Brave Battalion (2 page)

War. That was what waited in the void beyond. A war that, no matter how many European diplomats and rulers professed a desire to prevent its outbreak, had drawn inexorably closer through this long summer of disquietude. “One day the great European War will come out of some damned foolish thing in the Balkans,” Chancellor Otto von Bismarck had predicted toward the end of the nineteenth century.

That foolish thing had come on June 28 in the Bosnian capital of Sarajevo—the troublesome Balkan province occupied for thirty years before its formal and forced annexation by Austria in 1908. Bosnia was the
cause célèbre
of Serbian nationalists, whose expansionist ambitions the annexation frustrated. On June 28, a Serb terror organization called the Black Hand struck during a royal procession through the streets of Sarajevo by Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife, Sophie. In a matter of seconds a young man named Gavrilo Princip jumped on the running board of their limousine and fired two shots from a small pistol. Ferdinand and Sophie each took a bullet. “Don't die, Sophie,” Ferdinand sobbed. But their collective lifeblood drained away in minutes. With breathtaking rapidity, two hurriedly fired bullets unravelled the intricate spider's web of treaties and agreements between European nations that had been intended to ensure decades of peace.

Having long considered Serbia an irritating source of the instability that plagued its Balkan provinces, the Austrians decided the assassination provided the pretext to expunge the problem entirely. On July 23, the Austro-Hungarian Empire issued an ultimatum that effectively demanded an end to Serbia's independence and reduced it to a vassal state. Granted forty-eight hours to accede or face invasion, Serb diplomats frantically tried to negotiate a conciliatory compromise. Austria responded by breaking off diplomatic relations on July 28 and declaring war.

The Dual Monarchy had hoped against all reason to localize the war, but the web of treaties ensured its rapid escalation to engulf the entire continent. Russia was allied with Serbia. Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Italy were bound together by the Triple Alliance to stand as one. Russia was linked to France in a defensive pact intended to bookend Germany and frustrate its imperial ambitions. When Russia began general mobilization on July 30, Germany responded by declaring war on her two days later and against France the day following. Austria weighed in against Russia and France on August 7, while Italy demurred and abandoned its former allies by claiming neutrality.

During the days between Princip's shots and these declarations, Great Britain—which had no alliances with any of these European powers—had vainly tried to broker a peace deal. But on July 30, a German diplomat warned a British counterpart that his country best remain neutral if Germany opted to invade France by a route that took its armies through Belgium. Britain was now snared by a point of honour, for in 1839 the British, French, and German governments had mutually pledged not to violate Belgium's neutrality in the event of a war. When Germany formally demanded on August 2 the right of unopposed passage through the lowland country to France, Britain supported Belgian King Albert's refusal and demanded the old pledge be respected. Two days later, the Germans having offered no response, Britain declared war on Germany.

That was Tuesday. The Bank Holiday in Canada had ended by then. In fact, the festivities had simply fizzled out with each passing hour as the attention of most Canadians turned to watching the advance to war. On Friday, the
Winnipeg Free Press
had thought peace would prevail. “Great Britain, it is to be confidently expected as certain, will do anything to avert the danger of a general European war, and unless her commitments are very definite will consider herself an outsider, unless and until she is compelled by the necessities of the situation, to take a different view.” By Monday, the Winnipeg editor had undergone a sea change. “Here in Canada, we must wait upon events. The need of the moment is for Canadians to keep their heads cool … If Great Britain is involved in war, either by her own decision … or through the aggression of an outside party, it is quite certain that Canada will come to her assistance with all the fervour at her disposal.”

Vancouver's
Daily Province
added its affirmation of Canadian support: “It is said that the British Cabinet at its meeting yesterday was divided on the question of War or Peace … It is a relief to turn to Canada at such an hour and find the whole nation speaking with one voice. All Canada in the past may not have believed in the emergency which has become a catastrophe, but now when we are dealing with realities, Canada offers 50,000 men for service. There is no talk of neutrality any more. Canada speaks with no uncertain voice—‘We are united, we are ready, strike before it is too late.'”

On the Tuesday, anticipating the inevitability of war, Montreal's
Daily Star
proclaimed: “If we are beaten in this struggle against two of the greatest armies ever seen in the world we will pass finally from the roster of great Nations, and our Empire will become one of the defaced mileposts which mark the tragic road by which the human race has journeyed.”
¹
The paper's editor was not speaking here as a citizen of Canada, but as a British subject, and in this he mirrored the feelings of most Canadians.

At eleven that evening a cable from London was delivered to Prince Arthur William Patrick Albert, 1
^st
Duke of Connaught and Strathearn, Canada's Governor General at Rideau Hall (the newly renovated mansion that had been formally declared his official residence only the previous year). It was by this cable, delivered to the King's representative who quickly passed its contents on to Prime Minister Robert Borden, that the Canadian government learned it was at war.

There was no question of the country refusing the clarion call to arms. In 1914 Canada remained inextricably a part of the great British Empire. A dominion, the government had no say in matters of foreign policy. Its only right was to decide the extent and nature of Canada's participation. In the recent South African War its commitment had been much limited, with only a little more than 7,000 troops deployed to a war that had failed to stir the martial ardour of most Canadians. But this time the response would be clearly different, something the Governor General had recognized as he read one newspaper editorial after another and was able to happily report back to his masters in London. Canadians, he signalled, “will be united in a common resolve to put forth every effort and to make every sacrifice necessary to ensure the integrity and maintain the honour of our Empire.”
²

His confidence was well placed. Across the country the planned celebrations of the Bank Holiday had been overshadowed by impromptu parades of thousands of flag-waving citizens. Even in Montreal the crowds demonstrated their patriotism by repetitiously singing first “La Marseillaise” and then “Rule Britannia.” Throughout the country, militia headquarters had quietly opened, and the regiments' officers had taken to their desks to receive a steady stream of men reporting for duty.

The Duke of Connaught was, however, not entirely beguiled by this outpouring of patriotism. The third son of Queen Victoria, he was a man with a long soldiering career behind him and well knew that the strong emotions of the day would weaken as the complexity of mustering and financing an army for service abroad became apparent. To keep enthusiasm running high, he counselled his British superiors to ensure Canadian troops were sent to the front, wherever that might eventually be, as soon as they were trained to even the most minimal standards of proficiency. Having men fighting and bleeding on European soil for the Empire would ensure the commitment of Canadians to the cause.
³

On August 10, the Canadian government issued an Order-in-Council for the immediate raising of a contingent 25,000 strong. Mobilization had already begun in some parts of Canada, but it was the day after the Order-in-Council that the 72
^nd
Seaforth Highlanders of Canada assembled at the Arena Rink in Vancouver. At the same time, the 50
^th
Gordon Highlanders of Canada gathered on the Exhibition Ground in Victoria. Two days later, Hamilton's 91
^st
Canadian Highlanders (informally known as the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders but not yet formally possessing this designation) mobilized at their James Street Armoury, while, in Winnipeg, the 79
^th
Cameron Highlanders of Canada reported to Minto Armoury.
⁴
In four separate cities men mustered, as yet unaware that soon they would be training side by side as members of a single infantry battalion—the 16
^th
Battalion, Canadian Expeditionary Force (C.E.F.). Nor did they know that this battalion would come to be known as the legendary Canadian Scottish. This is the story of that battalion's epic odyssey through the grim crucible of the Great War.

- AUGUST 1914-FEBRUARY 1915 -

As Canada's Parliament had been prorogued on June 12 it took until August 18 for the nation's parliamentarians to journey from their constituencies to assemble in the House of Commons. Their mood was sober, faces set with grim resolve. In years to come a myth would arise that Canada went to war with no sense of the horrors ahead and a belief victory could be had by Christmas. But Sir Robert Borden's speech, although typically ponderous, was coldly prescient. “In the awful dawn of the greatest war the world has ever known,” he began, “in the hour when peril confronts us such as this Empire has not faced for a hundred years, every vain or unnecessary word seems a discord. As to our duty, we are all agreed; we stand shoulder to shoulder with Britain and the other Dominions in this quarrel, and that duty we shall not fail to fulfil as the honour of Canada demands. Not for love of battle, not for lust of conquest, not for greed of possessions, but for the cause of honour, to maintain solemn pledges, to uphold the principles of liberty, to withstand forces that would convert the world into an armed camp; yes, in the very name of the peace that we sought at any cost save that of dishonour, we have entered into this war; and while gravely conscious of the tremendous issues involved and of all the sacrifices that they may entail, we do not shrink from them but with firm hearts we abide the event.”
¹

A more skillful orator than the prime minister, opposition leader Sir Wilfrid Laurier, kept his remarks brief and to the point. In 1910, Laurier declared, he had stated that if “Britain is at war, Canada is at war, there is no distinction.” Nothing had changed since then. “When the call comes, our answer goes at once, and it goes in the classical language of the British answer to the call of duty, ‘Ready, aye, ready!'” Thereafter, the enlistment order for a 25,000-man contingent was readily confirmed without a single dissenting vote. To finance the effort a $50-million war appropriation was approved and the Canadian Patriotic Fund created to raise money to support the families of men sent overseas.

Despite habitual parsimonious military funding, Canada was relatively prepared for mobilization because in recent years the army had developed a plan for fielding an overseas expeditionary force by quickly assembling composite units from existing militia units at the large Petawawa military camp north of Ottawa. This approach would enable local militia commanders to select men for immediate service from a pool of militiamen, trained to various degrees, whose strengths and weaknesses were known to those commanders.

Unfortunately the army's planners were unable to account for the actions of an erratic and eccentric boss—Minister of Militia and Defence Sam Hughes. On August 6, Hughes swept aside their plan in favour of his own. In a lettergram to all 226 Canadian Militia unit commanders, he ordered development of a roll of volunteers drawn from men aged between eighteen and forty-five who met prescribed physical requirements and were skilled in musketry and general soldiering proficiency. These rolls were to be submitted to Hughes's office in Ottawa no later than August 12 for examination—presumably personally by Hughes and his staff. The unit commanders would be informed as to which men listed on their specific rolls would be accepted. With typical pomposity, Hughes described his plan as “really a call to arms, like the fiery cross passing through the Highlands of Scotland or the mountains of Ireland in former days.”
²

The scheme's cumbersomeness was quickly recognized in Ottawa and modified to allow allotments to be determined locally based on the number of immediate volunteers. Yet Hughes refused to be sidelined. Daily he issued more instructions that often contradicted those of the day previous. Most damnable of all for the militia commanders, Hughes—who distrusted professional soldiers and the traditional military system—ordered each infantry militia regiment to immediately provide either a two-company-strong contingent of 250 men or one company numbering 125 men. While this hastened the assembly of the expeditionary force, it shredded the traditional fabric of the army whereby battalions comprised men drawn from a specific geographical area and its local militia regiment who knew each other. Years spent inculcating a sense of regimental spirit and affiliation were swept aside by Hughes's scribbling pen.
³