Harry shooed her inside their tent with not a very nice kick.
With her nose between the flaps, Winnie spied the motorcar’s wheels roll to a stop. There were two men in the open coach. It was Colonel Currie in the backseat who stood now and looked down at Harry.
“Lieutenant Colebourn,” he said. “I have heard disappointing news from the cook.”
He hopped down from his high seat.
“Understand, Lieutenant, it is my responsibility to get this battalion into shape. I will not be distracted from that duty, and I will not allow my men to be distracted from theirs. I do not take the stealing of rations lightly. Did I or did I not tell you that if that bear of yours caused any trouble there would be consequences?”
“Yes, sir,” said Harry.
“Where is the animal?” Colonel Currie said coldly. His gloved hand rested on the pistol at his hip.
Winnie could clearly smell Harry’s sweat as he stood nose to nose with the Colonel.
When Harry did not answer, Dixon stepped forward. “Have mercy, sir,” he said. “She’s a very fine mascot.”
“Even the horses like her, sir,” said Brodie.
Edgett spoke up. “With respect, sir, losing Winnie would be very hard on morale.”
“Silence!” commanded Colonel Currie. Pushing past Harry, he flung open the tent flap and stormed inside.
All the men craned their necks to watch as the Colonel tore apart Harry’s tent. He kicked the chair over and slapped Harry’s diary off the small table. He bent and peered under the cot before flipping it over and flinging its blankets into the air.
Then he looked straight up and went still. “Lieutenant Colebourn!” he called.
There was your Bear, scrunched up at the top of the tent’s center pole, hiding in the peak of the roof.
“Come down, Winnie,” Harry said, and she did as she was told.
The Colonel grimaced most grimly. “It is with no pleasure—”
Winnie rose on her hind legs and saluted.
Trained by habit, the Colonel’s right hand rose from his holster to return her salute.
Then he realized he was saluting a bear cub. “Hmph!” He brought his arm back down and clasped both hands before him.
Colonel Currie and Winnie stared intensely at each other until the Colonel blinked. He leaned into Harry. “Consider this a warning,” he said. “To you both.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said.
A whistle of relief came from Dixon as the Colonel and his motorcar sputtered away.
“Did you see the look on Currie’s face when Winnie saluted?” Brodie said with a laugh.
“Keep a closer eye on her from now on, Lieutenant,” scolded Edgett.
But Harry’s eyes hadn’t left your Bear since the Colonel stood over her, and Winnie noticed that they seemed cloudy instead of clear. She thought he was angry, but then, with a bursting breath, he drew her close and hugged her tightly.
Because Harry thought of her as his Bear now too. She was just that sort of bear.
Once, only once, Harry walked her all the way to the far side of camp.
“What’s wrong, girl?” Harry said when he noticed her dragging her paws and trying to lie down right where she was.
Edgett was with them. “Lieutenant,” he said, “you must show her who’s in charge.” So Harry yanked her to her feet and continued on, though he kept looking down at her in a worried way.
All she wanted was to avoid the noise and the smoke. But they kept walking toward their source, and with every step, the blasts grew louder and the smell stung her eyes.
At last they reached the camp’s edge. Quaking, Winnie peered out from between Harry’s boots, and this is what she saw: an endless line of soldiers propped on their elbows, peering down the barrels of their rifles, shooting across a field—Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!—as officers stood behind them shouting orders.
“A firing range three and a half miles long!” Edgett said with pride. “They say it’s the largest in the British Empire.”
Whimpering softly, Winnie cowered against Harry’s leg. “I must get back to the horses,” Harry told Edgett finally before letting her pull him back across camp, across the parade grounds, and into their tent, where she hid under his cot.
Harry got on the floor and put out his hand to reach her.
“It’s all right, Winnie,” he said in a gentle way. “You’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Winnie turned away. For once, Harry didn’t understand.
She wasn’t worried about herself, your Bear. She was worried about him and the boys.
In the afternoons, the men sometimes played baseball using burlap sacks for bases. One day Harry and the boys were pitted against an undefeated team of Highlanders, who stood ready in the field with their bare hands on their kilted knees.
When it was Harry’s turn at the plate, he carried his bat to Winnie and let her rub her back against it. “For good luck,” he said, his pale eyes hopeful.
When he swung a few moments later, the ball went flying far off into left field, where two Highlanders ran into each other trying to catch it. Harry got all the way to second base.
After that, nearly all the boys wanted Winnie to rub their bats before they stepped up to the plate.
It was a fierce battle. The score seesawed back and forth between the two teams, until the Highlanders took a healthy lead late in the game.
In the ninth inning, the men of the Canadian Army Veterinary Corps were losing by two runs. Harry was on second base, Dixon was on first, and Brodie was up. He held out his bat to your Bear and said, “I’m counting on you, Winnie. Don’t let me down.”
With a fine line drive that shot underneath the shortstop’s kilt, Brodie slid into first, while Dixon made it to second and Harry dove for third. Safe! They dusted themselves off.
Edgett marched over to Winnie. He was one of the only ones who hadn’t come to see her yet. “I’m not super-stitious,” he told her, looking away while she rubbed the bat and gave it an extra lick for good luck.
This was it. Bases loaded, bottom of the ninth, two outs.
As Edgett popped the ball into the air, Harry, Dixon, and Brodie took off running. The ball shot over the center fielder’s head, and as he spun and stumbled across the ground to get it, Harry crossed home plate, followed by Dixon. Brodie raced the ball as it sailed through the air to the catcher and—
They’d done it! They’d beaten the unbeatable Highlanders! Harry ran straight to Winnie and lifted her into the air, tossing her up and down, hooting and hollering as all the men piled around, reaching up to touch your Bear with the tips of their fingers.
There’s nothing like a mascot to rally the troops.
One black night in Valcartier, Winnie awoke with a start. The ground beneath her was shaking, and men and horses were yelling in the distance.
Above her in his cot, Harry stirred. “What is it, Winnie?”
Then, as if bitten, he sat up. Together they dashed outside, and soldiers were running past them full tilt. “What’s happening?” asked Harry.
“It’s the horses,” a soldier said breathlessly. “Some drunken fool fired his rifle by the depot and now they’re stampeding, thousands of ’em.”
“Winnie!” Harry called after her. As fast as she could, she ran—your Bear, she could be as quick as a stag when she wanted—weaving among the ghostly tents, the strangled neighs of horses rising, her ears pushed flat against her head. She leapt over pegs and ropes. She came to the wooden fence around the depot and sprung to the top of a post.
As Harry ran up behind her, Winnie peered into the dust storm struck up by countless hooves, the haze broken only by brief glimpses of horse tails lashing in panic and the gruesome grimace of horses’ teeth.
She spotted one moving differently: an upright white steed turning around in place with its head held high and steady as if to say, Mounts, attention! Order! Order at once!
It was Sir Reginald.
Harry
put two fingers between his lips and pierced the chaos with a whistle. Sir Reginald was at the fence at once, and Harry climbed to the top rail and leapt onto his back. Your Bear wanted to go too, so she jumped, but Sir Reginald was already galloping away.
When Winnie landed in the dirt, a dark gelding reared over her, his front hooves churning the air, and they locked eyes—Don’t! He barely missed her before galloping off with a shake of his head.
She bowed low as another shadow bore down, but now two big royal hooves were resting on either side of her, sheltering her from danger. Her nose rose to brush Sir Reginald’s pale breast as Harry reached down, grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, and swung her up to ride in front of him.
“We have to stop them before they get to the river,” Harry ordered.
“Yes, Lieutenant!” neighed Sir Reginald.
Sir Reginald strained at the bit in his mouth as they bored through the horses and bulleted to the front of the stampede.
Above the roar of hoofbeats, Winnie heard splashing, and the sheen of the river loomed. She brushed her chin against Sir Reginald’s mane. “You have to turn now.”
Harry strained at the reins.
Sir Reginald turned. And, because he was their leader, the tide of horses turned with him, slowly bending their path. “Turn!” Winnie told him. “Turn!”
Sir Reginald led the tide of horses in a wide circle, slowing them down in a spiral.
But still there were the unlucky ones. The ones who had led the charge.
Once the stampede was under control, Harry steered Sir Reginald back to the river. They trotted along the riverbank, Winnie’s ears filling with the thrashing and screaming of drowning horses.
Harry leapt from Sir Reginald’s back and charged into the water.
“Help!” he screamed. “Help!”
And there were Dixon and Brodie, rushing in after him, pulling a limp gray horse to shore.
They stooped over the mount on the reedy bank. Its long, clammy face was glazed with slime, and with a shock, Winnie recognized the bolt of white on its muzzle.
“Tempest?” Winnie’s nose quivered.
Tempest coughed, and a trickle of water spilt from her mouth. Her eyes were slick and yellow.
Winnie felt a new presence over them as Black Knight stepped from the darkness. He and Sir Reginald stood gravely by as Harry and the boys tried to help their friend.
Tempest’s breaths turned to rasps. Winnie lay down at her head.
Harry lay a gentle hand on Tempest’s face, and her whole body shuddered as if a great wind blew through her, and she was gone.
Four horses including Tempest died in the stampede at Valcartier.
Winnie never knew the names of the others, but she always wished she did.
“Did horses die in real life?” asked Cole.
“Yes. There was a stampede in the middle of the night while Harry was at Valcartier, and horses drowned.”
“They hadn’t even gotten to the War yet.”
“No. But it must have felt like war that night.”
Three sunrises later, at one end of the camp’s parade ground, Winnie stood with Brodie in the front row of men standing at attention. Everyone was facing the raised wooden platform where Harry now stood before Colonel Currie.
Sir Reginald, who was stationed beside the platform while the Colonel did his duty, nodded solemnly at your Bear. The other mounts—Black Knight, Alberta, Victoria, and the rest—watched with soldiers astride their backs.
Winnie stood very still as Colonel Currie pinned a third golden diamond on Harry’s shoulder above the two that were already there.
“Lieutenant Colebourn,” said the Colonel. “For your service and in recognition of your leadership in the field, you are promoted to the rank of Captain.”
Harry saluted, and then all the men did. Winnie did too.
When the ceremony was over and the Colonel said, “Dismissed,” Brodie, Edgett, and Dixon gathered around Harry to shake his hand.
“I never thought you’d make Captain before me,” said Edgett.
“Me neither,” admitted Harry.
That day Harry led the men in their drills, with Winnie marching alongside the rows of their boots, her head held high, her steps stretching to match their strides, the legs of the Second Canadian Infantry Brigade swinging as one, just like the legs of a centipede.
September 25, 1914
Packing up ready to leave for Quebec City.
Your Bear suspected something because the men had been buzzing even more busily than usual. Brodie, Edgett, and Dixon had folded up all the tarps and packed all the veterinary supplies into trunks. Motorcars and horse-drawn wagons, loaded up so high they looked like moving mountains, were driven away from camp.
There was a different smell about the men. They were excited.
At night, after writing in his diary, Harry lay staring at the ceiling with Winnie on the floor. The tent had nothing in it now but Harry, the cub, and the cot.
A terrible thought bounded into Winnie’s head: Is Harry going away?
Harry must have heard her thinking, because he said her name and pulled her onto his chest.
“We’re shipping out tomorrow,” he said with some sadness. “I understand if you don’t want to go, Winnie. It’s not fair to take you so far away. But—”
Winnie thumped him with her paw and touched her nose to his dimple.
Harry tucked in his chin. “Not many bears have crossed the Atlantic Ocean before,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “You could be the first.”
Winnie stood right up on his chest and licked his face.
Your Bear was always ready for an adventure.
September 29, 1914
Anchored in the Bay with other liners.
From high on one mast of the SS Manitou, your Bear looked out. Other boats were arranged across the bay, dotting the water as far as she could see. This water is even bigger than the lake! she thought.
“Winnie!” called Harry.
She clambered down and he leashed her up. “Don’t go up there,” he said.
Dixon gave Winnie’s flank a good rubbing, and she sat on his boot so he’d keep it up. “We’ll be on our way any second now, Winnipeg,” he told her.
September 30, 1914
Same as Tues., anchored Gas Bay.
“Harry wrote Gas Bay in his diary, but the place’s real name is Gaspé. With a p. It’s French,” I said.
“Gas Bay is better,” said Cole.
“Totally.”
Winnie liked life on the SS Manitou. She liked to play games on deck, and climb up and down ladders, and wander the narrow corridors where the cabins were. As far as she knew, they’d probably reach the other side of the ocean any moment now, so she’d better make the most of it.
A stone skittered across the deck to Dixon, who kicked it back to Brodie, who kicked it to Harry, who kicked it to—
Winnie bounded between their legs, grabbed the stone in her mouth, and ran up one of the masts.
“Winnie, no!” the boys yelled.
She came down and dropped the stone on Dixon’s foot. “Ow!” he cried before angrily throwing it over the railing. The boys groaned as the rock dove like a pelican into the waves.
Dixon removed his hat and ran his thick fingers through his graying fur. “Aren’t we leaving yet?”
October 1, 1914
Same as Wed., anchored Gas Bay.
Dixon shoved himself off the ship’s railing and spun around. “What are we waiting for?” he barked.
Winnie sat raptly in front of Brodie, who was sitting against the railing with his knees up, shuffling cards in fanciful ways. “Dixon’s right, Captain,” he said. “We haven’t moved an inch.”
Harry looked up from where he stood double-checking the list of horses, Edgett at his side. His pale eyes squinted in the sun. “You try loading thirty thousand men and seventy-five hundred horses onto boats and getting them all in line,” he said. “See how long it takes you.”
Edgett narrowed his face like a hawk spotting its prey. “Is there something you’re not telling us, Captain Colebourn?”
The dimple in Harry’s chin twitched, and he looked at his hands. “You’re right. You deserve to know.”
“Know what?”
“There have been reports of German submarines,” Harry said. “They’re holding us here until it’s safe.”
Winnie felt a wave of dread drench the boys.
But a short time later, Dixon cried, “Look!”
Winnie stood with her front paws on the railing. Dixon was pointing across the water at the next ship over, which had a giant chain being raised into its hull.
Now she felt a quaking below.
“Anchors aweigh!” cried Brodie.
Within moments, the deck was so overcrowded with men that Harry lifted Winnie into his arms so she could see.
All together, the ships began slipping swiftly along, etching shapes like white gulls on the surface of the water. Your Bear leaned into the breeze to drink the salty wind.
At last they were really crossing the ocean!
How much bigger than the lake can it be? wondered your Bear.
October 5, 1914
Onboard ship. Feeling tough.
When the waters reared and bucked like a mount trying to toss its rider, Winnie raced from one end of the deck to the other, plunging through the waves that crashed over the railing. With glee, she shot past one staggering man after another.
She spotted Harry rushing below deck, so she followed. He was bent nearly double, feeling his way along one wall of the narrow hall to their cabin.
When she caught up with him, his eyes watered at her in a pleading way. His face was as pale as Sir Reginald’s.
“You’re not well,” Winnie could tell.
The ship keeled. With a helpless look, Harry pressed his lips together and rattled the cabin’s door until finally it opened and he dove for the tin chamber pot and missed and threw up all over the floor.
Winnie's Great War Page 5