The needs of the country led a good many men, already ordained to the Christian ministry, to enter the new Army. The question whether they should or should not do this was, as I have already indicated, a matter of some dispute, but as the war went on a testimony gathered as to the influence of such as did enlist. Thus "D." wrote to the Times:
"At our table, which served for meals and other purposes, sat opposite to me a clergyman of the Church of England, to do his best with us to fight and prevent his country being treated like poor Belgium. We knew what he was, and what he had given up to join us, and his influence in that hut, and in his platoon, was greater than that of the khaki-clad official chaplain who paid us occasional visits. We all respected him and knew his aversion to things which were often thought lightly of by us, and one look at his good and serious face would often keep back an oath, which would come out naturally to a troublesome steer or a slow and careless sailor, and many a tale which would have been thought appropriate in a smoking-room or round a camp fire remained untold in his presence. This has been my experience of one man, and I am glad to say that in this battalion there are already serving as private soldiers some half-dozen clergymen."
WHEN THE MEN COME HOME.
Drawn by Arthur Twidle.[ToList]
Let one of them also answer for himself. I do not know his name, but he is a young Wesleyan minister who enlisted in the R.A.M.C. last October, and who is, as I write, now at the forefront of the fight. The following extracts from his letter were published in the Daily News:
"The call comes for stretcher-bearers, and I volunteer to go with No. 3. The medical officer comes out, flashes his torch, and gives the order: 'Men to march in front of the waggon. Whole party walk—march!'
"We are off. Ten paces ahead walked the medical officer, a captain; behind him a sergeant and four men of the squad. Then comes the ambulance waggon, with the great Red Cross on both sides, one man driving. Inside are the stretchers (one man in the squad carries a surgical haversack), and behind the waggon comes the drag-horse, with a waggon orderly mounted on it. This horse will help us out of a ditch or the mud, if the waggon gets stuck in it.
"We head straight for the trenches. It is very dark; light rain splashes on our faces, and there is a cold wind. Occasionally the captain flashes his electric torch as we pass an outpost or a belated infantry man returning from the firing line. The rattle of the waggon sounds like the passing of heavy guns in the still night, and we wonder whether we shall draw the enemy's shell fire. A road with a waggon on it is a good spot to drop a 'Jack Johnson' on now and then.
"Suddenly the sky is illuminated by a brilliant German star-shell with a long white tail. Every figure, every tree, every stone in the road is revealed for one moment to the enemy's snipers and artillery. Egyptian darkness follows the flash, and out of it ahead we hear, coming towards us, the tramp of many marching men. Their officer stops us.