It is the same in Germany. Already we hear of one German Methodist minister who has fallen at the front—Rev. Friedrich Rösch, Ph.D. He graduated brilliantly in philosophy and languages at Strasburg University. He then offered for missionary work and rendered excellent service among the Mohammedans of Northern Africa. He had a good knowledge of Arabic and had learned two other African languages. Now a British or French bullet, or shrapnel shell, has cut short his career.
This is the grim tragedy of this awful war—Christian fighting Christian, Christian minister fighting Christian minister.
Our business, however, is with the British army and with Christian work therein. Our task is a difficult one, for the veil of secrecy which enveloped the early days of the war has hardly as yet been lifted. Only here and there has that veil been raised just a little, but wherever we are privileged to gaze we are filled with admiration. The work of our chaplains and doctors and nurses has been heroic, and the no less noble work of Christian soldiers fills us with thanksgiving.
The war began with retreat. That apparently invincible German army strode ruthlessly through Belgium, leaving fire and rapine and death in its track. It found a garden, and it left a wilderness; prosperity, and it left starvation. It will be remembered for all time for barbarities that disgraced war. Belgian mothers will tell their children, and the story will be passed down the ages, of broken hearts and ruined lives, and a tortured devastated land.
And then, the devoted little army of Belgium thrown upon one side, the clash of war began in France. Our British Expeditionary Force had been rushed across the Channel with General Sir John French in command. With marvellous efficiency it had crossed without a single casualty, convoyed by British and French men-of-war. With the forces went the chaplains of the different denominations, their numbers to be steadily augmented throughout the war.
But the French were not ready, and our force was all too small for the task allotted to it. To our eternal credit, we also were not ready. Our Army did the work of heroes, but the huge German Army steadily marched on, and there was nothing to be done but retire. When the full story of the retreat from Mons comes to be written, what grim reading it will make!
Of course, in those desperate days all that the chaplains could do was to look after the wounded and bury the dead. Organised services were out of the question. A few men gathered here or there at the close of a terrible march, a prayer or two, a message of cheer or consolation, and then a brief sleep, and the inevitable weary march again, the rear-guard fighting all the way. But all day long there were opportunities of individual service and these were used to the full.
From the publications of the Salvation Army we get a vivid picture of those days. Being an international institution it had, and still has, its agents in every part of the fighting area. Germans, Russians, French, Belgians, and British are all the same to it—they are men who need salvation. It has been as vigorous in its work among Germans as among any others, and its trophies won upon German battle-fields will be bright jewels in our Redeemer's crown.
Brigadier Mary Murray, who rendered signal service during the South African war, and who wears the South African medal, was in Brussels when the Germans entered the city. She gives us a vivid picture of her experiences in connexion with the German occupation. I quote from the War Cry of September 12, 1914:
"At last I am able to write. Twelve days of silence, no post, no papers, nothing but such news as the Germans cared to put up, and all the time a sound of heavy firing.