country, in this its dark hour, 
 let me give you welcome," and once more he shook them 
 each by the hand. "We have still half an hour before 
 worship," he continued. "Pray do me the honour of 
 entering my manse." 
 
 They followed him up the shrubbery-flanked gravel 
 walk to the door. 
 
 "Enter," he said, going before them into the manse. 
 "Jean! Jean!" he called. 
 
 "Yes, dear," came a voice like the sound of a silver 
 bell, and from another room issued a lady with a face 
 of rare and delicate loveliness. Her soft, clinging black 
 gown, with a touch of white at her throat, served to 
 emphasise the sweet purity of her face, but cast over it 
 a shade of sadness at once poignant and tender. 
 
 "My dear, this is Mrs. Robertson," he said simply; 
 "these friends, Americans and Canadians, are from the 
 war." 
 
 At that word she came to greet them, her face illu- 
 mined by a smile inexpressibly sweet, but inexpressibly 
 sad. "You are welcome, oh, very welcome," she said, 
 in a soft Scotch voice. "Come in and rest for a few 
 moments." 
 
 "Our young friend here, Captain Dunbar, is chaplain 
 of a distinguished Canadian regiment." 
 
 "They are all distinguished," said the lady. 
 
 "A chaplain?" said the minister. "My dear sir, we 
 should be grateful for a message for our people from 
 the front " 
 
 "Oh, yes, if you would." added his wife.
 
 308 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "But," protested Barry, "I want to hear some one else 
 preach. One gets very tired of one's own preaching, 
 and besides I'm a very poor preacher." 
 
 "I'll take that risk, but I will not press you," said the 
 minister courteously. 
 
 "Do, Barry," said Paula in a low voice, but he shook 
 his head. 
 
 "I see you have sc:ne soldier friends at the front," 
 said Mr. Howland, pointing to a photograph on the man- 
 tel of a young officer in Highland dress. 
 
 "Our son, sir," said the minister quietly. 
 
 "Our only son," added his wife quietly. "He was in 
 the Black Watch." Her voice, with its peculiar bell-like 
 quality, was full of pride and tenderness. 
 
 "Oh," said Phyllis, turning to her with quick tears in 
 her eyes and holding out her hand. 
 
 "Ah," said the lady, "you too? Your brother?" 
 
 "My two brothers." 
 
 "My dear child! My dear child!" said the minister's 
 wife, kissing her. "Your mother was greatly privi- 
 leged," she added gently. 
 
 It was a deeply moving scene. 
 
 "Madam," said Mr. Howland, wiping his eyes, "for- 
 give me, but you mothers are the wonder of the war." 
 
 "There are many of us in this glen, sir," she replied. 
 "We cannot give our lives, sir. We can only give what 
 is dearer than our lives, our dear, dear sons, and, be- 
 lieve me, we don't grudge them." 
 
 "Madam," said Mr. Howland, "the whole world 
 honours you and wonders at you." 
 
 "Sir," said Barry, obeying a quick impulse "I cannot 
 preach, but may I tell your people something about their 
 boys and how splendid they are?" 
 
 "Thank you," said the minister. 
 
 "Oh, would you?" cried his wife. "There are many 
 t;here who feel only the loss and the sorrow. You can tell 
 them something of its splendour." 
 
 By this time in the eyes of all the visitors there were
 
 A WEDDING JOURNEY 309 
 
 tears, but on the faces of the minister and hi< wife there 
 was only the serene peace of those who within the sa- 
 cred shrine of sacrifice have got a vision of its eternal 
 glory. 
 
 "Barry," said Paula, drawing him aside, "I love you 
 for this, but do talk about something, or I shall surely 
 cry. These people break my heart." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Barry, looking at them, "there are no 
 tears there. They have been all the way through." 
 
 "Like people, like priest !" The folk that gathered in 
 the little church that morning were simple people of 
 the glen, shepherds and cotters from the countryside, 
 humble villagers. They were women for the most part, 
 with old men and children. The girls were away at the 
 munition plants, the young men at the war, fighting 
 or lying under their little crosses or in their unknown 
 and unmarked graves, on one of Britain's five battle 
 fronts, or under the tossing waters of the Seven Seas 
 where Britain's navy rides, guarding the world's free- 
 dom. Simple peasant folk they were, but with that look 
 of grave and thoughtful steadfastness with which Scot- 
 land knows how to stamp her people. 
 
 The devotions were conducted by the minister with 
 simple sincerity, and with a prophet's mystic touch and 
 a prophet's vision of things invisible. 
 
 Barry made no attempt at a sermon. He yielded 
 himself to the spirit of the place, the spirit of the manse 
 and its people, whose serene fortitude under the bur- 
 den of their sorrow had stirred him to his soul's depths. 
 Thdr spirit recalled the spirit of his own father and 
 the spirit of the men he had known in the trenches. He 
 made a slight reference to the horrors of the war. He 
 touched lightly upon the soldiers' trials but he told them 
 tales of their endurance, their patience, their tenderness 
 to the wounded, their comradeship, their readiness to 
 sacrifice. Before he closed, he lifted them up to see 
 the worth and splendour of it all and gave them a vision
 
 310 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 of the world's regeneration through the eternal mystery 
 of the cross. 
 
 They listened with uplifted face, on which rested a 
 quiet wonder, touched with that light that only falls 
 where sacrifice and sacrament are joined. There were 
 tears on many faces, but they fell quietly, without bit- 
 terness, without passion, without despair. 
 
 A woman with a grief worn face waited for him at 
 the foot of the pulpit stairs, the minister's wife and 
 Phyllis beside her. 
 
 "Mrs. Finlayson wishes to speak to you," she said. 
 
 "Ay, ay! I jist want to say that you had the word 
 for me the day. I see it better the noo. A'm mair 
 content that ma mon sud be sleepin' oot yonder." She 
 held Barry's hand while she spoke, her tears falling on 
 it, then kissed it and turned away. 
 
 "And this," said the minister's wife, "is Mrs. Mur- 
 ray, who has given three sons, and who has just sent 
 her last son away this week." 
 
 "Three sons," echoed Barry, gazing at the strong face, 
 beaten and brown with the winds and suns of fifty years, 
 "and you sent away your last. Oh, I wonder at you. 
 How could you?" 
 
 "A cudna haud him back \vi' his three brithers lyin' 
 oot there, and," she added, with a proud lift of her head, 
 "and wudna." 
 
 It took some minutes for Barry to make his way 
 through to the door. He wanted to greet them all. 
 He had a feeling that he was there not in his own per- 
 son but as a representative standing between two noble 
 companies of martyrs, those who had gone forth to die, 
 and those who had sent them. 
 
 "You have done us a great service to-day, sir," said the 
 minister in bidding Barry good-bye. 
 
 "It was a privilege to do it," said Barry as he shook 
 hands with the minister and his wife. "I shall tell the 
 men about you and your people."
 
 A WEDDING JOURNEY 311 
 
 "My dear, my dear, is he your man?" asked the min- 
 ister's wife as she held Phyllis' hand. 
 
 "He is," said Phyllis, glancing at Barry with shy 
 pride. 
 
 "And he leaves you soon ?" 
 
 "In two days," replied the girl, with a quick breath. 
 
 "Don't let him away till you give yourself wholly to- 
 him. Why not to-morrow? It's a mother's word." 
 
 "That's what I say," cried Paula impulsively, seeking 
 to cover the girl's blushing confusion. "Neil," she added, 
 turning to him, "I should love to be married in just 
 such a dear little church as this." 
 
 "All right," said Neil. "I know another just like it, 
 and I shall show it to you next week." 
 
 They wandered down by the loch's side. Passing a 
 boat-renting establishment, Paula suddenly exclaimed, 
 
 "My Land of Liberty, look there, Barry !" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "A canoe," she cried, running toward it. "A Canadian 
 canoe !" 
 
 "A genuine Peterboro," he cried, following her. 
 "Where did you get this?" he inquired, turning to the 
 boatman. 
 
 "My boy brought it with him from Canada, sir. He 
 is an engineer. I have his whole outfit in the house 
 tent, camp things and all. He is at the war himself." 
 
 "Oh, Barry, look at the dear thing. What does it 
 make you think of?" She glanced at Barry's face and 
 added quickly, "Oh, I know. Forgive me. I'm a fool!" 
 
 "Come along, Phyllis," said Barry, drawing her away 
 with him. "I want to talk to you." 
 
 "We shall take lunch in half an hour, Barry," called 
 Mr. Howland after him. "We're due at Pitlochry, you 
 know, for dinner." 
 
 "All right, sir," said Barry. "We'll be on hand." 
 
 "I wonder if she's got the nerve," said Paula to Cap- 
 tain Neil as they stood looking after them.
 
 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "I wonder," said Captain Neil, looking at her. "Would 
 you?" 
 
 "Would I," said Paula, with sudden shyness. "I 
 but you are not going away in two days." 
 
 "No, thank the good Lord," said Captain Neil, fer- 
 vently, "but, Paula, I'll not forget." 
 
 At Pitlochry they found their mail awaiting them. 
 
 "A telegram for you, Barry," said Paula, who had 
 assumed the duty of postman. 
 
 They all paused in examining their mail to watch 
 Barry open his wire. 
 
 "Guess," he shouted, holding his telegram high. 
 
 "Oh, glory, I know!" exclaimed Paula. "Extended 
 leave. How much?" 
 
 " 'Oh, excellent young maid, how much elder art thou 
 than thy looks!'" 
 
 "Oh, Barry!" exclaimed Phyllis. "How much?" 
 
 "Five days, five whole days." 
 
 "Humph! It's the least they could do. They might 
 have made it ten," grumbled Paula. 
 
 "Mr. Howland, may I speak to you a moment?" 
 Barry's look and voice were eloquent of resolve. 
 
 "Certainly, Barry. Immediately?" 
 
 "If you please, sir." 
 
 They retired to a corner, where Barry could be seen 
 with ardent look and vehement gesture putting his 
 proposition to Mr. Howland, whose face showed min- 
 gled pleasure and perplexity. The others waited pa- 
 tiently for the conference to end. 
 
 "Oh, pshaw!" said Paula, "Barry ought to know by 
 this time that the pater simply can't make up his mind 
 without me. I know what they are at." 
 
 She moved over to them. 
 
 "Now, father, of course you will do as Barry wishes," 
 she declared. "Oh, I know what he wants. Now listen 
 to me. Just wire Mrs. Vincent that everything is per- 
 fectly all right, that you can guarantee Barry, and that 
 it's the sensible thing, the only thing to do under the cir-
 
 A WEDDING JOURNEY 313 
 
 cumstances. Oh, we'll have it in that dear little church. 
 Splendid. Perfectly ripping! Eh, Phyllis? Come over 
 here at once. Now, father, get busy on the wire. Why 
 waste a perfectly good hour in just talking about it? 
 What do you say, folks ? How many say 'Ay' ?" 
 
 Up went Barry's two hands, and with them Neil's 
 and Paula's. 
 
 "What about you, miss?" asked Paula, turning wrath- 
 fully toward Phyllis. 
 
 Phyllis walked quietly to Barry's side. 
 
 "Barry," she said, giving him her hand, "I have de- 
 cided to be married to-morrow. I shall wire mamma." 
 
 Barry answered her only with his eyes. 
 
 "By Jove!" said Paula, "you Britishers are the limit, 
 for stolid, unemotional people. Here am I shouting 
 my head off like a baseball fan, to get this thing put 
 through, and you quietly walk up and announce that 
 everything's fixed but the band." 
 
 The wires to London that afternoon were kept busy, 
 a message going to Mrs. Vincent from each member 
 of the party, but it was felt that that from Phyllis to 
 her mother was really all that was necessary. 
 
 "Dearest Mamma Barry and I are to be married to- 
 morrow. English law makes London impossible, as 
 Barry has only five days. I am very happy, feeling sure 
 you approve. Our dearest, dearest love. 
 
 "PHYLLIS." 
 
 A long wire also went from Barry to Mr. Robertson, 
 the minister of the little church, where they had spent 
 such a delightful hour that morning, but this wire Barry 
 showed to no one. 
 
 The bride's bouquet was from the manse garden, a 
 shower of white roses, no purer and no sweeter than 
 the bride herself. At the church door, the party stood 
 shrinking from the moment of parting. At length 
 Paula took matters in hand.
 
 314 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "As usual," she said, "the heavy work falls to me. 
 Dear Mrs. Robertson" to the minister's wife "good- 
 bye. I shall always love you and your dear little 
 church." 
 
 She put her arms around the minister's wife and 
 kissed her. 
 
 "Oh, we're going to see them off," said that lady. 
 "Lead the way, Captain Dunbar, please," she added, with 
 a bright smile, giving him a little push. 
 
 "Come, Phyllis," said Barry offering his wife his arm, 
 and they started off down the street toward the lake. 
 
 "Will you permit me?" said the minister, offering 
 his arm to Paula, who in mystified silence took it with- 
 out a word. 
 
 "May I have the pleasure?" said Mr. Rowland, of- 
 fering his arm to Mrs. Robertson. 
 
 "Come, Captain Eraser," she said gaily, offering him 
 the other arm. 
 
 "Just what is happening to me, I don't pretend to 
 know," said Paula, "but whatever it is, America is in 
 this thing to the finish." 
 
 Barry stopped at the boathouse landing. There, tied 
 to the dock, floated the Canadian canoe, laden with tent 
 and camp outfit, and with extra baskets provided from 
 the manse. 
 
 "Oh, Barry, how wonderful! How perfectly won- 
 derful!" cried Paula in an ecstasy of delight. 
 
 In that farewell there were tears and smiles, but 
 more smiles than tears. The last to touch their hands 
 was Paula. She managed to draw them apart from 
 the others, with her eyes glistening with unaccustomed 
 tears. "You deserve each other. Phyllis," she whis- 
 pered, alternately shaking and kissing her, "there was 
 a day when I would have fought you for him, until 
 Neil came. Barry, you dear boy, you may kiss me good- 
 bye, and oh, may you both live forever." 
 
 "Goodbye, dear Paula," cried Phyllis. "You have
 
 A WEDDING JOURNEY 315 
 
 been so lovely to me from the very first. I shall never, 
 never forget you." 
 
 "Goodbye, Paula," said Barry, "dearest of all dear 
 friends." 
 
 She stooped to steady the canoe, while Phyllis stepped 
 to her place in the bow. 
 
 "Goodbye to all of you. God love you and keep you 
 all," said Barry. 
 
 He took his paddle and stepped into the canoe, Paula 
 still stooping over it to keep it steady. 
 
 "Dear, dear Barry," she whispered, and for the first 
 time her tears fell. "Goodbye! Goodbye!" 
 
 Together the little company stood watching them 
 away, Phyllis in the bow, not paddling, sat with her 
 face toward them, Barry swinging his paddle with grace- 
 ful, powerful strokes, until just at a curve of the shore, 
 where some birches overhung the water, he swung the 
 canoe half round, and with paddle held Voyageur fash- 
 ion in salute, they passed out of sight.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 
 
 THE little Canadian army was done with The 
 Salient. The British tradition established in the 
 third month of the war, in that first terrific twenty-two 
 days' fight by Ypres, that that deadly convex should be 
 no thoroughfare to Calais for the Hun, was passed on 
 with The Salient into Canadian hands in the early 
 months of 1915. How the little Canadian army pre- 
 served the tradition and barred "the road-hog of Eu- 
 rope" from the channel coast for seventeen months, let 
 history tell, and at what cost let the dead declare who lie 
 in unmarked graves which, following the curving line 
 of trenches from Langemarck through Hooge and Sanc- 
 tuary Wood over Observation Ridge to St. Eloi, and 
 the dead under those little crosses that crowd the ceme- 
 teries of The Salient and of the clearing stations in 
 the rear, and the living as well, who through life will 
 carry the burden of enfeebled and mutilated bodies. 
 
 For seventeen months the Canadians in shallow dug- 
 outs and behind flimsy trenches endured the maddening 
 pounding of the Huns' guns, big and little, without the 
 satisfaction of reprisal, except in raid or counter-attack, 
 suffering the loss of two-thirds of their entire force, 
 but still holding. Now at length came the welcome re- 
 lease. They were ordered to the Somme. Welcome not 
 simply because of escape from an experience the most 
 trying to which an army could be subjected, but wel- 
 come chiefly because there was a chance of fighting 
 back. 
 
 They had no 'illusions about that great battle area 
 of the south, echoes of whose titanic struggle had 
 
 316
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 317 
 
 reached them, but they longed for a chance to get back 
 at their foe. Besides, the Somme challenged their fight- 
 ing spirit. That glorious assault of the first of July of 
 the allied armies which flung them upon the scientifically 
 prepared, embattled and entrenched "German Frontier," 
 with its fortified villages, its gun stuffed woods, its 
 massed parks of artillery, and defended by highly dis- 
 ciplined and superbly organised soldiery, stirred them 
 like a bugle call. For two years the master war-makers 
 of the world had employed scientific knowledge, in- 
 genuity and unlimited resources upon the construction 
 of a system of defence by means of which they hoped 
 to defy the world, and upon which when completed they 
 displayed the vaunting challenge, "We are ready for 
 you; come on!" 
 
 In that great conflict there was no element of sur- 
 prise. It was a deliberate testing out of strength, physi- 
 cal and moral. For the first time in the war the British 
 army stood upon something like even terms in man- 
 power and in weight of metal, with, however, the im- 
 mense handicap still resting upon it that it was the at- 
 tacking force. The result settled forever the question 
 of the fighting quality of the races. When the first 
 day's fight was done, on a battle front of twenty miles 
 the British armies had smashed a hole seven miles wide, 
 while their gallant allies, fighting on an eight-mile front, 
 had captured the whole line. In two weeks' time, the 
 seven-mile hole was widened to ten. Fortified villages, 
 entrenched redoubts, woods stuffed with guns, great and 
 small, had gone down before that steady, relentless, 
 crushing advance. The full significance of the Somme 
 had not dawned as yet upon the world. The magnitude 
 of the achievement was not yet estimated, but already 
 names hitherto unknown were flung up flaming into 
 the world's sky in letters of eternal fire, Ovillers, Ma- 
 metz Wood, Trones Wood, Langueval, Mouquet Farm, 
 Deville Wood for the British, with twenty-one thousand 
 prisoners, and Hardecourt, Dompierre, Becquin-Court,
 
 318 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 Bussu and Fay for the French allies, with thirty-one 
 thousand prisoners. 
 
 On that line of carefully chosen and elaborately forti- 
 fied defences, the proudest of Germany's supermen of 
 war had been beaten at their own game by the civilian 
 soldiers of "effete and luxury loving Britain," and the 
 republican armies of "decadent France," and still the 
 Homeric fight was raging. Foot by foot, yard by yard, 
 the Hun was fighting to hold the line which should make 
 good his insolent claim to the hegemony of the world. 
 Step by step, yard by yard, that line was being torn 
 from his bloody fingers. Into that sea of fire and blood, 
 the Canadians were to plunge. They remembered 
 Langemarck and Sanctuary Wood and St. Eloi, and were 
 not unwilling to make the plunge. They thought of 
 those long months in The Salient, when the ruthless 
 Hun from his vantage ground of overwhelming superior- 
 ity had poured his deadly hail from right flank, left 
 flank, front and rear, upon them, holding, suffering, 
 dying, day by day, month by month, and they were 
 grimly jubilant over the chance which the Somme of- 
 fered them of evening somewhat the score. 
 
 "We have something to hand Fritzie," young Pickles 
 was heard to remark when he had learned of the qual- 
 ity of the Somme fighting, "and I hope he'll like it, for 
 he's got to take it." 
 
 The battalion ranks, both officers and men, had once 
 more been filled up. They had a brief fortnight's train- 
 ing in the new open fighting under barrage and then 
 set off cheerfully for the "Big Game." Ten days they 
 marched and countermarched in the back country, keep- 
 ing clear of those two mighty streams "up" and "down," 
 that flowed between ditches and hedges along the road 
 that led to the great arena, and catching glimpses and 
 echoes as they marched until, hard, fit, keen, they joined 
 the "upstream" flowing toward Albert. That stream 
 was made up of those various and multifarious elements 
 that go to constitute, equip and maintain a modern army.
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 319 
 
 There were marching battalions, with their mounted offi- 
 cers, bearing names and insignia famous in the world's 
 wars for two hundred years, and with them battalions 
 who a few brief months ago were peaceful citizens, know- 
 ing nothing of war. There were transport columns, 
 ammunition columns, artillery columns, with mounted 
 escorts. There were big guns, on huge caterpillar trucks, 
 shouldering the lighter traffic to the ditches, and little 
 guns slipping meekly in their rear. There were motor 
 lorries, honking and thundering their insistent way 
 through dodging, escaping, cursing infantry, forty-six 
 miles of them to a single army corps. There were strings 
 of mules and horses with weirdly shaped burdens on their 
 pack saddles. There were motor cars bearing "Brass 
 Hats," gentle looking individuals, excessively polite, yet 
 somehow getting men to jump when they spoke, and 
 everywhere ambulances, silent and swift moving, before 
 whose approach the stream parted in recognition of the 
 right of way of these messengers of mercy over all the 
 enginery of war. 
 
 The "down stream" was much the same, with here 
 and there differences. That stream flowed more swiftly. 
 The battalions marched with more buoyant tread. They 
 had done their part and without shame. They had met 
 their foes and seen their backs. The trucks, transport 
 and ammunition wagons were empty and coming with a 
 rush. Only the ambulances moved more slowly. Care- 
 fully, with watchful avoidance of ruts and holes, which, 
 in spite of the army of road-mending Huns, broke up the 
 surface of the pavement, these ambulances made their 
 way. They must get through no matter what was held 
 up. 
 
 And as they flowed these streams ever and anon broke 
 their banks and flooded over in little eddies into villages 
 and fields, there to tarry for a day and a night, only to 
 be caught up again in either one of those resistless in- 
 evitable currents of war. 
 
 "Look before you, major," said Barry, who was rid-
 
 320 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 ing with the Headquarters Company at the head of the 
 column, as often now at the invitation of the O. C. 
 
 The column was slowly climbing a long gentle sloping 
 hill that reached its apex some two or three miles away. 
 On either side, spread out over the fields, as far as the 
 eye could reach, were military encampments, in tents, in 
 huts and in the open. Infantry units, horse lines, motor 
 truck parks, repair camps for motors and for guns, am- 
 munition dumps with shells piled high, supply sheds 
 bulging with their canvas-covered contents, Red Cross 
 huts and marquees, and Y. M. C. A. tents with their 
 cues of waiting soldiers, getting "eats" and drinks, and 
 comforts of various kinds. The whole countryside was 
 one mighty encampment packed with munitions and sup- 
 plies and thronging with horses, mules and men. 
 
 "This is war on the 'grand scale,' " said the O. C. 
 dropping back beside them. "From the top of this hill 
 we can see Albert and a part of the most famous bat- 
 tle-field of all time. We camp just outside of Albert on 
 what is known as the 'brick field,' and in a couple of 
 days more we shall be in it. Well," he continued, with 
 a glance over the column following, "the boys never were 
 more fit." 
 
 "And never more keen," said the major. "They are 
 right on their toes." 
 
 "Major, I expect to meet the divisional commander 
 down here, and I want you to be there. Captain Dunbar, 
 you know him, I believe. He has asked especially that 
 you should be there as well." 
 
 "Yes, sir, I have met the General. To my mind he 
 is an ideal soldier." 
 
 "Yps, and an ideal officer," said the O. C. "He knows 
 his job and he is always fit and keen." 
 
 At the top of the hill, a traffic officer, a young lieu- 
 tenant from the Imperial forces, diverted the column 
 from the road into a field. 
 
 "Why is this ?" inquired the O. C. 
 
 "There's the answer, sir," said the officer coolly.
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 321 
 
 There was a long drawn whine which rapidly grew 
 into a shriek and an H. E. shell dropped fair in the road, 
 a short distance in front. 
 
 "Oh, I see., you have some of these birds down in this 
 country, too." 
 
 "Yes, sir, this is their breeding ground," said the young 
 lieutenant. 
 
 Once more came the long whining shriek and the ter- 
 rific blast of the H. E., this time closer. 
 
 "I would not delay, sir, if I were you," said the young 
 chap coolly, pulling out his cigarette case. "They get 
 rather ugly at times." 
 
 "What about you?" inquired the O. C. moving off. 
 
 "Part of my job, sir," replied the youth, saluting. 
 
 "Well, good luck, boy," said the O. C., trotting to the 
 head of the column. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said the youth, turning to his job 
 again. 
 
 They rode a hundred yards, when another shell came, 
 there was a terrific explosion, apparently just at the spot 
 where the young officer had been standing. 
 
 "By Jove ! I'm afraid that's got him," said the O. C. 
 
 "I'll go and see, sir," said Barry, spurring his horse 
 back to the spot. 
 
 "Come back here, Barry," called the major. "Darn 
 him for a fool ! \Vhat's the use of that ? That isn't his 
 job," he added angrily. 
 
 "He thinks it is, probably," said the O. C. 
 
 Barry found a great hole in the road with the officer's 
 horse lying disembowelled beside it, kicking in his death 
 agony. There was no sign of his rider anywhere. For- 
 tunately there was a gap in the column, so that no one else 
 was near enough to be- injured. 
 
 As Barry stood gazing about, a voice hailed him from 
 the ditch, which was several feet deep. 
 
 "I say, sir," said the voice, "I wouldn't just stay there. 
 They generally send over four of 'em. That's only the
 
 322 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 third. I find this ditch very convenient, though some- 
 what mucky." 
 
 Barry looked at him in astonishment. He was white 
 and shaken, covered with mud, but trying to get his ciga- 
 rette case open. 
 
 "I'd get off, sir, if I were you," he said, "until the 
 next one comes. Quick, sir, I hear it now." 
 
 Barry needed no second invitation. He flung himself 
 headlong into the ditch beside the young fellow, but the 
 shell dropped into the field beyond. 
 
 "That's as near as I like 'em," said the young officer, 
 scraping the mud off his clothes. "My poor, old gee-gee 
 got it though." He drew his revolver and shot the 
 wounded animal. "It's hard on the horses. You see, 
 they can't dodge," he added. 
 
 "I say, my boy," said Barry, for the lieutenant was 
 only a boy, "that was a near thing for you. What are 
 you going to do now?" 
 
 "Oh, just carry on," said the boy. "The relief will be 
 along in a few hours. Beastly mess, eh?" he continued, 
 but whether he referred to the disembowelled horse or 
 the state of his own uniform, Barry could not say. 
 
 "You are sure you are all right?" said Barry, as he 
 shook hands with him. "I'm awfully glad you weren't 
 hurt" 
 
 "So am I," said the boy heartily. "Awfully rotten to 
 be potted out here playing a bally policeman, eh ? What ? 
 Well, good luck, sir," and Barry rode off to join his 
 column with a deep admiration in his heart for the Eng- 
 lish school boy who, when war began, was probably a 
 fifth form lad, in whose life the most dangerous episode 
 would be a ball taken full off bat at point, or a low tackle 
 on the Rugby field. 
 
 At Divisional Headquarters, they met the general, 
 who after a conversation with the O. C. greeted Barry 
 warmly. 
 
 "So you have gone and done it, young man. Well, I 
 admire your nerve, and I congratulate you. I happen to
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 323 
 
 know the family very well. As a matter of fact there 
 is some remote connection, I believe. By the way, I 
 have a communication from London for you," he added, 
 drawing Barry to one side, and giving him a little slip. 
 "I happen to know about it," he continued, while Barry 
 was reading his telegram, "and say, if I can be of any 
 assistance, I shall be very glad. It's a step up, you see. 
 I have no doubt it can be put through quite easily and 
 quickly, and I believe the step is coming to you." 
 
 Barry stood with his eyes upon the dispatch. It was 
 an offer of a hospital appointment at the base, and carried 
 with it his majority. 
 
 "I have no doubt the missus will be pleased, eh?" said 
 the general with a grin. 
 
 Barry pulled out a letter from his pocket, opened it 
 and handed it to the general, pointing to a paragraph. 
 The general took it and read, 
 
 "And Barry, dear, remember that though you have a 
 wife now, your duty to your country is still your first 
 duty. I would hate that any thought of me should make 
 it harder for you to carry on." 
 
 The general folded up the letter, put it slowly into its 
 envelope, and handed it back to Barry. 
 
 "I know her," he said simply. "I should expect noth- 
 ing else from her. You are a lucky dog, but, of course," 
 he added, with a swift glance at Barry's face, "some one 
 must take that job." 
 
 "I fancy, sir, there are many for it, who are hardly 
 fit for this work up here," replied Barry quietly. "I 
 think, sir, I'll just carry on where I am." 
 
 "You are quite sure?" inquired the general. "Don't 
 you want a day or two to think it over ?" 
 
 "I am quite sure, sir," said Barry, "I am quite sure 
 that my wife would approve." 
 
 "Very well, then," said the general, "let me handle 
 this for you, and let me say, sir, that I am proud to have 
 you in my division."
 
 324 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 So saying, he gripped Barry's hand hard, and turned 
 abruptly away to the others. 
 
 They rode to their camp in almost complete silence, 
 except for a grunt or two from the O. C. who seemed in 
 a grumpy mood. 
 
 When they arrived at Headquarters, the O. C. drew 
 up his horse and turning to the major, said, 
 
 "I don't know just what to do with this Pilot of ours. 
 He is a fool in some ways." 
 
 "A darned fool, sir," said the major emphatically. 
 
 "And," continued the major, "I am selfish enough to 
 say that I am damned glad I won't apologise, Pilot 
 that he decided to stay with us. It would have been just 
 a little harder to carry on if he had left us." 
 
 "Yes," growled the major, "but, oh, well, we have 
 got to stick it I guess. The Pilot is a soldier all right." 
 
 There was nothing further said about the matter, but 
 next day as Barry walked about the camp, among the 
 men, their eyes followed him as he passed, and every 
 officer in the mess seemed to discover an errand that took 
 him to Barry's tent. 
 
 Two days later the Canadians moved up into the line 
 and took over from the Australians. They followed the 
 Bapaume Road toward Pozieres, passing through a coun- 
 try which had seen the heaviest fighting in the war. 
 
 "This," said the O. C., drawing aside from the road, 
 and riding to a slightly rising ground, "is La Boiselle, or 
 at least where it was, and that I fancy is the famous mine 
 crater. Sixty thousand pounds of gun cotton blew up 
 that hole." 
 
 There was absolutely no sign of the village, the very 
 foundations of the houses, and the cellars having the 
 appearance of a ploughed field. 
 
 "That was a desperate fight," continued the O. C. "It 
 was here that the Middlesex men made their great charge. 
 Fifty men reported from the battalion when it was over. 
 In that village they had a whole division fighting before
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 325 
 
 they were through, Middlesex men, Royal Scots and 
 Irish, for three days and three nights." 
 
 As they rode along, the guns on either side began 
 their evening chorus and from the far rear came the 
 roaring rush of the H. E.s like invisible express trains 
 hurtling through the air. It was music to their ears, 
 and they rode forward with a new feeling in their hearts, 
 for there appeared to be almost no reply from the enemy 
 guns. 
 
 The battalion took to the trenches at the crossing of 
 the Pozieres Road, and so effective was the counter-bat- 
 tery work that they were able to settle down into their 
 battle positions without casualties. The R. A. P. was in 
 a deep German dug-out thirty feet below the surface, 
 with double entrances and heavily timbered. It had 
 been most elaborately prepared, planked on sides and 
 floor, and fitted with electric lights. There were two 
 main rooms, with a connecting corridor, leading to each 
 entrance. They found an Australian medical officer in 
 charge. 
 
 "These chaps were regular settlers, weren't they?" said 
 Barry, after they had exchanged greetings. 
 
 "Yes, sir, they intended to sty, apparently," said the 
 Australian, in his slow drawl. "We found some letters 
 on a wounded officer indicating their intention to remyn 
 for the durytion, but we wanted the plyce couldn't carry 
 on without it in fact. It's quite a good plyce, too," he 
 added with a cheerful grin. 
 
 "Why, it's just bully," said the M. O. "I am only 
 sorry that we can't promise you as good in The Salient." 
 
 "I hear it is rather rotten, eh, sir?" said the Aus- 
 tralian. 
 
 "Not as bad as Gallipoli, though," said Barry. "By 
 Jove! You Australian chaps did magnificently down 
 there. Must have been a perfect hell." 
 
 "Oh, 'yes, quite hot for a while, but I fancy you Cany- 
 dians didn't have any afternoon tea party in The Sylient,
 
 326 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 eh? My word, there was some fighting there. Oh, 
 there it comes," he added. 
 
 As he spoke a muffled explosion was heard, and the 
 dug-out rocked, and the candles flickered. 
 
 "Can they get you down here?" inquired the M. O. 
 
 "I fancy a direct hit from a really big H. E. would 
 disturb our little home, but nothing else would. Of 
 course, a shell in the door wye would be a bit awkward, 
 you knaow," replied the Australian. 
 
 The night, however, passed quietly, and except for a 
 few slightly wounded walking cases, there was little work 
 to do. The Canadians decided that in coming to the 
 Somme, they had made a most happy exchange. 
 
 A quiet day followed the night, but the whole battalion 
 was keyed up with intense expectation for the attack 
 which they knew was fixed for the night following. With 
 expectation mingled curiosity. They knew all about 
 raiding; that was their own specialty, but they were 
 curious as to the new style of fighting which they knew 
 to be awaiting them, the capturing, holding and consoli- 
 dating of a line of enemy trenches. 
 
 Nightfall brought the opportunity to gratify their 
 curiosity. For two hours before the attack, their guns 
 put down the barrage to cover the front line of enemy 
 trenches, and to dispose of his wire. 
 
 The M. O. and Barry, with the Australian and their 
 whole staff, made their way to a ridge a few yards distant 
 to see the show. 
 
 "Great Heaven, what is that?" inquired the M. O., 
 pointing to what seemed to be a line of flickering watch 
 fires upon the crest of a neighbouring rising ground. 
 
 "Guns ! Ours," said the Australian, surprised at the 
 M. O.'s excitement. 
 
 "Guns! My Lord, guns, Barry," shouted the M. O. 
 
 "Guns ? And in the open ! And on a hill ! And wheel 
 to wheel!" cried Barry. "Thank the good Lord I have 
 lived to see this day. Look at the boys," he added in a 
 low tone, to the Australian beside him.
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 327 
 
 They glanced over their shoulders and saw two of the 
 orderlies executing a fox-trot in the heavy shell-ploughed 
 soil. 
 
 "What's the row?" inquired the Australian. 
 
 "Why, my dear chap," replied the M. O., "don't you 
 know we have never seen a gun in action in the open that 
 way. Our guns operated only from holes and corners, 
 from hedges and cellars. Otherwise they'd be spotted 
 and knocked out in an hour." 
 
 "Ow !" said the Australian, "our bird men attended to 
 that the first dye of the fight. They sye there was a 
 double line of observation balloons along the lines, ours 
 and theirs up to the 3Oth of June. The next morning 
 not a Boche balloon was to be seen. Our plynes put 
 their eye out in a single afternoon. Since that time, we 
 hold over them in the air. Ah! There are the heavies 
 coming up now. The full chorus will be on in half a 
 minute." 
 
 A few seconds later, the truth of the Australian's 
 prophecy was demonstrated. The full chorus was on. 
 For two hours the barrage raged, and the din was such 
 that they had to shout in each other's ears to be heard. 
 The hilltops were ringed with darting tongues of red 
 flame as though belched out by a thousand fabled dragons. 
 It was as if the air above was filled with millions of in- 
 visible demons, whining, moaning, barking, shrieking in 
 a fury of venomous hate, while at regular intervals came 
 the express train roar of the twelve, fifteen and sixteen 
 inch guns. 
 
 "It's almost worth while to have lived through those 
 months in The Salient," said Barry, "to get the full en- 
 joyment of this experience. Well do I remember the 
 day when our O. C. asked for 'retaliation,' and was told 
 he could have six rounds, I think it was, or eight. Mean- 
 while our trenches and dug-outs were going up in bloody 
 mud." 
 
 "I think we might as well go below," said the Aus- 
 tralian. "They will be coming in presently."
 
 328 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 But Barry and the M. O. remained long after the first 
 coming in shells began to drop around. That barrage so 
 long waited for, and so ardently desired, was worth some 
 risk. 
 
 Soon the wounded began to arrive, and throughout the 
 whole night, the M. O. and his staff -were busy at their 
 work. On the arrival of the zero hour, the barrage 
 lifted. 
 
 "Well, good luck^ go with the boys," said the Aus- 
 tralian, fervently. "They are out and over now. We'll 
 get some of them presently." \ 
 
 Throughout the night, a stream of walking wounded 
 kept flowing in. Jubilant, exultant in spite of their pain, 
 they bore with them the joyful report that they had 
 shifted the Hun from his trenches and his deep dug-outs, 
 and were still advancing. Singing at the top of their 
 voices, they came limping in, bloody and muddy, but 
 wild with exultation and joy. The day long looked for 
 by the Canadians had arrived. They were getting some- 
 thing of their own back. 
 
 The next day revealed the full extent of the achieve- 
 ment. The whole Canadian line had swept forward for 
 over a thousand yards, had captured strong points, a for- 
 tified sunken road, the famous "sugar refinery" and, 
 overrunning their objective, had captured the village of 
 Courcelette, as well. It was a gallant little fight, and 
 quite a notable achievement. 
 
 After two days the battalion was pulled out, having 
 suffered comparatively slight losses, and more than ready 
 to return when the opportunity should come. 
 
 The next three weeks were spent in minor operations, 
 consolidating positions, repelling counter-attacks, and 
 preparing for the real "big go," in which the Canadians 
 were to take their part in the advance of the whole allied 
 line, after which the battalion was sent into reserve for 
 a few days' respite. 
 
 The Canadian line was gradually wearing thin, but 
 the spirit of those who survived was the spirit of the
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 329 
 
 whole allied line, the spirit that claimed victory and 
 was not to be denied. As to the nature of the task await- 
 ing them, however, they well knew that it was to be a 
 fight in which the last ounce of resolution and only the 
 last ounce would carry them through to their objective. 
 
 The experiences of the allies during the past months 
 had wrought in them a settled conviction that victory 
 was awaiting them, and a settled resolution that that 
 victory they would secure at all cost soever. 
 
 At length the day arrived, a dull October day, over- 
 hung with rain clouds and thick with chill mist. On the 
 parade ground the battalion was drawn up for the service 
 which always preceded an attack. 
 
 The operations of the past month had reduced the 
 battalion to about half its righting strength. Only some 
 five hundred men, with officers barely sufficient to direct 
 their movements, looked back at Barry through the mist 
 as he faced them for the service. 
 
 "Truly my soul waiteth upon God : from him cometh 
 my salvation," he read. The psalm might have been writ- 
 ten for the occasion. 
 
 "He only is my rock and my salvation; he is my de- 
 fence : I shall not be moved. 
 
 "My soul, wait thou only upon God : for my expecta- 
 tion is from him. 
 
 "He only is my rock and my salvation: he is my de- 
 fence : I shall not be moved. 
 
 "In God is my salvation, and my glory : the rock of my 
 strength, and my refuge is in God. 
 
 "Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your 
 heart before him. God is a refuge for us." 
 
 Barry made only a single comment upon the psalm, 
 "Men, nothing can move God, and nothing can move 
 those whose trust is in God. Remember God is to 
 be trusted." 
 
 The reading was followed by the General Confession, 
 the Absolution and a brief extemporary prayer, conclud- 
 ing with the Lord's Prayer. As Barry was mounting
 
 330 THE SKY PILOT P~ NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 his horse a runner brought him an order from his divi- 
 sional chief, directing him L : report at the casualty clear- 
 ing station in Albert for immediate duty. He carried 
 the order to the O. C. 
 
 "Look at this !" he stormed. 
 
 "Too bad ! Too bad !" said the O. C. "Rotten luck 
 for you." 
 
 "Look here, sir," said Barry, "I have always gone 
 up with the battalion, and I think " 
 
 "I fancy they are getting on to you, Dunbar. You 
 know you have rather shirked the C. C. S. duty," said 
 the O. C. with a smile. 
 
 "Isn't there some way out of this? If I got a substi- 
 tute " 
 
 "A soldier obeys orders, Captain Dunbar," said the 
 O. C. gravely. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I know, but " 
 
 "And he doesn't say 'but'," continued the O. C. "No, 
 Barry," he added in a kindly voice, "I have no responsi- 
 bility or authority in this. I'd be glad to have you come 
 up with us. We are going into the 'big thing' this time, 
 I know, but perhaps it's just as well. You go your way 
 and we'll go ours. I'd like to say this to you, however, 
 my boy, you have been a great heJp to me with the men." 
 
 His tone was grave but kind, and it sent to Barry's 
 heart a chill of foreboding. "Good-bye, Barry," he 
 added, shaking hands with him. 
 
 "Good-bye, sir. Good luck, sir. May I say, sir," said 
 Barry, "that you have helped me immensely with my 
 duty." 
 
 "Do you say so, Barry?" said the O. C., a note of 
 surprise in his voice. "I'm delighted to know that." 
 
 "God keep you, sir," said Barry earnestly. 
 
 "Thank you, sir. We are in His keeping, aren't we?" 
 and turning in his saddle, he gave the order to advance. 
 
 Barry rode with the column to the very mouth of the 
 communication trench running to Pozieres, dropping into 
 step with each company commander for a time, and leav-
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 331 
 
 ing each with a cheery word of farewell. At the mouth 
 of the trench, he stood watching the men as they stepped 
 down and out of his sight, giving them a word of good 
 cheer and good luck as they passed, and receiving in re- 
 turn answering smiles and greetings. Then with eyes 
 unseeing, he rode back to camp, heavy of heart, for he 
 knew well that many of these faces he would see no 
 more. 
 
 The zero hour was fixed for five a. m. the following 
 morning. As the hour drew near, Barry at his work in 
 the C. C. S., found in his heart the words of the psalm, 
 "My soul wait thou only upon God ... I shall not be 
 moved." That wounds and death were awaiting many 
 of them he well knew, and his prayer was that they might 
 meet the fate appointed them with unshaken faith and 
 courage. 
 
 By seven o'clock the wounded began to arrive and an 
 hour later the C. A. M. C. marquee was filled to over- 
 flowing with a cue of wounded men forming outside 
 in the falling rain. The suffering in their pale and pa- 
 tient faces stirred in him a poignant sympathy. There 
 was the chaplain service tent adjoining. He ran to find 
 the chaplain in charge. 
 
 "Tell me," he said, "may we use your marquee for 
 wounded men?" 
 
 "Sure thing. It will never be used for a better pur- 
 pose." 
 
 Barry returned to the O. C. of the C. C. S. 
 
 "Why not direct that a part of this stream be sent to 
 the adjoining tent for registration, and for anti-tetanus 
 hypodermics? These poor chaps are standing out in the 
 rain, chilled to the bone and ready to drop." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake do it," said the O. C. "We are 
 really up against it here. Can you take that off my 
 hands?" 
 
 "I'll try," said Barry. 
 
 In a few minutes the congestion at the door of the 
 marquee was relieved and the wounded men, to their
 
 332 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAX'S LAND 
 
 own vast comfort, were bestowed upon the benches and 
 chairs in the chaplain service tent. But something fur- 
 ther was necessary to their comfort. 
 
 "Draper," said Barry to the chaplain in charge of the 
 tent, "you see these men? They have had nothing to 
 eat since last night. They have fought a battle, been 
 wounded, and walked out some five miles or so, since 
 then. It's eight o'clock now. What about it?" 
 
 "What about it?" exclaimed the chaplain. "You 
 watch me !" 
 
 He ran to the Y. M. C. A. tent, enlisted the secretary's 
 aid and in twenty minutes they together had transported 
 to the chaplain service tent coffee and cocoa urns, and 
 with an organised band of assistants were supplying the 
 wounded with warming and comforting nourishment. 
 Never had those splendid services more quickly and ef- 
 fectively justified their place in the army. 
 
 With the wounded came rumours, more or less fan- 
 tastic, of disaster. Something terrible had befallen the 
 whole Canadian line. It was difficult to get at the truth. 
 As with all rumours, they contradicted each other and 
 left the mind in a chaos of perplexity. The battalion had 
 run into wire, where the machine guns had found it, the 
 battalion was practically wiped out, it had found cover in 
 a trench and was still holding on, the O. C. was wounded, 
 the O. C. was killed, and with him every company com- 
 mander. 
 
 Again and again, Barry sent men to the signals to 
 learn the truth, but it was found impossible to get a mes- 
 sage through. That an overwhelming disaster had be- 
 fallen his battalion was abundantly evident from the num- 
 bers of wounded. With his heart growing numb with 
 pain he struggled with his work. Gradually, he was 
 forced to accept as true that a large proportion of the 
 battalion were casualties, that the O. C. was wounded, 
 possibly dying, that many of the officers had fallen and 
 that the remainder were still holding a precarious posi- 
 tion, and fighting for their lives.
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 333 
 
 "I shall not be moved," he had read to them last night. 
 The promise was being fulfilled in the men of his bat- 
 talion. They could die at the wire or in the trench, but 
 they could not be moved. While mechanically carrying 
 on his work, his mind was with the fighting, dying rem- 
 nant of his comrades. The O. C. of the C. C. S. passing 
 on his rounds found Barry carrying on with tears blind- 
 ing his eyes so that he could hardly see the figures he was 
 entering in his record. 
 
 "Your men are having a hell of a time, I hear," said 
 the O. C. "I say, boy," he added, glancing at Barry's 
 haggard face, "let up for a while." 
 
 "I'm all right, sir," said Barry, through his teeth. 
 "Excuse me, really I'm all right. It is a bit difficult to 
 carry on when you know that your friends are being cut 
 to pieces, but I'm all right, sir." 
 
 "All right, my boy," said the O. C., "we're up against 
 it to-day. I'll come for you in a few minutes, and we'll 
 have a bit to eat." 
 
 Barry shook his head. He was too sick to eat, but the 
 O. C. knew better than he just what he wanted. In a 
 few minutes he returned with an assistant who took 
 Barry's place. 
 
 "Come along, boy," said the O. C cheerfully. "We 
 have got to feed the living that we may care for the 
 wounded and dying." 
 
 "You are quite right, sir," said Barry. "I am ashamed 
 of myself. I'll be fit in a few minutes." 
 
 "Don't apologise for one moment," said the colonel, 
 "if you felt any less deeply than you do, you'd be some- 
 thing less than a man. We'll get into touch with the 
 Divisional Headquarters, and try to get the facts." 
 
 He had no sooner reached his private room than his 
 signaller informed him that Divisional Headquarters 
 had just been trying to get him. It took some time, 
 however, to get the message through. Meantime, the 
 Colonel was handling Barry with a wise and skillful 
 touch. He made him eat and eat heartily, seeking to di-
 
 B34 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 vert his mind in the meantime from the disaster that had 
 befallen the battalion to the big issues at stake, and 
 pointing out with resolute cheerfulness that the calamity 
 that had befallen the battalion was only a temporary set- 
 back. 
 
 "We're winning, my boy, and we're paying the price," 
 he said. 
 
 At length signals got the D. H. Q. and called the 
 colonel to the phone. After a few minutes' conversa- 
 tion, the O. C. called Barry. 
 
 "The general wants to speak to you, padre," and Barry 
 with an apprehensive heart went to the phone. 
 
 "Oh, that you, Captain Dunbar?" It was the general's 
 voice and somehow it carried with it an atmosphere of 
 calm and cheerful confidence. "How are you getting 
 on?" 
 
 "Oh, sir, very well. We are terribly anxious, of 
 course." 
 
 "That's natural," said the general quietly. "We have 
 had rather a serious reverse. Your whole brigade met 
 with wire, and I fear they suffered heavily. The men 
 behaved with great steadiness and are still splendidly 
 holding. We are, of course, making every effort to re- 
 lieve them, and with good hope of success. 
 
 "Have you heard of my O. C. ?" inquired Barry. 
 
 "I fear rather bad news, Dunbar. Indeed, I fear he is 
 seriously wounded. We have sent him straight on to 
 Contay. Your officers have suffered quite severely." 
 
 "Have you heard what the casualties are, sir?" 
 
 "Not exactly," replied the General. "We shall not 
 know until evening, but we must be prepared for a heavy 
 loss. By the way, can you be spared from the casualty 
 clearing station? I hear you are doing fine work there. 
 If you can run up, I can send my car for you." 
 
 "I'm afraid not, sir, just now. Perhaps later on in the 
 afternoon." 
 
 "Let me speak to Colonel James," said the general. 
 
 The O. C. came to the phone.
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 335 
 
 "Yes, sir," he said. "Well, we are short handed just 
 now. He is really necessary at the present moment. 
 Yes, later on we'll send him up. Very well, sir, We 
 are doing our best." 
 
 The calm and confident bearing of his superior officer, 
 made Barry ashamed of the unnerving emotion from 
 which he had been suffering all morning. He returned 
 to his work resolved to put aside all personal considera- 
 tions. The thing in which they were engaged was vastly 
 more important than the fate of any individual or of any 
 battalion. Victory was necessary, was guaranteed, and 
 was demanding its price. That price was being paid, 
 and to that price every man must make his contribution. 
 
 Toward night the stream of wounded gradually grew 
 less, and the O. C. sent Barry, in a returning ambulance, 
 up to the Divisional Headquarters. The serenity with 
 which the general received him did much to restore 
 Barry's poise, which had been severely shaken by the 
 strain of the night and day with the wounded in the 
 casualty clearing station and by the heartracking agony 
 he had suffered over the loss of his comrades. 
 
 "Come in, Dunbar," said the general kindly. "Take 
 a seat for a few minutes. Have a cigar. These you 
 will find are good, I think." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. I will take a cigarette, if I may," 
 said Barry, helping himself from a box on the table. 
 
 He had not been many minutes in the dug-out until he 
 began to catch the reactions of the place. The spirit was 
 one of controlled but concentrated energy. It was the 
 spirit of the divisional commander, and it passed from 
 him to the humblest orderly in the room. There was 
 swiftness of action, alertness of mind, and with these a 
 complete absence of hurry or confusion. Runners were 
 continually arriving with urgent messages, phones insist- 
 ing upon immediate answer, officers coming in with 
 business of vast importance, but with no sign of flurry, 
 the work of the Divisional Headquarters went swiftly 
 and smoothly on.
 
 336 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 At length there was a pause in the rush of calls upon 
 the general's attention. 
 
 "Come in this way," he said to Barry, and led him to 
 a smaller room at the back of the dug-out. 
 
 "Very comfortable quarters these. They seem to have 
 done themselves quite well, haven't they ? It is most con- 
 venient, for we certainly should not have taken pains to 
 construct such elaborate dug-outs as these we have fallen 
 heir to. Find a seat, Dunbar. I have got the latest re- 
 ports." His voice was very gentle and very kindly. 
 "Yes," he continued, "we have had a bad night's work. 
 Uncut wire and an enfilade from a redoubt which should 
 have been blown up. The casualties are very heavy." 
 
 "What are they ?" Barry asked. 
 
 "Quite heavy, Dunbar, I'm afraid. Only some fifty 
 have reported so far." 
 
 "Fifty!" cried Barry. "Out of five hundred!" 
 
 "There will doubtless some more drop in," added 
 the general, "but we must be prepared for a heavy loss, 
 far heavier, both in officers and men, than we can afford. 
 The Battalion Headquarters was terribly wrecked by 
 a succession of direct hits. Only a few of the staff 
 escaped unhurt. Colonel Leighton was a fine officer. I 
 had a great admiration, indeed, affection, for him. I 
 know how you felt towards him, and he to you." 
 
 The steadiness in his voice brought quiet, but the kind- 
 ness in it brought strength, and comfort. Barry be- 
 came suddenly aware of the crushing load of responsi- 
 bility upon this gentle-voiced man. He was eager to 
 help. 
 
 "I wish I could help you, sir," he said. "I am sure 
 we are all ready to do our best." 
 
 "I know that, Dunbar, and all are needed. Major 
 Duff has gone out badly injured. The only officers re- 
 maining unhurt in the front line are Major Bayne and 
 Captain Fraser, both of whom are splendidly carrying 
 on. And you, too, have given great help to-day. Colonel 
 James assures me that your initiative and resourcefulness
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 337 
 
 were of the greatest service to him. Oh, by the way, a 
 message came through in a letter the other day, that I 
 should have sent you, but other things put it out of my 
 mind, I am sorry to say." He touched a bell. "You see 
 I had to tell your wife, Dunbar, of your determination to 
 stay by us," he added with a smile. "Get me my private 
 post-bag, please," he said to the orderly. He selected a 
 letter from a packet, opened it, and pointed to a page. 
 Barry recognised the handwriting as his wife's. He 
 read: 
 
 "I need not assure you it was none of my family's 
 doing to get that appointment for Barry. I was not sur- 
 prised that he declined it, but then you see I know Barry. 
 He is at the place where I would want him to be." 
 
 Barry kept his eyes steadily upon the words until he 
 should be sure of his voice. His heart was thrilling with 
 pride in the girl who had given herself to him. As the 
 moments passed, he there and then vowed that by God's 
 grace, he would not shame her nor belie her trust in him. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," he said quietly, handing the letter 
 back. 
 
 "Helps a bit, eh, what?" said the general. "We can't 
 let our women down, can we?" 
 
 "No, sir," said Barry. "Is there nothing I can do?" 
 His voice was as steady and quiet as the general's. 
 
 "Oh, thank you, just the C. C. S., I fancy, at present." 
 
 At that point the door opened, and the corps com- 
 mander came in, wearing a very tired and anxious face. 
 
 "Bad business, general," he said, with a single word 
 of greeting and ignoring Barry. 
 
 "Yes, a very bad business, sir," said the divisional 
 commander, and Barry fancied he caught a new note in 
 his voice, a note of sternness, almost of challenge. 
 
 "Seems that we missed that wire, eh, along here?" 
 said the corps commander, putting his finger upon a 
 map which lay on the table. 
 
 "We must have that patrolled very carefully, you 
 know." There was a note of criticism in his voice.
 
 338 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the corps commander courteously. 
 "I wasn't at all sure that the wire was cut, and so re- 
 ported." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "This strong point should have been removed," con- 
 tinued the divisional commander, putting his finger upon 
 a point of junction. "That I asked to be done, but Mc- 
 Dowell seems to have missed it." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "The enfilade got us from that point, of course." 
 There was no mistaking the implication in the gen- 
 eral's words. 
 
 "Ah! You reported that, eh?" 
 
 "You will find it in my report, sir. My division has 
 suffered very heavily from that strong point." 
 
 The corps commander turned, and apparently ob- 
 serving Barry for the first time started and said, 
 
 "You are " 
 
 "My friend, Captain Dunbar," said the general. 
 
 "Ah, Captain Dunbar," said the corps commander, 
 obviously annoyed at his presence at the interview. "I 
 trust Captain Dunbar is quite " 
 
 "Captain Dunbar's reticence," said the general with 
 quiet courtesy, "can be entirely trusted. He has just 
 been doing some fine work at the C. C. S." 
 
 "Ah, yes. You are a padre, Dunbar ? Oh, I remember 
 to have heard about you. Very glad, indeed, to meet 
 you, sir. Well, I must be off. We'll see to that strong 
 point at once, general. Good-night good-night, Dun- 
 bar." 
 
 The general returned from seeing his visitor out. "Of 
 course, we keep these things to ourselves." 
 
 "Of course," answered Barry. 
 
 "And now," said the general with a kindly smile, "I 
 have kept the good news to the last. Your majority is 
 coming through, and here is a letter which came in my 
 care. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll leave you to take
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 339 
 
 a bit of a rest. There's a cot, if you want to lie down. 
 Then we'll have a bite to eat later." 
 
 "Oh, thank you very much," said Barry eagerly, 
 taking the letter. "This is good news, indeed. My let- 
 ters have been going astray somehow. I have not had 
 one for a week." 
 
 "As long as that," said the general with uplifted 
 brows. 
 
 One sentence in his letter made music in Barry's heart. 
 
 "And oh, my heart's beloved, God has been good to me 
 and to you, for when the war is over, I hope there will 
 be two of us to welcome daddy back." To which sen- 
 tence Barry in his letter, written in immediate reply, 
 said, 
 
 "Yes, dear, dear heart, God has been good to us, in 
 that he has given us to each other, and to us both this 
 wonderful new life to carry on when we are done." 
 
 When the general returned, he found Barry with his 
 face on his arms and dead asleep. 
 
 "Poor chap," he said to his batman, "he is done up. 
 Let him rest a bit." 
 
 They gave him an hour, after which they had their 
 bite together. 
 
 "Now, general," said Barry, "I should like to run up 
 to Battalion Headquarters. I might be of use there." 
 
 "That's quite all right," said the general. "You will 
 be glad to know that that strong point has already been 
 attended to. You didn't hear the row, did you ?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Well the relief is going in and your men will soon 
 be out." 
 
 When Barry entered the Battalion Headquarters, he 
 found only Major Bayne and Captain Neil, with a sig- 
 naller and a couple of runners, completing the arrange- 
 ments for the relief. 
 
 "You! Pilot!" exclaimed the major, as he gripped 
 his hand. "Now what the devil brought you here?"
 
 340 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Couldn't help it, major. Simply had to come. I 
 have been trying to get you all day," said Barry. 
 
 "Awfully glad to see you, old chap," said Captain Neil, 
 for the major was finding difficulty with his speech. 
 
 "How many left, major?" said Barry. 
 
 "Five officers and seventy men," said the major in 
 a husky voice. "My God, how those boys stuck." 
 
 "I shall not be moved," quoted Barry. 
 
 "That's it! That's it!" said the major. "Not the 
 devil himself, let alone the Huns, could move them back 
 from that wire. What is it, Sergeant Matthews?" he 
 inquired of the sergeant who came in at that moment. 
 "Have you completed your work?" 
 
 Sergeant Matthews was pale, panting and exhausted. 
 "Yes, sir," he said, "I think so. I didn't I didn't go 
 quite the full length of the trench. The boys said there 
 was no one up there." 
 
 "But, Sergeant Matthews," thundered the major, 
 "your orders were to go to the very end of the trench. 
 You know this battalion never goes out leaving its 
 wounded behind." 
 
 "We had a full load, sir," said the sergeant, leaning 
 against the wall. 
 
 "Well, you will have to go back," said the major, 
 "and complete the job. Can you carry on?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I think so, sir." 
 
 As he spoke Sergeant Matthews swayed along the wall 
 and collapsed onto a bench. 
 
 "Give him a shot of rum," said the major curtly to a 
 runner. 
 
 "Let me go, major. I'll take the party," said Barry 
 eagerly. "The sergeant is all in. I've had an hour's 
 sleep and a feed and I feel quite fit." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense, the sergeant will be all right soon," 
 said the major impatiently. 
 
 "But, major, I should like to go. The sergeant is 
 played out and I am perfectly fit. We can't take the risk 
 of leaving wounded men up there in that trench. Be-
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 341 
 
 sides,- there's little danger now. The strong point is 
 blown up, so the general told me before I left." 
 
 "No, Barry, I won't allow it. I won't take the chance," 
 said the major. "My God, man! there are only five 
 officers left. I have lost every friend I have got in the 
 battalion, except Neil here and you. I'm damned if I'm 
 going to let you go out over No Man's Land." 
 
 "Steady, now, major," said Barry. "I'm going to take 
 a walk to the end of that trench, just in case one of the 
 boys should be there. Don't say no. It must be done 
 and done carefully." 
 
 "All right, Barry," said the major, suddenly yielding. 
 "Better take the sergeant with you. He knows the way, 
 and I guess he's all right now." 
 
 The major and Captain Neil followed the party up the 
 stairs and out into the trench. It was a beautiful starry 
 night, and all was quiet now along the front. 
 
 "I don't like it," said the major, as he and Captain 
 Neil stood together watching the party away. "I feel 
 queer about it, Neil. I tell you I wish I hadn't let him 
 go, but he is so darned stubborn about what he thinks is 
 his duty." 
 
 "By Jove! Major, he always bucks me up somehow," 
 said Captain Neil. 
 
 "Bucks us all up," said the major, and he turned to 
 take up again the heavy burden of responsibility so sud- 
 denly and so terribly laid upon him. The relief had 
 been completed, and the last N. C. O. had just reported 
 "all clear." The Headquarters Company, now reduced 
 to a poor half dozen, were standing ready to move, when 
 the telephone rang. 
 
 "Yes, doctor," said the major, answering it. "Oh, 
 my God! My God! Not that, doctor! Oh, God help 
 us all ! I'll be right down. It's the Pilot, Neil," he said, 
 turning to his friend. "Just take charge, will you please. 
 I must run." 
 
 Breathless he arrived at the R. A. P.
 
 342 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 "Any chance, doctor?" he asked of the M. O. who 
 was standing awaiting him at the door. 
 
 "Not the very least, major, and he only has a few 
 minutes. He wants you." 
 
 "Now, may God help me," said the major standing 
 quite still a moment or two. "How did he get it?" he 
 asked of a stretcher bearer. "Do you know?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, we had just picked up the last man. Ser- 
 geant Matthews got a wound in the leg, and we had to 
 carry him. Just as we started, they got to shelling pretty 
 bad and we dropped into a hole. I looked over my 
 shoulder and there was the Pilot, the chaplain, sir, I 
 mean, with his body spread over Sergeant Matthews, to 
 keep off the shrapnel. It was there he got it." 
 
 "Damn Sergeant Matthews," exclaimed the major, 
 and passed on. 
 
 Barry was lying on a stretcher, very white and very 
 still, but the smile with which he welcomed the major 
 was very bright. 
 
 "Awfully sorry for you, old chap," he whispered. 
 "Couldn't really help it you know we got them 
 all I'm awfully glad to see you just a minute 
 before before " 
 
 The major, by this time, was weeping quietly. 
 
 "You have been a good friend to me major . 
 We have had a good time together . Say good- 
 bye to the boys for me and to to Neil." 
 
 "Oh, Barry, boy," said the major, brokenly. "It's 
 hard to have you go. You have helped us all." 
 
 Barry fumbled with weak fingers at his breast. The 
 major opened his tunic thinking that he needed air. 
 
 "My my let-ter " he whispered. 
 
 The major took the letter from his breast pocket, and 
 put it in his hand. Barry held it a moment, then carried 
 it to his lips. 
 
 "Now that's all major," he whispered. "Tell 
 her I thank God for her and for the other.
 
 THE PILOT'S LAST PORT 343 
 
 Major tell the boys that God is good- . Never 
 
 to be afraid but to carry on " 
 
 It was his last word, and there could be no better. 
 "God is good. Never be afraid but carry on/'
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 "CARRY ON" 
 
 THE next day but one they carried the Pilot to his 
 grave in the little plot outside the walled cemetery 
 on the outskirts of the city of Albert. It had been ar- 
 ranged that only a small guard should follow to the 
 grave. But this plan was changed. Sergeant Mackay, 
 who was the only sergeant left, after consulting "the 
 boys," came to Major Bayne. 
 
 "The boys feel bad, sir," he said, "that they can't go 
 with the Pilot, excuse me, sir, the chaplain." 
 
 "Do they?" said the major. "We want to avoid con- 
 gestion in the streets, and besides we don't want to ex- 
 pose the men. They are still shelling the city, you know." 
 
 "I know, sir," replied the sergeant. "The boys have 
 heard the shells before, sir. And there's not so many of 
 them that they will crowd the streets much." 
 
 "Let them go, sergeant," said the major, and Ser- 
 geant Mackay went back with the word to the men. 
 "And I want you to look like soldiers," said the ser- 
 geant, "for remember we are following a soldier to his 
 grave." 
 
 And look like soldiers they did with every button and 
 bayonet shining, as they had never shone for battalion 
 inspection. 
 
 They had passed through an experience which had left 
 them dazed ; they had marched deliberately into the mouth 
 of hell and had come back stunned by what they had seen 
 and heard, incapable of emotion. So they thought, till 
 they learned that the Pilot had been killed. Then they 
 knew that grief was still possible to them. With their 
 grief mingled a kind of inexplicable wrath at the manner 
 of his death. 
 
 344
 
 "CARRY ON" 345 
 
 "If it had been the O. C. now, or any one else but Fatty 
 Matthews," said Sergeant Mackay in disgust, expressing 
 the general opinion. "It is an awful waste." 
 
 Under the figure of the Virgin and Child, leaning out 
 in pity and appeal over the shattered city, through march- 
 ing battalions "going in" and "coming out," the little 
 pitiful remnant made its way, the band leading, the 
 Brigade and Divisional Headquarters Staffs bringing 
 up in the rear. The service was brief and simple, a 
 brother chaplain reading at the major's suggestion the 
 Psalm which Barry had read at his last Parade Service 
 with the battalion. 
 
 At the conclusion of the service, the divisional com- 
 mander stepped forward and said, 
 
 "May I offer the officers and men of this battalion my 
 respectful sympathy with them in the loss of their chap- 
 lain ? During these last weeks, I had come to know him 
 well. Captain Dunbar was a chaplain in his brigade. He 
 was more. He was a gallant officer, a brave soldier, a 
 loyal-hearted Canadian. The morale of this division is 
 higher to-day because he has been with us. He did his 
 duty to his country, to his comrades, to his God. What 
 more can we ask than this, for ourselves and for our 
 comrades ?" 
 
 Then there was a little pause and Major Bayne began 
 to speak. At first his voice was husky and tremulous, 
 but as he went on, it gathered strength and clearness. 
 He reminded them how, when the chaplain came to them 
 first, they did not understand him, nor treat him quite 
 fairly, but how in these last months, he had carried the 
 confidence, and the love, of every officer and man in the 
 battalion. 
 
 "Were the Commanding Officer here to-day, he would 
 tell, as I have often heard him tell, how greatly the 
 chaplain had contributed to the discipline and to the 
 morale of this battalion. He helped us all to be better 
 soldiers and better men. He never shrank from danger.
 
 346 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 He never faltered in duty. He lived to help his comrades 
 and to save a comrade he gave his life at last." 
 
 The major paused, looked round upon the gallant 
 remnant of a once splendid battalion, his lips quivering, 
 his eyes running over with tears. But he pulled himself 
 together, and continued with steady voice to the end. 
 
 "But not to say these things am I speaking to you to- 
 day. I wish only to give you this last message from our 
 Sky Pilot. This is the Pilot's last message: 'Tell the 
 boys that God is good, and when they are afraid, to trust 
 Him, and "carry on." And for myself, men, I want to 
 say that he was the only man that showed me what God 
 is like." 
 
 In that company of men who had looked steadfastly 
 into the face of death, there were no eyes without tears, 
 many of them were openly weeping. 
 
 When the major had finished, the officers present, be- 
 ginning with the divisional commander, came and stood 
 at the head of the open grave for a single moment, then 
 silently saluted and turned away. It was the duty of 
 Bugler Pat McCann to sound "The Last Post," but poor 
 Pat was too overcome with his sobbing at once to per- 
 form this last duty. Whereupon the runner Pickles, 
 standing with rigid, stony face beside his chum, took the 
 bugle from his hands and there sounded forth that most 
 beautiful and most poignant of all musical sounds known 
 to British soldiers the world over, "The Last Post," end- 
 ing with that last, high, long-drawn, heart-piercing note 
 of farewell. 
 
 Then, because the war was yet to be won, they "car- 
 ried on," the battalion marching away to a merry tune. 
 
 Beside Barry's grave there still lingered three men, 
 the divisional commander, Major Bayne, and Captain 
 Neil. 
 
 "I am thinking of that little girl in London," said th 
 divisional commander, and for the first time his voice 
 broke. The others waited, looking at him. "We will
 
 "CARRY ON" 347 
 
 hold back this news for a couple of days, and I think, 
 major, you ought to go and " 
 
 "No, general! My God, no! Don't ask me!" The 
 major was profoundly agitated. "Send Neil, here. He 
 knows her well, and his wife is her great friend." 
 
 "Very well, major, I think that will be better," said 
 the general in his courteous, gentle voice. "You know 
 her, Captain Fraser, and you can be better spared." 
 
 And so it was arranged. Captain Neil telegraphed 
 Paula to meet him at Boulogne, and together they made 
 the journey to London, carrying with them sad and fear- 
 ful hearts. 
 
 They found Phyllis in a little flat which her mother had 
 taken. When she saw them her face went white, and 
 her hands flew to her bosom. Speechless, and with a 
 great fear in her wide-open brown eyes, she stood looking 
 from one to the other, waiting for their message. Paula 
 went to her and without a word put her arms round her, 
 and held her close. 
 
 "I know, Paula," she said, putting her gently away 
 from her. "I know what you have to tell me. Barry 
 is dead. My dear love is dead !" Her voice was tender, 
 soft and low. "Don't fear to tell me, Neil," she said. 
 "See, I am quite steady." She put out her hand that he 
 might see that there was no tremour in it. 
 
 "Sit down, darling," besought Paula, again winding 
 her arms about her. 
 
 "No, no, let me stand, Paula dear. See, I am quite 
 strong. Now tell me about it, Neil all about it. You 
 were his dear friend, you know." 
 
 Her voice, so sweet, so soft, so perfectly controlled, 
 helped Captain Neil with his task. It seemed an offence 
 that he should intrude any exhibition of grief or emo- 
 tion upon the serene calm of this young girl, standing 
 so straight, so proud, and regarding him with such brave 
 eyes. 
 
 Then Captain Neil told his tale. He began with the last 
 service upon the Parade Ground before the battalion
 
 348 THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND 
 
 moved into action. He told of Barry's bitter disap- 
 pointment, and of their relief that he was not allowed 
 to accompany them to the front line. He told of Barry's 
 long day at the casualty clearing station, and of his 
 service to the wounded, and of how good the divisional 
 commander had been to him that night. 
 
 "It was there he got your letter, Phyllis." 
 
 "Oh, he got my letter. I'm so glad," whispered the 
 girl, with a quick breath and a sudden flushing of her 
 pale cheeks. "He knew! He knew!" 
 
 "I have his letter in reply here," said Captain Neil, 
 handing it to her. 
 
 She took it in both her hands, kissed it tenderly, as 
 if caressing a child, and put it in her bosom. 
 
 "Please go on," she said, and Captain Neil took up his 
 tale again. He told how the major tried to persuade 
 him not to go out after the wounded that night. 
 
 "But, of course, he would go," the girl said with a 
 proud little smile, at which Captain Neil's self-control 
 quite gave way, and he could only look at her piteously 
 through his tears. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said gently. "Can't you go 
 on? I want to hear so much every bit, but if you 
 can't " 
 
 At which, Captain Neil gripped himself hard and went 
 on, "and so he went out, and they searched the trench 
 from end to end. They found one poor chap, whose 
 leg was badly smashed " 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad they found him," whispered Phyllis. 
 
 "Then Sergeant Matthews got his wound, and the 
 shells began to fall. They took refuge in a shell hole, 
 and there, while covering Fatty Matthews from the 
 breaking shrapnel, Barry got his wound." 
 
 Captain Neil was forced to pause again in the recital of 
 his story. After a few minutes, he told of how they 
 carried him to his grave, and laid him in the cemetery 
 outside the city of Albert.
 
 "CARRY ON" 349 1 
 
 "The boys were all there. There were not many of 
 them left," he said. 
 
 "How many?" she asked. 
 
 "Seventy only, out of five hundred and four who went 
 over the parapet two nights before." 
 
 "Ah, poor, gallant boys ! I love them, I love them all !" 
 said the girl, clasping her hands together. 
 
 "They were all terribly broken up as they stood about 
 the grave, and no wonder ! No wonder ! Then the divi- 
 sional commander made a little speech, and then our 
 own major gave them Barry's last message." 
 
 "Tell me," said the girl gently, as Captain Neil paused. 
 
 "It was this," said Captain Neil. " 'Tell the boys that 
 God is good, and when they are afraid, to trust Him, 
 and "carry on." 
 
 "That was like him," she said. "That was like Barry f 
 Oh, Paula," she cried, turning to her friend. "I'm so 
 happy! It was a beautiful closing to a beautiful life. 
 He was a beautiful boy, Paula, wasn't he? His body 
 was beautiful, his soul was beautiful, his life was beauti- 
 ful, and the ending, oh, was beautiful. Oh, Paula, God 
 is good. I am so glad he gave Barry to me, and gave 
 me to him. Oh, I'm so happy so happy." Her 
 voice sank into a whisper. Then after a few moments 
 of silence, with a little piteous cry, she suddenly broke 
 forth, "But Paula! Paula! he is gone. I shall never see 
 him again." 
 
 Paula held her arms tightly about her, sobbing as if 
 her own heart were broken, but Phyllis recovered her- 
 self quickly. 
 
 "No, no," she said softly, as if counselling her own 
 heart. "I must remember. 'God is good,' he said, and 
 so, Paula, I must not be afraid. God was good to him. 
 He will be good to me. He will be good to his child." 
 Her voice sank again into a whisper. She stood silent 
 with eyes looking into the far distance. Then, in a 
 clear, firm voice, she said, "I will not be afraid! God 
 is good ! I will 'carry on.' "
 
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