With our Fighting Men Part 10

"In the trenches," he replied, "I made up my mind that the very first chance I had I'd come. You see, I was fighting next to a Salvationist.

One morning he was. .h.i.t and fell fatally wounded. I knelt beside him in the trench and asked if I could do anything for him.

"'Yes,' he said. 'In my pocket there is the address of my father and mother; if you live to get home, tell them how I died, and tell them that religion was good for me away from home in the trenches, and death has no terror for me.'

"I said, 'Yes, I'll tell them.'

"Then he opened his eyes and pulled me down. 'Supposing a shot came for you next,' he said, 'how would it be for you?' And although he only lived five minutes longer, he talked to me all that five minutes about my soul, trying to get me converted.

"Then he closed his eyes and died."

Yet another Salvation Army story. It is told in the _War Cry_ by "Leaguer" John Coombs of the 1st Gloucester Regiment:

"The battle of ---- was in progress, and our trenches were being raked by the enemy's fire. We were expecting any moment to be told that the German guns would have to be silenced, and presently along the line came the order 'Charge!' We scrambled into the open and rushed forward, met by a perfect hail of bullets. Many of our men bit the dust, but we who remained came to grips with the enemy. I cannot write of what happened then. The killing of men is a ghastly business!

"On the way back to the trenches I saw a poor German soldier trying to get to his water-bottle. He was in a fearful condition. I knelt down by his side. Finding his own water-bottle was empty, I gave him water from mine. Somewhat revived, he opened his eyes and saw my Salvation Army Leaguer's b.u.t.ton.

"His drawn face lit up with a smile, and he whispered in broken English: 'Salvation Army? I also am a Salvation Soldier.' Then he felt for his Army badge. It was still pinned to his coat, though bespattered with blood.

"I think we both shed a few tears, and then I picked up his poor, broken body, and with as much tenderness as possible, for the terrible hail of death was beginning again, I carried him to the ambulance. But he was beyond human aid. When I placed him on the waggon he gave a gentle tug at my coat; thinking he wanted to say something, I bent low and listened, and he whispered: 'Jesus, safe with Jesus!'"

Sergeant-Major J. Moore, King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, tells us that he had often spoken to one non-commissioned officer on the claims of Christ. Three days ago, he says, he was walking from his company officer's trench to another part of the company, when a bullet struck through his greatcoat at the right arm, pa.s.sed through his right service dress pocket, then over his heart, and out through his left pocket. He was not touched himself, but as he dropped into the trench a little bit stunned, and saw how near he had been to death, he then and there lifted up his heart to the Lord, thanked Him, and gave his life to Him.

Sergeant-Major Moore tells another story of a lad brought up in a Sunday-school. He had had the best mother in the world, he said, but she was dead. He was sure she had gone to heaven. "Four days ago,"

says the sergeant-major, "his home-call came. Inside his war pay-book was found an envelope from his wife, and he had written the following while in the trenches:

Jesus! the name that charms _my_ fears, That bids _my_ sorrows cease; 'Tis music in the sinner's ears, 'Tis life, and health, and peace.

He breaks the power of cancelled sin, He sets the prisoners free; His blood can make the foulest clean, His blood _avails_ for _me_.

That was the last he was known to write."

Sunday-school teachers may take heart of cheer. The work that they were tempted to think was thrown away is taking root and bearing fruit in the trenches.

Another sergeant-major writes:

"We are not able to meet so well, owing to the scattered condition of the battalions. But we have managed, when things are a bit quiet, to steal from the trenches this week, and hold prayer, praise, and testimony meetings, and it would have done your heart good to hear the dear brothers testify to the saving and keeping power of our adorable Saviour, and every one felt drawn nearer to each other, and to G.o.d."

What does a charge from the trenches feel like to a Christian "Tommy"

who is taking part in it? Listen to this:

"We were in the trenches the whole time. Sometimes we had burning sun, at others pouring rain, and at nights heavy dews soaked you. At the end the order came to fix bayonets for a charge; then I just put my hand over my eyes--so--and asked G.o.d to help me to do my duty like a man. We rose up and ran forward a little way, and then fell flat while the bullets and shrapnel flew over us like hail; then on again. We hadn't advanced very far before their artillery was cutting us up badly. Our adjutant and the two mates either side of me were shot dead. Then I was. .h.i.t in the leg. It made me go right silly like, and I didn't know where I was for a bit. When I came to my mates had gone, so I crawled away as far as I could. I didn't want them Germans to get at me, sir.

"Thank you, sir; I'm just fine now. Doctor says I'm doing marvellous.

It's through living a straight life, 'e says. There's nothing like keepin' respectable. As you say, sir, the Lord heard my prayer, and He must have spared me for a purpose. I hope to be back again soon, and give 'em some more socks."

And now it is time that we retired from the trenches and saw these men when they come out. We will not retire far, but just far enough to the rear to see the men as they retire, and watch others who are just going in.

Here is one who has got a trench to dig, and it strikes me as a very quaint ending to a quaint letter. He has told us in the letter of a comrade of his who, when wounded in the foot by a shrapnel sh.e.l.l, exclaimed, "Never mind; thank G.o.d, I still have one left." And he concludes by saying, "I could still go on relating my experiences, but I am just about to dig another trench, so I will close now with 1 Peter i. 5, 'Who are kept by the power of G.o.d through faith unto salvation.'"

Evidently he was thinking of divine things all the time, and as he dug his trench he might truly sing--

My hands are but engaged below, My heart is still with Thee.

See them as they come out of the trenches! Some of them during the terrible weather about Christmas time had literally to be dragged out by their comrades, for they stuck fast in the mud.

Talk about arctic or antarctic regions! In those regions explorers can at any rate move forward or move back, but to the men in the trenches during the worst of the weather there has been no possibility of movement. They could not even drag one leg out and put it down again.

Many of them beat their feet with their muskets, or anything that came to hand, to keep _some_ life in them.

But their relief time has come. Look at them, caked with mud, unshaved and haggard. A few days in the trenches makes old men of them. March!

How can they march? They just shuffle along as best they may, comrade helping comrade.

But actually baths have been provided; and while a good hot bath is being enjoyed, their clothes are cleaned and sterilised, and then a hot meal and a good sleep, and you would hardly believe these were the same men. But they have never been down-hearted--not they. They have "kept smiling," as they are so fond of saying.

[Ill.u.s.tration: COMFORTING A DYING GERMAN.

When "Tommy" asked what he could do for his late antagonist, the latter replied, "Nothing, unless you would be so good as to hold my hand until all is over."

_Drawn by F. Matania._]

What stories they have of their experiences. Here is one who writes to the Rev. J.H. Bateson:

"I want you to praise and thank G.o.d with me for sparing my life last Thursday, when I had a narrow escape from death. The enemy started to sh.e.l.l our trenches at 3 P.M. and continued until dark. One sh.e.l.l burst just outside the trench which I occupied with my section, blowing the trench right in and burying me in earth and mud. I was fast suffocating when G.o.d heard my prayer, and sent a corporal and private of my company who dug me out alive. Four of my section were buried up to the hips, but, praise G.o.d, they also were got out safely. Further along a sh.e.l.l burst right in the trench, blowing two men out of the trench, who were killed on the spot; a third was buried alive; a fourth was stunned and wandered out in front of the trench, and was shot through the head by the enemy and killed. We have had twenty-five days in the firing line out of the thirty days of November."

This soldier goes on to say that, when at last relieved from the trenches, he had held services in barns with some of his comrades, and had even been called upon to bury the dead. He closes his letter with the verse:

All the way my Saviour leads me; What have I to ask beside?

Can I doubt His tender mercy, Who through life has been my Guide?

Heavenly peace, divinest comfort, Here by faith in Him to dwell!

For I _know_, whate'er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well.

Mr. Bateson sends to the _Methodist Times_ a letter which he received from a Christian sergeant at the front in January 1915. I quote it in full because it describes in such vivid detail the experiences of a Christian soldier in the trenches and during the charge. Only by listening to the men themselves can we fully realise what Christ is to the soldier, and how gloriously he is sustained in the most trying times.

"We are having some good times in serving the Master, both in the trenches and during rest periods in billets. It matters not where we are--we can still laugh and sing the praises of Him Who died that we might live. During the retirement, at the commencement of the campaign, when fatigued to the utmost, when drowsing or at least stumbling along as best I could, halts were given, and officers, non-commissioned officers and men simply fell down exhausted, you could notice here and there some kneeling in prayer. I have done the same, and after a few minutes in silent prayer, thanking our beloved Saviour for preserving us, I have gone off sound asleep, and have awakened and gone on again. Then with fresh vigour and a determined effort have managed to pa.s.s up and down the ranks under my command, to speak a few encouraging words and turn their thoughts heavenwards. At rest intervals I have managed to get one or two together for a Christian song and prayer, thank G.o.d for keeping us so well, and ask for strength to endure it all.

"Now, again, we are in the trenches. It is Sunday morning, my thoughts are of all in the Homeland, and more so about Him Who died for us, and as I think of it all out comes my Bible, and those who are near join in listening to a pa.s.sage of Scripture; then a few words of prayer, then a chorus or two that we all know. We sing as heartily as if we were at home in our churches. Then over comes 'Jack Johnson.' For a time all is silent, excepting that lips are moving in fervent prayer--not through fear, but with thankfulness and praise. Glory!

Glory!

"Another time we are in a different part of the country, and called upon to go into the attack. As we go, not seeing any danger, suddenly over us bursts a shrapnel and sh.e.l.ls of the 'Jack Johnson' type, ploughing up the ground, and comrades fall. Some are killed outright; others are severely wounded. I rush here and there to a.s.sist with a handshake or a 'G.o.d bless you.' I pa.s.s on to lead those left, and then right into the thickest of the fray with heavy rifle and machine-gun fire. But nothing daunts the British soldier, and on we press until at last the enemy turns and runs in fear. Then we thank G.o.d for all His goodness in protecting and sparing us, and on we go, administering to the wounded and those whose life is fast ebbing away, and in a few words get the a.s.surance that they hear the Saviour's welcome voice. I have felt Him so near at such times as these. Tears of joy and gladness--maybe of sorrow--well from the eyes. Jehovah is present, and after the busy day is done and the shades of night are falling, I again pursue my duties, collecting here and there a few men to establish a firing line and join up the gap between our regiment and those on the right. We start to work to dig ourselves in. When all is complete, we kneel reverently with a heart full of praise and thanks for being enabled to accomplish a little more for King and country, and, above all, to do something for others by grace and strength from on high.

"One day we had just finished trenching in a wood; it was Sunday afternoon. All was complete. I had been reading to four others in my 'dug-out,' and prayed. We were holding a short service. I had just finished speaking, and we were heartily singing that beautiful hymn, 'All hail the power of Jesu's Name,' and had got through the third verse, when we were suddenly called to man our rifles, as the sentry had seen the enemy approaching and given us the warning. Over us scream harmlessly the big sh.e.l.ls; some fall in front, some behind.

Over comes the shrapnel and bursts over us; then the spurt of rifle-fire begins. But the beauty of it is we are not troubled with fear at all--who could be in the presence of the Master?--but go on singing the chorus 'Crown Him' right on to the finish, although the enemy is only 150 or 200 yards away."

"The beauty of it is we are not troubled with fear at all--who could be in the presence of the Master?" That sentence seems to sum up the situation. Christ is there and He is all-sufficient. Strong in His strength the Christian soldier goes anywhere and faces anything. How grandly old "Diadem" would sound as these Christian soldiers sang it in the battle charge--"And crown Him, crown Him Lord of all." There was nothing in the situation incongruous to them. They did not think of the Germans--only of their Lord and Saviour. And so they went right on. Some of them were sure to fall, but they did not think of that.

The fact of Christ dominated them. Every other idea was "a grand impertinence." He was with them here, and He would be with them--yonder.

Sergeant-Major Moore gives us a picture of the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry. Writing to Mr. Bateson on December 17, he says:

"Last Tuesday, that is a week ago, they went into the trenches when it was pouring with rain. They were wet through to the skin, and then had to enter trenches where the water was in the majority of cases up to the knee, and in some as high as the waist. On being relieved some had to be lifted up with drag ropes, and then they had to be helped to walk. Others, after taking their boots off, were unable to put them on again, and I saw several who could not walk at all.

"I was able to have a few quiet talks with some of the young men and older ones, who during the past month have surrendered to the claims of Jesus. Their bright faces told very plainly that they have found the pearl of great price, and can say, 'What a friend I have in Jesus.'"