“The chaplain, boys,” announced the sergeant major, and instantly every man was on his feet, and at attention.
“It's all right, boys,” said the sergeant major. “The chaplain has just dropped in for a minute for a friendly call, and we want you to feel, sir,” he added, for the sergeant major loved a little ceremonial, “that we respectfully sympathise with you in your loss, and that we consider ourselves honoured by your presence here tonight.”
Barry was so deeply touched by the unexpected warmth of their welcome, and by the reference to his recent sorrow, that he could not trust himself to speak. Without a word he passed around the group, shaking hands with each man in turn. By the time he had finished the round, he had his voice in control, and said:
“Sergeant major, this is very kind of you. I thank you for this welcome, and I am grateful for your sympathy.” He hesitated a moment or two; then, as if he heard his father's voice, “Tell them! Tell them! They don't know Him,” he added: “And, sergeant major, if you will allow me, I have something I want to say to all the men when I get a chance. I cannot say it all to-night to the sergeants, but this much I would like to say: That since I saw you, I believe I have got a new idea of my work in the battalion. I got it from a sergeant major whose men told me that he was a fine soldier and a brave man, and more than that, that he was 'like a father to them.' That, sergeant major, was my own father. From him I learned that my job was not to jump on men for their faults, but to help men to know God, who is our Father in Heaven, and, men, I think if I can do this, I shall count myself happy, for He is worth knowing, and we all need Him.”
His words gripped them hard. Then he added, “Before I say 'good night,' may I have the privilege of leading you to Him in words that you have all learned at your mother's knee?” Then simply he spoke the words of that immortal prayer, the men joining in low and reverent voices.
After the prayer, he quietly said, “Good night!” and was passing out of the hut. He had not got to the door, however, when the sergeant major's voice arrested him.
“Sir, on behalf of the sergeants, I thank you for coming in and I thank you for your words. You have done us all good.”
The following morning, a sergeant from a neighbouring battalion, visiting the transport lines, and observing Barry passing along with Major Bayne on the battalion parade ground, took occasion to remark:
“That is your padre, ain't it? He checks you fellows up rather short, don't he?”
“Yes, that is our padre, or Pilot, as we like to call him,” was Sergeant Mackay's answer, “but I want to tell you that he can just check us up until our heads touch the crupper, and it's nobody's damned business but our own.”