WITH LORD METHUEN
To Lord Methuen was given command of the Kimberley Relief Column. He had
with him the Guards, the Highland Brigade, and several of the finest
infantry regiments in Her Majesty's army. A great task was allotted to
him, but he was considered equal to any responsibility. He has been
freely criticised for his conduct of this part of the campaign. It has
been stated that he was prodigal of the lives of his men by direct
assaults when he might have accomplished his purpose by sweeping flank
movements, as Lord Roberts did afterwards. But then Lord Roberts had
cavalry, and Methuen was sadly deficient in that arm of the service; and
how to make such turning movements without sufficient cavalry, no one
yet has been able to tell. However, it is not for us to enter into any
criticism or defence of a British General.
What concerns us most for the purpose of this book, and what we rejoice
to know, is that Lord Methuen was a humble and sincere Christian, who
did all that lay in his power to further the spiritual work among his
men. What this means to a chaplain or Scripture reader at the front can
hardly be told. This we do know, that the direct assistance of the
commanding officer often makes all the difference between rich success
and comparative failure.
=Christian Work at De Aar and Orange River.=
The rallying-point for the Kimberley Relief Column was, in the first
place, De Aar, the junction where the line to Kimberley connects with
the line to Bloemfontein. In course of time, De Aar became the great
distributing centre of stores for the forces on the way to Kimberley and
Colesberg. Here the Army Service Corps held sway, and enormous were the
stores committed to their care.
But at first, as we have said, De Aar was the rallying place for our
troops, as they moved up from Capetown, and here it was that they got
their first sight of the Boers. As they placed their pickets and
sentries round the camp for the night, a Boer woman was heard to say,
'The rooineks are so afraid that their men will run away, that they have
had to put armed men round the camp to keep the others in.' That was her
way of interpreting the duties of British sentries!
Here it was that Christian work among the troops began in real earnest,
and Sergeant Oates obtained permission from the leaders of the Railway
Mission to use the Carnarvon Hall for Soldiers' Services. The colonel
heard of it and put the service in orders, so that without any
pre-arrangement on the part of the promoters, Sergeant Oates obtained
the attendance of all the Wesleyan soldiers in De Aar at the time.
By-and-by they moved up to the Orange River, 570 miles beyond Capetown.
Here they found that the station-master was a nominal Wesleyan, and he
most kindly gave them the use of his house for religious services.
Still, they were without chaplains, and what, perhaps, was, in their
opinion, quite as bad, without hymn-books! Sergeant Oates found the name
of the Rev. E. Nuttall, of Capetown, on a piece of dirty old paper in
the camp. He did not know anything about him, or even whether he was
still in Capetown, but he felt moved to write to him for those precious
hymn-books. So he read his letter to the lads, and they 'put a prayer
under the seal' and sent it off. The station-master at Belmont, who was
going '_down_,' promised to do what he could for these singing soldiers,
who were without their books, and so even in worse state than preachers
without their sermons; and, strange to say, letter, station-master, and
Rev. E.P. Lowry appeared at the Rev. E. Nuttall's house almost at the
same time! With Mr. Lowry came Mr. A. Pearce, Army Scripture Reader,
from North Camp, Aldershot. He remained at Orange River while Mr. Lowry
moved on with the Guards, to which Brigade he was attached.
By this time the troops were ready for the advance, and the chaplains
were with their men. Rev. Mr. Faulkner was the senior Church of England
chaplain. The Rev. James Robertson and the Rev. W.S. Jaffrey represented
the Presbyterians, and the Rev. E.P. Lowry was the senior Wesleyan
chaplain.
=The Battle of Belmont.=
And then came the battle of Belmont! From Orange River the troops had
been compelled to march, and had their first taste of the African sun in
the greatness of his strength. The legs of the kilted men were blistered
as though boiling water had been poured over them, and all but the old
campaigners in every regiment suffered acutely. Belmont was reached
after dark; the troops were without over-coats or blankets, and the
night was bitingly cold. But they lay down anywhere, glad enough to
stretch themselves upon the ground or seek the friendly shelter of a
ditch. Here they lay unmurmuringly--members of the proudest aristocracy
in the world, noblemen of ancient lineage, quite ready to sleep in a
ditch or die, for that matter, for their country.
Before two o'clock in the morning, they were aroused, and marched out to
attack the stronghold of the Boers. And nobly they performed their task.
But let a Christian soldier--our old friend Sergeant Oates--describe the
battle.
=A Sergeant's Account of the Battle.=
'On the 23rd November (Martinmas Day), we marched out early in the
morning, and at daybreak found ourselves facing the Boers in a
formidable position. All was so still during our march to this place.
While marching along, a young goat had got parted from its mother and
commenced bleating mournfully in front of us, and although I am not
superstitious, it made me feel quite uncomfortable, as it did many more.
What became of it eventually I cannot say, but I think the poor little
thing got roughly handled, if not killed.
'We were not long before we came within rifle range, and then the
bullets began to fly about our ears as we advanced towards the Boer
position. We pressed on; first one and then another kept dropping out,
and shouts of "stretcher bearer" were heard very frequently. Nothing
except death would have stopped our men that morning, so determined they
seemed. On we went, and faster and thicker the bullets came, spending
themselves in the sand at our feet. At last we reached the kopje, and
rested at the foot a short while, and then up we went. Lieutenant Brine
and myself reached the top in advance of the others. As soon as we
popped our heads over the top, five of the Northamptons popped their
heads over the other side, facing us with their rifles, at the present,
and it was hard to convince them we were friends, so excited were they.
We were not allowed to remain at peace long, for evidently some one had
spied us. Ping, ping, came the Mauser bullets; swish, swish, the
Martinis. We soon got to rather close quarters and were able to do some
good shooting. I was still close to Mr. Brine, and we had been talking
some few minutes, when some one spied him and he had two or three
narrow escapes. He moved to what he thought was a safer place, and had
about four shots, which all told. He gave me the range, and was just
taking aim a fifth time when a Martini bullet pierced his throat, and he
fell to rise no more. That was the first death I saw, and I felt
somewhat sick. Soon, however, we charged, and up went the _white flag_;
but it was the most difficult piece of work I ever saw, trying to stop
our men in the middle of a charge. However, they were stopped in time,
and instead of being killed, the remaining Boers were taken prisoners.
The battle over, we returned to camp, and then came the sad duty of
burying our fourteen dead comrades. There were not many dry eyes, but I
venture to say there were many thankful hearts.'
=Mr. Lowry's Adventure on the Veldt.=
The Rev. E.P. Lowry had a very trying experience in connection with this
battle. He had marched out with the colonel of the Grenadiers, intending
to return to camp as soon as the railway line was reached; but it was
impossible to find his way back in the darkness, and he therefore went
on with the men. Presently the bullets were whistling all around him,
and as soon as the heaviest fighting on the left was over, he busied
himself among the wounded. Feeling however, that he could do nothing
more, and that he had better be in camp to receive the wounded, he
determined to make the best of his way back. But he was wrongly
directed, and got lost on the veldt. Hour after hour he wandered about,
but could find no trace of the camp, into which he had marched in the
dark the previous night, and out of which he had marched in the dark
that same morning. His thirst consumed him, he could walk no further, he
was utterly exhausted. How many miles he had wandered he could not tell.
The din of battle had died away, and all was one unbroken stillness. He
sat down under the scanty shade of a thorn bush, and with a feeling of
intense desolation upon him made the following entry in his
pocket-book:--
'Am now without water, without bread, and almost without hope, save
in Jesus Christ, my Saviour, in whom now, as ever, I trust for
everlasting life.'
He knelt down and offered up what might well have been his last prayer,
and then had a vivid impression made upon his mind that he should go in
an entirely different direction from that in which he had been
travelling. After wandering in utter weariness for some time in this
direction, he saw in the dim distance a cart moving across the veldt.
With all the strength he had left, he shouted. Presently the cart
stopped, and he saw a man dismount. Slowly he came near, covering the
poor, weary wanderer with his rifle. Who it was--Briton or Boer--Mr.
Lowry did not know and hardly did he care. It was his one chance of
life, and 'all that a man hath will he give for his life.' In his
exhausted state, the heat and fury of the battle seemed as nothing to
the intense loneliness and desolation of the veldt.
But a 'friend' drew near, for the man who so slowly came towards him
was a Rimington Scout, and he and his comrade in the cart soon carried
their chaplain to help and deliverance. They were in charge of some
battle-field loot which they were taking temporarily to a Dutchman's
house of which they had possession. Here there was a feather bed, and,
what was better still, food and drink. That same night the scouts were
ordered to Belmont, and back with them went the wandering chaplain,
still weary and faint, to carry with him as long as he lived the memory
of his awful experience upon the veldt.
They were burying the dead when Mr. Lowry returned to Belmont. The first
to fall on that fearful day had been Corporal Honey. He had given his
heart to God on the passage out, and great was the rejoicing of the
comrades who had led him to Christ that he had been able to bear a good
testimony until that fateful morning.
=At the Battle of Modder River.=
Then followed Graspan or Enslin, where the Naval Brigade suffered so
seriously; and then the fight that Lord Methuen considered the most
terrible in British history--the battle of the Modder River. For twelve
hours the battle continued. They had had a long and wearying march and
were looking forward to a good breakfast, but instead they had to go
straight into the fight, and it was twelve hours before that breakfast
came. Men who fought at Dargai and Omdurman tell us that these were mere
child's play compared with the fight of the Modder River. Hour after
hour the firing was maintained, until in many cases the ammunition was
all expended. And yet there was no relief. The pitiless rain of bullets
from the Boer fortifications continued, and it was impossible to carry
ammunition to our lads through such a fire. Our men could in many cases
neither advance nor retire, and men who had expended all their
ammunition had just to lie still--some of them for six hours--while the
bullets flew like hail just above them. To raise the head the merest
trifle from the dust meant death. Many a godless lad prayed then, who
had never prayed before, and many a forgotten vow was registered afresh
in the hour of danger.
Let Sergeant Oates again give us his experience:--
'It was a terrible battle. I had two very narrow escapes there. A tiny
splinter took a small piece of skin off the end of my chin, and another
larger one just caught my boot and glided off. It almost went through.
Again I got away unharmed. That day was a long prayer-meeting to me.
Wherever I went and whatever I did, these words were on my lips:--
'"What a wonderful Saviour is Jesus, my Jesus.
What a wonderful Saviour is Jesus, my Lord."
'Once and only once I grew weak, and almost wished myself wounded and
out of it all, when this text came in my mind: "The eternal God is thy
refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms." Oh! how ashamed I felt
that I should be so weak and faithless!
'The third day was the fiercest, and to me it was a day of prayer. Ten
long hours did the conflict last; the din was awful! The spiteful bizz
of the Remington bullet, the swish of the Martini, and the shriek of the
Mauser, coupled with the unearthly booming of the Hotchkiss quick-firer,
and the boom, roar, and bursting of the shrapnel on both sides, all this
intermingled with voices calling out orders, and shouting for
stretchers, went on until the shades of evening fell over a day which,
Lord Methuen says, has never had an equal. Yet above all this din, I was
able to hear that voice which calms our fears saying: "When thou passest
through the waters, I will be with thee, and through the rivers they
shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt
not be burned, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee." With such
promises as these, what would one not go through.
'That night, after the enemy had retired, I had to lead my company
across a ford in the Modder River. It was very dark, and I was not sure
of the way; I had crossed the river by the same ford early in the
afternoon, but it was in the thick of the battle, so I was too busy with
something else to take any notice of the road. I was cut off from my
company, and got rather anxious about it. Looking with the aid of a
match, at my text-book I found these words: "Commit thy way unto the
Lord, trust also in Him, and He will bring it to pass." I was not slow
to follow this blessed advice, and within half an hour I was with my
company again, wet through and tired out. Yet, with these uncomfortable
things about me, I was able to thank God for His loving care, and now I
can write "tried and proved" against that text.'
And yet, though the fight was so terrible, the number of casualties was
singularly few, considering the character of the encounter. Lord
Methuen, however, was slightly wounded, and Colonel Stopford, of the
Coldstream Guards, was shot dead.
One of the Boer batteries was planted close to the native Wesleyan
Church, which was riddled with shot and shell from British guns intent
upon dominating the Boer position.
That night, so far as possible, the chaplains gathered their men round
them on the field, and many a homely evensong was held.
Then followed a period of quiet. There, frowning in front of them, was
the Boers' natural fortress of Magersfontein, rendered impregnable by a
wonderful series of trenches, at the extent and perfection of which they
could only guess. They knew that there must be at least one desperate
attempt to take them, if not more. But three great battles in one week
had exhausted officers and men, and it was absolutely necessary to rest.
=Fellowship and Work at the Modder.=
This was the opportunity for the Christian workers. On the march or in
the battle all that they could do was to speak a word of cheer as often
as possible. Christian soldiers could not meet for fellowship; all that
they could do was occasionally to have a hearty hand-grip or shout
'494,' as a comrade passed by. With the shout of '494' they went into
the battle, and when they came out their little Christian company was
sorely depleted. But now they had time to look round, to count up their
losses, to greet their comrades of other regiments again, to receive
fresh accessions to their ranks.
=The Soldiers' Home.=
Mr. Percy Huskisson, of the South African General Mission, quickly
secured the use of the native day school, which was also the worship
room for the Wesleyan natives, and fitted it up as a Soldiers' Home. He
and his colleague, Mr. Darroll, were indefatigable in their efforts on
behalf of the men, and night by night the newly transformed Home was
crowded. Lord Methuen himself opened it, and personally thanked the
workers for their splendid services on the field of battle. In the
course of his address, he said: 'I have heard of newspaper
correspondents risking their lives when they are well paid for it, but
you fellows seem to have no idea of danger; the shadow of the Almighty
seems over you, or you would have been, ere this, in your graves, with
many more of our brave men.' But under the shadow of the Almighty, the
workers were secure, and are secure to-day!
=Local Helpers in Good Work.=
One of the best helpers the chaplains had was Mr. Westerman, who held an
important position on the railway line, and who was steward of the
Wesleyan Church at Modder River. He had been a prisoner among the Boers
for six weeks, and on many occasions they had threatened to shoot him as
a spy. They had not, however, injured him or his property in any way. It
was, therefore, a most unfortunate occurrence that this good man's house
and furniture should have been wantonly damaged by British soldiers on
their arrival at the place. Evidently they thought the house belonged to
a Boer. An order was, of course, promptly issued stopping such wanton
destruction for the future.
Another good Christian man at Modder River was Mr. Fraser, a Scotch
Presbyterian, whose house had been most unfortunately wrecked by the
bombardment. He and Mr. Westerman met week by week, during the period of
the Boer invasion, for Christian worship. These two gentlemen rendered
splendid service to our Christian soldiers, and to them both we are
greatly indebted. Every chaplain, every scripture reader, every agent of
every society, every Christian soldier was now busily at work. The
battles had made a great impression on the men. The war had only just
begun, and they knew there were other terrible fights in store. The
sight of the dead and dying was something to which they had not yet
become accustomed. The stern reality of war was upon them, and, as Mr.
Lowry wrote, 'There are no scoffers left in Lord Methuen's camp.' Take
one instance out of many.
='After Many Days.'=
Years ago, in Gibraltar, a sergeant came to a Christian soldier, and
with words of scorn and blasphemy asserted his own independence of any
power above him. Said he: 'My heart is my own. I am independent of
everything and everybody, your God included.' The reply was a soldier's
reply, straight and to the point: 'Jack, some day you will face death,
and, who knows, I may see you, and if the stiffness does not leave your
knees before then, my name is not what it is.'
Three years passed since then--three years of prayer on his account--and
on the night of November 28, 1899, after the river had been passed, a
hand was laid on that Christian's shoulder, and a voice said: 'Joe, I
have done to-day what I have not done for thirteen years: I have offered
up a prayer, and it has been answered. I have these last few hours seen
all my life--seen it, as, I fancy, God sees it--and I have vowed, if He
will forgive me, to change my ways.'
With Christian thoughtfulness his friend did not remind him of the
incident at Gibraltar, but it was doubtless present to both minds just
then. So does war melt the hardest hearts!
=Open-air Work.=
The letters from Christian soldiers at the front are full of stories of
conversion. Again, we hear of private soldiers and non-commissioned
officers at outposts conducting parades. After Magersfontein, the
Christian influence deepened and the number of conversions increased.
By-and-by, enteric began to claim its victims, and the Home had to be
used as a fever hospital. Open-air work then became the order of the
day. Some of the Christian soldiers met between six and seven in the
evening, and marched to the camp of a regiment or battery, where they
held what they call an 'out and out' open-air meeting. Sometimes they
would get as many as a thousand listeners, and often the Word was so
powerful that there and then men decided for Christ. The Saturday
Testimony Meetings were gatherings of great power, as our soldier-lads
told to the others, who crowded round, what a great Saviour they had
found.
=Prayer under Fire.=
Now and then the monotony of ordinary duty was broken by an engagement.
Such an interlude is pictured for us in vivid language in the following
extract from the pen of one of our Christian soldiers:--
'On January 22, my battery advanced to a position directly in front of
the hill occupied by the Boers, and almost within rifle range of their
trenches. We had no cover whatever, and they dropped shell after shell
into us for nearly two hours; and after dark we retired without a man or
horse wounded. One of our gunners was hit with a splinter on the belt,
which bruised him slightly, but did not wound him or stop the
performance of his duty. One of their shells hit one of our ammunition
wagons, and smashed part of it to matchwood. If God's mercy was not
plainly shown in this, I say men are as blind as bats, and less
civilized. During the whole of the two hours after I had taken the
range, I had to sit, kneel, or stand with my face to the foe, and watch
the Boer guns fire, then await the terrible hissing noise, next see the
dust fly mountains high just in front of me, finally press my helmet
down to prevent the segments hitting me too hard should any fall on me,
but not one touched me, though they pattered like large hailstones on a
corrugated iron roof. We amused ourselves by picking them up between
bursts. I prayed earnestly all through that battle....
'I sit and muse over the chatter of my little children many a time, and
almost reach out for them, as though they were here. They are near to my
heart, and in the precious keeping of my Saviour.'
With those last pathetic sentences we may well close this chapter. The
picture they call before us is one we are not likely to forget. The
soldier grimed with the heat and dirt of battle; shells flying round him
on every hand; Death stalking unchecked but a few yards away; and then
the vision of little children, their chatter striking upon the father's
ear in that far-off land, hands even stretched out to receive them.
Absent-minded! nay, thou soldier-poet, thou hast not got the measure of
Thomas Atkins yet. 'They are near to my heart, and in the precious
keeping of my Saviour.' Thank God for that!
'Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away;
In Jesus' keeping we are safe and they.'