Fever Season (6 page)

“The reasons are complicated,” his father said, “but, basically, England is fighting to protect Belgium from Germany.”

“How come?”

“Because when German soldiers started fighting with France a few days ago, they had to march through Belgium to get there. England has a treaty that says it will protect Belgium, so now England's going to help France fight the Germans. So is Russia. The problem is, practically every country in Europe has a treaty like that with someone, so when one of the countries gets involved in something, the others have to get involved, as well. Some countries will be fighting to help Germany, but with so many more countries fighting against them the war can't possible last very long.”

“So that's why everyone's saying the soldiers will be home by Christmas?”

“That's right,” his father said. “And if that's true, then the whole thing could be over before any Canadian soldiers even get a chance to fight.”

“That would be a blessing,” David's mother said.

That struck David as a strange thing to say. People wanted to fight, didn't they? Why else had so many signed up to become soldiers in the past few days?

As if to answer David's thoughts, a man stood to address the crowd. Although many men were wearing straw summer hats on this warm August night, the fellow who got up to speak was sporting a fashionable derby.

“I believe,” the fancy-dressed man said, “that at this critical point in our history we all must do our part.”

The crowd cheered.

Encouraged by the response, the man continued. “We all agree that England has been driven into this unrighteous war and that all British subjects must unite to fight for its interests …”

Another cheer, but this time the man was sombre. “We all hope and pray that justice will prevail in the end and that our country will come out with honour and glory.”

Honour and glory.
That was why people wanted to fight. Thinking about it gave David goosebumps. The war was going to be a glorious adventure. Those who fought would bring honour to themselves and to their country.

At least that was what people thought on this warm August night in 1914. By September, more than thirty-two thousand Canadians had volunteered for the army. Few people knew how horrible the war would be. Many really thought it would be over by Christmas. They didn't want to miss their chance to fight.

“My brother, Aaron, signed up,” David's friend Sammy told him when school started. “The army pays new soldiers a dollar a day. Poppa didn't want him to go, but Aaron says we can use the money. And the army will pay him for a whole year, even if the war's over by Christmas.”

The war wasn't over by Christmas, and after New Year's, Canadian soldiers joined the fighting. Newspapers tried to keep everyone at home up-to-date with what was going on, which was good because it could take a long time for a letter to make it back from overseas. Sammy's family already knew from the papers that Aaron was likely to be sent to France in early February.

“But we didn't know for sure until his letter came yesterday,” Sammy said. “Look! It's dated February 9. It says he was boarding a boat for France that morning. That was six weeks ago.”

During all that time, and during the six weeks that followed, Canadian soldiers didn't see much action. That began to change by the middle of April 1915.

“The newspapers say Aaron's unit is one of the ones that fought at Ypres,” Sammy said. Like most people, he called it
Wipers
, even though the proper French way to pronounce the name of the Belgian town was
Eep
.

Sammy was worried, so David tried to say something positive. “If Aaron was at Wipers, then he's a hero!”

“But what if …”

Sammy couldn't make himself finish, but it was obvious what he was thinking. What if Aaron had been wounded? Or worse? The newspapers said that thousands of Canadian soldiers had been killed at Ypres.

“You didn't get a telegram did you?”

Sammy shook his head.

David smiled. “If you didn't get a telegram from the army, then Aaron's okay.”

But weeks went by until Sammy's family knew for sure. It was June before they received a letter that Aaron had written a month before:

May 4, 1915
Momma, Poppa & Everyone

By now you'll have read about the fighting in the Ypres Salient two weeks ago. That I'm still alive is a miracle. We had nearly a thousand men in our battalion when the battle began. There can't be more than three hundred of us left.

It all started late in the afternoon on April 22 when we saw these strange-looking clouds drifting toward the French position. We'd heard rumours that the Germans had a new weapon, and we knew this must be it — poison gas. Many of the French troops turned and ran. Those that tried to stay and fight were choked to death by the gas. When the clouds cleared, the Germans had a clear path through to our line. There were five of them to every one of us, I swear it, but for two days we held them off. Then the Germans turned their poison gas on us!

The greenish-yellow cloud was coming closer, floating just above the ground. Even from a distance it began to burn our eyes and throats. But then someone started yelling — forgive my language, Mama — “piss on a rag, piss on a rag!” I had a hanky, so I pissed on it and held it over my nose and mouth. Others tore off pieces of their uniform. I know it sounds crazy, and it smelled awful, but there's something in piss that changes the chemicals in the gas. When the Germans marched in behind the cloud, we were still there to fight them!

Those of us who made it through are now resting well behind the lines. I now know why Poppa didn't want me to fight, but I still say we can't allow those who would oppress us to carry the day.

    Your loving son,
     Aaron

On and on the fighting went, along a looping battle line that ran halfway through Europe. Shortly after the battle at Ypres, a second division of Canadian soldiers was organized. When the war still wasn't over by Christmas 1915, a third Canadian Division was mustered. Men still volunteered despite the horrors they had read about, but no one talked anymore about when the boys might be home from Belgium and France. Thousands upon thousands never would.

“We owe it to those who have given their lives to continue to fight,” the newspapers said. “More people will be needed if we are to win this war, and win it we must!”

Through the newspapers, and more of Aaron's letters, David and Sammy learned about the life of a soldier on the Western Front. It didn't sound very glorious at all.

“Aaron says they've been fighting so long on the same fields that nothing can grow there anymore. He says bullets from machine guns have blasted the trees so much that they look like skeletons and that bombs have burned up all the grass. There's nothing left but mud.”

The lifeless, muddy ground between the two armies became known as no man's land. Sometimes the area of no man's land between the two armies was less than a city block. Because they were so close, and because the bombs and bullets made it so dangerous to be above the ground on the Western Front, the armies on both sides had to dig pathways through the mud. These pathways became known as trenches. Soldiers on the front line lived in these trenches.

“Aaron says they're full of rats and lice,” Sammy told David.

Although their families were much more comfortable at home, in one way the war was harder on the people who were left behind. At least the soldiers on the front line knew if they were dead or alive. Their loved ones didn't. Every day parents like Sammy's didn't know whether to be proud or sad. In other homes women wondered if they were wives or widows.

Yet in many ways life at home continued unchanged. Children still had school to attend. Mothers still had households to take care of. Fathers still had jobs to do, though because so many men were overseas, women across the country were starting to do jobs that used to be considered men's work. There were still hockey games, too, but it was much easier to get tickets at the box office now. In fact, for just $1.25 apiece — a total that was half what he had paid Henri the first time — David's father was able to buy two seats in the third row for a game between Quebec and Montreal in February 1916.

“They aren't drawing crowds like they used to,” David's father said. “A lot of the men who used to go to games are soldiers now.”

So were some of the men who once played the games, but not enough for everyone. David had seen angry letters in the newspapers, and just outside the Arena, someone had stuck up a recruiting poster for the army. On one side it showed a soldier fighting all alone. On the other side there was a crowd watching a hockey game. The words said:
WHY BE A MERE SPECTATOR HERE WHEN YOU SHOULD PLAY A MAN'S PART IN THE REAL GAME OVERSEAS
?

“There are a lot of people who don't think men should be paid to play hockey when others are fighting and dying in the war,” David's father said. “But since some of us have to stay at home, at least it's nice to be able to read about sticks and pucks every now and then instead of always rifles and mud.”

Although the crowd inside the rink was much smaller than before the war, the fans still let Joe Hall have it when he came out onto the ice with his Bulldog teammates. David joined in the chorus of boos.

A few minutes later the referee blew his whistle and called for the teams to line up for the faceoff. Newsy Lalonde was slow to take his position. He was waiting for the Bulldogs' centre to get tense and edgy. Finally, he took his position, and when the referee dropped the puck, Lalonde's stick snapped forward like a serpent's tongue. He drew the disk behind him and spun around to get it.

“Come on, Newsy!” David shouted as the Canadiens' captain controlled the puck and turned toward the Quebec end. On his right side was Didier Pitre. On the left was Jack Laviolette. The blazing speed of the three Montreal forwards had prompted newspapers to dub the entire team “The Flying Frenchmen.”

Using Laviolette as a decoy, Lalonde drew the Quebec defence to the left.

“Pitre! Pitre!” the players on the Montreal bench hollered.

Lalonde's manoeuvre had opened up the right side, and he slipped the puck across to Pitre. The burly forward bore down on the Bulldogs' net, then, with a quick flick of his wrists, fired a shot that just missed the far side of the net. The puck boomed off the back boards.

“No wonder they call him Cannonball!” David cried.

The rebound from Pitre's powerful shot bounced out in front, but the Quebec goalie swatted the puck into the corner. Lalonde chased after it and circled behind the net, searching for an open teammate.

Laviolette dashed into position for a pass. David saw him tapping his stick on the ice, calling for the puck, but before Lalonde could make the play, Hall pushed him into the boards. The hit was clean this time, but the crowd screamed, anyway. David noticed the referee watching the two enemies glaring at each other, but nothing happened.

“Looks like they're going to stick to playing hockey tonight,” said a man who was seated next to David's father.

Throughout the first period Lalonde led the Canadiens on the attack, only to be turned back by Hall and the Bulldogs.

“When he chooses to play by the rules,” the man next to them said, “Hall's one of the best defencemen in hockey.”

Finally, Lalonde got the better of him, beating Hall with a burst of speed and then setting up Pitre for the game's first goal. Newsy tapped his teammate on the butt with his stick, then mussed his hair with a gloved hand as they skated to centre for the faceoff. Just over a minute later, Pitre scored again, and the Canadiens took a 2–0 lead into intermission.

Because the pace of the game was so fast, both teams used their substitute players more than was usual during the second period. This seemed to help the Bulldogs, who scored three times to go ahead. However, with all the regulars back on the ice to open the third period, Pitre scored again and the game was even. Thanks to some great saves by goalie Georges Vézina, the score was still 3–3 at the end of sixty minutes.

“Overtime!” David said excitedly as the two teams switched ends and prepared to break the tie.