(6) A not unimportant duty which falls to a chaplain's lot is the recreation of the men, and if he is a good sort he will endeavour, during periods of rest, to enliven the lot of his men with sing-songs, boxing competitions, football matches, athletic sports, etc., etc.—anything to buck up the men and keep them cheery. In addition to this, many nondescript duties fall to the chaplain's lot. Sometimes he is mess president, and that will give him an anxious half hour. The solicitude of a young wife who asked a matron of mature experience as to the best method of keeping the affection of her husband and preserving his interest in the home, was answered by, 'Feed the brute.' A mess president knows to the full what this means. The padré will sometimes have difficult and perchance dangerous work allotted to him, such as carrying messages under fire, or tending wounded men in exposed places. He must also be prepared to lend a hand in carrying the wounded; and, in short, render himself as useful as possible, and thus prove himself a friend of officer and man.
The question is often asked, 'Should a chaplain be under fire?' It is impossible to avoid it if he is serving troops under fire, and he must take his chance with every one else. Many times I have been asked, 'Were you afraid?' I am only a normal person, not conspicuous for undue pluck on the one hand, or, I hope, undue funk on the other, but I never got over my fear; of course one grew accustomed to the deadly visitants which were constantly in our midst. After all, if there is no fear, there is no courage. I sometimes hear of men, of whom it is said, 'They do not know what fear is.' Well, if that is so, such an individual is devoid of courage, for the very essence of courage consists in the appreciation of fear, and a persistence in duty notwithstanding. Doctor Johnson was passing through a cathedral when he noticed a tomb on which was written, 'Here lies the body of a man who never knew fear.' 'Then,' said the witty Doctor, 'he never tried to snuff a lighted candle with his fingers.' General Gordon has told us that he was always subject to fear. 'For my part,' he once said, 'I am always frightened and very much so.' And yet no one in history has a reputation more honestly earned for this real kind of courage, a courage won by personal victory over fear. Herein lies the essence of the experience of the vast majority of our men; fearing fire, and loathing it as they do, they yet 'stick' it, because it is their duty.
It is astonishing how soon one grows accustomed to death at the Front. It cannot well be otherwise; the man you have been chatting to five minutes before is presently borne along dead. The officer who was the life and soul of the mess on the previous night, in some ruined farmhouse, is gone before the morning; and as a man well put it, 'Dying men out here are as common as falling leaves in autumn.'
The religious atmosphere at the Front is unique. I can hardly say that there is what one may term a general turning to God, but certainly the realization of the nearness of God and eternity are very present to most men's minds. As a man said up at the Front, 'Out here every man puts up some kind of a prayer every night.' The superficial scepticism which is so largely ethical, or the result of indifference, and which is assumed by many men in England, has no hold at the Front. One of our best known Bishops was telling me when I met him 'somewhere in France' that a short time back he was about to conduct a service in a hospital ward, in his own city, and upon handing a hymn-book to one of the patients lying in bed, he was met with, 'Thank you, I would rather not, I am an agnostic' Hearing this, the man in the next bed raised himself up on his elbow, and looking at the objector, tersely remarked, 'You silly young fool, a week at the trenches would take that nonsense out of you.' Undoubtedly our men are being awakened to the tremendous reality of eternal verities, and it behoves us to help them all we can. In this respect the experience of the padré is intensely happy; no work on which he engages is more fruitful than that of upholding Christ before men who have come near the end of their earthly course. Said an officer to me—who had just been brought in badly wounded, and I had written to his wife assuring her that all was being done to alleviate his suffering and to effect his recovery (which happily took place)—'Padré, I have been a wild man all my life, but last night as I lay wounded in the trenches, for the first time I realized God, and perfect peace came into my heart.'
A captain in the Guards, badly hit through the lungs with shrapnel, demanded a good bit of my attention. When he was sent to the Base I hardly thought that he would survive the journey; however, in due course he reached England. Some months afterwards I received a letter from his mother, stating that her boy was slowly climbing back to recovery, and thanking me for what I had been able to do for him; which was little enough. At the bottom of the letter was a postscript: 'My darling boy died at twelve to-day. Just before he passed away he said, "Mother, I am in perfect peace with God. Give my love to padré."' Those are the kind of things that make a man thank God for having volunteered to do one's 'bit' in that particular line of life in which he has been placed. No work is grander than a chaplain's; but I must lay it down as a general axiom, that no man should undertake this particular kind of work unless he knows that he is charged with a message from God.
In the Neuve Chapelle dispatch, Sir John French writes: 'I have once more to remark upon the devotion to duty, courage and contempt of danger which has characterized the work of the chaplains throughout this campaign.' The padré's work is not to fight; indeed, he is not armed (anyhow, he is not allowed to be by the authorities); and certainly one of the difficulties experienced is to withhold oneself as one sees the brave lads go to their daring and glorious work.
Ambassador of Christ, you go
Up to the very gates of hell,
Through fog of powder, storm of shell,
To speak your Master's message: 'Lo,
The Prince of Peace is with you still,
His peace be with you, His goodwill.'
It is not small, your priesthood's price
To be a man and yet stand by,
To hold your life while others die,
[155] To bless, not share the sacrifice,
To watch the strife and take no part—
You with the fire at your heart.
W.M. Letts, in the Spectator.