The Royal Christmas Message—A Christmas Communion—Services Held Anywhere—Carol Singing—The Soldiers' Christmas Day—Christmas in the Trenches—The Unofficial Trace—They did not want to Fight—Strangest Story of All—The Strangest Service.
The Royal Christmas Message—A Christmas Communion—Services Held Anywhere—Carol Singing—The Soldiers' Christmas Day—Christmas in the Trenches—The Unofficial Trace—They did not want to Fight—Strangest Story of All—The Strangest Service.
Christmas 1914 will ever be remembered in this country. The message of peace and goodwill spoken from our pulpits, and yet half the world at war! Christmas carols, Christmas dinners, Christmas presents, and yet our sons out there in the trenches, and our fleet keeping constant watch at sea!
It was indeed a strange Christmas, and yet we could not forgo it, for the Christmas message was needed more than ever before, and the poor and needy and the little children must not be forgotten.
For weeks before Christmas we had been considering what we could do for our sailors and soldiers on Christmas Day. Our King and Queen had been busy sending out Christmas cards to their troops, bearing a Christmas greeting, and the message, reproduced in facsimile from the King's handwriting, "May God protect you, and bring you home safe."
All sorts of organisations had arranged for presents—they were sent from the ends of the earth. Thenewspapers made appeals to their readers, and arranged for the despatch of Christmas hampers and parcels. Nearly every church remembered its own men at the front, and sent kindly greetings and appropriate gifts. We were all thinking of those who were fighting our battles, and we strove to give them a bit of Christmas in the midst of the war. Not that we took any credit to ourselves for this—it was the very least that we could do. They wereofus, and they had gone outfromus. They were our very own, our best and noblest, and they were doing all that men could do. They were laying down their lives for their country—and for us, that we in peace and plenty might quietly spend our Christmas as of yore, "none daring to make us afraid."
And they? What of them? Well, our presents reached them. Not a ship bearing our gifts was lost. They had our presents on Christmas Day. In the trenches, in the rear of the firing line, in hospital and in camp there was the Christmas distribution, and the men looked up and thanked God that they were not forgotten on Christmas Day.
My purpose in this chapter is to tell how that strange Christmas at the front was spent.
Let us first hear our chaplains' stories, and then listen to the men.
Bishop Gwynne of Khartoum is again serving as a Church of England chaplain with our troops. He shall tell, first of all, how he spent his Christmas.
"When I woke early on Christmas Day," says he, "the tiny window in my small room at the farm-house was frosted over, and the rattle of the ammunition waggon on the road sounded like trolleys over an iron way.
"Our first Communion was in the mayor's office (the church was denied us), and was packed to the doors with generals, colonels, and 'Tommies.' We sang 'While shepherds watched their flocks by night.' The celebration of Holy Communion within the booming of the guns, where bodies were being broken and blood shed, brought vividly, as nowhere else on earth, the message and meaning of the sympathy of God in the sufferings of men, and each one was thrilled with the reality of it all, as men of all ranks partook of the Holy Sacrament, and thoughts turned homeward to those who thought and prayed at the same service, convinced of the reality of the Communion of Saints.
"My next service was under the shelter of a haystack along the side of a road, where a congregation of gunners in a semicircle sang the Christmas hymns with real feeling in the keen frosty air. It was too cold to keep them long, but I gave them the Christmas message, and wished them every Christmas blessing.
"A couple of miles further on, I found a congregation of about two hundred and fifty men assembled in the small theatre of a country town. With deep reverence and great heartiness they followed the service. These men were under orders for the trenches, and every word in every prayer seemed so suitable—'Defend us thy humble servants in all assaults of our enemies, that we surely trusting in Thy defence may not fear the power of any adversaries, through the might of Jesus Christ our Lord.'
"As soon as my first lot finished, another lot of two hundred and fifty filled the room for another service. What struck me most was that, though the surroundings were strange, the men showed no moresigns of emotion than if they were keeping Christmas at home. The sounds of artillery every now and then accompanied our prayers, but we all felt we were in our right place.
"I am convinced they envied not the man who sat down in comfort to his Christmas dinner at home; they had no wish to change places with those who, in luxury and ease, chose the easiest part in this time of war. In a few hours they would be in the forefront nearest their country's foe, and that was the place of honour this Christmas Day. Their hearts were warmed as I told them how many were thinking of them and praying for them to-day, but they needed no pity. They were where they would be,—where the bravest and best always want to be,—fronting the enemy who threatened their hearth and home.
"When the last lot went, I prepared for the Holy Communion on the theatre stage, and nearly a hundred came back to receive the Blessed Sacrament—officers, non-commissioned officers, and men kneeling on the muddy floor, remembering, worshipping, receiving into their hearts by faith, the vital power to fight, and, if need be, to suffer and die for the righteous cause. The Cross of Christ seemed to be so real, and its meaning so clear, to men who are really living away from the world's conventionalities, and up against death and the other life.
"On the way back to my billet I found my unit on the road, having orders to move off, and I had to march along with them until dark, when we were all crowded into a farm with outbuildings large enough for our men. We had our goose and plum-pudding at nineP.M., and after a chat round a wood fire, lay down to rest at midnight."
I have ventured to quote Bishop Gwynne's letterin extensofrom theGuardian, as it tells us so delightfully how one chaplain spent his Christmas Day, and how worthily he earned his Christmas dinner. What an insight it gives us also of the power of religion in our British Expeditionary Force!
The Rev. E.R. Day, M.A. one of the senior Church of England chaplains, has a similar story to tell. He says that on Christmas Day there were no fewer than seven hundred communicants from one regiment and four hundred from another, and the service was held in a ploughed field with a packing-case for the Lord's Table. He adds that during the war he has conducted these Communion services in the back room of a public-house, in a stable, in a loft, in a lean-to shed, and in the open air—anywhere where room could be found.
Another Church of England chaplain, writing to theChurch Times, describes an attempt he had made to hold "Early Communion" at 6.30 on Christmas morning. He had done his best, with the assistance of the Army Service Corps, to provide all the accessories of a High Church celebration, candles, &c., but that was a failure—no one came. We are not surprised, for Thomas Atkins, as a rule, does not care for these accessories. He succeeded better, later in the morning, on the straw-littered floor of a soldier's billet. As he quaintly says, "It seemed fitting that as He first came among the straw, He should come to His soldiers to-day as they knelt on the straw."
The Rev. J.D. Coutts, Wesleyan Chaplain with the First Division, describes another service. He says:
"I preached a Christmas sermon, and the men sangas only men can sing when they are having a good time. We went through the whole service in the small red book, the men reciting the responses with enthusiasm. After the service we held a Communion Service. We took Communion in the Town Hall of an old French town, and it will remain in my memory for a long, long time. Two planks on trestles formed our communion table.... An access of solemnity came upon us, and we knew ourselves to be standing in the presence of God. Seldom has it been given me to take part in such a service.
"This morning in going out to visit the regiment at dressing stations, I met a regiment returning from the trenches. There were not a hundred and fifty of them. The rest were put out of action in taking some trenches; they won their trenches, but were enfiladed. I thought of our Communion Service, for not one of the men whom I knew did I see."
I might go on recording many of these Communion services, but these will serve as specimens of similar services held throughout the Expeditionary Force. We at home and they abroad were one in this act of commemoration and communion. We at home thought of them and they of us, and said "Amen" to the prayer contained in the communion hymn, part of which I copy from the United Free Church of ScotlandRecord.
Here with hearts that would be calmIn the lifting of the psalm.Hearts that would in quiet prayerCast on Thee their load of care,—All our loved ones o'er the seaWe remember, Lord, to Thee.In the trenches, on the field,[106]Lord, be Thou their Strength and Shield—And for them the Wine outpour,Give them Bread from out Thy store—Let us feel while here we pray,They are one with us to-day.
Here with hearts that would be calmIn the lifting of the psalm.Hearts that would in quiet prayerCast on Thee their load of care,—All our loved ones o'er the seaWe remember, Lord, to Thee.
In the trenches, on the field,[106]Lord, be Thou their Strength and Shield—And for them the Wine outpour,Give them Bread from out Thy store—Let us feel while here we pray,They are one with us to-day.
The Rev. Owen S. Watkins gives us another picture of Christmas at the front. The 14th Brigade had gone into the trenches, so those who were left sat disconsolately round the fire on Christmas Eve, and one of the number said, "Well, one thing's certain, we shan't hear any carol singers this year," but the words had hardly been spoken, when there came the sound of singing,—"Hark, the herald angels sing," "While shepherds watched their flocks by night," and so on through all the old familiar carols. Some of the musical members of the Ambulance had formed a carol party and proceeded to serenade the General and the others who were in the village. It made them all realise that Christmas was indeed here. Mr. Watkins then proceeds to describe Christmas Day:
"Christmas Day dawned bright and frosty, truly seasonable weather, and welcomed by the troops as far better than the pouring rain. For the chaplains it was a busy day. In the course of the morning Mr. Winnifrith held two celebrations of Holy Communion, conducted two Parade Services in the Brigade, and performed the last sad rites for three men who had been killed during the night. My work was found in the 13th Brigade, who were resting in the billets we had just vacated, and a good deal of my morning was spent in the effort to keep my horse on his feet, for the roads were like glass, and my journey occupied twice as long as I had anticipated. I had arranged for the serviceto be held in the village school, but the congregation was far too large for that, and when I arrived I found they had decided to hold the service in the school-yard, which was packed as close as men could stand with a congregation which swayed and made a noise like thunder as they stamped their feet on the stones to keep them warm.
"On my arrival the stamping ceased, and we at once began the service—Scottish Borderers and Yorkshire Light Infantry most of them were—and in spite of the bitter cold, both officers and men joined in the singing with a zest and heartiness which was most inspiring. My address was of necessity brief, but throughout the service there was that influence which it is the preacher's joy to feel.
"In the afternoon I held a service in the schoolroom of the village where our ambulance was billeted. It was attended by men of all denominations who had been unable to attend any of Mr. Winnifrith's services, and was chiefly composed of our own men and gunners belonging to some heavy batteries in the neighbourhood, some of whom had walked a couple of miles to attend the service. Once again I realised the joy of leading God's people in worship, and felt that, however unusual the surroundings, the true spirit of Christmas was resting upon us.
"In the evening the men feasted, had a singsong, and generally made merry, whilst in the officers' mess we also tried to celebrate Christmas in the old-fashioned way, but soon settled down to the fireside quietly to talk of other days and other scenes, and to think of those who missed us at this festive season."
We have seen how the chaplains spent their Christmas Day. How did the Christian men spendtheirs? Perhaps one picture will suffice. Our old friend Sergeant-Major Moore shall draw it for us. On Christmas Eve he was occupied nearly all day giving out Christmas presents to the men. His regiment had come out of the trenches on the 23rd, and the men were, many of them, in a terrible condition. They had been standing in the water for days and numbers were frost-bitten. But how they appreciated their gifts! It was indeed good to see a cart-load of gifts, all of them sent direct from the homeland to this one Christian sergeant-major for distribution. Christmas Eve was spent in a barn, and as the sergeant-major spoke to the men, at least one soldier gave himself to Christ.
Christmas morning broke fresh and clear, and the staff-sergeant had a splendid menu for the day, provided so far as extras were concerned by friends from the homeland. Breakfast—Tea, sugar, and milk (the last a great luxury), bread, English butter, ham, tinned sausages, and cake. Dinner—Roast-beef, potatoes and cabbage, plum-pudding. Tea—Tea, sugar,milk, bread and butter, ham, honey, sardines, shortbread, Christmas cake, and chocolates afterwards.
Not a bad menu that for men fresh from the trenches! Let it not be supposed, however, that all fared so well. The Rev. A.D. Brown, chaplain with the Indian Cavalry Division, mournfully records: "We spent Christmas Day on the trek. My Christmas dinner consisted of bully beef and bread and butter."
But these men of the King's Own Yorkshire L.I. fared well, and the sergeant-major finishes his characteristic letter by saying: "After tea I had still a few parcels of comforts, chocolates, &c., which you so kindly sent me, and with a few tracts andChristmas letters, I visited the barns to find out those lonely ones who had not received a letter or parcel from the homeland, and before I left for my billet again I had the joy of knowing that, as far as I knew, every lad of the battalion had received a parcel of cheer, and many were the thanks, and 'God bless you, sir,' that night. Yesterday being Sunday we had three services in barns and a few hymns and prayers in a fourth, there not being time for more. It would cheer many a mother to hear her boy out here singing the old gospel hymn she taught him in his childhood days. Again, on the part of the men, thanking you for your splendid gift. Good-day! 494!"
IN THE TRENCHES.IN THE TRENCHES.ToList
IN THE TRENCHES.ToList
It is now time we got nearer the firing line and asked how our soldier lads in the trenches spent their Christmas. It is a strange sight which meets our gaze. I confess that when I first read the stories of that Christmas truce I thought that the reporters were romancing. But there was no romancing after all. Truth is stranger than fiction, and this was truth.
The French do not seem to have observed Christmas Day as did the British. The FrenchEye-witnessrecords: "On Christmas Day the Germans left their trenches shouting 'a two days' truce.' Their ruse did not succeed. All were shot down." It is evident, however, that on some parts of the field there was fraternisation between even the French and the Germans.
The British soldiers took the law into their own hands, and unofficially themselves proclaimed a truce. In some cases the initiative lay with the Germans, and in others with the British; but in nearly every case, all along the line, the informal trucewas accepted, and British and Germans fraternised. The Angels' Song was heard again, this time over the blood-stained trenches, and the bursting of the shrapnel ceased, the whizz of the bullets was heard no more, and, instead, the sound of Christmas carols dominated the firing zone.
The period of this truce varied in different parts of the firing line. One officer states: "The Germans looked upon Christmas Day as a holiday, and never fired a shot, except a few shells in the early morning to wish us a happy Christmas, after which there was perfect peace, and we could hear the Germans singing in their trenches. Later on in the afternoon my attention was called to a large group of men standing up half-way between our trenches and the enemy's, on the right of my trench. So I went out with my sergeant-major to investigate, and actually found a large party of Germans and our people hobnobbing together, although an armistice was strictly against our regulations. The men had taken it upon themselves. I went forward and asked in German what it was all about and if they had an officer there, and I was taken up to their officer, who offered me a cigar. I talked for a short time and then both sides returned to the trenches. It was the strangest sight I have ever seen. The officer and I saluted each other gravely, shook hands, and then went back to shoot at each other. He gave me two cigars, one of which I smoked, and the other I sent home as a souvenir."
Corporal T.B. Watson, Royal Scots (Territorials), says: "We were all standing in the open for about two hours waving to each other and shouting and not one shot was fired from either side. This took place in the forenoon. After dinner we were firingand dodging as hard as ever: one could hardly believe that such a thing had taken place."
Private J. Higham, of the Stalybridge Territorials, tells of a truce that lasted throughout Christmas Day.
"On Christmas Day the Germans never fired a shot, and we were walking about the trenches. In the afternoon about three o'clock the ——, who were on our right, started whistling and shouting to the Germans whose trenches were only four hundred yards away. They asked them to come down.... After about ten minutes two Germans ventured out, and the —— went to meet them. When they met they shook hands with each other, and then other Germans came, and so we went up to them.... I was a bit timid at first, but me and a lad called Starling went up and I shook hands with about sixteen Germans. They gave us cigars and cigarettes and toffee, and they told us they didn't want to fight but they had to.... We were with them about an hour, and everybody was bursting laughing at this incident, and the officers couldn't make head or tail of it. The Germans then went back to their trenches, and we went back to ours, and there was not a single shot fired that day."
"Elsewhere," says a subaltern writing to the Press Association, "I hear our fellows played the Germans at football on Christmas Day. Our own pet enemies remarked that they would like a game, but as the ground in our part is all root crops, and much cut up by ditches, and as, moreover, we had not got a football, we had to call it off."
One incident recorded by theManchester Guardianfrom the letter of an officer is surely the strangest of all—the story of a friendly haircut.
"At elevenP.M.," says the officer, "on December 24, there was absolute peace, bar a little sniping and a few rounds from a machine gun, and then no more. 'The King,' was sung, then you heard 'To-morrow is Christmas; if you don't fight, we won't,' and the answer came back 'All right!' One officer met a Bavarian, smoked a cigarette, and had a talk with him about half-way between the lines. Then a few men fraternised in the same way, and really to-day peace has existed. Men have been talking together, and they had a football match with a bully beef tin, and one man went over and cut a German's hair."
I might multiply these extracts indefinitely, but sufficient has been said to show the spirit in which our lads and the Germans spent Christmas Day. I do not wonder that one soldier, after saying that some German officers took the photographs of our men between the trenches, adds, "I would not have missed the experience of yesterday for the most gorgeous Christmas dinner in England."
If the strangest incident of that strange Christmas Day was the cutting of a German soldier's hair by one of our lads, surely the strangest service was that conducted by the Rev. J. Esslemont Adams, Chaplain of the United Free Church of Scotland, of whom I have already had occasion to write.
I piece the story together from various reports that have been sent to Scotland, and then add Mr. Adams' own brief comments. He is attached to the Gordon Highlanders, and on Christmas morning visited the trenches to wish his men a happy Christmas. The Gordons had recently relieved the Scottish Borderers, and there were several dead bodies of the Borderers lying midway between the British and German trenches,the result of the last charge. Only about a hundred yards separated the trenches.
On Christmas morning some of the Germans astonished the Gordons by appearing on the top of their trenches, but the Gordons did not fire on them, and instead an officer went out to suggest that, as they had a "Padre" with them, and there were also several German dead, they should have a truce for a burial service. It was arranged, and the Germans lined up on one side of the chaplain and the Gordons on the other. The service began with the hymn "The Lord is my Shepherd," and then the "Padre" prayed. After the burial of the dead, of whom there were about a hundred, Mr. Adams gave an address, which was interpreted sentence by sentence by an interpreter sent forward by a German officer.
The service over, the German officer shook hands with Mr. Adams and offered him a cigar. Mr. Adams begged leave not to smoke it, but to keep it as a souvenir of that unique occasion. The officer consented, but said he should like some little memento in return. Hardly knowing what to give, Mr. Adams took off his cap and gave the officer the Soldier's Prayer he had carried in its lining since the war began. The German officer read it, put it in the lining of his helmet, saying, "I value this because I believe what it says, and when the war is over I shall take it out and give it as a keepsake to my youngest child."
Then the men gathered together, exchanged keepsakes, and spent their Christmas in perfect unity. Not a shot was fired that day, nor on the next. It seemed as though each side was reluctant to fire again, after the sacred service of Christmas morning.
During a brief visit home Mr. Adams occupied thepulpit of his own church—the West U.F. Church, Aberdeen. In the course of a sermon full of interest he referred to his strange service on the battle-field. The AberdeenDaily Journalthus reports what he said:
"There had been some weird stories told about Christmas Day. He was not going to deny these stories. He was not even going to deny the cigar incident, but was going to show the cigar. Christmas Day made him understand something of the size of God. The day ended for him with the vision of a great German regiment standing behind their commanding officer bareheaded, and not so far distant as one gallery from the other of that church, British officers with their soldiers bareheaded, and between them a man reading the Twenty-third Psalm. In the name of the One Christ, these two foes, the most awful the world had ever seen, held Christmas. It was the fear of God—the need of God—that did it all."
I have told the story in the simplest language, without any attempt to give it colouring, because it seems to me it speaks for itself. It tells that deep down beneath the uniform, beneath all that makes man true Briton or true German, there is the bond of brotherhood. They were Scotchmen, these Gordons, and I wonder if they thought of the lines of their Scottish poet:
Man to man the warld o'er,Shall brithers be for a' that.
Man to man the warld o'er,Shall brithers be for a' that.
Is it not a grim tragedy that men who can thus fraternise on Christmas Day should a few hours after be sending each other to their death? We look forward to the day, and pray God it may not be far distant, when war shall cease.
Here at home and there on the battle-field, Christian men unite in the prayer:
Not on this land alone,But be God's mercies knownFrom shore to shore:And may the nations seeThat men should brothers be,And form one familyThe wide world o'er.
Not on this land alone,But be God's mercies knownFrom shore to shore:And may the nations seeThat men should brothers be,And form one familyThe wide world o'er.
A Picture in "Punch"—Tommy's Deep-rooted Religion—Courage of Chaplains—A Shell in His Back—Stories of Christian Soldiers—First Clergyman Soldier to Die—Driver Osborne—A Church Parade of Four—"Tell My Wife I am Ready "—Duty overcomes Fear.
A Picture in "Punch"—Tommy's Deep-rooted Religion—Courage of Chaplains—A Shell in His Back—Stories of Christian Soldiers—First Clergyman Soldier to Die—Driver Osborne—A Church Parade of Four—"Tell My Wife I am Ready "—Duty overcomes Fear.
There was a time when men thought that the reckless devil-may-care man made the finest soldier; that the hard drinker, the hard swearer, the riotous liver came out best in a fight. Wellington wrote of his "collection of ruffians" in the Peninsula: "It is impossible to describe to you the irregularities and excesses committed by the troops. We are an excellent army on parade, an excellent one to fight, but we are worse than an enemy in the country." How greatly times have changed since then!
Sir George White once said that recklessness and lawlessness will carry men a certain distance, but when men are half fed, when nights are wet and cold, and when nerves are broken down by shot and shell, then the lawless man disappears. It is when he is called upon to take the place of a comrade shot on a lonely picket that the man who has disciplined himself proves the true soldier.
General Nogi, who commanded the Japanese forcesat Port Arthur, held the same view. His words may well be borne in mind at this time:
"Only he who has conquered himself in time of peace can aspire to be a fighting man under the Sun flag. The brilliant and faithful deeds of the soldier on the battle-field are nothing but the flowering and fruition of the work and training of his daily life in time of peace. A man whose life is in disorder in time of peace would have a rather difficult task if he tried to perform with correctness and success the duties of a true soldier on the field of battle."
If we carry these statements on to their issue, then surely the Christian soldier should fight best of all. He has not only the discipline and training of the Army, but moral discipline and training as well. And he has something more—the spiritual fact which dominates his being and transfigures and transforms him. To him death is not death, he lives and will live, and in the worst of all fiery furnaces there is always with him "the form of the fourth, like unto the Son of God."
Such men as these are unconquerable. They remind us ofPunch'sfamous cartoon, "Unconquerable"; forPunchis not only a humorist, he is a preacher too.
The Kaiser: "So you see—you've lost everything."
The King of the Belgians: "Not my soul!"
The Kaiser has gained his victory and sheathed his sword. Belgium is his; there is nothing in that country left for him to conquer. A ruined building is behind him, on his left is the broken wheel of a gun-carriage. In the distance is a Belgian family—an aged man, a woman, a child. The woman's husband is not there—most likely he is dead.
The King of the Belgians has lost his helmet. His uniform is war-worn, his hair untidy. His scabbard is empty, but he has not parted with his sword. He still grasps it in his strong right hand.
"You have lost everything," says the Kaiser—"Liège, Namur, Brussels, Antwerp." "No, not everything. Not my soul."
But the King of the Belgians was not alone in the claim whichPunchputs into his life. Every Christian man fighting for his country, and many another, wounded, frost-bitten, dying, can answer "Not my soul." You cannot take that from him, it is his own sacred possession, and the consciousness that he possesses it still nerves him to do and dare.
As the Rev. E.R. Day, Church of England chaplain at the front, says: "There were men to whom we might almost kneel down in reverence. The bravery, endurance, heroism, and patience of our men at the front are such that French people could not understand it."
It is not necessary to claim that these qualities are the sole possession of the Christian man. It is, indeed, far otherwise. But the Christian graces produce them best of all. Mr. Day is right when he says, "Though apparently careless and light-hearted, one realised that there was a deep-rooted religion in our soldiers, and that it was indeed a fool's game to judge a man by his outward appearance." It is largely because of that "deep-rooted religion" that the qualities of "bravery, endurance, heroism, and patience" are produced.
We must remember that our Army at the front is made up in no small degree of men from homes in which God is honoured, many of them oldSunday-school boys. They have been trained in religion, they have been taught to pray. Some have forgotten much that they were taught, but they have not forgotten the old hymns and prayers, and in their time of need that "deep-rooted" religious instinct has asserted itself. As one of them said to me, "I grew too old for Sunday-school, and I wandered far away from God. For years I never prayed; but in the battle of the Marne I began to pray again, and I have kept on praying. I tell you what it is, sir, most men out there are praying now." Yes, there is felt the need for God and so there is prayer. My point is that, all things being equal, the man who prays is the best soldier, because he possesses spiritual power as well as material.
THE BISHOP OF LONDONCentral News Photo.THE BISHOP OF LONDON AT THE FRONT AT EASTER.Addressing men of the Army Service Corps from a transport cartToList
Central News Photo.
THE BISHOP OF LONDON AT THE FRONT AT EASTER.Addressing men of the Army Service Corps from a transport cartToList
I purpose therefore telling in this chapter of the heroism of the men who pray, while at the same time I do not overlook the heroism of the Army as a whole. My purpose will be answered if I convince my readers that, instead of religion impairing the courage of our soldiers, it is increased and intensified thereby.
May I first speak of the courage of our chaplains? Not every one expects a "parson" to be brave. The pulpit has been spoken of by the ill-informed as "The Coward's Castle," but hundreds of these parsons have been transferred to the forefront of the fight. As I write this, many of them are already fighting in the ranks, and many more will soon be there.
But the chaplain is not a fighting man. Not a shot does he fire, not a bayonet thrust does he give. He sees the shot and shell bursting round him, but he has not the stimulus of the fight. How have they borne themselves—these men who have been transferred from the pulpit to the battle-field? Two hundredof them are there. Has there been one lacking in courage? I doubt it. The stories I have already told are stories of conspicuous bravery. Let me add one or two more.
I have already mentioned the name of the Rev. Percy Wyndham Guinness, Church of England chaplain, 3rd Cavalry Brigade. He has been appointed by the King a Companion of the Distinguished Service Order, in recognition of his services with the Expeditionary Force. The official statement is: "On the 5th November at Kruistraat when Major Dixon, 16th Lancers, was mortally wounded, he went on his own initiative into the trenches under heavy fire and brought him to the ambulance, and on the afternoon of the same day, being the only individual with a horse in the shelled area, took a message under heavy fire from the 4th Hussars to the headquarters of the 3rd Cavalry Brigade."
That is the bare official statement, but it is enough. We may read between the lines bravery pre-eminent, and right worthily does he wear the D.S.O.
"T.P.'s"Great Deeds of the Great Wartells another story. "Some of the ministers at the front are doing great deeds of sacrifice. As I was coming away from the hospital, I met one of them accompanied by a corporal. The minister stopped and inquired from me the way to the hospital. Naturally enough, I asked the corporal what was the matter with him. Before I could get the words out of my mouth, the minister turned round,—and I don't think I could describe the admiration I had for that man. He had walked about a mile and a half with a great lump of shell in his back, the size of a man's hand." That was endurance if you like, and it was the endurance of a Padre.
I cannot better sum up the heroism of the chaplains at the front than in the words of Field-Marshal Sir John French in his despatch published on February 17, 1915. "In a quiet and unostentatious manner the chaplains of all denominations have worked with devotion and energy in their respective spheres. The number with the forces in the field at the commencement of the war was comparatively small, but towards the end of last year, the Rev. J.M. Simms, D.D., K.H.C, principal chaplain, assisted by his secretary, the Rev. W. Drury, reorganised the branch, and placed the spiritual welfare of the soldiers on a more satisfactory footing. It is hoped that a further increase of personnel may be found possible. I cannot speak too highly of the devoted manner in which all chaplains, whether with troops in the trenches, or in attendance on the sick and wounded in casualty clearing stations and hospitals on the line of communications, have worked throughout the campaign."
The day after this statement was published came the despatches mentioning the names of those noted for distinguished conduct in the field, and in this—the second list—we find the names of no fewer than sixteen chaplains, while the Hon. and Rev. Maurice Peel (brother of Lord Peel) has received the new Military Cross.
The stories, however, that I most want to tell are the stories of the soldiers, officers and men. They were all alike, but my stories are confined to the definitely Christian soldiers. Their spirit is indicated in the following letter from Captain Norman Leslie of the Rifle Brigade, who has since died for his country.
"Try not to worry too much about the war, anyway. Units, individuals cannot count. Remember we arewriting a new page of history. Future generations cannot be allowed to read the decline of the British Empire and attribute it to us. We live our little lives and die. To some are given chances of proving themselves men and to others no chance comes. Whatever our individual faults, virtues, or qualities may be it matters not, but when we are up against big things let us forget individuals, and let us act as one great British unit, united and fearless. It is better far to go out with honour than survive with shame."
That is the true spirit of the Christian soldier—"Better far to go out with honour than survive with shame."
But again I am oppressed with a superabundance of riches. The stories of Christian heroism which could be told would fill this book. The Church's Roll of Honour lengthens rapidly. I choose at random.
There is, for example, Captain James Fergus Mackain, 34th Sikh Pioneers, a zealous member of the Church of England Men's Society, and before the war Honorary Secretary of its Union in the diocese of Lahore. "Always bright and hopeful, brave and zealous, ever ready to help anyone in any way he could, and yet so humble and retiring that it was always his beautiful Christian character rather than himself that seemed to stand forward. The quality of his handshake won all hearts, and even now one seems to feel his vigorous grasp so characteristic of his thoroughness. A great gentle plaything with the children, a pacifying, controlling influence with boys and lads, a quiet sure leadership with men, is it any wonder that such a man was loved and honoured?" He, too, laid down his life for his country.
There was Lieutenant David Scott Dodgson, R.G.A.,who was killed in action ten days before his thirtieth birthday. Since his death his promotion to a captaincy had been gazetted. He was laying out a telephone cable for the battery—a particularly dangerous and important piece of work—and while doing so was shot. His father served through the Indian Mutiny and saved the life of Havelock at Lucknow. Like father, like son.
There was Second Lieutenant H. Arnold Hosegood, 5th Royal Fusiliers, who was killed in action near Ypres on February 24. A fine upstanding man, six feet three inches in height, a daring rider, a good shot. "Generous, chivalrous, and modest, he had a great gift of friendliness." Before the war he was for a time Superintendent of the Westbury Park Wesleyan Sunday-school, Bristol, and Secretary of the Trinity Guild. He was only twenty-three years of age.
There was Private Paul Holman of the H.A.C. He was killed while on sentry duty on February 17. A comrade writes: "His first thought was evidently that he must warn the guard; this he did, becoming unconscious immediately afterwards." His colonel says of him: "He was a splendid type of young Englishman and a fine soldier, greatly beloved by us all—officers and men." He had just begun to practise as a barrister before the war broke out.
There were Second Lieutenant J.C. Baptist Crozier, Royal Munster Fusiliers, nephew of the Archbishop of Armagh, and Captain L.A.F. Cane, East Lancashire Regiment, who died leading his men to capture a trench, and Lieutenant Compton, Royal Scots Greys, son of the late Lord Alwyne Compton, and scores of other officers, of whom we may say as was said of those of old, "Who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouthsof lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, from weakness were made strong, waxed mighty in war, turned to flight armies of aliens."
We expect, however, that officers will set an example of bravery to their men, and though we mourn the large percentage of officers who have fallen in the field, we would not have it otherwise. It is the tradition of the Army, and a noble tradition too.
Perhaps this is the place to record the death of the first clergyman-soldier who has been killed in this war. The combination of minister of the Gospel and soldier of the line is so remarkable that the death of the first of these marks an epoch in the Church's history.
Captain Lionel Fairfax Studd, of the Rangers, 12th County of London Regiment, died of wounds received in action on February 14, 1915. He was the son of Mr. J.E.K. Studd, of the Polytechnic, and nephew of Mr. C.T. Studd. He had been ordained by the Bishop of London to a curacy at St. James, Holloway, at Trinity, 1914. But, on the outbreak of war, he felt it to be his duty, after very grave reflection, to take his place with his old regiment. Devoted to Christ, he was devoted also to his country.
The deeds, however, upon which I wish to dwell in this chapter are the deeds of Christian non-commissioned officers and men. I must choose with care, and the stories I tell will, I hope, show different phases of Christian courage.
Let me first tell how Driver F.A. Osborne won the French V.C. For years Driver Osborne has been associated with the Wesley Hall Brotherhood, Leicester, and although now on the field still counts himself a member.
I quote from theMethodist Times.
"The story has been slowly imparted to us. In September the gloom of the long and terrible retreat from Mons was lifted by the announcement of the capture of ten German guns by the English. Then fugitive paragraphs made reference to three men who had fought alone, wounded, but undaunted. Only now can the whole story be pieced together, and it is a veritable romance—tragic, heroic, glorious.
"It was on September 1, 1914, in a village near Compiègne, that the L Battery of six guns limbered up on reveille at 2.30, waiting for a missing order to retire. The French cavalry they were supporting retired unnoticed in the mist, and at 4.25, as the light grew, the Germans were perceived, but were thought to be the French. At 4.57 their battery of eleven guns and two maxims opened fire. The first shell killed Driver Osborne's horse, and in three minutes the gun teams were destroyed, only six horses being left.
"Men fell in droves, but Captain Bradbury and the men available strove to unlimber the guns, and in five minutes three were ready for action. One was instantly disabled by a German shell, and Driver Osborne was thrice wounded. A shrapnel bullet deeply grazed his cheek, another caught his shoulder, a third grazed his ribs and inflicted a nasty chest wound. The second gun was shattered in ten minutes, and then for another hour and a quarter one gun fought the German battery. It was an inferno. The screaming dying horses, the shattered groaning men, the shells in hundreds digging holes of four to five feet deep, and shrapnel bullets by thousands searching the ground made it a Gehenna.
"Men fell fast. The officers were killed or wounded, but the one gun fought on. Driver Osborne, thricewounded, fetched the ammunition from fifty yards away amidst showers of shrapnel. One shell dropped within six feet, but did not burst; another hit a gun muzzle, but the fragments missed him. He was running behind a shattered gun for ammunition when a shell hit the wheel, and the concussion of the broken wheel knocked his knee up, and he could go no more. An officer started for ammunition instead and was instantly killed.
"Osborne holds Captain Bradbury in high honour. 'He was a hero and a gentleman.' His courage, promptitude, and resource inspired his men. One by one the German guns were hit, shattered, silenced, and their gunners fell, under the terrible accuracy of that one British gun. Ten guns ceased fire, and the Germans fled from the other. The Middlesex Regiment of infantry arrived at this point and found three men wounded, covered with blood from horses and men, but working their one gun with their ebbing strength.
"Dashing forward, they captured the German guns, brought out the English battery and rescued the wounded men. The three men, with their fallen comrades, had saved the battery, destroyed the German attack, saved the village beyond, and secured the English rear."
For this splendid service Driver Osborne was rewarded with the Médaille Militaire for distinguished conduct. This is the French V.C. It is equivalent to the Legion of Honour in France, and carries with it a pension of a hundred francs a year.
Driver Osborne was also recommended for the British V.C., but it does not yet appear to have been given.
The first Wesleyan soldier in this war to receivethe V.C. was Bandsman Thomas Edward Rendle, 1st Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry. The reward was, according to the official notification, conferred—
"For conspicuous bravery on November 20, near Wulverghem, when he attended to the wounded under very heavy shell and rifle fire, and rescued men from the trenches in which they had been buried by the blowing in of the parapets by the fire of the enemy's howitzers."
Still another story of Christian heroism, the hero of this being a member of the Salvation Army. I quote from theWar Cryof October 17, 1914.
"Jumping into a carriage of an already moving train the other day (writes aWar Cryrepresentative) I was seized by a soldier in war-stained khaki, who gave me a tight hand-grip and said, 'Good luck to you! God bless you and your people!'
"'I'm afraid I don't know you,' I replied.
"'Perhaps not,' he responded, 'but I know some of your people, and the one I met in the firing line was one of the pluckiest fellows I know of. We had been lying in the trenches firing for all we were worth. On my right, shoulder to shoulder, were two Salvationists. I remembered them as having held a meeting with some of us chaps about a week before. As we lay there with the bullets whistling round us these two were the coolest of the whole cool lot!
"'After we had been fighting some time we had orders to fall back, and as we were getting away from the trenches one of the Salvationists was hit and fell. His chum didn't miss him until we had gone several hundred yards, and then he says, "Where's ——?" calling him by name. "I must go back and fetch him!" and off he hurried, braving the hail of shot andshell. I admired his bravery so much that I offered to go with him, but he said, "No, the Lord will protect me; I'll manage it!"
"'So I threw myself on the ground and waited. I saw him creep along for some yards, then run to cover; creep along, and take shelter again; and, finally, having found his chum, he picked him up and made a dash for safety.
"'How the bullets fell around him! Into the shelter of some trees he went; out again and in once more; and when he did get into the last piece of clearing I couldn't wait any longer, so rushed forward to help him.
"'Then I got hit, and was, of course, bowled over. But your man quickly came to me.
"'What do you think the brave fellow did? He just put his other arm round me and carried us both off! Darkness was fast coming on, and presently he laid us down and bound the wounds, which he bandaged up with strips which he tore from his shirt. I shall never forget that terrible night!
"'The three of us struggled on, we two getting weaker and weaker, until just as dawn was breaking we all collapsed.
"'How far we had gone I don't know, for the next I remember was that I was in a field hospital. I could find no trace of my brave rescuer nor his chum, and have heard nothing of them since. But he's a brave boy, and if ever I chance to meet him again I'll ask his name, and theWar Cryshall know it as soon as word can reach you.'"
The next story is one altogether different. I quote it from the United Free Church of ScotlandRecord. It speaks for itself.
"It was a Sunday morning in Belgium. There had been a sharp engagement, and the British troops holding a village had been hurriedly forced by great masses of the enemy to retire. In the confusion three Scottish privates and a corporal had been cut off in the streets and had backed into the first open door they came to. The occupants had fled, and they made their way up a long staircase, intending to find the roof and watch events from there. But it ended in an empty loft, where there was only a skylight beyond their reach.
"'Better lie low for a while,' suggested the corporal as they stood listening to the terrible sounds outside. The Germans were evidently burning, looting, and killing. Now and again they heard screams and the discharge of rifles: sometimes an explosion would shake the building, showing that houses were being blown up; while the smell of burning wood penetrated to their retreat. This went on for hours. The soldiers knew they would be discovered sooner or later, and expected no mercy, as the enemy would be sure to invent some excuse for putting them to death.
"Suddenly the corporal said: 'Lads, it's time for church parade: let's hae a wee bit service here; it may be oor last.' The soldiers looked a little astonished, but they piled their rifles in a corner and came and stood at attention. The corporal took out a small Testament from his breast pocket and turned over the pages.
"'Canna we sing something first? Try ye're hand at the 23rd Psalm. Quiet noo—very quiet.'