With our Fighting Men Part 11

What a picture!--weary and worn, but not sad. Having to be dragged out of the trenches, unable to walk, and yet with "bright faces." It reminds us of what the Rev. R. Winboult Harding says of a wounded man in hospital at Cambridge: "He is of the Coldstreams and the Glory Room. He has ten shrapnel wounds in his legs, but he has heaven in his face."

Now was the time for services. And if no chaplain were available, the men held meetings themselves.

Writes one, a corporal, to his chaplain: "I thank you for your letter, also for the books for the little services which I hold amongst my comrades when out of the trenches, and in billets, which is not often the case, I am sorry to say. However, if our meetings are not frequent, I praise G.o.d my prayers for my comrades are being daily offered for them, in and out of the trenches, and on the march. What a privilege to carry everything to G.o.d in prayer! Now it is Sunday night, the 20th, and I have just held a nice service among my comrades, who greatly enjoyed the singing and also the address. We came out of the trenches last night, and go in again on Monday, so far as we know."

After one such little service as these a corporal said to his lads before they lay down to sleep: "If any of you want to lead a Christian life, do so; I will see that no one interferes with you." Next day that corporal was killed.

And now was the opportunity of the chaplains. In the trenches they could only set an example of patient courage to the men and cheer them with words of faith and hope and love. But now they could get among them, hold services for them, and this they did incessantly. Chaplains of all denominations were thus engaged. We read of many united services,--a Church of England chaplain reading the prayers, the colonel of the regiment the lessons, and the Wesleyan chaplain giving the address, or vice versa. As the Rev. E.L. Watson (Baptist chaplain) says: "In the rush of work a chaplain has little time to inquire _re_ denomination; he gives his help where most needed; he comes as a brother man and affords G.o.d's own consolation." The Psalmist said, "I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever." To him all life was sacred, every place the House of the Lord. It is the same at the front to-day, every place sacred--trenches, farmyards, cellars, aye, even pig-sties--the House of the Lord.

Lieutenant Grenfell, R.A.M.C, describes one such service where Mr.

Watkins preached his sermon from the door of a pig-sty, while a number of young porkers slept within. The men illuminated the scene with the light from an acetylene operating lamp, and so were able to have a good sing. Those were tender moments. The pigs were forgotten, everything was forgotten but the presence of G.o.d, and, wearied but not discouraged, they were able to say, "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."

Here, too, was the opportunity of showing kindness to one's enemy, which Tommy is always ready to show. Many a trembling German fallen into the hands of the British, terrified because of the frightful stories he has been told of British cruelty to prisoners, has been cheered by the kindly words and acts of British soldiers.

A young officer writing to the _Times_ says: "We are out to kill, and kill we do at any and every opportunity. But when all is done and the battle over, the splendid universal soldier spirit comes over all the men.... Just to give you some idea of what I mean, the other night four German snipers were shot on our wire. The next night our men went out and brought one in who was near and get-at-able, and buried him.

They did it with just the same reverence and sadness as they do to our own dear fellows. I went to look at the grave the next morning, and one of the most uncouth-looking men in my company had placed a cross on the head of the grave, and had written on it:

Here lies a German, We don't know his name; He died bravely fighting For his fatherland.

"And under that 'Got mitt uns' (_sic_), that being the highest effort of all the men at German. Not bad for a blood-thirsty Briton, eh?

Really that shows the spirit."

It does, and a n.o.ble spirit too.

G.o.d bless you, Thomas Atkins; here's your country's love to you.

Now was the opportunity also for the chaplains to dispense the gifts from home to the war-worn men. How delighted the men were with them, and how every gift was regarded as the gift of love! Even war has its bright side, and surely one of the brightest spots on the bright side of war has been the spontaneous offering of kindly hearts at home to our soldiers abroad. In almost every home in the land skilled and unskilled fingers have been at work. Knitting had almost become a lost art, but now every school-girl knits, and knits not for herself but for the soldiers.

And the men who could not knit found the money, and sent their own special gifts. How they rolled in! What delightful work they gave the chaplains and those a.s.sociated with them! Cigars, tobacco, cigarettes, candles, matches, soap, socks, mittens, body belts, gloves--and so we might go on quoting almost every article the soldier needs. "You see,"

said one Tommy, "I've lost all my shirts but one--the one I'm wearing--and that's borrowed. Thanks very much, that's just what I wanted."

And the Indians, too, how they appreciated their gifts! One of them wrote this characteristic little letter to his chaplain--the Rev. A.E.

Knott--who had come with them from India.

"Honourable and most gracious Captain Sahib, Padre Sahib,--We are all delighted with the things you have sent us. Sir, may G.o.d bless you that you have remembered us. It is very kind of you, and we are very pleased, and for the ladies, our grat.i.tude, who like mothers have regarded us. May no sorrow befall them. From many men, many, many thanks and salaams; also from the writer many salaams."

So hearts were gladdened, and bodies made warm, and our soldiers thanked G.o.d and took courage when they realised that they were not forgotten by "the old folks at home."

And now it is time to sum up this chapter. What is the general impression that it leaves?

The whole scene is weird in the extreme. Darkness hangs over the trenches. The work is done for the most part at night. When those of us at home are sleeping, our brothers and sons at the front are charging with the bayonet through the deep darkness. Others are quietly moving backwards and forwards--backward with the wounded, forward with food and reinforcements. Snow and rain and frost!

Shrapnel, and rifle fire, and "Jack Johnsons"! Day after day, week after week, even month after month! The monotony of the day must be fearful, the horrors of the night recall the descriptions of the _Inferno_. I do not wonder that, in some cases, nerves have given way, and men have had to be carried to the rear suffering from complete nervous collapse.

But courage has never failed, though nerves have become unstrung.

There used to be a story told in Aldershot of an officer who was about to take part in his first battle. His legs were trembling so that he could hardly sit his horse. He looked down at his shaking legs and said, "You're shaking, are you? and you would shake more if you knew where _I_ was going to take you to-day, so let us get on." That is the highest courage, which realises and fears and yet goes.

This courage our soldiers in the trenches have possessed in the highest degree. The charge brought against them is that they have exposed themselves to the fire of the enemy. I do not wonder. They intend to "get on," however much they fear.

And through it all, as Tommy would say, they have "kept smiling." Wet through to the skin, or nipped by frost; sleepless for days together, only getting provisions replenished by night, comrades falling by their side! But they have "kept smiling."

And what about the _Christian_ soldier? He has had all these qualities--for to none of his comrades is he inferior in courage. But he has had another--an added quality. Something--_Someone_--who has given him peace in the midst of privation and danger; Someone who has enabled him to exult in the battle. He has had a light in the darkness possessed by none else.

As I have written this chapter the words of Isaiah have been continually in my mind,--"But there shall be no gloom to her that was in anguish. In the former time He brought into contempt the land of Zebulon and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time hath he made it glorious.... The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light, they that dwelt in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined."

Our soldiers have been called to walk in darkness but they have seen a great Light. They, too, have _dwelt_ in the land of the shadow of death, and upon _them_ also hath the Light shined. And so there is no "gloom" for them. It may be night all around, but the sun shines upon _them_, and it is always day.

The problem of death has been greatly puzzling us at home--the death of thousands of our best young manhood. Goethe says, "The spectacle of nature is always new, for she is always renewing the spectators.

Life is her most exquisite invention; and death is her expert contrivance to get plenty of life." We probe into his meaning, and during these months begin to understand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _From the drawing by A. Michael._ A "PADRE" HOLDING A SUNDAY EVENING SERVICE ON THE FIELD.]

But the Christian soldier has no difficulty. Death is to him but an incident. Here and yonder he is in the presence of his King. He advances to his death singing "Crown Him," and then wakes up astonished to receive his own crown of life.

CHAPTER VI

CHRISTMAS AT THE FRONT

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 G.o.d protect you, and bring you home safe."

All sorts of organisations had arranged for presents--they were sent from the ends of the earth. The newspapers 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 were _of_ us, and they had gone out _from_ us. They were our very own, our best and n.o.blest, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sembled 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 a.s.saults 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 more signs 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.