WITH SIR REDVERS BULLER
Christian work among the troops in Natal went on apace for months prior
to the advance upon Ladysmith. The Pietermaritzburg Y.M.C.A., for
instance, provided two correspondence tents, which were of great service
to the troops.
We have the report of No. 1 tent before us. From December to April this
tent was pitched successively at Chievely, Frere, Springfield,
Spearman's, Zwart Kopjes, beyond Colenso, outside Ladysmith, Modder
Spruit, and finally at Orange River Junction. Its work can be divided
under four heads--Correspondence, Evangelistic, Literary, and Social.
Every day saw the tent full of letter writers, and they were lying on
the ground in front of it also. As a rule not more than two sheets of
paper and two envelopes were given to each applicant. But in this way no
less than twelve thousand sheets and an equal number of envelopes were
distributed during the period named. These workers also performed
amateur post office duties. They sold £25 worth of stamps, and received
over nine thousand letters and three hundred papers and packages.
Efforts were made to supply newspapers for the men, but the difficulties
of transport proved in the end too great to be satisfactorily overcome,
though whenever possible they were obtained.
Nearly every night evangelistic services were held, conducted by some
member of the tent staff of workers, or by an Army Scripture Reader, or
an S.C.A. man.
Various social functions were successfully carried out, and our soldiers
rejoiced over the good things provided for them. They do not, as a rule,
care for free teas at home. You may coax them to go to them, as some
benevolent ladies do; but they can afford to pay for what they get, and
they prefer that plan. The other only spoils them. But abroad things are
different, and Tommy of the capacious appetite took all he could get.
And so would you, my reader, had you been in his place.
The South African General Mission was also in evidence. Mr. Spencer
Walton kept sending good things into the camp of all kinds, and kept up
his ministry of 'comforts' even after Ladysmith was reached.
Our old friends of the Soldiers' Christian Association were, of course,
to the fore. They knew just how to do the rough-and-tumble work
required. Tommy could understand them, because they understood him.
Throughout the campaign there was evidence of Mr. Wheeler's careful
organizing. His agents seem to have been most capable and successful
men, ready for every good word and work, and the work itself such as
will stand the test of time.
=Bivouac in a S.C.A. Tent.=
Take this as a specimen of the readiness to take advantage of any and
every opportunity. Mr. Fleming writes from Frere Camp:--
'We were preparing for a meeting last night, when we discovered
something like Boers in the distance coming towards our camp, but
they turned out to be S.A.L.H. They pitched before our tent to
bivouac for the night. When they had dismounted the rain began to
fall in torrents. A major came over to me, and asked me where the
canteen was; of course, it was shut. I asked him what he wanted to
buy, as perhaps I could help him. He wanted socks. I took him into
my tent, and gave him a bath and a pair of socks--made him a drop
of "sergt.-majors'." His gratitude was unbounded. He said, "Ah,
this is true Christianity; you're a brick, old boy. Here's a
sovereign subscription for your kindness." I refused it. "Well,
I'll never forget you!" "All right," I said, "my name is on the
socks"; then off I went to see about the others. Met the colonel.
Offered him the freedom of our large marquee for his men to sleep
in or shelter as they pleased. He was most grateful, so in the
midst of a dreadful rainfall about two hundred of these fellows
found shelter. All were hungry. We had five boxes of biscuits for
our own use, and fifteen gallons of gingerbeer. Mr. Young, of the
S.A.G.M., who was a great help to me, took a bucket of the
gingerbeer and some biscuits to the men on duty on the lines.
'It was impossible to have our meeting, but we had individual
dealing with several. I never shall forget the sight of those men
sleeping in the marquee. Two of them were huddled up in a box like
monkeys. One man was wringing out his socks; he had fallen into a
gun pit up to the waist in water. I wanted to lend him a pair, but
he evidently thought that the feeling of dry socks would be too
great a contrast to his wet body, for he positively refused my nice
warm ones. About 10 p.m. I found three men sleeping outside in the
rain. I asked one of them to come and share my tent. "No, thank
you, sir, we have only one blanket between us." "Come on, then, the
three of you." Then the invitation was accepted, and didn't they
smile as I served them with hot coffee! Mr. Hide's tent (he is at
Durban) I lent to a major and a captain.
'The water ran like a river through our camp, so heavy was the
rainfall. I kept lights in our marquee all night, and toddled out
and in to see all was right. I was not out of my clothes all night,
but my lot was a happy one compared with those dear lads--they have
not been out of their clothes for months, and have never had a tent
to cover them. This morning, as they left, the gratitude of both
officers and men was so intense that I had to clear off the
scene--could not stand it. It has rained in torrents to-day. Got
wet through. Had splendid meeting to-night. Sure there was definite
working of the Holy Spirit. The Rev. James Gray, who gave the
address, has been a great help to us.'[13]
Among the men of the Lancashire Fusiliers, who subsequently lost so
heavily at Spion Kop, there were many conversions. And among the naval
men there were many grand Christians, who were delighted to avail
themselves of the privileges and opportunities which the tent supplied.
The chaplains were, of course, at the front with the men, or as near the
front as they could get, sharing their fatigues and many of their
dangers.
[Footnote 13: _News from the Front_, May, 1900.]
=A Bit of Christian Comradeship.=
Differences of denomination were for the most part forgotten, and the
Rev. Mr. Gedge, the Church of England chaplain, and the Rev. T.H.
Wainman, the Wesleyan, were the best of friends and comrades. Mr. Gedge
soon became a power for good. His tent meetings were crowded, and his
preaching told with great effect, many being brought to Christ. His
open-air work was splendidly done. Here is a delightful bit of Christian
comradeship, which we wish we could see oftener repeated in this
country. The Rev. T.H. Wainman writes:--
'After watching the men who were formed for guard duties, etc., for
some time, I noticed Major Gedge, the Church of England army
chaplain, and several Army and Navy League workers come along,
evidently intent on holding a voluntary service. I joined them, and
helped in the singing of half a dozen hymns, which by this time had
brought together a large number of the soldiers. Mr. Gedge asked me
to give the address. I did so, and had a most happy time, the men
listening for twenty minutes or more with evident interest. I
interspersed my address with illustrations from my travels and
experience in this country, which seemed to hold them in attention
to the finish. The General Confession was then recited and a few
other prayers from the Liturgy, and one of the most hearty and
successful voluntary services was concluded by the singing of the
hymn "Glory to Thee, my God, this night." I went to my tent
thankful for the good work being done by the various Christian
organizations, and convinced that many went home with new
aspirations after a better and nobler life.'[14]
[Footnote 14: _Methodist Times_, Feb. 8, 1900.]
=The Chaplains of the Church of England.=
Here, perhaps, we may refer for a moment to the services of the Church
of England chaplains in general. The Church is singularly fortunate in
the men it has sent to the front. The senior chaplain with the Guards,
Colonel Faulkner, has set an example to all the others by his intense
devotion. He has advanced all the way with Lord Roberts to Pretoria and
beyond. He has returned invalided, but not until he has nobly done the
work he was commissioned to do.
The chaplains sent out from Aldershot were men whom every one esteems
and loves. The praise of the Rev. R. Deane Oliver is on every one's
lips. Of the Rev. A.F.C. Hordern we shall have occasion to speak when we
come to the siege of Ladysmith. The Rev. T. P. Moreton is an eloquent
preacher and a Christian gentleman, interested in all good work. And
what shall we say of the Rev. A.W.B. Watson? He is a hero, though, like
all other heroes, he would be the last to believe it.
=Mr. Watson in the Soudan and in South Africa.=
Sitting at the tea table of a corporal of the Medical Staff Corps a
short time ago, we began to talk of Mr. Watson. 'Ah!' said he, 'Mr.
Watson is my hero. You know he went through the Soudan campaign. I had
charge of the cholera tent. At one time I was left alone to manage it.
Not another chaplain but Mr. Watson came near. Twice a day he came
without fail. One day he came in, and found me lying on the floor in a
state of complete prostration. He lifted me up and carried me to his
tent. He then came back to the tent of which I had charge, and all day
he attended to my poor cholera patients, washed them, and performed all
my most loathsome duties. Love him! of course I love him. I would lay
down my life for him.'
Mr. Watson has gone to South Africa at the risk of his life, but he
would go. He had been through a severe operation, and was in a most
critical condition. He begged permission to go, but of course the
doctors could not pass him. He could not, however, bear to think of his
men being there without him. And after trying one expedient after
another, he, who had been refused permission on the ground of
ill-health, at last got out under the plea that the climate of South
Africa might be beneficial! May God spare him for many years!
=The Rev. T.H. Wainman.=
But this is a long digression! The Wesleyan chaplain was the Rev. T.H.
Wainman, a sturdy Yorkshireman, who had spent many years in South Africa
as a Wesleyan missionary. He was not new to the duties of a chaplain,
for years ago he was with Sir Charles Warren in Bechuanaland. He took to
his new work as though he had only just laid it down, and bullets and
shells seemed to have no terror for him.
At the parade service at Chievely on the day of the advance to
Spearman's Hill, Mr. Wainman took for his text, 'Speak unto the children
of Israel that they go forward.' He might have known what was coming,
for the last line of 'Onward, Christian Soldiers' had hardly been sung,
and the Benediction pronounced, before rumours of the advance spread
through the camp, and by two p.m. the advance had really commenced. At
daylight next morning the battle began, and Mr. Wainman describes what
he calls a 'cool piece of daring.'
='A Cool Piece of Daring.'=
'At the same time the firing of cannon to our right was fast and
furious, the shells dropping and bursting right among our field
artillery. I watched with breathless anxiety, expecting all our
guns to be abandoned, and half the men killed, when to my
astonishment the men rode their horses right among the bursting
shells, and hooking them to their guns rode quietly away, taking
gun after gun into safety. In some instances a horse fell, and this
necessitated the men waiting in their terrible position until
another horse could be brought, harnessed, and attached to the gun.
Eventually all were brought out of range, but a more plucky piece
of daring and heroism I have never witnessed, and never expect to
witness in my life. The officers rode up and down directing their
men as though heedless of danger, and the only casualty I heard of,
excepting the horses, was a captain having his foot shattered.'[15]
He himself showed many a cool piece of daring before he got to
Ladysmith, and when, after the fight at Spion Kop, some one had to go
and bury the dead, he bravely volunteered, and performed this last
ministry for his dead comrades under heavy fire. For his bravery on that
occasion he was promoted to the rank of major. Those associated with him
in this awful task were Major Gedge, the Church of England chaplain, and
Fathers Collins and Matthews (Roman Catholics). This was the Father
Matthews who was captured with his men at Nicholson's Nek, and
afterwards released.
There was now but little opportunity for ordinary Christian work. The
last struggle for the relief of Ladysmith had commenced, and was to be
carried on in grim earnest to the end. The men were ready to follow
their leaders anywhere, but could not understand the frequent retreats.
This much every man knew, however, that when he marched out with his
regiment in the morning it was very doubtful whether he would be alive
at night. This thought sobered every one, and many a man prayed who had
never prayed before.
[Footnote 15: _Methodist Times_.]
=General Lyttleton's Brigade Formed up for Prayer Before Going into
Action.=
One of the most remarkable facts of the campaign is this. Before General
Lyttleton's brigade marched out from its camping ground for its
desperate task it was formed up in close column--formed up not for an
inspection, but for prayer. We have never heard of anything else like it
in the history of war. The Bishop of Natal was with the troops, and he
suggested to General Lyttleton that the best preparation for the battle
was prayer. He himself led in prayer for the other regiments, while at
the request of the colonel the Army Scripture Reader attached to the
Scottish Rifles offered prayer. With prayer rising for them and
following them, they marched to the conflict. It was to many a
Sacrament. It was their _Sacramentum_--their oath of allegiance to the
King of kings.
Strange things happen in war. Perhaps this is one of the strangest. And
yet if there were more prayer there would be less war. May be the voice
of prayer rising from our British army to the throne of God--rising also
from friends in the homeland far away, is another Sacrament--a sign and
a seal of the blessings foretold when the Prince of Peace shall reign.
=The Struggle for Spion Kop.=
Potgieter's Drift, Spion Kop, Pieter's Hill--these are names that will
live in the memory of every British soldier with Sir Redvers Buller. Of
all fights Spion Kop was perhaps the most terrible, as it was the most
disastrous. It was called Spion Kop, or Spying Mountain, because it was
from this eminence the old Boer trekkers spied out the land in the days
gone by. It was more than a hill--it was a mountain, and a mountain with
a most precipitous ascent. To climb it meant hauling oneself up from one
rock to another. It was a task that required all a strong man's
strength. Yet up it went our men without a moment's hesitation. It was
almost like climbing a house side. But one man helped another, the
stronger pulling up the weaker, until they halted for a moment
breathless at the top. 'Charge!' and away they went. The bayonets were
covered with blood after that awful charge, and then, their work for the
moment accomplished, they lay down, for the bullets were whistling
around them. In the dense darkness they began to build sangars as best
they could. All night long they worked, and never for a moment were
they allowed to work in peace. When morning broke they saw that their
entrenchments were far too small, and though they held out all day,
their position was commanded by the Boers on higher ground, and so
became untenable. Shells burst behind every rock. Bullets like hail
rained upon them, and although they fought as all true Britishers can,
they were at last withdrawn--withdrawn, perhaps, when victory was almost
within their grasp.
It is not our purpose to describe the fight; that we leave to others.
What we have said serves but as a reminder. The question that concerns
us is, How did our men hold themselves through that awful day?
=Touching Incidents at Spion Kop.=
We read of one, a Wesleyan local preacher,--Mr. W.F. Low,--wounded by a
bullet through his collar bone and shoulder blade; wounded again by a
fragment of shell striking his leg, worn out by excitement and
fatigue--so worn out that he actually slept, notwithstanding the pain of
his wound, until awoke by sharp pain of his second wound. We read of
this man crawling over to the wounded lying near him, passing water from
his water-bottle to one and another, gathering the water-bottles of the
dead men round about, and giving them to those yet living. And yet the
cry of 'Water,' 'Water!' was heard on every side, and there were many to
which he could not respond. He tells how many of the men were praying,
how their cries of repentance seemed to him too often cries of
cowardice; though who would not fear to enter the presence of God all
unprepared and unforgiven? Well might many of them cry for mercy.
One man spent his last moments in writing a letter to his chum, who had
led him to Christ but the day before. 'Dear brother in Christ Jesus,' he
wrote, 'I owe my very soul to you. If it had not been for you, I should
not have been ready to die now. It seems hard only to give the last few
hours of my life to His service, but I must say "Good-bye." The angels
are calling me home. I can see them and the glorious city. Good-bye, and
may God bless you!'
Says the one who in rough-and-ready fashion had so recently led his chum
to Christ, 'It cheered me to know he was all right with the Master. Now
I must look out for more work for Him.'
=The Tortures of the Wounded.=
Then started that sad procession to the rear--the procession of
ox-waggons containing the poor mangled bodies of our wounded. Oh! the
horrors of it! 'How much longer will it be?' 'Will the road soon be
smoother?' cried the longsuffering lads. Who shall tell the tale of
agony? Aye! who shall tell the heroism then displayed? Who shall
describe how rough men became as gentle women, and how those racked with
pain themselves yet tried to minister to the wants of others? Oh! war is
devil's work; but surely at no time do human love and human sympathy
show themselves so often, or prove themselves so helpful, as amidst its
horrors.
Of all hospitals that at Mooi River was the best. This is the testimony
of one and all. 'You went in there,' said one lad, 'a skeleton. You came
out a giant.' And at Mooi at last, many of these poor wounded soldier
lads found themselves, and amidst comfort that seemed to them luxury and
rest that was heaven itself they were many of them wooed back to life.
But what of the men still at the front? Effort after effort! Retreat
followed by advance! Misunderstanding and mistake here and there. And
then Pieter's Hill! Ask the soldier who has come back wounded from
Pieter's Hill--and how many of them are there?--what he thought of it.
He can give you but a confused picture of the fight. He has no idea of
the plan in the general's mind. But ask him of his experiences. His
wound was nothing; he will not dwell upon that. But the time spent upon
the ground after the wound was received--twenty-four hours, forty-eight,
three days, and in one case, at any rate, so the poor fellow told us,
four days--before the stretcher party carried them to the rear. It could
not be helped. There was no reaching the wounded. They were scattered
far and near. They lay where they fell, starving for want of food, dying
of thirst under a South African sun. Oh! the horror of it! But your
soldier cannot describe it. It will be a nightmare to him for life. You
speak to him on the subject 'How long did you lie there?' You want to
inquire a little further; but he shakes his head,' Don't ask me, 'twas
too awful,' and he turns his head away.
='Men, Christ can Save Me even Now.'=
Seated in the Buckingham Palace Soldiers' Home the other day, some men
from Pieter's Hill were chatting together. 'And what was your
experience?' said the chaplain. 'Oh! I just realized how God could save,
and God could keep. It was terribly hard, but all through those fearful
battles I had always peace--always joy.'
And then he continued, 'I never think of Pieter's Hill but I think of
Armstrong. You did not know Armstrong. He used to be in the orderly room
every week--a bad lad was poor old Armstrong. But when we were in India
he gave himself to Christ. He was never in the orderly room after that.
One day his major met him. "Armstrong," said he, "what's the matter? we
never see you in the orderly room now."
"No, sir," he said, "old Armstrong's gone. A new Armstrong's come."
"What do you mean?" queried his officer. "Just this, sir; I've given my
heart to God, and chucked the sin."
'So he lived until he went to the war, and so he died. He passed through
Spion Kop unscathed, but on Pieter's Hill a bullet went through his
head. As he fell he cried, "Men, Christ can save me even now! It's all
right, I'm going home," and he died.'
The Guardsmen came thronging round while this man of the Royal Irish
Rifles told about his chum They listened with tears in their eyes; they
listened to tell the story again to others. And so the good news that
Christ can save upon the battle-field is sent flying through the British
army.
'Were you in that night attack at Ladysmith?' asked one turning to
another. 'Yes, I was there.' 'Did you see Lieutenant Fergusson when he
fell?' 'Yes, I was close to him. I went up to him and said, "Are you
much hurt, sir? Can I take you in?" "No thank you, my lad; I'm done
for," replied the dying officer. "Take some fellow you can save.'" And
so he, too, died like a hero.
The officer inside the besieged town and the private soldier outside
attempting to save him--are one in this, that they know how to die; and
England calls each 'hero'!
And so through blood and fire, over heaps of slain, General Sir Redvers
Duller passed into Ladysmith--passed in just in time; passed in to see
men with wan cheeks and sunken eyes--an army of skeletons; but passed in
to find the old flag still flying.
[Illustration: AMBULANCE WORK ON THE FIELD.]