THOMAS ATKINS IN THE TRENCHES
The Original Thomas Atkins--No Infidels in the Trenches--In
the Trenches at Night--A Salvation Army Story, and Others--Man
Who was Digging a Trench--They have "Kept Smiling "--What
Christ is to the Soldier--What a Picture!--Every Place the
"House of the Lord"--The Soldier Spirit--The Gilts from
Home--Courage has never Failed--And the Christian Soldier?
"I tell you what it is, sir, God is jolly near you in the trenches."
So spoke Thomas Atkins to a Church of England chaplain. It was just
like him to speak thus. A vigorous utterance suits him.
But how did he come by the name Thomas Atkins? The story goes that it
dates from the Peninsular War. The Duke of Wellington was directing
some operations in the field. An aide-de-camp rode up to him with the
outline of a new attestation form, or something of that kind sent out
by the War Office of those days.
It was advisable to fill up the top line in order that those who
filled up the following lines might have an example of how it should
be done. The question was, Whose name should be put in there? The
aide-de-camp thought the Duke would mention the first name that came
into his mind, but not so the Duke. He looked at it a moment, and
said, "I must think. Come back to me in an hour."
During that hour he turned over in his mind the deeds of bravery he
had seen performed by private soldiers. He thought of the brave deeds
of soldiers in the Peninsular Campaign. And then his mind went back to
India, and at last he said to himself, "Yes, that was the bravest deed
I ever saw performed by a private soldier." And when his aide-de-camp
came back he said, "Put down Thomas Atkins." And "Thomas Atkins" it
has been from that day to this. So the title enshrines the memory of a
brave man, and I wonder if he, too, felt God "jolly near" him in the
trenches.
"Jolly near!" It is a thought-provoking phrase. "Near!" Ah! yes, we
know that, and if we can look up amidst the bursting shell and see,
not the angry, but the smiling face of God, then the word "jolly," if
not as we should put it, is at any rate expressive.
The "Eye-witness" with the British Army tells us something of what it
is like in the trenches.
"After a short outburst of fire lasting perhaps for only three or four
minutes the hostile trenches are obscured by a pall of smoke, in the
midst of which can be seen the flashes of the shrapnel bursts and the
miniature volcanoes of earth where the high explosive common shells
burst in the soft clay soil. Then, if an infantry attack is to be
launched, the cannonade suddenly ceases. There is a moment of
suspense, and a swarm of khaki figures springs from our trenches and
rushes across the fire-swept zone, possibly 100 yards in breadth.
Instantly there breaks out the rattle of machine guns and musketry.
There is some hesitation as the stormers reach the entanglements, and
then, if the assault succeeds, they disappear into the enemy's
trenches, leaving a few or many scattered bodies lying in the track
of their advance. Save at such moments as these there is often no
movement whatever in the battle zone, for not a man, horse, or gun is
to be seen, and there are periods of absolute stillness when, except
for the sight of the deserted and ruined hamlets, the scene is one of
peace and agricultural prosperity."
Yes, it is very quiet in the trenches. Not a head must appear over the
top or death is the result. Quiet, yes; up to the knees, or sometimes
up to the waist, in water, eating there, sleeping there, often dying
there. We read of some trenches where the water was so deep that the
wounded men were drowned. There was no place to put them, and they
just fell into the water, and there they died.
Quiet, until the artillery has done its preparatory work, and then
charge, charge, charge!
I do not wonder that a wounded soldier said to the Rev. T.J. Thorpe:
"My mates used to tell me in barracks that they were infidels--they
did not believe in God--but after their experiences in the trenches
they have lost their infidelity. They pray now. _There are no infidels
in the trenches._"
Said another soldier, "We leapt from our trenches singing a rowdy
song, but in a minute I was praying as I never prayed before. My mates
were praying. We were all praying, and I have been praying ever
since."
I do not wonder that "there are no infidels in the trenches."
The Rev. Cuthbert J. Maclean (Church of England chaplain), writing
from France on November 3, 1914, tells us that he had been in the
trenches continually under fire for three weeks, and had not even had
a rough wash or taken off his boots. He has had several wonderful
escapes from death, even being hit in the neck without, however,
sustaining any injury.
"Four days ago," he says, "I spent some hours sitting in my
'funk-hole' in a trench, and then I left for a little exercise. About
twenty minutes after I had moved out, a huge shell burst in the exact
spot where I had been sitting for hours, and blew up the trench for
some twenty yards."
It will be seen from this that the trenches are not always waist-deep
or even knee-deep in water. It depends upon the weather. At first
elaborate precautions were taken to make the trenches as comfortable
as possible. They were deep and comparatively wide. All sorts of
necessaries and, occasionally, luxuries were kept there. They were
drawing-room and dining-room and kitchen.
But when the long continued rains came they were almost uninhabitable.
Men stood in liquid mud, sometimes covered with frost. They stood day
after day and suffered sorely. Many of them had to be invalided to the
rear with rheumatism, and will never recover from the effect of those
terrible days.
An elaborate system of network communication trenches was formed,
communicating with the rear, but in the worst of the weather, the
communication trenches became worse than the fire trenches, and in
some cases the water in them was up to the necks of the men.
It was only when night fell that communication with the fire trenches
was possible. Then it was that rations were conveyed to the men at the
front--only then was it possible--and even in the dark it was a
difficult and dangerous task. No light must be shown; to strike a
match might be death. Says the non-commissioned officer to his men
engaged in this hazardous task: "Whenever a searchlight is turned on
you, or the country is lit up by a flare or a star shell, stand
perfectly still. It's movement wot gives the show away. Keep still,
an' they'll think you're a bush, or a tree, or what not. But as sure
as yer move, you're a deader."
Under these circumstances, Christian work in the trenches would seem
impossible, but the apparently impossible has been accomplished. The
chaplains are from time to time with their men in the trenches. The
experience of Mr. McLean has already been quoted, and many another
might be added.
Christian men are there also in ever-increasing numbers, and these are
themselves unofficial chaplains. We hear of at least one Methodist
class meeting regularly held in the trenches, and there is many a
prayer meeting there. Yes, and many a man has found his Saviour there,
for the Lord Jesus is very near those who seek Him in the trenches.
Here is a sacred little letter scribbled in the trenches by a man who
there gave himself to Christ:
"To my darling wife and children. Daddy fully surrendered to Jesus
20.11.14 at Ypres. Sudden death--sudden glory. Safe in the arms of
Jesus."
A soldier, who has recently returned home for a brief rest after many
weeks in the firing line and in the trenches, says that he is quite an
altered man as the result of the war. As a boy he was never taught to
pray; but in the trenches he began to pray, and prayed regularly.
Hundreds of men, he says, are doing the same thing day by day. He also
says that the men at the front expect and reckon upon the prayers of
the people at home on their behalf.
And now a Salvation Army story. One day a man came into a Salvation
Army hall in the East End of London, and when the officers were
speaking to him they found that he had never been to a Salvation Army
service before. They asked him what brought him there.
"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 hit 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 button.
"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, passed 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 God."
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 God 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 hit 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 shell,
exclaimed, "Never mind; thank God, 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 God 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.
[Illustration: 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 God with me for sparing my life last
Thursday, when I had a narrow escape from death. The enemy started to
shell our trenches at 3 P.M. and continued until dark. One shell 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 God 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 God, they also were got out safely. Further
along a shell 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 pass 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 God 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 passage 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 shells 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 assist with a
handshake or a 'God bless you.' I pass 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 God 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 assurance 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 shells; 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.'"
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 God 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 God 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 God'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 God, 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 noble spirit too.
God 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 associated 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 God bless you
that you have remembered us. It is very kind of you, and we are very
pleased, and for the ladies, our gratitude, 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 God 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.
[Illustration: _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.