the german high command had a big surprise to spring on the british army in france early in 1918. their preparations culminated in the smashing attack they made in march on the fifth army commanded by general gough. the canadians lay facing mericourt beyond vimy at that time. to our right, covering arras and beyond, the third army, under general byng was holding, on their right lay the fifth army. before and during their great effort the germans refused to be "drawn" at mericourt into any serious retaliation, no matter how often we raided them. we knew why later when general gough's line went to pieces. the huns were going to "get us," they believed, in another and more thorough way than by counter-raids.
it looked for some weeks as if they might realize their hopes. the fifth army's formation was broken, and in confusion, they were driven back and back for miles, until with reinforcements they managed to hold only a short distance in front of amiens. in a few days the british lost, in prisoners alone, 200,000 men. to save themselves from being outflanked the third army had to withdraw from a portion of their former line and swing their right wing back facing out. they completed the difficult movement with brilliant success, and presented to the enemy an unbroken front of fighting men, well-munitioned, and supported by an effective artillery fire. this move saved the british forces from what looked like imminent disaster.
byng's men used arras as their pivotal sector. it was only a few miles from us, and it was with anxious hearts we heard, those days and nights, the ceaseless thunder of the guns on our right, as the terrific struggle continued. it was dismal news too, that came from belgium. there mt. kimmel had fallen, and the british had been strategically forced to evacuate all the ground we had won at such enormous cost around passchendaele; and this, remember, was the fourth year of the war.
those were fateful days for the canadians. our front was quiet, but we were nevertheless in an extremely perilous location. vimy ridge was behind us, and behind it again was lower ground which would be hard to hold in a flanking attack by our enemy. many additional batteries had been crowded in on the ridge with their silent guns trained on arras lest the third army, which still occupied that town, should be broken and the germans get through. in that event the canadian corps would probably have been cut off by the enemy's advance through the valleys behind us, and our career, as a corps, would have ended. certainly we would have sold our lives and freedom dearly, but with lines of communication cut our position would have soon been untenable, and successful retreat probably very nearly impossible. don't dream that the front-line men were panicky. we knew that millions of brave men were still facing our common enemy and that back of them and us was the indomitable will of our empire and our allies. in this connection i recall a conversation between our col. urquhart (a thorough scot), and a visiting officer, in which they referred to the situation at arras. "it is very serious indeed," said our guest, "for if the british break there, we canadians are in for our biggest tussle with the hun." "do you know," asked urquhart, "what troops of ours are engaged there?" "yes," was the reply, "the 15th division." "well," said the colonel, "that is a scottish division, and i can assure you, sir, there will be no break at arras." nor was there. those scottish lads stood firm. repeated and determined attacks by the finest german troops could not break their front, nor drive them from their ground. the critical days passed, the enemy's progress was everywhere effectually and permanently stopped. then when we were thoroughly prepared we took the initiative, and in august, the same year, commenced that grand victorious advance which ended the war.
those days we often keenly discussed the situation from many angles. i was in "a" company's dug-out one time when we were giving our opinions as to the relative merits of some of the different units of the british army. we got away from the present war into history, and were recalling other famous campaigns and the exploits of the troops engaged in them. someone said that while canada, since she became a dominion, had not had much chance until now to become illustrious in war, yet for forty years she had maintained the finest force of military police in the world, the royal north-west mounted. i was proud to mention that my brother had served in that crack organization for thirty years, and from that remark i was eventually entangled in the yarn which i here unravel.
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i am the youngest of ten. my two brothers, john and james, were grown up and away from home before i had got beyond infancy. john visited us frequently after i had reached boyhood. james enlisted with father's consent in the north-west mounted police, went west and never returned. that force was organized in 1873 and my brother joined them in 1878. when i was a young lad there was no doubt in my mind which was my favorite brother. john was a minister, and ministers were an unknown quantity to a youngster of my age, and so i wasn't much taken with my preacher brother.
but it was different with james. he was a soldier and a specially interesting sort of soldier. his business was chiefly, so i thought anyway, to go galloping on horseback across the prairies of our wild west, chasing bad indians and horse-thieves, and having all kinds of real adventures. how i longed for him to come home! i pictured him, in fancy, riding down our main street in police uniform, with pistols in his belt and perhaps a knife too, his carbine slung by his saddle, and handling easily a spirited horse! i would then point him out with pride to the other boys as my brother, and maybe, when he saw me, he would come riding over to the sidewalk and speak to me in front of all the other fellows. my boyish heart used to glow as i imagined what might possibly soon come true.
the prairies were undoubtedly a very long distance off in those days. there were no rail-ways on them, none indeed to carry you to their outer-boundaries in canada. parties of police recruits went down through the united states to fort benton or other suitable points, and then came north, mostly by trail, to the canadian plains. it was a long journey, i knew, but on the other hand mother used to get letters from him, and he would say in them that he might be home for christmas, a treasured hope. nearing christmas mother would be busier than ever in the kitchen, making the cakes and other good things we always had in abundance at that festive season. i liked to be on hand then for there were bowls, in which tasty confections had been mixed, that required scraping out and it was my delight to attend to them. she would often talk to me then about her soldier boy, and i was an eager listener. "maybe your brother james will be home this christmas," she would say with a glad note in her voice. then there would come the letter containing the unwelcome news that he couldn't get a furlough this year, they were so short of men and had such a vast territory to patrol, but we would surely see him next year. mother would go into her room for a while with the letter, and when she came out she would take me on her knee, hug me up to her and kiss me, then would go about her work strangely silent. her soldier boy never came home. he went farther west and north, and my story is of the first meeting i had with my brother, the first anyway i had any memory of. it occurred in the yukon in a roadhouse on eureka creek.
i visited that creek regularly about once a month. to reach it i had to "mush" down the indian river valley, ten miles from the mouth of gold run, and then cross the river to eureka which flowed in from the opposite side. five miles up eureka was the first cabin. above that on both forks of the stream there were miners. in summer i could cross indian by a shallow ford and in winter on the ice, but for a trip or two in the spring it was a tumultuous flood which i had to navigate on a make-shift raft.
it was in the spring of 1902 when making this trip i found the river, as i expected, in spate. i was prepared with axe, rope, and a few spikes, and in an hour or two had a small, rough float constructed. i made and launched it a hundred yards above the point i sought to reach on the other bank, for i knew the rapid current would carry me down that distance at least before i could effect a landing. on this side of the river there was no one nearer than ten miles, for this was the "back-entrance" to eureka, (bonanza and dawson lying off in another direction), so i always wrote out a note stating what i was attempting to do, dated it, and put it up on a tree by the trail. thus if anything unexpected happened, some "musher," coming by within a week or two, would know the circumstances.
then i pushed out into the water with my rough paddle. i had a light pack on my back holding my shoes, a dry pair of socks, and other trail accessories. that time i had made my raft rather too small. i had to stand in the centre or it would tip me off, and it wasn't easy to keep my poise in rough water with the logs mostly out of sight under my feet. when within a few yards of the other side, my frail craft caught for a moment on a hidden snag which tore some of the lashings loose, and the two outside logs showed signs of getting adrift. if that occurred i would shortly be swimming for my life in the surging, ice-cold water. the raft was only about seven feet across and to save it from breaking up i "spread-eagled" on it, catching the rope ends with each hand and thus holding it together. i had to lie almost flat to do this, and for the next five minutes was giving a life-like imitation of a submarine about to submerge. luckily my raft struck the bank, i caught the limb of a tree and swung myself ashore. i made the five miles to macmillan's cabin in double-quick time and stayed the day there in the bunk, with my clothes drying out around the stove.
during the next two days i went around the cabins visiting, and "ringing the church bell" for a meeting in the roadhouse. there we gathered in the evening, not a man absent that could come. the roadhouse became a church, with the bar-counter my lectern. on it i had a lighted candle which i had to hold in my right hand, the book in my left, when i read or we sang, so that i could see the words distinctly. the business of the place was practically suspended except the cooking at the kitchen end, and at odd times when a traveller came in for a drink or a meal he would be served quietly, and then go on his way or stay as he was minded. the stools and benches were filled and some men were sitting on the floor around the walls.
in the middle of my sermon two "mounties" entered at the door behind me. they closed the door and stood near it listening. i turned my head for a casual glance at the newcomers, stammered, stuck, and couldn't go on. i turned from my congregation, and, taking the candle in my hand, stepped nearer. there before me was the man whose face i had so often gazed at, with silent admiration, as i saw it in the photograph in my mother's room. it was indeed my brother james, the hero of my boyhood days! our hands clasped as i spoke his name. i turned to the crowd, told them what had happened, and that i couldn't go on with the address. they understood. we sang a hymn and ended the service forthwith.
the talk i had with my new-found brother can be better imagined than described. he had been sent from the upper country, the tagish post, to the eureka detachment, had arrived that evening and had heard that a "george pringle" was having a meeting on the creek. he had come over confident that it was his "little" brother, for he knew i was in the klondike.
we spent a day together, one of the never-to-be-forgotten days of my life. then the next morning i started back on my circuit. he came with me to indian. we built a good raft together, and he watched me safely over and until i was out of sight in the trees. then i took down my "notice" and hit the trail for gold run. george earsman, living in the first cabin i came to on that creek, was a sympathetic listener while i told of the strange meeting. but he could not forbear humorously remarking that i had in a sense, "turned the tables" on my brother. back in gait, he said, no doubt james had often put me to sleep, and when next we met i was trying to put him to sleep!
i saw my brother only once more. ed. blanchfield brought me a letter from dawson some weeks after marked "urgent." it was from jim, stating that orders had been received requiring him to leave the yukon for police headquarters at regina, saskatchewan. he had to take the first up-river boat, the casca, which sailed the next day. i made record time over the twenty miles from gold bottom next morning. john came in nine miles from bonanza, and i spent a happy afternoon with my two "big" brothers before the steamboat pulled away for the south.
after those many strenuous years serving canada in wild and dangerous days on the prairies, and among the forests and mountains of the northland, he now takes his rest. his is a lonely grave near one of the outposts of settlement on the northern reaches of our prairies.
