MAGERSFONTEIN
At a dinner party in 1715, in the Duke of Ormond's residence at
Richmond, the conversation happened to turn upon 'short prayers.' Among
the distinguished guests was Dr. Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester, who
listened with special interest. 'I, too,' said the Bishop, 'can tell you
a short prayer I heard recently, which had been offered up by a common
soldier just before the battle of Blenheim, a better one than any of you
have yet quoted: "O God, if in this day of battle I forget Thee, do
_Thou_ not forget me."'[2]
Years have gone by. On December 10, 1899, when so many of our brave men
had to face death in South Africa, immediately before going into action
at Modder River, the gallant officer commanding the 65th Howitzer
Battery gathered his gunners around him, and offered up the very prayer
of the poor Blenheim soldier: 'Almighty God, if this day we forget Thee,
do Thou not forget us.'
[Footnote 2: This, as the reader will probably note, is but a variant of
a still older story.]
=Prayer before Battle.=
So begins a tiny booklet issued by the South African General Mission.
The picture it presents to us is one beautiful in the extreme. It
reminds us of the Covenanters of long ago. We have heard a great deal of
Boer prayer-meetings. Who is there to record for us the prayer-meetings
held in the British camp? But this artillery officer and his short
prayer will not be forgotten, and will remain as the most touching
expression of a soldier's need and a soldier's hope.
And, surely, if such a prayer as this were needed at any time, it was
before the battle of Magersfontein. All was so sudden, so unexpected! In
a moment death was upon them! All unlooked-for that deadly hail of
bullets! No time for confession of sin! No time even for a whispered
prayer! A few brief moments, and the flower of the British army lay
prone to rise no more!
It was the Highland Brigade that suffered most severely--the brigade of
which every true Britisher is so justly proud. Who that has not seen
these Highlanders march can have any idea of their perfect bearing and
splendid condition? The faultless line, the measured rising and falling
of the white gaiters, until you almost forget they are men who are
marching there, and fancy it must be the rising and falling of the crank
in some gigantic piece of machinery.
And the individual men. What splendid fellows they are! of what fine
physique, of what firm character! It is an honour, surely, to command
such men as these. And as General Wauchope marches at their head to his
death, with stern, sad face and purpose fixed, what wonder that his
heart is racked with pain, as he fears, not for himself, but for his
men. A fine Christian was Andrew Wauchope. Quiet and reserved with
regard to his religion, as most Scotchmen are, but, if we are to believe
the reports that come to us on all hands, a man who lived near to God.
=A Scotch Chaplain.=
There was another notable man with the Highland Brigade that day; and,
as there are few to tell the story of our chaplains, while there are
many to tell the story of our soldiers, we make no apology for
introducing to our readers in more than a few words one of the finest of
our chaplains--the Rev. James Robertson, of the Church of Scotland.
By the courtesy of Dr. Theodore Marshall, we cull from _St. Andrew_ the
following particulars: 'Mr. Robertson is a native of Grantown, and,
after finishing his university course at Edinburgh, was licensed by the
Presbytery of Abernethy. He is a soldier's son, and very early in his
ministry determined to devote his life to soldiers. His first military
appointment was the acting-chaplaincy at Dover. In 1885 he was
transferred to Cairo, and accompanied the Cameron Highlanders on the
march to Abri, thence on the return journey to Wady Halfa. All the way
through, the men were loud in his praises. He spared himself no toil,
cheerfully shared the men's privations and dangers, and became to them
almost more than a friend. The May _Record_ tells how Robertson was
specially reported by his Church for bringing in Lieutenant Cameron, who
had been mortally wounded in the previous December; how, in the absence
of a second doctor, he had volunteered to go out with a stretcher party
under heavy fire, and look after the wounded; and, as Lieutenant Cameron
had got hit while apart from the others, he had to be brought in at all
risks. For his services he was mentioned in despatches, and received the
medal and Khedival star.'[3]
Shortly after the close of the Egyptian War, Mr. Robertson received his
commission. He served for some time as junior chaplain in London, and
then was removed to Dublin. From Dublin he went to Edinburgh, and
remained there until he was ordered to South Africa, as a member of
General Wauchope's staff and chaplain to the Highland Brigade. In South
Africa he has greatly distinguished himself, and it goes for saying that
'Padre' Robertson, as he is affectionately called, is one of the most
honoured and best-loved men in Her Majesty's army.
We will, however, allow the head of the military work in the
Presbyterian Church (the Rev. Dr. Marshall) to tell himself of Mr.
Robertson's work in South Africa. We quote from an article published by
him in the _Home and Foreign Mission Record_:--
'Of the work of the Rev. J. Robertson in the field, it is
unnecessary to write, as the newspaper correspondents have referred
so often to his bravery and splendid services. One correspondent
writes to me: "It is no exaggeration to say that the whole of
Methuen's army, and especially the Highland Brigade, deem his
bravery worthy of the V.C. Everywhere, in train or camp, officers'
mess or soldiers' tent, Padre Robertson is proclaimed a hero." I
was pleased to notice in the _Record_ (the Church of England
weekly), the other day, a letter from the Church of England
chaplain who is with Lord Methuen. After describing the battle of
Magersfontein, he refers to the Highland Brigade: "Being chiefly
Highlanders, they were in Robertson's charge. He, good-hearted
fellow, was risking his life in the trenches and under fire to find
General Wauchope's body. Why he was not killed in his fearless
efforts I cannot say." In one of the latest telegrams I see
reference to him at the battle of Koodoosberg, whither he had
accompanied General Macdonald and the Highland Brigade. "One
interesting feature of the fighting was the activity of Chaplain
Robertson. He acted in turns as a galloper, as a water-carrier, and
as a stretcher-bearer. Wherever a ready hand was wanted, the
chaplain was always to the fore, and won golden opinions from
officers and men alike."
'You must not, however, suppose Mr. Robertson's exertions are
altogether in the field or connected with matters which lie
outside his duty as a minister of Christ. While employed by his
general as a despatch rider and intermediary with the Boers, and in
many other ways in which as "non-combatant" he could be useful to
the army, and especially to his own Highlanders, he has given his
chief thought and work to their spiritual concerns. We have all
noticed his name in connection with the pathetic funeral of his
much-loved chief, General Wauchope; but for days after each of the
battles of Modder River and Magersfontein he was busy identifying
and burying the dead. Being, as a Presbyterian minister, a _persona
grata_ to the Boers, he was allowed nearer to their lines than any
one else, in the discharge of those sad duties, and conducted many
funerals both of Boer and Briton. Speaking of his feelings in the
field hospital and alongside the burying trench he says: "War seems
devil's work. But all the same, war has its better side, and out of
evil has come good. Hearts have been softened. We have frequent
meetings of an evening. Hundreds attend. I've never been at heart
so touched myself, nor so evangelical. I seem to hear repeated,
'Woe is me if I preach not the Gospel.' I thank God the Gospel at
Modder is proving in not a few cases the power of God unto
salvation."'
In another letter to a mutual friend, Mr. Robertson speaks of his
services on the last Sunday of the year, and as showing how deep is the
spiritual impression produced, he wished me to be informed that at the
close of the short service he asked all who desired to partake of the
Holy Communion to remain. To his joy some 250 officers and men came and
took their places at the Lord's Table. To any one who knows how
difficult it is to get soldiers to come to the Communion, that fact
speaks volumes for the extent and depth of the religious movement among
our men. They have had much to make them serious. The death of their
beloved General Wauchope and of so many of their comrades must have
greatly affected them. Mr. Robertson says, 'There is only one heart in
the Highland Brigade, and it is _sad and sore_. But good is being
brought out of evil.'
At the meeting of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, held
this year, the Moderator said he wished to read the following letter
from Scottish soldiers at the front, which had just been put into his
hands:--
'WINBURG, _May 7th_, 1900.
'From the warrant officers, non-commissioned officers, and men of
the Highland Brigade, to the Moderator of the General Assembly,
Church of Scotland.
'Sir,--We, the undersigned, as representatives of the regiments now
forming the Highland Brigade at present serving in South Africa
under General Hector Macdonald, do hereby desire to express our
appreciation of the untiring energy and praise-worthy zeal of Major
J. Robertson, our chaplain, not only in camp, but also on the
field. He is invariably among the first to succour our wounded, and
many a Scottish mother's heart will be gladdened by the knowledge
that her lad's last moments were brightened by our chaplain's kind
administrations. At Magersfontein, Paardeberg, and other
engagements, he was always to be found in the firing line, with a
cheerful word or a kindly nod of encouragement, and on many
occasions has acted as A.D.C. to our generals. Sir, soldiers are
proverbially bad speakers, but we venture to request that this
short note may be read aloud on the occasion of the meeting of the
General Assembly at Edinburgh during May, 1900.'
The letter bore twenty-five signatures, including that of the
sergeant-major and sergeants and corporals in the Black Watch, the
Highland Light Infantry, the Seaforths, and the Argyll and Sutherland
Highlanders.
[Footnote 3: _St. Andrew_.]
=Mr. Lowry at Magersfontein.=
Such was the man whom General Wauchope chose for his companion on that
fateful day. Rumour says that the General had a presentiment that he
would be killed, and certainly he asked Mr. Robertson to keep near him,
perhaps longing for Christian society at the last. What really happened,
perhaps we shall never know with any degree of certainty. All seems to
have been confusion. Perhaps the best and most connected account that
has come to us is from the pen of the Rev. E.P. Lowry, who was present
during the battle. We quote from the _Methodist Times_:--
[Illustration: REV. E.P. LOWRY.
(From a photograph by Neale, of Bloemfontein.)]
'Our second Sunday on the Modder River commenced so peacefully that we
were actually able to carry out in detail the various arrangements
for voluntary parade services in different parts of this wide camp.
Just a little this side of the great railway bridge, that lies shattered
by dynamite, is an excellent day-school building, which Messrs.
Huskisson and Darroll, of the South African General Mission, succeeded
in requisitioning for the purposes of a Soldiers' Home, and excellent
work is being done in it, though necessarily on a small scale. Here, at
seven o'clock in the morning, my first service was held and was gracious
in its influence as well as cheering, by reason of the numbers present,
including not a few whose faces had grown familiar to me in the homeland
long, long ago. Amid the stir and strain of actual war we sang of a "day
of rest and gladness"; and turned our thoughts to the Saviour who knows
each man "by name." I then hurried back to the camp of the Guards'
Brigade for a similar service in the open air at eight o'clock; but here
a common type of confusion occurred. I had arranged to hold it in front
of the Scots Guards' camp, but in one battalion it was announced that it
would take place precisely where the Church of England service had just
been held, and in another precisely where the Roman Catholic service had
just been held. So before my service could begin, the shepherd had to
seek his sheep and the sheep their shepherd. Finally, by several
instalments, we got together, forming a circle, seated on the sand; and
then we gave ourselves to prayer and praise, followed by a brief
sacramental service of glad remembrance and renewed consecration. A camp
mug and a camp plate placed on the bare sand for table betokened a
ritual of more than primitive simplicity; but thus on the eve of battle
did a band of godly soldiers give themselves afresh to God in Christ.
'A similar open-air service was fixed for the evening, but never came
off. It may have been one of the sad necessities of war time, but was a
fact, nevertheless, deeply to be deplored, that at four o'clock on
Sunday afternoon our guns, which had been silent for a fortnight, again
opened fire and shelled the Boers with lyddite. As I listened to the
thunder and the thud of them I could not quite repress a wonder whether
that was quite the best possible way of propitiating the God of battle.
At eight o'clock, under cover of the darkness, we marched silently out
of camp, confident and strong, and bivouacked till midnight just beyond
the river. Nearly every other night since we came upon this ground had
been brightened by starlight, but on this occasion rain had fallen
during the day, and dense darkness covered us at night. So, with my
mackintosh wrapped around me, I lay for hours among the troops on the
damp ground awaiting the order to resume our midnight march. Soon after
one o'clock we were again on the move; but our only light was the
tell-tale searchlight from Kimberley, and many a vivid flash of
lightning, which only served to make the darkness visible. It was not
long, therefore, before the whole brigade hopelessly lost its way, and
had to halt by the hour, while the persistent rain drenched almost every
man, standing grimly silent, to the skin.
'Precisely at earliest dawn the splendid Highland Brigade appears to
have stumbled into a horrible snare, and in such close formation as to
render them absolutely helpless against their foes. Instantly their
general fell, mortally wounded; for a moment the whole Brigade seemed in
a double sense to have lost its head, and, in spite of the fierce and
terribly effective fire of our artillery, there followed, not indeed an
actual defeat, but none the less a grave disaster, involving further
delay in the relief of Kimberley and the loss of over 700 brave men
killed and wounded.
=War's Terrible Harvest.=
'The incoming of the wounded to the hospital camp was the most pitiful
sight my life has thus far brought me; but I scarce know which to admire
most--the patient endurance of the sufferers or the skilled devotion of
the army doctors, whose outspoken hatred of war was still more
intensified by the gruesome tasks assigned them.
'That night I slept on the floor of a captured Boer ambulance van,
fitted up as a physic shop with shelves fitted with bottles mostly
labelled poison. It was for me, even thus sheltered, a bitterly cold
night, much more for the scores of wounded who lay all night upon the
field of battle. Early next morning I buried two, the first-fruits of a
large harvest, and later on learned that among the killed was the
Marquis of Winchester, who a fortnight ago invited me to conduct the
funeral of his friend, Colonel Stopford. To-day I visited the two
graves side by side in the same war-wasted garden, and thought of the
tearful Christmas awaiting thousands in the mountains.'
=Mr. Robertson at Magersfontein.=
Add to this pathetic statement the following letter from the Rev. James
Robertson, read by Principal Story to the General Assembly of the Church
of Scotland on May 25, 1900. The letter was dated Bloemfontein, April
12:--
'I have already buried over 400 men, killed in action or who died
of wounds or disease; and our hospitals are full of enteric cases,
day by day swelling the total. It goes without saying that--at
Magersfontein especially, all alone, no one being allowed with
me--it was terribly trying work collecting, identifying, and
burying our dead, so many of whom were my own personal friends; but
I experienced more than I ever did before how the hour of one's
conscious weakness may become the hour of one's greatest strength.
Of General Wauchope I won't write further than to say that I was
beside him when he fell. I think he wished me to keep near him, but
I got knocked down, and in the dark and wild confusion I was borne
away, and did not see him again in life, though I spared no effort
to find him, in the hope that he might be only wounded. As one of
the correspondents wrote of him, he was a man of God, and a man
among men--a fitting epithet. Not to mention other warm friends, in
my own mess (General Wauchope's) there were seven of us on
December 18; when next we sat down there were only two. We were a
sad, a very sad, brigade, for though we tried to hide it, we took
our losses to heart sorely; for "men of steel are men who feel."
But out of evil came good. The depth of latent religious feeling
that was evoked in officers and men was a revelation to me; and
were it not that confessions, and acknowledgments, and vows were
too sacred for repetition, I could tell a tale that would gladden
your hearts--not that I put too much stress on what's said or done
at such an impressionable solemnising time, but after-proof of
sincerity has not been wanting.'[4]
[Footnote 4: _Scotsman_, May 26, 1900.]
='Prepare to meet your God!'=
A few more words may serve to complete the picture.
When all at once the Highland Brigade stumbled upon the Boer trenches,
and speedily all the officers of his company was struck down,
Colour-Sergeant McMillan (we believe a member of the Salvation Army)
found himself in charge, and, waving his arm, shouted to his men, 'Men
of A Company, prepare to meet your God! Forward! Charge!' The next
moment a bullet went through his brain, and he fell dead. But surely
that was not the time to prepare for such a dread meeting. Thank God
that _he_ was ready. We have heard him singing for Jesus in the old camp
at home, and now he is singing in heaven.
=A Christian Hero.=
Many hours passed ere the wounded could be relieved. They lay under the
fierce rays of the African sun, suffering agonies from thirst, and no
succour could reach them. At last there were those who ventured to their
help. But the wounded were many, and the helpers were few. The
water-bottles were soon exhausted, but there was one soldier who had a
few drops left. He saw two lads lying side by side in the agonies of
death. He went to the first and offered him the water still remaining in
his bottle. The dying man was parched with thirst, and he looked at the
water with a strange, sad longing, and then feebly shook his head.
'Nay,' he said, 'give it to the other lad. _I_ have the water of life,'
and he turned round to die. _That_ was Christian heroism!
But we will not linger longer over this tragic and pathetic tale.
Suffice it, all was done for the wounded that could possibly be done;
and that Christian ministers committed reverently to the earth 'until
the morning' those who fell so bravely and so suddenly at Magersfontein.
Mr. Robertson shall close the chapter for us, in words as eloquent and
as pathetic as any we have read for many years, and with his sad
_requiem_ we will let the curtain drop on the tragedy of Magersfontein.
[Illustration: REV. JAMES ROBERTSON.
(By permission of the publishers of _St. Andrew_.)]
=The Scottish Dead at Magersfontein.=[5]
'Our dead, our dear Scottish dead! How the corpse-strewn fields of
the Modder, Magersfontein, Koodoosberg, and Paardeberg sorrowfully
pass before me! Let me picture the scene, sad, yet not without its
solace to those whose near and dear ones lie buried there,
otherwise I would not paint it or reproduce my comments thereon,
even by request. 'Tis only a miniature, with a few details, that I
attempt to draw. One field--nay, one corner of the field--is
descriptive of the rest, so I lift but a little of the dark-fringed
curtain.
'Reverently, tenderly, lovingly handle them, and carefully identify
them, for their own brave sakes, and that of the bereaved ones far
away. There, you will find the identity card in the side-pocket.
No, it's missing. Well, then, what's this? A letter; but the
envelope's gone. Let me see the signature at the end. Ah, just as I
thought, "Your loving mother!" God help her, poor body! Ah, boys,
don't forget the dear mother in the old home. She never forgets
you, but morning, noon, and night thinks and prays for her
soldier-son. Mindfulness of her brings God's blessing;
forgetfulness bitter remorse, when too late--after she's gone.
There's something more in the breast-pocket. His parchment
probably. No; something better still--a small copy of St. John's
Gospel, with his name thereon. Let us hope that its presence there,
when every extra ounce carried was a weighty consideration, is
more than suggestive of thoughts of higher things. Pass on. No
identity card on this body either, but another letter--a
sweetheart's one. Oh, the poetry and pathos, the comedy and tragedy
of love's young dream! Please see this burnt, sergeant; I don't
wish others to read what was meant for his eye alone. Poor lassie!
She'll feel it for a while; but Time is the great healer, and the
young heart has wonderfully recuperative powers. There are only two
kinds of love, men, that last till death and after--your mother's
love and your God's--and both are yours, yearning for a return.
'Oh, here's a sad group--seven, eight, nine, close together. Who's
that in front? An officer. I thought as much. _Noblesse oblige_.
Yes, I know him. Are we to bring him with the others? did you ask.
Certainly. What more appropriate resting-place than with the men he
so nobly led, and who so gallantly followed him--all alike faithful
to the death, giving their life for Queen and country! Pass on.
Here are three, one close after the other, as they moved from the
cover of this small donga. I saw them fall, vieing with one another
for a foremost place, for here "honour travelled in a strait so
narrow that only one could go abreast." All three mere boys, but
with the hearts of heroes. A book, did you say, in every one of
their pockets? _Prayers for Soldiers_--well marked, too. My friend
was right, dear mothers. There _is_ some comfort in the sadness--a
gleam of sunshine showing through the gloom.
'Ah, how thick they lie! What a deadly hail of Mausers must have
come from that rock-ribbed clump on the kopje. Three--and--twenty
officers and men, promiscuously blent; and fully more on that
little rise over there, as they showed in sight. God help their
wives and mothers, and strengthen me for this sacred duty! Nay,
men, don't turn away to hide the rising sob and tear. I'm past
that. I've got a new ordination in blood and tears. It's nothing to
be ashamed of--so far the opposite, it does you honour, for "men of
finest steel are men who keenest feel." Look at this man with the
field-dressing in his hand, shot while necessarily exposing
himself, trying to do what he could for a wounded comrade. Noble,
self-sacrificing fellow! Such deeds illumine the dark page of war.
Of a truth, some noble qualities grow under war's red rain.
Methinks I hear the Master's voice, "Well done, good and faithful
servant, inasmuch as ye did it to the least of these, ye did it
unto Me." Yes! Get these two groups together; we'll make a trench
midway. More Gospels and prayer-books, and friendly words for
soldiers, and Christian mottoes! I thank God for that. The sight of
them cheers me. Perhaps it should not, but it does. They knew, at
least, of the Father's forgiving love, and in their better moments
must have thought thereof, otherwise these books would not be there
at such a time; and though it does not do to presume too much
thereon, who can set a limit to God's mercy? Who can say what
passed in those closing moments, while the life-blood was ebbing
away? Often in the field I think of Scott's dying soldier--
"Between the saddle and the ground,
He mercy sought and mercy found."
Oh, here's an officer I've been expecting to find. I knew he was
missing, for I especially asked. He had a presentiment amounting to
a preintimation of his coming end. In vain I argued with him. He
calmly gave me his last messages. I've known several such. "There
are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our
philosophy." Thank God, when he said "the hour of my departure's
come," he was able to add, "I hear the voice that calls me _home_"
and "is the traveller sad," he asked, "when his face is turned
_homeward_?"
'Who's that you've got next? Oh, I know him well. We rejoiced
together. Come here, all of you, and look on his face. I'm not to
preach, boys--we have other work to do--but I wish you to lay his
case to heart. Some of you know him. You know the stand he took at
one of our meetings at the Modder River station, and what proof he
afterwards gave of the sincerity of his profession. Look at his
face. What a sweet, peaceful expression--what a contrast to his
surroundings! Death swift and sudden, in the horrid din of battle
stript of all its terrors. As earth's light faded he must have got
a glimpse of the glory beyond, for it's reflected in his face.
That's what Christ can do, and came to do, for a man.
'Sergeant, get some of the handiest of the men to break up these
empty ammunition-boxes and construct a rude cross for the trench.
It's the most appropriate "memorial." It signifies self-sacrifice,
and did they not, "obedient unto death," give their lives for
others; it indicates the cheering hope in which we lay them to
rest. By-and-by, we will erect something more permanent, and place
a fence around, for 'tis holy ground, consecrated by tearful prayer
and by the very fact that the remains of brave men mingle there.
Scotland to-day is poorer in men, but richer in heroes?
"Saviour, in Thy gracious keeping,
Leave we now our loved ones sleeping."'
[Footnote 5: _St. Andrew_, June 7, 1900.]