A man called Peggy

A lonely howl from the whistle echoes along the barren land, as the metal beast rolls along steel rails. The vibrating rocking motion and constant hum creates a soothing sense of peace. A peace that many fought and died for.

The war officially ended November 11th, 1918, but it was months later before I was finally going home.

My head bobbed in rhythm with the swaying clack of the wheels. A collage of voices weaved through the smoke-filled room like a dance hall on a Saturday night. Jubilant cries of young men echoed within the tiny train car as they sang, played cards, and shared spiced rum from a canteen. I slept through it all. Compared to the bombardment of cannons and staccato bursts of machine guns that plagued the trenches, this jumbled mass of chaos was no louder to me than a Sunday church choir. Unless Mrs. Knaffle decided to sing, her voice could wake the dead.

No, my exhausted mind and body slept through all this. It was the sudden silence that woke me. My eyelids felt like dry pieces of cloth sliding over raw wood as they slowly opened. I had to sit up and look back, following the dead eye direction my companions were staring at.

Standing in the doorway were two natives, dressed in a patch work of clothing and mismatched shoes. Narry a sound was made as the two bronze men proceeded down the narrow aisle, pausing by my bench.

My seating companion across from me, kicked his leg out planting his boot on my side of the bench. “What’cha want chief?”

The taller of the two spoke, his deep voice rolled like thunder.”Look’n for a seat, nothing more.”

“Not here you ain’t, get back to your car with your tribe.”

I watched the tall ones fingers close into a fist, the tightening of his lips and subtle change in stance.

My companion was stupidly unaware and opened his mouth. “Turn around and get the fuck back to where you belong.”

I sat straighter. Before anything happened the smaller one placed a hand gently on his friends arm and spoke in a soft but firm voice. “There is no room to sit.”

“To freak’n bad injun.”

Ignoring Jim's rudeness I ask. ”What do you mean no where to sit?”

"It's a box car.”

I took inventory of our half-filled passenger car, realizing they must have been standing since we started our trip this morning. Glancing outside, dusk was now blanketing the world in a vibrant rose and purple hue glowing off the snow-covered ground. From the landscape and time, I estimated we were still in Quebec. Hours of travel yet before reaching our destination.

“We got no room…”

I cut my rude companion off. “We have room Jim, just slide over.”

“I ain’t sliding over.”

The war is over, but I still outrank him. “Then you can leave, no one is forcing you to stay.”

With that I motion for them to sit. Apparently that was too much for Jim, he stood up, turning to me he spit out. “Their all yours injun lover.”

Nodding to me, I saw relief in their eyes the moment they sat upon the hard wooden bench. The tall one removed his footwear and stretched his back, while the other sat stone still, focusing on the dark silhouette trees flying by. I tried not to stare but my eyes were glued to the boots laying on the floor. They had more holes than our generals battle plans.

My eyes roamed over the two while I tried to figure something out, when the same soft voice that held his friend in check spoke to me.

“Thank you Sargent, it feels good to rest.”

Smiling I replied. “Wars over, you can address me by my name.” Holding out my hand I said. “Thomas.”

My hand held only air, while he stared at it. His dark eyes bore into my soul, like a hawk searching for prey.

Before the silence became awkward the tall one stretched over, gripped my hand smiled and said. “I’m Moses and this talkative one is Pegahmagabow.”

I shook his callused hand. “Nice to meet you Moses and you too Pegahmmagaa…Pegmana.”

Moses laughed. “Jus’ call him Peggy, it’s easier. Nice to meet you Sarge.”

“Thomas.”

“Right, we never were allowed to call our superiors by their names only by rank.”

“Where do you come from?” I asked.

“I watched Moses chest expand as he spoke. ”We are Ojibwe, from Parry sound.”

“Which units did you serve in?”

Moses leaned back and beaming with pride said. “I served as a runner and scout in the 114th Battalion, Brocks rangers. Peggy served in the first battalion, 23rd Regiment, a scout as well. Until the brass discovered his…special talent.”

“Special Talent?” I inquired.

Peggy kept his eyes focused on the now darkened window. Flakes of snow raced across the clear pane. I knew he was seeing something else. I see it too, every time I close my eyes. His gaze was as distant and permanent as a statue.

“23rd Regiment?” I asked.

Peggy nodded.

“The Northern Pioneers?”

He turned to face me upon recognition of his unit. “Yeah.”

Moses jumped in. “Peggy made Lance Corporal and given medals.”

Turning to my large friend. “How about you.”

“Naw, I’m still a private, no medals but I did get trench foot.” He laughs.

“We all got trench foot.” I joined him in laughter.

Even Peggy began laughing. We must have gotten loud because the room became quiet again as all eyes turned towards us. Which made us laugh harder. It was if all the stress we had locked inside released on a stupid joke. We didn’t care.

Suddenly Peggy began coughing, to the point where he couldn’t breathe. I jumped up and grabbed a rum filled canteen, quickly soaking my handkerchief with the alcohol and handing it to him.

Placing it over his mouth he inhaled slowly. Soon his coughs became minor shudders as his chest spasms conceded.

“Water…does anyone have water?” Cried Moses.

No one moved, the only sound came from Peggy, suppressing the last of the convulsions.

Until Jim yelled. “What’s the matter chief… much smoke from peace pipe?” Then laughed at his own joke. No one else did.

Finally, a young man handed me a canteen. “It’s just water.”

Everyone recognized the cough and regained that stare which was normal in the trenches. Fear and nightmares of a rolling cloud of gas slowly overtaking the lines. Those to slow or without masks perished or suffered permanent damage.

I waited for Peggy to regain his composure before asking. “Ypres?”

He nodded. “I got caught in no mans land, no mask. I was in a hole filled with water so I stayed under for as long as I could. Popping up for quick breaths through a damp cloth. It didn’t kill me but… I was lucky.”

We sat there, quietly remembering the horrors. Slowly the car began sounding like a gambling hall again. Everyone doing their best to erase a memory of a war they wish to forget. The three of us sat in silence as the night marched on. I wished to laugh again, but there was so little to laugh about. Closing our eyes, we pretended to sleep. It was as elusive as a normal life would ever be for us. Someday hopefully but not tonight.

Morning light slowly crept across the land, adding a golden haze within our space. Clearing my throat, I lean towards Peggy. “I was at Passchendaele.”

“What?”

“The battle of Ypres, Passchendaele.”

“Yeah?”

“I was leading a group of men for the second charge that afternoon. We were the fourth division to go over in three days. It was a cluster fuck from the moment it started. No artillery to back us, no bombarding of the German lines before hand. We were lambs sent to the slaughter. They hoped shear numbers would over run the lines. But heavy rain and shelling turned the battlefield into a quagmire Not to mention dead bodies every where to remind us of what failure is.”

Moses turned to Peggy, who remained silent.

I continued. “My group were pinned down in a hole, we couldn’t advance, or retreat. Slowly the shelling and gun fire whittled us down to a dozen men, many injured. We were preparing ourselves for death.”

The eerie light mixed with a steady clack and hollow sound of the train added to my story as everyone became silent. Even Jim.

Taking a breath, I forged on.

“Suddenly, we began hearing a different sound. A distinct crack of a single rifle. Soon, the German machine guns went silent, then gun fire from the German trenches became fewer. Their bombardment ceased entirely. Just when we thought we had a reprieve, a thick yellow cloud drifted from the German lines floating toward our location. I had to risk a retreat, slowly we crawled our way back to our lines. All the while that steady sound of single shots, cracking in the air.”

Murmurs of confirmation filled the room.

Staring at Peggy I said. “The next day, I gave my report. I was told a lone sniper crawled out into no mans land and began taking out the enemy one by one, till they were too frightened to move. Have you heard this story?”

Our eyes locked, he resumed glancing into space.

I pressed on. “Rumor had it that the sniper took it upon himself to do what the generals failed to do. Save soldiers. They mentioned that he was a former scout, a Canadian native from the 23rd regiment. Germans call him the ghost.”

The place went quiet for one full minute before Moses spoke up. “I mentioned he had a ‘talent.’ Peggy is credited with killing three hundred and seventy-eight enemy.”

This quiet man sitting across from me saved over fifteen hundred trapped men that day, including me. Lord only knows how many he saved throughout the war.

His reward, being forced to stand for hours in an overcrowded box car with other Indigenous soldiers who fought for their country.

“He also captured roughly three hundred Germans.” Moses added.

Looking at these two men, dressed in worn civilian clothing, I inquired. “Where are your uniforms?”

Moses hung his head and whispered. “We had to give them back. They tossed a pile of clothes in the room for us to rummage through. I couldn’t find any boots that fit.”

Peggy never looked at me, he continued facing the sheet of cold glass. As I stared at his reflection in the window I will never be sure, perhaps it was stray drops of melted snow running slowly down the pane of glass that gave the illusion of tears flowing down his face.

I no longer had the strength to talk. We sat in silence for the remainder of the trip. The squeal of metal brakes let us know our trip was complete. We rose like old men in the morning, muscles chastising us for moving so quickly. When the final hiss of steam released we heard the faint sound of a band. Outside, hundreds of people lined the road welcoming their heroes home.

The fresh air blended with smells of coffee, pastries and sweet perfume. Strange women hugged me, covering my dry cheeks with their wet lips. A man calling himself mayor made a speech welcoming us home, letting us know that more hot coffee and fresh sandwiches awaited us in the town hall. From there we would each receive our tickets for transportation home.

I waved for Moses and Peggy to come over and join me on the wagon ride to town. I can’t say I was shocked to find out they, along with the rest of the ‘Indians’, were not invited. Nor would they be given tickets to get home.

I cornered the Mayor and asked “What about their transportation home? Moses and Peggy live in Parry sound that’s not even close to here.”

He answered without a hint of embarrassment. “I’m sure their people have figured that out. Besides, I’m told they have a great sense of direction.” With that he was off, saluting every soldier like he was one of us. Well, not every soldier.

I turned to Moses and Peggy, but they were already walking away, in worn shoes and mismatched clothes. I didn’t do anything, I could have called out, demand they be treated with respect, at the very least given food. Instead, I departed with the other soldiers and watched these unsung heroes fade away, from my life and from history.

It didn’t matter that many gave their life for a country that would betray them. They were wards of the government, denied basic rights of a Canadian citizen. Denied the rights of a soldier.

Medals be damned. They were always meant to be forgotten.

*****************

Francis Pegahmagabow was a scout and the most effective sniper in the First World and one of Canada's most decorated Indigenous soldiers.

He was never mentioned in any of my Canadian history studies.