CHRISTIAN HEROISM
A Picture in "Punch"—Tommy's Deep-rooted Religion—Courage of Chaplains—A Shell in His Back—Stories of Christian Soldiers—First Clergyman Soldier to Die—Driver Osborne—A Church Parade of Four—"Tell My Wife I am Ready "—Duty overcomes Fear.
There was a time when men thought that the reckless devil-may-care man made the finest soldier; that the hard drinker, the hard swearer, the riotous liver came out best in a fight. Wellington wrote of his "collection of ruffians" in the Peninsula: "It is impossible to describe to you the irregularities and excesses committed by the troops. We are an excellent army on parade, an excellent one to fight, but we are worse than an enemy in the country." How greatly times have changed since then!
Sir George White once said that recklessness and lawlessness will carry men a certain distance, but when men are half fed, when nights are wet and cold, and when nerves are broken down by shot and shell, then the lawless man disappears. It is when he is called upon to take the place of a comrade shot on a lonely picket that the man who has disciplined himself proves the true soldier.
General Nogi, who commanded the Japanese forces at Port Arthur, held the same view. His words may well be borne in mind at this time:
"Only he who has conquered himself in time of peace can aspire to be a fighting man under the Sun flag. The brilliant and faithful deeds of the soldier on the battle-field are nothing but the flowering and fruition of the work and training of his daily life in time of peace. A man whose life is in disorder in time of peace would have a rather difficult task if he tried to perform with correctness and success the duties of a true soldier on the field of battle."
If we carry these statements on to their issue, then surely the Christian soldier should fight best of all. He has not only the discipline and training of the Army, but moral discipline and training as well. And he has something more—the spiritual fact which dominates his being and transfigures and transforms him. To him death is not death, he lives and will live, and in the worst of all fiery furnaces there is always with him "the form of the fourth, like unto the Son of God."
Such men as these are unconquerable. They remind us of Punch's famous cartoon, "Unconquerable"; for Punch is not only a humorist, he is a preacher too.
The Kaiser: "So you see—you've lost everything."
The King of the Belgians: "Not my soul!"
The Kaiser has gained his victory and sheathed his sword. Belgium is his; there is nothing in that country left for him to conquer. A ruined building is behind him, on his left is the broken wheel of a gun-carriage. In the distance is a Belgian family—an aged man, a woman, a child. The woman's husband is not there—most likely he is dead.
The King of the Belgians has lost his helmet. His uniform is war-worn, his hair untidy. His scabbard is empty, but he has not parted with his sword. He still grasps it in his strong right hand.
"You have lost everything," says the Kaiser—"Liège, Namur, Brussels, Antwerp." "No, not everything. Not my soul."
But the King of the Belgians was not alone in the claim which Punch puts into his life. Every Christian man fighting for his country, and many another, wounded, frost-bitten, dying, can answer "Not my soul." You cannot take that from him, it is his own sacred possession, and the consciousness that he possesses it still nerves him to do and dare.
As the Rev. E.R. Day, Church of England chaplain at the front, says: "There were men to whom we might almost kneel down in reverence. The bravery, endurance, heroism, and patience of our men at the front are such that French people could not understand it."
It is not necessary to claim that these qualities are the sole possession of the Christian man. It is, indeed, far otherwise. But the Christian graces produce them best of all. Mr. Day is right when he says, "Though apparently careless and light-hearted, one realised that there was a deep-rooted religion in our soldiers, and that it was indeed a fool's game to judge a man by his outward appearance." It is largely because of that "deep-rooted religion" that the qualities of "bravery, endurance, heroism, and patience" are produced.
We must remember that our Army at the front is made up in no small degree of men from homes in which God is honoured, many of them old Sunday-school boys. They have been trained in religion, they have been taught to pray. Some have forgotten much that they were taught, but they have not forgotten the old hymns and prayers, and in their time of need that "deep-rooted" religious instinct has asserted itself. As one of them said to me, "I grew too old for Sunday-school, and I wandered far away from God. For years I never prayed; but in the battle of the Marne I began to pray again, and I have kept on praying. I tell you what it is, sir, most men out there are praying now." Yes, there is felt the need for God and so there is prayer. My point is that, all things being equal, the man who prays is the best soldier, because he possesses spiritual power as well as material.
Central News Photo.
THE BISHOP OF LONDON AT THE FRONT AT EASTER.
Addressing men of the Army Service Corps from a transport cart[ToList]
I purpose therefore telling in this chapter of the heroism of the men who pray, while at the same time I do not overlook the heroism of the Army as a whole. My purpose will be answered if I convince my readers that, instead of religion impairing the courage of our soldiers, it is increased and intensified thereby.
May I first speak of the courage of our chaplains? Not every one expects a "parson" to be brave. The pulpit has been spoken of by the ill-informed as "The Coward's Castle," but hundreds of these parsons have been transferred to the forefront of the fight. As I write this, many of them are already fighting in the ranks, and many more will soon be there.
But the chaplain is not a fighting man. Not a shot does he fire, not a bayonet thrust does he give. He sees the shot and shell bursting round him, but he has not the stimulus of the fight. How have they borne themselves—these men who have been transferred from the pulpit to the battle-field? Two hundred of them are there. Has there been one lacking in courage? I doubt it. The stories I have already told are stories of conspicuous bravery. Let me add one or two more.
I have already mentioned the name of the Rev. Percy Wyndham Guinness, Church of England chaplain, 3rd Cavalry Brigade. He has been appointed by the King a Companion of the Distinguished Service Order, in recognition of his services with the Expeditionary Force. The official statement is: "On the 5th November at Kruistraat when Major Dixon, 16th Lancers, was mortally wounded, he went on his own initiative into the trenches under heavy fire and brought him to the ambulance, and on the afternoon of the same day, being the only individual with a horse in the shelled area, took a message under heavy fire from the 4th Hussars to the headquarters of the 3rd Cavalry Brigade."
That is the bare official statement, but it is enough. We may read between the lines bravery pre-eminent, and right worthily does he wear the D.S.O.
"T.P.'s" Great Deeds of the Great War tells another story. "Some of the ministers at the front are doing great deeds of sacrifice. As I was coming away from the hospital, I met one of them accompanied by a corporal. The minister stopped and inquired from me the way to the hospital. Naturally enough, I asked the corporal what was the matter with him. Before I could get the words out of my mouth, the minister turned round,—and I don't think I could describe the admiration I had for that man. He had walked about a mile and a half with a great lump of shell in his back, the size of a man's hand." That was endurance if you like, and it was the endurance of a Padre.
I cannot better sum up the heroism of the chaplains at the front than in the words of Field-Marshal Sir John French in his despatch published on February 17, 1915. "In a quiet and unostentatious manner the chaplains of all denominations have worked with devotion and energy in their respective spheres. The number with the forces in the field at the commencement of the war was comparatively small, but towards the end of last year, the Rev. J.M. Simms, D.D., K.H.C, principal chaplain, assisted by his secretary, the Rev. W. Drury, reorganised the branch, and placed the spiritual welfare of the soldiers on a more satisfactory footing. It is hoped that a further increase of personnel may be found possible. I cannot speak too highly of the devoted manner in which all chaplains, whether with troops in the trenches, or in attendance on the sick and wounded in casualty clearing stations and hospitals on the line of communications, have worked throughout the campaign."
The day after this statement was published came the despatches mentioning the names of those noted for distinguished conduct in the field, and in this—the second list—we find the names of no fewer than sixteen chaplains, while the Hon. and Rev. Maurice Peel (brother of Lord Peel) has received the new Military Cross.
The stories, however, that I most want to tell are the stories of the soldiers, officers and men. They were all alike, but my stories are confined to the definitely Christian soldiers. Their spirit is indicated in the following letter from Captain Norman Leslie of the Rifle Brigade, who has since died for his country.
"Try not to worry too much about the war, anyway. Units, individuals cannot count. Remember we are writing a new page of history. Future generations cannot be allowed to read the decline of the British Empire and attribute it to us. We live our little lives and die. To some are given chances of proving themselves men and to others no chance comes. Whatever our individual faults, virtues, or qualities may be it matters not, but when we are up against big things let us forget individuals, and let us act as one great British unit, united and fearless. It is better far to go out with honour than survive with shame."
That is the true spirit of the Christian soldier—"Better far to go out with honour than survive with shame."
But again I am oppressed with a superabundance of riches. The stories of Christian heroism which could be told would fill this book. The Church's Roll of Honour lengthens rapidly. I choose at random.
There is, for example, Captain James Fergus Mackain, 34th Sikh Pioneers, a zealous member of the Church of England Men's Society, and before the war Honorary Secretary of its Union in the diocese of Lahore. "Always bright and hopeful, brave and zealous, ever ready to help anyone in any way he could, and yet so humble and retiring that it was always his beautiful Christian character rather than himself that seemed to stand forward. The quality of his handshake won all hearts, and even now one seems to feel his vigorous grasp so characteristic of his thoroughness. A great gentle plaything with the children, a pacifying, controlling influence with boys and lads, a quiet sure leadership with men, is it any wonder that such a man was loved and honoured?" He, too, laid down his life for his country.
There was Lieutenant David Scott Dodgson, R.G.A., who was killed in action ten days before his thirtieth birthday. Since his death his promotion to a captaincy had been gazetted. He was laying out a telephone cable for the battery—a particularly dangerous and important piece of work—and while doing so was shot. His father served through the Indian Mutiny and saved the life of Havelock at Lucknow. Like father, like son.
There was Second Lieutenant H. Arnold Hosegood, 5th Royal Fusiliers, who was killed in action near Ypres on February 24. A fine upstanding man, six feet three inches in height, a daring rider, a good shot. "Generous, chivalrous, and modest, he had a great gift of friendliness." Before the war he was for a time Superintendent of the Westbury Park Wesleyan Sunday-school, Bristol, and Secretary of the Trinity Guild. He was only twenty-three years of age.
There was Private Paul Holman of the H.A.C. He was killed while on sentry duty on February 17. A comrade writes: "His first thought was evidently that he must warn the guard; this he did, becoming unconscious immediately afterwards." His colonel says of him: "He was a splendid type of young Englishman and a fine soldier, greatly beloved by us all—officers and men." He had just begun to practise as a barrister before the war broke out.
There were Second Lieutenant J.C. Baptist Crozier, Royal Munster Fusiliers, nephew of the Archbishop of Armagh, and Captain L.A.F. Cane, East Lancashire Regiment, who died leading his men to capture a trench, and Lieutenant Compton, Royal Scots Greys, son of the late Lord Alwyne Compton, and scores of other officers, of whom we may say as was said of those of old, "Who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, from weakness were made strong, waxed mighty in war, turned to flight armies of aliens."
We expect, however, that officers will set an example of bravery to their men, and though we mourn the large percentage of officers who have fallen in the field, we would not have it otherwise. It is the tradition of the Army, and a noble tradition too.
Perhaps this is the place to record the death of the first clergyman-soldier who has been killed in this war. The combination of minister of the Gospel and soldier of the line is so remarkable that the death of the first of these marks an epoch in the Church's history.
Captain Lionel Fairfax Studd, of the Rangers, 12th County of London Regiment, died of wounds received in action on February 14, 1915. He was the son of Mr. J.E.K. Studd, of the Polytechnic, and nephew of Mr. C.T. Studd. He had been ordained by the Bishop of London to a curacy at St. James, Holloway, at Trinity, 1914. But, on the outbreak of war, he felt it to be his duty, after very grave reflection, to take his place with his old regiment. Devoted to Christ, he was devoted also to his country.
The deeds, however, upon which I wish to dwell in this chapter are the deeds of Christian non-commissioned officers and men. I must choose with care, and the stories I tell will, I hope, show different phases of Christian courage.
Let me first tell how Driver F.A. Osborne won the French V.C. For years Driver Osborne has been associated with the Wesley Hall Brotherhood, Leicester, and although now on the field still counts himself a member.
I quote from the Methodist Times.
"The story has been slowly imparted to us. In September the gloom of the long and terrible retreat from Mons was lifted by the announcement of the capture of ten German guns by the English. Then fugitive paragraphs made reference to three men who had fought alone, wounded, but undaunted. Only now can the whole story be pieced together, and it is a veritable romance—tragic, heroic, glorious.
"It was on September 1, 1914, in a village near Compiègne, that the L Battery of six guns limbered up on reveille at 2.30, waiting for a missing order to retire. The French cavalry they were supporting retired unnoticed in the mist, and at 4.25, as the light grew, the Germans were perceived, but were thought to be the French. At 4.57 their battery of eleven guns and two maxims opened fire. The first shell killed Driver Osborne's horse, and in three minutes the gun teams were destroyed, only six horses being left.
"Men fell in droves, but Captain Bradbury and the men available strove to unlimber the guns, and in five minutes three were ready for action. One was instantly disabled by a German shell, and Driver Osborne was thrice wounded. A shrapnel bullet deeply grazed his cheek, another caught his shoulder, a third grazed his ribs and inflicted a nasty chest wound. The second gun was shattered in ten minutes, and then for another hour and a quarter one gun fought the German battery. It was an inferno. The screaming dying horses, the shattered groaning men, the shells in hundreds digging holes of four to five feet deep, and shrapnel bullets by thousands searching the ground made it a Gehenna.
"Men fell fast. The officers were killed or wounded, but the one gun fought on. Driver Osborne, thrice wounded, fetched the ammunition from fifty yards away amidst showers of shrapnel. One shell dropped within six feet, but did not burst; another hit a gun muzzle, but the fragments missed him. He was running behind a shattered gun for ammunition when a shell hit the wheel, and the concussion of the broken wheel knocked his knee up, and he could go no more. An officer started for ammunition instead and was instantly killed.
"Osborne holds Captain Bradbury in high honour. 'He was a hero and a gentleman.' His courage, promptitude, and resource inspired his men. One by one the German guns were hit, shattered, silenced, and their gunners fell, under the terrible accuracy of that one British gun. Ten guns ceased fire, and the Germans fled from the other. The Middlesex Regiment of infantry arrived at this point and found three men wounded, covered with blood from horses and men, but working their one gun with their ebbing strength.
"Dashing forward, they captured the German guns, brought out the English battery and rescued the wounded men. The three men, with their fallen comrades, had saved the battery, destroyed the German attack, saved the village beyond, and secured the English rear."
For this splendid service Driver Osborne was rewarded with the Médaille Militaire for distinguished conduct. This is the French V.C. It is equivalent to the Legion of Honour in France, and carries with it a pension of a hundred francs a year.
Driver Osborne was also recommended for the British V.C., but it does not yet appear to have been given.
The first Wesleyan soldier in this war to receive the V.C. was Bandsman Thomas Edward Rendle, 1st Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry. The reward was, according to the official notification, conferred—
"For conspicuous bravery on November 20, near Wulverghem, when he attended to the wounded under very heavy shell and rifle fire, and rescued men from the trenches in which they had been buried by the blowing in of the parapets by the fire of the enemy's howitzers."
Still another story of Christian heroism, the hero of this being a member of the Salvation Army. I quote from the War Cry of October 17, 1914.
"Jumping into a carriage of an already moving train the other day (writes a War Cry representative) I was seized by a soldier in war-stained khaki, who gave me a tight hand-grip and said, 'Good luck to you! God bless you and your people!'
"'I'm afraid I don't know you,' I replied.
"'Perhaps not,' he responded, 'but I know some of your people, and the one I met in the firing line was one of the pluckiest fellows I know of. We had been lying in the trenches firing for all we were worth. On my right, shoulder to shoulder, were two Salvationists. I remembered them as having held a meeting with some of us chaps about a week before. As we lay there with the bullets whistling round us these two were the coolest of the whole cool lot!
"'After we had been fighting some time we had orders to fall back, and as we were getting away from the trenches one of the Salvationists was hit and fell. His chum didn't miss him until we had gone several hundred yards, and then he says, "Where's ——?" calling him by name. "I must go back and fetch him!" and off he hurried, braving the hail of shot and shell. I admired his bravery so much that I offered to go with him, but he said, "No, the Lord will protect me; I'll manage it!"
"'So I threw myself on the ground and waited. I saw him creep along for some yards, then run to cover; creep along, and take shelter again; and, finally, having found his chum, he picked him up and made a dash for safety.
"'How the bullets fell around him! Into the shelter of some trees he went; out again and in once more; and when he did get into the last piece of clearing I couldn't wait any longer, so rushed forward to help him.
"'Then I got hit, and was, of course, bowled over. But your man quickly came to me.
"'What do you think the brave fellow did? He just put his other arm round me and carried us both off! Darkness was fast coming on, and presently he laid us down and bound the wounds, which he bandaged up with strips which he tore from his shirt. I shall never forget that terrible night!
"'The three of us struggled on, we two getting weaker and weaker, until just as dawn was breaking we all collapsed.
"'How far we had gone I don't know, for the next I remember was that I was in a field hospital. I could find no trace of my brave rescuer nor his chum, and have heard nothing of them since. But he's a brave boy, and if ever I chance to meet him again I'll ask his name, and the War Cry shall know it as soon as word can reach you.'"
The next story is one altogether different. I quote it from the United Free Church of Scotland Record. It speaks for itself.
"It was a Sunday morning in Belgium. There had been a sharp engagement, and the British troops holding a village had been hurriedly forced by great masses of the enemy to retire. In the confusion three Scottish privates and a corporal had been cut off in the streets and had backed into the first open door they came to. The occupants had fled, and they made their way up a long staircase, intending to find the roof and watch events from there. But it ended in an empty loft, where there was only a skylight beyond their reach.
"'Better lie low for a while,' suggested the corporal as they stood listening to the terrible sounds outside. The Germans were evidently burning, looting, and killing. Now and again they heard screams and the discharge of rifles: sometimes an explosion would shake the building, showing that houses were being blown up; while the smell of burning wood penetrated to their retreat. This went on for hours. The soldiers knew they would be discovered sooner or later, and expected no mercy, as the enemy would be sure to invent some excuse for putting them to death.
"Suddenly the corporal said: 'Lads, it's time for church parade: let's hae a wee bit service here; it may be oor last.' The soldiers looked a little astonished, but they piled their rifles in a corner and came and stood at attention. The corporal took out a small Testament from his breast pocket and turned over the pages.
"'Canna we sing something first? Try ye're hand at the 23rd Psalm. Quiet noo—very quiet.'
"Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale,
Yet will I fear none ill:
For thou art with me; and thy rod
And staff me comfort still."
"There wasn't much melody about the tune, but the words came from the heart.
"Then the corporal began:
"'Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.'
"As he read there were loud shouts below: doors banged, and glass was smashed. But he went on:
"'He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.'
"He ended, and his grave face took on a wry smile.
"'I'm no' a gude hand at this job,' he said, 'but we maun finish it off. Let us pray.'
"He stood, with the book in his hand, and the others knelt and bowed their heads. His memory went back to the days of family worship in his father's cottage, and he tried to remember the phrases he had heard. A little haltingly, but very simply, he committed their way to God and asked for strength to meet their coming fate like men.
"While he prayed a heavy hand thrust open the door and they heard an exultant exclamation and then a gasp of surprise. Not a man moved, and the corporal went calmly on. After a pause he began, with great reverence, to repeat the Lord's Prayer.
"That a German officer or private was standing there they realised: they did not see, but they felt, what was taking place. They heard the click of his heels, and they knew that he also was standing at attention. For a moment the suspense lasted, and then came the soft closing of the door and his footsteps dying away.
"The tumult in the house gradually ceased, and soon afterwards the storm of war retreated like the ebb of the tide, and quiet fell upon the village and remained upon it. At dusk the four men ventured forth, and by making a wide detour worked round the flank of the enemy and reached the British outposts in safety."
One other story will suffice. Sergeant William Taylor of the 1st Royal Berkshire Regiment died of wounds in the Herbert Hospital, Woolwich, on Thursday, December 10. A beautiful character, a devoted Christian soldier, he was promoted on the field from the rank of lance-corporal to sergeant for conspicuous bravery. On one occasion he stood over a fallen comrade with bullets whizzing all around, until eventually the comrade was carried to a place of safety. On another occasion Sergeant Taylor volunteered with others to attack a position held by a strong force of the enemy. The Berkshires lost heavily until reinforced, and then the position was carried. He was the ideal soldier—the "righteous man" who is "brave as a lion."
The late Rev. T.J. Thorpe, who cared for him while he was in hospital at Woolwich, says: "The Lord Jesus was very precious to him amidst the agony of his last days, and he died more than conqueror." This grand Christian hero was only twenty-four years old.
Before I close this chapter, let me give extracts from two letters sent home by two Baptist chaplains and published in the Baptist Times and Freeman.
The Rev. T.N. Tattersall writes:
"I have made inquiries as to how the men behave in the trenches. What effect has the imminence of death upon the character of the men? Some use language more forcible than polite. Some find the Black Marias and shells a source of entertainment. Some turn their feelings into the songs of Zion. Many vows to God are made on the field of battle, and a Christian soldier has a great opportunity of which he is not slow to make use. In a chat with one such, Private J. Downs, of the Welsh Regiment, a good Baptist, whom I found in hospital recovering from a wound, he told me how he lost his chum. They were sharing a dug-out together, and had agreed, should either fall, to write home the terrible news. His friend said, 'You will tell my wife I am ready, that to God I have given my trust.' Just before he fell he sang 'Jesus is tenderly calling thee home.' Little did he realise how near was his own call. A bullet struck him in the head. Last Thursday the letter was written."
The second is from the Rev. E.L. Watson, and forcibly depicts to us the highest form of courage—courage that triumphs in spite of fear and triumphs through Christ. Such courage is the possession of every Christian soldier.
"At another farm-house in absolute darkness and silence we reached our second dressing station. The regimental medical officer was absent, but the sergeant in charge was ready to deliver over his charge. I stepped into what appeared to be a large living room covered with straw, upon which some fifteen men were lying in absolute silence. No groans, no word of complaint escaped the lips of a single man, no asking for drink, nor claiming first assistance. I felt my way over several, and was able to whisper a word of cheer here and there. One badly wounded man guided my hand to that of a lad near by with the words, 'Speak a word to that lad, chaplain, he must need his mother.' Out of that darkness one by one they were carefully lifted on to stretchers and put into the ambulances.
"One incident impressed me very much that night in that chamber of agony. Just as the last man was being carried out I heard a sob near by me, and putting out my hand touched a stretcher-bearer who had become jumpy. Poor boy, and no wonder. Only seventeen years of age, and away from home for the first time. Empty stomach and soaked clothes, bringing in and remaining with the wounded till relieved, with death outside at every step. This first night of his experience with war was trying his strength and testing his nerve. I took his hand, and whispered a message, and I heard him go out with his little company again towards the trenches over a fire-swept area.
"Men claim that heroism always comes to the front in a crisis, and so it does, but I have learned too that the heroic soul is not always the fearless one. In the case of this lad the sense of duty overcame his sense of fear, and away he went to face death, brave and heroic, in spite of a trembling heart and unsteady hand."
Yet one more picture of heroism, and it is, indeed, a strange one. There is a touch of unconscious humour in it, but for all that it is grandly heroic.
Six Royal Field Artillery men, soldiers of the King and of the Salvation Army too, have been holding daily prayer meetings just behind the guns, and have succeeded in capturing several of their comrades as "trophies." There was no "penitent rail" to which to invite them, and so, notwithstanding the cold, they piled their overcoats together, and kneeling at this improvised "rail" their comrades gave themselves to Christ.
What a picture it presents of absolute devotion and of the highest Christian courage! The guns hardly cool from their deadly fire, soon to belch out death again, the men in the depth of winter caring naught for the cold or for the enemy's shot and shell, using their brief interval to lead their comrades to Christ. Pray on, Salvation Army lads! You will fight all the better for your country because of your fight for the King of Kings, and if death stares you in the face you will know that you have spent your last moments in pointing your comrades to the Lamb of God Who taketh away the sin of the world.
A NEW FORM OF RED-CROSS WORK.
The Red-Cross Motor Field Kitchen, under the direction of Miss Jessica Borthwick, dispenses hot soup to the wounded on the battlefield.
Drawn by S. Begg.[ToList]