'"Yes," said the man, "but praise God it is not in my head."
'A bullet had gone right through the back of his neck, and though he was bleeding profusely he was humming a chorus to himself.
'Later on a Major came up and said to Mr. Huskisson—"Do you know that lad?"
'On hearing that he did, the Major said, "He is the most chirpy man that has been in the dressing-room to-day; he was brought in singing a hymn."
'When Mr. Huskisson turned away from him, he left him still humming one of our favourite choruses; and an unconverted man was heard to say later on, "A chap coming in like that to the dressing-room does more good than anything else, as he keeps the fellows' spirits up so."
'There were, of course, many terribly sad sights—enough to make our men feel as if war could hardly ever be justifiable. One poor Highlander was lying dying, and on our men asking him if he knew God, received no answer; but on repeating the question the dying man said that he did once, but he had evidently grown cold in his love to Christ. It was such a cheer to be able to point out, that though his feelings towards God had changed, yet God's feelings and love toward him had not changed!'
Events like these differentiate this war from many other wars. They are an eloquent testimony to the force of Christianity. They disclose the power of a supreme affection towards Christ. They declare that the most toilsome duty can be transformed by love into the most blessed privilege. They show that there is no compulsion but the compulsion of love in the Christian workers' orders, so often sung,—
'Where duty calls, or danger,
Be never wanting there.'