In the Cathedral there rang out over the assembled people the Call to Sacrifice. "He that saveth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for My sake shall find it." The instinct to save life was fundamental and universal. There were times when man must resist that instinct and choose to surrender life. Such was the present time. Dear as life was, there were things infinitely more precious to mankind, and these things were in peril. For the preserving of these things to the world our Empire had resolved upon war, and throughout the Empire the call had sounded forth for men willing to sacrifice their lives. To this call Canada would make response, and only thus could Canada save her life. For faith, for righteousness, for humanity, our Empire had accepted war. And now, as ever, the pathway to immortality for men and for nations was the pathway of sacrifice.
In St. Mary's the priest, an Irishman of warm heart and of fiery fighting spirit, summoned the faithful to faith and duty. To faith in the God of their fathers who through his church had ever led his people along the stern pathway of duty. The duty of the hour was that of united and whole-hearted devotion to the cause of Freedom, for which Great Britain had girded on her sword. The heart of the Empire had been thrilled by the noble words of the leader of the Irish Party in the House of Commons at Home, in which he pledged the Irish people to the cause of the world's Freedom. In this great struggle all loyal Sons of Canada of all races and creeds would be found united in the defence of this sacred cause.
The newspaper press published full reports of many of the sermons preached. These sermons all struck the same note--repentance, sacrifice, service. On Monday morning men walked with surer tread because the light was falling clearer upon the path they must take.
In the evening, when Jane and her friend, Ethel Murray, were on their way downtown, they heard the beat of a drum. Was it fancy, or was there in that beat something they had never heard in a drum beat before, something more insistent, more compelling? They hurried to Portage Avenue and there saw Winnipeg's famous historic regiment, the Ninetieth Rifles, march with quick, brisk step to the drum beat of their bugle band.
"Look," cried Ethel, "there's Pat Scallons, and Ted Tuttle, and Fred Sharp, too. I did not know that he belonged to the Ninetieth." And as they passed, rank on rank, Ethel continued to name the friends whom she recognised.
But Jane stood uttering no word. The sight of these lads stepping to the drum beat so proudly had sent a chill to her heart and tears to her eyes. "Oh, Ethel," she cried, touching her friend's arm, "isn't it terrible?""Why, what's the matter?" cried Ethel, glancing at her. "Think of what they are marching to!""Oh, I can't bear it," said Jane.
But Ethel was more engaged with the appearance of the battalion, from the ranks of which she continued to pick out the faces of her friends. "Look," she cried, "that surely is not Kellerman! It is!
It is! Look, Jane, there's that little Jew. Is it possible?""Kellerman?" cried Jane. "No, it can't be he. There are no Jews in the Ninetieth.""But it is," cried Ethel. "It is Kellerman. Let us go up to Broadway and we shall meet them again."They turned up a cross street and were in time to secure a position from which they could get a good look at the faces of the lads as they passed. The battalion was marching at attention, and so rigid was the discipline that not a face was turned toward the two young ladies standing at the street corner. A glance of the eye and a smile they received from their friends as they passed, but no man turned his head.
"There he is," said Jane. "It is Kellerman--in the second row, see?""Sure enough, it is Kellerman," said Ethel. "Well, what has come to Winnipeg?""War," said Jane solemnly. "And a good many more of the boys will be going too, if they are any good."As Kellerman came stepping along he caught sight of the girls standing there, but no sign of recognition did he make. He was too anxious to be considered a soldier for that. Steadiness was one of the primary principles knocked into the minds of recruits by the Sergeant Major.
The girls moved along after the column had passed at a sufficient distance to escape the rabble. At the drill hall they found the street blocked by a crowd of men, women and children.
"What is all this, I wonder?" said Ethel. "Let us wait here awhile. Perhaps we may come across some one we know."It was a strange crowd that gathered about the entrance to the drill hall, not the usual assemblage of noisy, idly curious folk of the lighter weight that are wont to follow a marching battalion or gather to the sound of a band. It was composed of substantial and solid people, serious in face and quiet in demeanour. They were there on business, a business of the gravest character. As the girls stood waiting they heard far down Broadway the throbbing of drums.
"Listen, Ethel," cried Jane. "The Pipes!"
"The Pipes !" echoed Ethel in great excitement. "The Kilties!"Above the roll and rattle of the drums they caught those high, heart-thrilling sounds which for nearly two hundred years have been heard on every famous British battlefield, and which have ever led Scotland's sons down the path of blood and death to imperishable glory.
A young Ninetieth officer, intent on seeing that the way was kept clear for the soldiers, came striding out of the armoury.
"Oh, there's Frank Smart," said Ethel. "I wish he would see us."As if in answer to her wish, Smart turned about and saw them in the crowd. Immediately he came to them.
"I didn't know you were a soldier, Frank," said Jane, greeting him with a radiant smile.
"I had almost forgotten it myself," said Frank. "But I was at church yesterday and I went home and looked up my uniform and here I am.""You are not going across, Frank, are you?" said Ethel.
