put him through the full instructional course and then give him a lot of ammunition and let him go out on the range, at odd times, and work out his own salvation. Have targets available at any time, with men to work them, but keep no records excepting those which the man would be encouraged to keep for his own private information.
Some men learn very quickly while others have to keep hammering at any subject before the right idea gets into their noodle. The whole matter can be likened to the golf player who never goes out but that he plays a “match” with someone or other. He never gets the same shot twice, hence has no opportunity to check up on his errors as they occur. The result is that he joins the great army of “ninety-to-one hundred” players and remains in that class the rest of his life. On the other hand, if he be the one in a thousand who realizes the importance of
Oh, yes; I know very well that such a procedure as I have suggested would be contrary to all the accepted rules in an army where every act and movement of man is supposed to be strictly in accordance with the plans and specifications ordained by a lot of “regulations” but don’t you think it is about time we were cutting loose from some of those antedeluvian notions and making some practical use of the individual brains of the soldiers? For close-order drill and such matters, of course, it is necessary that each individual conform to the movements of others but when a man gets into a fight he is very much “on his own” and, unless he is qualified, by nature and training, to do a little independent thinking, he is — well — S.O.L. that’s all.
During our training in Canada we used what was known as the “Oliver” equipment. This was a fearful and wonderful arrangement of straps and buckles. There was a place for everything, all right — in fact, so many places and so many little straps that it made one dizzy to contemplate the thing and, unless one possessed the skill and patience of a Houdini, he usually had to call upon the services of another to get into or out of it.
Later on, in England, we received the Webb equipment which was much more satisfactory in every respect. The shoulder straps were broad and comfortable to the body; the pack-sack was large enough to carry all necessary clothing, and the haversack easily held all the little personal articles as well as a couple of days rations. The ammunition pockets were all at the front. This not only made them easier to get at but served to balance the weight of the pack on the back. The water bottle, holding a full quart — an Imperial quart, I mean — was carried on the right hip and the bayonet on the left, with the haversack just behind it. The entrenching tool was carried in the middle of the back. On the whole, I consider it the most comfortable and satisfactory equipment I have seen for foot soldiers. When going into action, the pack was detached almost instantly, and if there was plenty of time the haversack could quickly be slung in its place. If not, it remained at the side.
During our training and when we first went to Flanders, we wore a peaked cloth cap with a flat, round top, similar to that worn by the United States soldier at that time only a little larger. Later on these were replaced by another type — a soft crowned cap with side flaps which could be turned down so as to cover the ears. In addition to this we had what was called a Balaclava cap — which was nothing more nor less than the familiar “toque” worn by the Canadian woodsman.
Our uniforms were of good woolen material — in fact, every article of wearing apparel was woolen, the underwear, especially being of excellent quality. (I wish I could buy any as good now, at any price.) Heavy woolen socks were supplied in abundance by the various women’s organizations back in Canada. The shoes were heavy and clumsy, of course: had to be to stand the wear, but early in 1916 we got an issue of genuine Canadian “pacs” with sixteen-inch tops and, while in the trenches, had rubber boots. We even received regular Mackintosh capes of excel lent quality.
Perhaps a little thoughtful study of the above will explain why it was that, although exposed to cold and wet weather for weeks at a time — living like muskrats — there was scarcely any illness. Looking over the official record of the Twenty-first Battalion I find that, during the period from October, 1914, to April 1919, the total deaths were — killed in action and died of wounds, nine hundred and twenty — from all other causes, just twenty. As the normal strength of the Battalion was about eleven hundred, it can be seen that the death rate, exclusive of battle injuries, was not more than four to the thousand annually.
Those men were just the ordinary run of volunteers, probably no better nor worse than the average in the National Guard units of the United States Army and I attribute the fact of their greater stamina and immunity to disease to another undeniable fact, and that is that the authorities in Canada devoted all their efforts to the task of keeping their soldiers warm and comfortable, indoors and out, using any and all available supplies to that purpose — regardless of whether or not it was “uniform.”
And right here is a good place to mention a matter that did not come up until three years later. During the fall and winter of 1917, I was in command of a battalion of machine gunners at Camp Shelby, Mississippi. I say machine gunners: well, that was what they were destined to be although, at that time, we had no guns of any kind. That winter, as many will remember, was very severe and even in November we had freezing weather away down there in Mississippi. There had been no provision for heating the tents and most of the organizations there were but poorly equipped for that kind of weather. My outfit, which had been a part of the 4th Indiana Infantry, had only the cotton khaki uniforms which they had bought and paid for out of their own pockets because our Uncle Sam had none to issue them. Most of them, however, had sweaters of various hues, which they had either brought with them or had received from loving mothers or sweethearts — personally knitted with good, honest wool yarn.
On a particularly cold morning (away below freezing) I had them out for a practice march and happened to pass the Brigade Headquarters, both going and coming. By the time we came back it was near noon and the sun had warmed things up a bit and most of the men had shed their sweaters and were carrying them, in various fashions, across their shoulders.
No sooner had we reached our quarters than I was called upon by a young officer whom I well knew — an Aide to the General — and informed that the General wanted to see me at once. It was only about one hundred yards from my quarters to his, so I was there within a couple of minutes. It was General G –––, so far as I know, a very able officer, according to the standards at that time in effect in the United States Army — but what he did not know about common sense, as applied to the care and comforts of troops was a plenty. He bawled me out for allowing my men to go out on parade wearing all those nondescript sweaters when every article of clothing they wore, from their B.V.D.’s out had been bought and paid for with their own money. At that time there was not a nickel’s worth of clothing or equipment in that whole battalion that had not been privately purchased.
Well; I had just lately come from a war, out of an inferno which can never be adequately described: and this damned poppycock seemed so trivial and childish — so far from the realities of war — that I was first a bit sickened, and then mad. In that frame of mind, is it reasonable to suppose that I would be unduly worried by the unreasonable and senseless tirade of an officer who, so far as I knew, didn’t know a damn thing about war — certainly not about this latest edition of the game.
Anyway; I told him what I thought of his speech and, incidentally, of the whole General Staff at Washington. Before the incident was closed, I had occasion to say the same things, with elaborations, (I had time to think them up), to the General in command of the Division — the 38th — General Sage, I think it was. (They changed so fast I never could keep track of them.)
I suppose they thought I ought to be taken out and shot. I do not know, to this day, why they did not take some summary action for I told them plainly that no General officer, not even the President himself, could prevent me from doing my best to promote and preserve the health and comfort of the troops under my command. Dodging the direct issue, the Division Commander called me to task for wearing a Sam Brown belt. Well, that was the only one I had (part of my Canadian equipment), so I just remarked that they would all be wearing them before long and let it go at that. I got away with my life and my self-respect but had to make my men put their sweaters on inside their shirts after that.
This was but one of the asinine regulations that our Higher Command promulgated. Had they spent one-tenth of the time in trying to teach the newly-made soldiers something of the real and practical side of warfare, there would not be so many graves over there for the Mothers to visit.
Canada was fortunate in having General Sam Hughes at the head of her Militia Bureau — Minister of Militia and Defense — when the war started. Few men would have had the courage to do what he did. From the very start, he seemed to realize that this was to be a great war — greater than the world had ever seen — and he proceeded accordingly. The Gordian knot of red tape he cut with one slash of his pen and proceeded to apply the practical, common sense methods of industry. He authorized the purchase of necessary materials and equipment wherever they could be found. He built, at ValCartier, one of the greatest training camps and rifle ranges the world
