AT THE FIGHTING BASE

IT'S A LONG, LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY."IT'S A LONG, LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY."ToList

"IT'S A LONG, LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY."ToList

Commissioned Acting Chaplains—All Creeds Participate—Stories of Christian Workers at the Fighting Base—Pluck, a Miracle Worker—A Whole Regiment Praying—More Chaplains' Stories—The French Mayor's Speech—Protestant Service in a Roman Catholic Church—An Old-Fashioned "Revival"—The Cross upon the Field of War—A Hospital Confirmation Scene—Y.M.C.A. at the Fighting Base—The Story of the German Sniper.

Perhaps this is the best time to say a word about religious ministrations in the Army.

When a soldier enlists he is expected to "declare" his "religion." Time was when only two forms of religion were recognised in the Army—the Church of England and Roman Catholic. A recruit was asked, "What are you? Church or Catholic?"—that was how it was shortly put. But that day has gone by, and now all the chief religious denominations are recognised, and the men—to the extent I have already indicated—have the ministration of the chaplains of their own churches. This some officers at first fail to recognise.

The story goes that a captain, who had recently changed regiments and had not as yet become acquainted with the idiosyncrasies of his new command, was surprised at the small muster for Church of England Parade. "You see," explained thesergeant-major, "we've sixteen Roman Catholics, twelve Wesleyans, six Primitive Methodists, two Jews, and four Peelin' Purtaties!"

The Church of England, Roman Catholic, and Presbyterian chaplains hold commissions in the Army. The Wesleyans, although commissions have repeatedly been offered, prefer to keep their ministers under their own control. Their ministers become "Acting Chaplains," and, as I have already indicated, during the present war for the first time, the other Free Churches have been recognised in the same way. When, however, war breaks out, all the chaplains, commissioned and acting, are on the same footing, are attached to some unit, and are under its commanding officer. They all wear uniform, and the only way to distinguish the "Padre" from the ordinary officer is by the black shoulder-knots and the cross on his hat.

At the head of the Chaplaincy Department is Bishop Taylor-Smith, the Chaplain-General. He is a powerful preacher, a good administrator, a broad-minded man, and eminently fitted for his high position. But he remains at home during this war, for the Chaplaincy Department has become a big thing, and only very occasionally can he pay visits to the front.

The chaplain in charge of the Army work at the front is the Rev. Dr. J.M. Simms (Presbyterian), one of the chaplains who also have the distinction of being Hon. Chaplains to the King. It shows how catholic the Army authorities are, and how little they allow their sympathies to be with any one church, that the man in charge of the chaplains of all the churches is a Presbyterian. He takes this position by virtue of seniority, for Dr. Simms has seen long and variedservice; but never before has any other than an Anglican clergyman found himself in command.

The senior Church of England chaplain is the Rev. E.G.F. Macpherson, who served with distinction throughout the South African War and was among those shut up in Ladysmith.

Chaplains have military status. The Chaplain-General ranks as Major-General, Dr. Simms as Brigadier, and the others as Colonels, Majors, or Captains. They do not use their title of military rank.

As Bishop Taylor-Smith says: "There are no flouts or sneers against the Sky Pilot in the Army of to-day. Quite the reverse; for does he not bring them comfort and courage, and that quiet confidence which a man of great moral might can implant in the most irreligious mind?... Sometimes one hears grumbles at having to salute civilians 'dressed up as officers,' but never a word against the Army chaplain—the Padre."

In an interview reported in theDaily Chronicle, Bishop Taylor-Smith goes on to say: "Chatting with a senior Army chaplain who had been at the front from the beginning, I was not surprised to hear that he had not once received a snub, for his story confirmed the remarks made to me by Tommy Atkins himself. Down there in the bleak desolation of mud and morass, with death hurtling through the grey sky, one is face to face with the Unknown, and the man who in his native town never sets foot in church, turns with gratitude to the chaplain to strengthen him with the comfort of God.... All Protestant creeds are one in the fighting line. If an Anglican minister is not at hand, a Presbyterian speaks a few words, and all of the Protestant denominations work hand andglove.... Only for Holy Communion in the field does he wear his surplice, and usually he invites all, the unconfirmed, or even those of other creeds, to participate, for any minute may mean death out there."

I can bear this out from personal knowledge. There is much less distinction between the denominations in the Army at home than one would expect, but in the "field" they rejoice in the grand old title of Christian, and on occasion each does the other's work.

Every day is a Sunday, so far as the chaplain is concerned. He takes a service when and where he can. He cannot have too many, and the men readily respond to his call.

At the fighting base, however, his most important work lies in the hospital. Here he is sorely needed. The men want him more than they ever did in their lives. And it is his to hear their last words and to tell them of the peace of God.

We must remember that the fighting base is an ever-moving base, moved according to the exigencies at the front, now forward, now back. It is many miles behind the firing line, far from the sound though not the sights of war. Here are Headquarters, where the brains of the Army do their responsible work. To Headquarters comes information from every available source. The telegraph and telephone instruments tick and ring all day long. Motor cyclists bring their store of knowledge, and aeroplanes, most important of all informants, dispense their news.

Here, also, somewhere among the miles that measure the fighting base, are the base hospitals, where the cases that cannot at once be sent to the homeland are received and cared for; and here, also, are soldiers on their way to the front, or those who—retired fromthe trenches—are resting until their turn comes to go back.

It will be seen, therefore, that the term fighting base is a very elastic one. It stands for that wide area behind the advanced lines, where all but the fighting work is done.

Now, let us get among the Christian workers and see what they are doing there.

We are impressed with their magnificent opportunity. The men who have been fighting know what it means. They have looked the king of terrors in the face, and they feel the need of a Saviour as never before. The men who, as yet, have not been to the front cannot escape an indefinable dread, and they, too, are ready for the gospel message. While the wounded—suffering, and maybe drawing near to death—eagerly drink in the words of life.

We will listen to some of the chaplains as they tell their own tale.

We will begin with the Rev. J. Esslemont Adams, of the United Free Church of Scotland. Writing to theRecord, the organ of that church, he begins by emphasizing the splendid character of the men of the Expeditionary Force. He says (November 3, 1914):

"Of 200,000 men forming the Expeditionary Force only 366 are in prison—one man out of every 546. That statement proves the clean character of the force. Of these 366 men in prison we find that the number penalised for yielding to the sins about which Lord Kitchener warned the troops before they left for overseas is (according to the official returns) one man in 5000. Only one man in 5000 is worthy of contempt. The rest are in gaol for reasons which stir not wrath but pity."

This is a remarkable statement, and when we consider the strain that these men have experienced, and the reasons for their failure as given by Mr. Adams—breaking ranks to seize a bunch of fruit, falling asleep on "sentry-go" and the rest,—the wonder is that there have not been many more. We do not wonder that he adds: "British soldiers have a good name and a good character in this country, and it is well that this be placed to their credit by the people of the Christian Church."

Like all the chaplains at the base, Mr. Adams finds his chief opportunity in the hospitals. He says:

"At the base there are nine hospitals, some in public buildings, some in tents out on the plain. Of these nine hospitals, some are filled with British wounded, others with British and French, and the fellow soldiers of both—Turcos, Senegalese, Belgians, Indians. The chaplain's work is principally there, going from ward to ward and tent to tent, talking on all subjects from the war to the Word of God, writing letters, or getting those angels of mercy, the nursing sisters, to write for men too crippled to write.

"As he goes on his way the Padre distributes out of his well-filled haversack gifts which have come from kind-hearted people at home.... A fig, a handful of raisins, a packet of 'Woodbines' (greatest of all luxuries in the opinion of 'Tommies' and 'Jocks'), a box of matches, an old illustrated paper, a little bottle of perfume, or a little bag of perfume for the uneasy and restless. These are some of the contents of the wonderful haversack, and words cannot express the value of the good things. The men look on them as love-tokens from home.

"These men deserve our best care. They are brave in suffering as they have been in service. Their pluck is extraordinary, and the instances I now put down in my note-book prove the assertion.

"In one of the field hospitals there are two men in the same tent, and occupying beds next to each other. One man has had his left leg amputated above the knee, the other his right leg. Both are recovering and are as happy as sand boys. 'Good job, sir,' says one, 'it isn't the same leg with both of us. One pair of boots will do between us when we are allowed to get up.'

"In another tent lies a 'Jock' shot in the back in two places, and with his left arm shattered by shrapnel. He, too, is mending and developing an alarming appetite for theological argument. Pluck, the doctor says, is a miracle-worker here.

"In a third tent is a lad with paralysis, the result of a bullet wound in the region of the spine. He believes he will recover and says he must hurry up, as no other fellow in the regiment can valet the Colonel as he can....

"As a rule the wounded are eager for the chaplain's visit. They want a talk, and very often the talk turns steadily to the thing that counts. Men are not ashamed to discuss religion, and get to the subject often without much man[oe]uvring. That is not surprising. Very many have been in the Valley of the Shadow, and they tell you that they found God there. 'One' was with them—they cannot explain it, but they remember it. And a soldier is a strong partisan. The hard fact is that God was with them, and now they want to tell you what God is to them.

"One lad (he is little more than a boy in years)said to me when he was telling me all about the battle of the Aisne, where he was wounded:

"'I never knew before then what it was to pray. Of course, I had learnt to say my prayers, but I never really prayed till that day at the Aisne. We all went into the battle singing "You made me do it, I didn't want to do it," but when we got in the trenches it was like hell. You should have seen some men dropping on their knees and praying. Why, the whole regiment seemed to be praying. I know I was praying, and somehow I felt better, and I've prayed every night running since.'

"That plain tale is the parable of many an awakening. It is the parable of the soldiers' need and vision and faith. They have seen something, and that something which is responsible for the question they so frequently ask, 'What is it like at home? Are the people at home praying? Are they praying for us doing our bit out here, or are they still going on the old way?'...

"The other day I was acting chaplain at the funeral of a 'Jock,' aged twenty-eight, who leaves a widow and three little children amongst that great company at home weeping for their beloved dead.

"The night before he died I said, 'Good-night, boy, I'll be in to see you early to-morrow morning.'

"The poor fellow knew he might not last till morning; and as I turned away he tried to raise himself and salute, and then he said:

"'Good-night, sir, and God bless you! and if I'm gone, sir, remember I'm all right—all right. Send my love to Janet and the bairns, and tell them I'll be waiting for them.'

"Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. These men are our heroes and God's own children."

Yes, that is the universal testimony—"brave in suffering as they have been brave in service." Grand lads these, and we shall never forget what they have done for us.

My difficulty in this chapter is to select out of the mass of material to hand stories which will best illustrate the work which is being done. Much will necessarily have to be put upon one side.

I will turn next to the Rev. Richard Hall. For many years he had been at the head of the Welcome Soldiers' and Sailors' Home at Chatham, and in this position had done most effective service for the men. The Chatham Wesleyan Central Hall is also his creation, and in it he had led hundreds of sailors and soldiers to Christ. No truer friend of the soldier and no more efficient worker is to be found with the men.

He, too, tells us something of hospital work at the fighting base. I quote from theMethodist Times.

"One night," he says, "as I was going my rounds, my attention was directed to a man who was in delirium. I knelt down to hear what he was saying. His mind was dwelling on his boyish days. He was repeating—

'Hark, hark, hark, while infant voices singLoud hosannas to our King.'

And then he uttered a name—it was the name of 'Peter Thompson.' This man had evidently when a boy attended our East End Mission, and had known Peter Thompson. I buried him in the little cemetery close by.

"It was All Saints' Day, a great festival in France,the time when friends visit the graves of their departed loved ones, and place thereon flowers. It was a beautiful morning, scores of people were there, and by invitation of the Mayor, as many officers from the hospital as could be spared were present also. The funeral service was combined with the celebration. I conducted the funeral first. At the close the Mayor made the speech, a copy of which I enclose.

"'Ladies and Gentlemen,—Often have I been proud to state that many of you have considered it a duty and a patriotic devotion to accompany to their last resting-place the glorious remains of our Allies who have fallen on the field of honour, and to show your fraternal friendship in bringing flowers, a spontaneous testimonial, but ephemeral, which we will confirm later by a commemorative monument, and we shall put it up together on this ground of supreme rest.

"'In the name of the Municipal Council of Boisguillaume, ladies and gentlemen, I thank you one and all.

"'English officers and soldiers,—Be assured we shall never forget here your brothers in arms. The people of Boisguillaume will make it their duty to watch over these glorious remains you trust to their care, and they will regard it as a perpetual honour.

"'When later they bring the younger generation to bow to these graves, they will ask them to remember for ever that the men who rest here have shed their blood for France and England, in union of heart with the civilised nations, in order to fight against the invasion of our land by the barbarian hordes who are desirous of exterminating justice and right, our genius and our civilisation.

"'Glory to you, noble heroes, who for the sake of a sacred cause have sworn to defend France unto death! Carry away with you into eternity this confidence that you will live for ever in the memory of the French, who have at present only one heart, one soul, whose gratitude to you will never fade.

"'Glory to England!

"'Farewell.'"

I have given the Mayor's speech in full, not because such a speech was exceptional, but because it gathers up into itself the sentiments of the French nation, and eloquently expresses the reverence felt for our British dead.

But not only do British soldiers know how to die, but German soldiers also. They are our enemies, but it is a pleasure to record that many of the captured German soldiers have their Bibles with them. Mr. Hall tells of one who died suddenly. His open Bible was found on his bed; and John iii. 16—"For God so loved the world "—were the words he had been reading as he passed into the presence of his Saviour.

Mr. Hall also tells of a graceful act of kindness on the part of the Roman Catholic Archbishop of the Diocese. In company with Father Bradley and the Church of England chaplain, he waited upon the Archbishop to ask permission to hold Protestant services in the small but beautiful Roman Catholic church. The Archbishop received them most kindly and readily gave consent. By the by, Mr. Hall pays a beautiful tribute to that same Roman Catholic chaplain whose tent he shared—Father Bradley. He says: "I never met a more gentle and refined Christian character. His one thought was to serve others, and he cared nothing for his own discomfort as long as he washelping someone else." When they parted—for Father Bradley was the first to go to the front—the Father's last words were, "Hall, don't forget to pray for me, underneath and round about both of us are the Everlasting Arms."

Differing as we do so much from the Roman Catholic Church, it is a pleasure to record this testimony.

The services in the Roman Catholic church were conducted by the Church of England chaplain and Mr. Hall. They were united services, for in face of danger and death all are one in Christ Jesus.

The services were fruitful in results as such services must always be. Not only did large numbers attend, but doubtless the Great Day will declare that many received the pardon of sin.

"Padre, did you see me at the service last night?" asked one young officer of Mr. Hall.

"I did."

"Well, do you know that is the firstvoluntaryservice I ever remember attending, and I have made up my mind that from to-day God shall have the first place in my life?" A fortnight after he said, "I thank God that I have been a new man since that day I spoke to you."

That is it—"a new man." God is making "new men" by the hundred, if not by the thousand, in France and Belgium, and the chaplains are reverently looking on and praising Him.

The Rev. W.H. Sarchet tells quite a different, but not less striking, class of story. It is his privilege to record an old-fashioned "Revival" at the fighting base. Mr. Sarchet has seen much work among soldiers and sailors. For eight years he was Wesleyan chaplain at Gibraltar; for another seven he was chaplain atDevonport; for the last four he has served in the same capacity at Portsmouth, having charge of the Duchess of Albany's Soldiers' and Sailors' Home there, and the services in the Town Hall.

In a letter to the Rev. John Bell, Mr. Sarchet tells the story of this remarkable spiritual movement which has been taking place at the General Hospital, with which he has been serving at the fighting base. I give the story in his own words as printed in the weekly article by the Rev. J.H. Bateson in theMethodist Recorder. Mr. Bateson is Secretary of the Wesleyan Army and Navy Board and Ex-Secretary of the British Army Temperance Association in India. His weekly article is replete with first-hand information, and that and its corresponding article in theMethodist Timesare a gold mine in which students of the war may well dig.

Mr. Sarchet, after referring to the wounded "fresh from the trenches in all their grime and dirt, torn clothes, broken limbs, and ghastly wounds," goes on to say:

"In addition to this really distressing work, I am having some most delightful camp work experiences. Last Sunday week at my second Parade service—my first was at 8A.M.three miles away—I discovered by the very hearty responses in the prayers that there were some out-and-out Christian men present. I asked them if they would like a voluntary service at night. They said they would very much, so we fixed it up for 6.30P.M.We had a delightful service just at setting sun. I think that 'Abide with me,' as that crowd of R.F.A. men, waiting to go up to the fighting line, sang it, never sounded so beautiful.

"At the close of the service, we had an after-meetingby moonlight, and three sought and found Christ. I announced a meeting for Monday night, and so we have gone on right through the week, and there have been seekers every night. At the close of this meeting we enlarge the ring in the centre, and then invite those who have decided to serve Christ to come right out into the ring before their comrades.

"It is beautiful clear moonlight, just like day, and out they come one after another. One never-to-be-forgotten evening we had twenty out. They kneel down and we pray with them, then close the meeting with 'God be with you till we meet again,' and prayer. Then we take the names and talk with the soldiers individually. We have enrolled the names of over eighty men who have come out in this way in the last ten days.

"The meetings are having this good effect—finding the Christian men in the camps around. There are several camps and thousands of men—reinforcements just waiting for orders to move forward. Night and day men are coming and going. A Christian officer too heard us singing and has come and joined us. He has been with us every night when not on duty."

Supplementing this story Mr. Sarchet tells of another series of meetings still proceeding as he wrote. He says:

"A large number of our mounted men have recently gone forward, so this week we started in the infantry camp, which is about three miles away. We had our first open-air service there on October 26. We were only two when we started, but a great crowd before we finished, with eleven men out in the ring seeking Christ. This is grand work. The weather has turnedvery wintry and wet this week, but the Camp Commandant has promised me a store tent for our meetings, so we shall go on."

What wonderful scenes these are when you think of their setting and the men who were the chief actors! As Mr. Bateson says: "In the Nile Expedition, in the South African Campaign, in the frontier work in India, there have been many soldiers who, here and there, have surrendered their lives to Christ, but this 'Revival' in the British Expeditionary Force in France is surely unique in the history of war."

We picture the scene—not a Salvation Army ring in some country town in England, but crowds of khaki clad soldiers, supposed to be trifling, light-hearted, devil-may-care. But here they are out in the open, in full view of hundreds of their comrades, surrounded by great camps, humbly kneeling in penitence at the Throne of Grace, "owning their weakness, their evil behaviour," and pleading "God be merciful to me a sinner." So strangely, yet so powerfully, stands the Cross upon the field of war.

Another beautiful little picture is presented to us by Mr. Sarchet in another letter—a gathering of twenty-six soldier lads on the afternoon of the Lord's Day.

"We had a talk about temptation, and then celebrated Holy Communion. It was all out in the open in a little wooden dell. I had my portable camp table. It was a very gracious and never-to-be-forgotten time, as we knelt there on the grass, with a beautiful clear sky overhead. There seemed absolutely nothing between us and God, and the presence of the Risen Christ was a great reality. Before next Sunday some who were there will be fighting in thetrenches, but they will carry the memory of this soul-hallowing time with them."

BISHOP TAYLOR-SMITH and othersBISHOP TAYLOR-SMITH, CHAPLAIN-GENERAL.ToListRev. E.L. Watson, Senior Baptist Chaplain at the Front.Rev. O.S. Watkins, Senior Wesleyan Chaplain at the Front.Rev. J.M. Simms, D.D., K.H.C., Presbyterian, Principal Chaplain at the Front.Rev. E.G.F. Macpherson, Senior Church of England Chaplain at the Front.

BISHOP TAYLOR-SMITH, CHAPLAIN-GENERAL.ToList

Rev. E.L. Watson, Senior Baptist Chaplain at the Front.Rev. O.S. Watkins, Senior Wesleyan Chaplain at the Front.Rev. J.M. Simms, D.D., K.H.C., Presbyterian, Principal Chaplain at the Front.Rev. E.G.F. Macpherson, Senior Church of England Chaplain at the Front.

Rev. E.L. Watson, Senior Baptist Chaplain at the Front.

Rev. O.S. Watkins, Senior Wesleyan Chaplain at the Front.

Rev. J.M. Simms, D.D., K.H.C., Presbyterian, Principal Chaplain at the Front.

Rev. E.G.F. Macpherson, Senior Church of England Chaplain at the Front.

So out there in France our soldier lads "do this" in memory of Him "until He come."

Before I pass from the record of the directly spiritual work at the fighting base, let me tell the story of a unique confirmation—a confirmation without lawn sleeves. Bishop Taylor-Smith was the chief actor in this strange scene. A Church of England chaplain represented to him, during his visit to the front, that there were some men in hospital, badly wounded, who desired confirmation. The Bishop gladly consented to confirm them. They could not come to him, and so he went to them. But it was not in his bishop's robes he went. He was on military duty and he went in his military uniform as major-general.

There was no attempt to get a congregation. The Bishop was only attended by a chaplain and Scripture reader. He first went to a ward where lay two lads side by side, each with his right leg amputated above the knee. They were simple country lads and they were crippled for life. Their hearts had been won for Christ, and they desired to give their lives to Him. The Bishop spoke words of hope and cheer, and laid his hands upon them. Then he went to another ward where lay a man with a terrible shrapnel wound in his arm. Him also the Bishop confirmed. In the next ward were two men—older men these—who had known agonising pain. Their beds had been brought together, and upon these also the Bishop laid confirming hands. Then he passed to the church where the convalescents who desired confirmation could receive his Church's rite.

A simple record this, but I fancy we shall searchhistory in vain for any other story of a bishop in military uniform administering the rite of confirmation to wounded soldiers.

A word about the Y.M.C.A. work at the fighting base. It is being carried on there much as in England. Wherever possible Camp Homes are being erected, and the work done in them not only keeps the men out of temptation, but is the means in many cases of turning their steps toward Christ and heaven.

Mr. A.K. Yapp (the General Secretary) has recently paid a visit to France and reports most cheerily of the work done there. They have received ready help from both officers and men. In the erection of Queen Mary's Hut, for instance, every consideration has been exhibited. Materials have been carted free of charge, and other important and valuable concessions made, which have proved of the greatest service.

The work by the Y.M.C.A. in the Indian hospitals is exceptionally interesting. Those who are in charge can speak Hindustani, and are able to render many kindnesses to these brave Eastern fighters. They cannot, of course, undertake Christian teaching, but they are able to show the Christian spirit, and the lesson will not be lost on the sick and wounded Indians.

The more we study the work of the Y.M.C.A. for our soldiers in this war, with its branches now grown to nine hundred, the more we shall agree with the statement of a British officer: "You Y.M.C.A. people are marvellous."

And the men—what of the men among whom these chaplains and "Y.M.C.A. people" and others work? "The men," said General Buller in South Africa, "are splendid." That is still the verdict—theuniversal verdict—they aresplendid. Everybody loves Thomas Atkins who knows him; cheerful and kindly, ready to do anyone a good turn, heroic in action, patient in suffering, tender and chivalrous to women, he has set us all an example in this war. And he has done with the greatest ease what some people in this country find it so difficult to accomplish; he has shown us, as I have already indicated, how to fight his enemy and to love him too.

The Rev. Harold J. Chapman, M.A., vouches for the truth of this story told him in artless fashion by the hero of it. A German sniper was in a tree some distance from a small company of our men. He wounded one of our lads, and the pal of the wounded lad, lying not far from him, said, "I'll have to bring that fellow down, or he'll be hittingmenext." So he took aim and fired, and the German sniper dropped from the tree wounded. The ambulance that carried to the rear the wounded British soldier took also the German sniper.

After some days, to their astonishment they found themselves opposite each other in the same compartment of the same train.

"Well, what did you do?" said Mr. Chapman. "Did you hit him?"

"Oh no! why should I hit him? I couldn't speak his 'lingo,' and he couldn't speak mine, so I smiled at him and he smiled back at me. Then I offered him a cigarette, and he offered me one of his, and we were the best of pals all the journey."

That is it, the man who had shot the British soldier, and the man who had been shot by his pal, the best of friends! After all, why should not nations emulate the example of their soldiers?

Aye! They have seen suffering—these men—and they have risen superior to it, and speedily they forget the suffering, but they never forget a kindness shown. As Private Simmons of the 1st Cameronians says: "I have seen hell, for I have seen war, and I have seen heaven, for I have been in hospital."

They are worth all that is being done for them—these splendid fellows—and still they go on singing, the words that Mr. Robert Harkness has recently written for them:

Sometimes the clouds hang heavy and low,Nor can we see each step as we go;No silver lining the cloud doth bestow.Are we down-hearted? No!Bravely we march in the battle of life.Fierce is the conflict, the turmoil, and strife;Fraught with such peril, danger so rife,Are we down-hearted? No! No! No!

Christian Work during the Fighting—A Monotony of Horrors—A Brave "Bad Lad"—Strange Places for Worship—No Apples on his Conscience—Transferred to Flanders—Strangest Spectacle of the War—Lord Roberts in France—At Dead of Night—A Shell Stops a Sermon—The University Student.

Sunday, September 6, 1914, will be a memorable date for British soldiers, for it was the day on which the long and perilous retreat from Mons came to an end, and they once more turned to meet their foe. It was a day of great rejoicing. They were not privileged to join together in the worship of God; instead there was constant marching. But they were advancing now, not retreating, and there was a spring in their tread, and a glad light in their eyes, which showed of what stuff they were made, and pronounced them "ready, aye ready."

As they marched steadily forward, they passed through village after village devastated by the German troops. Stories of barbarism were told them which made them clench their hands and set their teeth. Here and there, however, it was different, and they passed through villages on some of the doors of which was the notice, "Only defenceless women and childrenare here. Do not molest them." It seemed as though when the German troops had their commanding officer with them, and were well under control, they regarded the rules of war; but that when they were detached from the central command and could do more as they liked, then all the savage in them was let loose.

At last the Marne was reached and the battle begun. It is no part of our purpose in this book to describe that and the following battles. Our business is with the Christian work done in connexion with them, and only so far as they help to illustrate the work done have we anything at all to say about the conflicts. For five long days raged the battle of the Marne, from September 6 to 10 inclusive. During it deeds of heroism were performed by the hundred which will never be recorded.

While it continued but little of a specifically religious character could be performed by the chaplains. But they were everywhere—with their men in the front, with the ambulance and stretcher-bearers, bending over the wounded with words of Christian hope, and when the darkness fell, burying the dead. They had the perils of the battle, but none of the excitement of participation.

Take this as a tribute from the Rev. Owen Spencer Watkins to the work of the R.A.M.C. I quote from theMethodist Recorder.

"Then the shrapnel swept the road; the bearers scattered in all directions; for a moment I thought General Rolt and his staff were wiped out, but all reached cover in safety. For myself, I leaned close against the high bank, whilst in the bush just above my head rattled the bullets like rain, and the leavesand twigs fell round me in a shower, but the danger was not for long.

"'Stretcher-bearers!' came the shout down the hill, and Major Richards sprang to his feet and the first squad followed him. My task was for a time to direct the bearers, and I was filled with admiration as the men faced the hillside, and what waited for them in the woods above.

"Remember these were not fighting men who carried arms, and they could take no cover, for they had the stretcher to carry with its suffering load. I never admired the Royal Army Medical Corps as I did that day on the hills above Pisseloup and Montreuil.

"'Next squad!' I would shout, and without the slightest hesitation or sign of fear they would take their stretchers and climb the hill. Now Major Richards was in the road dressing the wounds of those brought in, and working with equal bravery and almost a surgeon's skill, good Sergeant-Major Spowage laboured at his side. Later they were joined by Lieutenant Tasker, R.A.M.C, and still the wounded streamed down the hills above.

"How those doctors and orderlies worked! That day at the cross-roads near Pisseloup, I saw some of the best work done that has ever been accomplished in the field, and none seemed to realise that they were doing anything out of the ordinary."

When night fell, Rev. D.P. Winnifrith and Rev. O.S. Watkins did work similar to that which other chaplains were doing elsewhere on the field. We have their record, but must wait for that of the others. What a picture it is upon which we gaze! Aye, and not only at night, but next day following the advancing British troops.

Here and there is a wounded soldier who has lain for hours in the rain. Their sufferings must have been horrible. And here and there, nay, all around, the dead. They buried them in fields, in gardens, in orchards and vineyards, sometimes singly, sometimes in twos and threes—in one grave two officers and eighteen men. But we draw a curtain over the scene. It will soon become a monotony of horrors. Let us hasten on.

The Marne won, the next line of battle was the Aisne.

Here I pause to relate a little incident variously reported in the papers. I give it as it came to me first, judging that the first report is probably the most correct. It dates from some of the fierce fighting near the banks of the Aisne.

A village was temporarily evacuated by the British under the pressure of German troops. In the hurried retreat six or eight British soldiers were left behind. They took shelter in a cottage, knowing that the Germans were close upon them. There was a hasty council of war. One of them was the "bad lad" of the regiment—a drunken ne'er-do-well. He had his own solution of the problem.

Said he, "I have never been any good. I never shall be any good. Let me go and I will try to save you lads. The Germans are upon us. I can hear them in the street. I will rush out of the house and down the street. They will see me and they will fire. They will never suppose that one would run and not the others. They will not trouble to search, and you will be saved."

His comrades protested and said they would all die together. But there was no time to argue. In amoment he was out of the house and down the street. Shots rang out and the "bad lad" of the regiment fell, pierced by many bullets. It was as he said. The Germans passed the house, and for a moment the rest of that little company were saved.

But the British had received reinforcements. They advanced to the attack again and the village was cleared of Germans. Then the little company came out of their hiding-place, reverently lifted the body of the dead hero who had died for them, and carried it to the rear. They dug a grave and buried him. Over the grave they placed a rough wooden cross, and wrote upon it—"He saved others, himself hewouldnot save."

They hoped, they said, they were not guilty of blasphemy in altering and using the historic words, and we, as we quote them, are quite certain they were not.

The battle of the Aisne was long drawn out, if that can be described as a battle which consisted of many days of fierce fighting culminating in long continued siege warfare in the trenches. During its continuance there was the same individual ministry, the constant hair-breadth escapes of chaplains and doctors—not always, however, for both chaplains and doctors suffered—the same heroic endeavour to ameliorate suffering and to point the dying to the Saviour.

Here and there we get glimpses of brief services held behind the firing line. A brigade at a time would be withdrawn from the trenches and then was the chaplain's opportunity. We read of a Sunday spent among these men who had just been facing death. An early communion, the men kneeling on the straw of a dimly lit barn, a service in the open-air among men ofline regiments and of batteries, a united service in the evening at which the Rev. D.P. Winnifrith read the prayers, Colonel Crawford the lessons, and the Rev. O.S. Watkins gave the address.

We are told of hurriedly arranged services in the evenings—one in a cart-shed lit by two hurricane lamps, in which Church of England and Wesleyan chaplains took part, and Lieutenant Grenfell, R.A.M.C, a Wesleyan local preacher, gave the address. Another in a deep cutting, safe from shell fire, while overhead the guns were booming, but clear above the noise the music of the hymn—"Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine." Another, which Lieutenant Grenfell reports, in a farmyard, amid the neighing of horses and the constant tramp of men.

Strange places these for the worship of God! But with a heart at rest, even amid the strife of battle, the Christian turns to God, and there is a deep longing in the hearts of men who cannot call themselves Christians for the consolations of religion.

Corporal Chappell, invalided home with a bullet in his leg, illustrates this with some touching stories of the battle of the Aisne. As they advanced to the front the road was for some distance lined with orchards. The Colonel issued orders that no apples were to be taken, for, said he, "It would be stealing." One man, however, could not resist the temptation, and when for a few minutes they rested, filled his pockets with apples. In a short time they were in the thick of the battle and shells were falling fast and furious. Out came the apples from the lad's pockets. He flung them as far from him as he could. "There, I will not have you on my conscience, anyhow!" he said.

Another lad close to Chappell said to him: "Chappell, I have a sort of feeling I shall not reach home again. I cannot help thinking of my wife and children."

"Have you thought of your own soul?" asked Chappell.

"There is no time for that," was the reply.

"Oh yes, there is a minute at any rate. Pray, lad, pray! Your wife and children are in God's hands. Pray for pardon now."

And so they two went forward praying. A few minutes and a shell almost annihilated the company, and among the rest the lad who had just been pleading "God be merciful to me a sinner" was killed. Thank God! no one ever prays that prayer in vain.

A few minutes afterwards Corporal Chappell was himself shot in the leg. As best he could he proceeded to hop into safety. Two men of another regiment saw him and carried him to the shelter of a cow-shed and laid him there. It was only some time afterwards that he found that one of the men who had helped to carry him was only less severely wounded than himself. The cow-shed was filthy, the pain severe, he wondered how long he was to lie there alone, and untended.

"Then," said he, "I remembered that my Lord was born in a stable, and I just lay still and went to sleep thinking of Him, and I slept on and on until night fell, and the stretcher-bearers found me and carried me to the rear."

Thus these simple lads help their fellows, preach Christ even in the midst of the battle, and when in sore need themselves, find in the thought of their Saviour comfort and rest and hope.

Then came threatenings in Flanders, and thedaring plan of a German advance on Calais. This necessitated the withdrawal of our troops from the lines of the Aisne to the Yser and their replacement by French troops on the Aisne. The transference of our troops was accomplished with the greatest secrecy and skill. It is doubtful if the Germans were acquainted with the transference until it was accomplished. It is perhaps one of the greatest deeds of the war, and speaks of supreme skill and daring on the part of our commander.

The soldiers took it all in good part. "Over incredibly bad roads, often up to the boot tops in mud, they marched with a swing that would have done credit to a Royal Review on Laffan's Plain, and as they marched they chanted their war-song, 'It's a long, long way to Tipperary.' It seemed hardly possible that for three solid months they had been fighting without a single day's rest. As they crossed the Belgian frontier their spirits rose. 'This is better than the last time we crossed it, isn't it, sir? Then we was on the run, having got more than we wanted at Mons, but now the boot's on the other leg. Now if we could only capture 'Kaiser Bill,' or even 'Old one o'clock' (General von Kluck), we might get home for our Christmas dinners after all.'"

Then followed the battle of Ypres, the bloodiest battle of the winter campaign, and one of the most critical engagements of the war. It was now cold—bitterly cold. Rain and snow—snow and rain! The trenches became almost uninhabitable. Frost-bite among the men became common. Many were invalided to the base suffering from rheumatism. All that could be done for the men was done. Warm goat-skin coats were served out, and the men looked more like TeddyBears than soldiers. Charcoal braziers were sent to the trenches, and, most important of all, the men were well fed.

It was only a thin line to keep back the German hosts. How thin a line no one yet is permitted to tell. But it accomplished its task, and by November 20 reinforcements arrived and the situation for the British was somewhat relieved.

All through the series of battles the chaplains had been busy with their grim work, caring for the wounded and burying the dead.

"Bit of an attack on, sir," said the pioneer sergeant, "but they're firing high, and all the bullets are going well overhead; they don't matter. But there's a sniper who seems to have a line on that grave. It's so dark that it's certain he can't see us, but he seems to have a sort of instinct; as sure as we go near the place he begins firing. There you are, sir; he's at it again. Lucky he ain't a good shot."

But notwithstanding the sniper, the chaplain buried his dead, and then tramped back in the darkness with shells falling all around.

The battles now developed into a sort of siege, and for long drawn-out months the British and German armies faced each other in the trenches. By this time the Indian contingent had arrived and their chaplains with them.

Then we had the strangest spectacle of the war—Roman Catholics, Protestants, Hindus, Mohammedans, in all speaking fifteen different languages, but fighting side by side in a common cause. The fact that, notwithstanding the proclamation by the Sultan of a Holy War, our Indian Mohammedan soldiers stood firm by Old England, was a sign that no longer couldConstantinople be reckoned as the headquarters of Mohammedanism. The Sheik-ul-Islam might sound forth his proclamation in great state, but the princes and soldiers of India, Egypt, and the Sudan heeded not. They knew that under the British flag they had religious liberty, and they were loyal to the core.

It was just before the battle of Ypres commenced that Lord Roberts paid his visit to France. He was over eighty years of age, and it was dangerous in the extreme for him to attempt such a journey at his time of life. But he was most wishful to review his much-loved Indian troops, and they in their turn were anxious to see their "Father," whom they all revered. When the risks at his age were pointed out to him, he replied, "We must do what we consider to be our duty; then we are in God's hands."

It was bitter weather, but he reviewed the Indian troops, caught cold, and died on Saturday, November 14, 1914.

He was the darling of the British Army. When the soldiers knew that "Our Bobs" was coming to their relief in South Africa, their delight was unbounded. They had absolute confidence in him; they would follow him anywhere. And something more—they knew that when they read their Bibles that was what Lord Roberts did—was there not a message from him within the cover?—and when they knelt to pray they knew that that also was what Lord Roberts did. His influence was widespread and was all for good in the Army.

In the eloquent tribute which Earl Curzon paid in the House of Lords to the memory of Earl Roberts, he quoted a letter received from him only a fortnight before.

"We have had family prayers for fifty-five years. Our chief reason is that they bring the household together in a way that nothing else can. It ensures servants and others who may be in the house joining in prayers which, for one reason or other, they may have omitted saying by themselves. Since the war began we usually read a prayer like the enclosed, and when anything important has occurred I tell those present about it. In this way I have found that the servants are taking a great interest in what is going on in France. We have never given any order about prayers. Attendance is quite optional, but, as a rule, all the servants, men and women, come when they hear the bell."

"The man who penned these words," said Lord Curzon, "even to a friend, was not only a great soldier, a patriot, and a statesman; he was also a humble-minded and devout Christian, whose name deserves to live, and will live for ever in the memory of the nation whom he served with such surpassing fidelity to the last hour of a long and glorious life."

The Army bade farewell to the body of the great field-marshal at St. Omer, then the headquarters of the British Expeditionary Force. The route to the Mairie was lined by British and French troops. The coffin, draped with the Union Jack, was placed upon the gun-carriage by eight non-commissioned officers selected from regiments of which he had been colonel. All the British and French courage was represented in the procession. The Prince of Wales represented the King. The Indian chiefs who honoured and loved him were there.

At the service in the Mairie which followed, the Rev. F.I. Anderson, assisted by the Rev. C. Marshalland the Rev. A. Helps, officiated. The service, as was fitting, was very simple. The music was led by a choir of soldiers, accompanied by a harmonium, and the hymns sung were "Now the labourer's task is o'er," and "O God, our help in ages past."

At the conclusion of the service, British bugles sounded the "Last Post." Then the body was reverently borne down the steps and placed in the motor ambulance which was to convey it to Boulogne. As this was done the guard of honour once more sprang to the present, French trumpeters blew a fanfare, and the guns of Lord Roberts' old regiment thundered a salute.

Thus the British Army said farewell to its old chief, and will remember him for ever as a great soldier and a great Christian.

In the fighting round Ypres fell that distinguished British officer, General Hamilton. The record of his funeral will show a great contrast to that of Lord Roberts, but it gives us a weird and pathetic picture of the circumstances under which our chaplains do their work.

While standing on a hillock near the village of La Couteau in the midst of his staff, the commander of our Third Division was struck by a fragment of shrapnel and killed. They buried him "at dead of night," and the whole scene recalls the famous lines on the burial of Sir John Moore.

It was a sad and silent party of distinguished French and British officers which followed the coffin up the winding path to the little churchyard, where the grave had been hastily dug, near the shell-battered church. The only light was that of the electric flash lamp used by the Rev. E.G.F. Macpherson (the senior Churchof England chaplain) to enable him to read the burial service.

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