'I have only to add that, by the good hand of God upon me, I have been preserved all through from sickness and disease.'

Of all things the men dreaded enteric. 'My lad,' said Mr. Hordern to one of the men who had just come into hospital, 'have you got enteric fever?'

'No, sir,' was the reply; 'I am only wounded.'

They have come back now, hundreds of them, and as we interview them, one and all declare in their own terse language, 'We would rather have three or four hits than one enteric.'

Testimonies to the Reality of Christian Work.

But all this time Christian work in the town and camp had been going steadily forward. On Sunday as many services as possible were held, and night by night Christian soldiers gathered together for prayer. There was a spirit of inquiry about spiritual things. Death was very near, and in its immediate presence the men felt the importance of decision for Christ. Letter after letter tells of conversions at the soldiers' simple services.

Staff-Quarter-Master-Sergeant Luchford, for instance, writes a letter which is a sample of scores of others:—'On Tuesday last I managed to get the brethren together for a fellowship meeting, and a very blessed and helpful time we had, as each told out of the fulness of his heart how great things the Lord had done for his soul. Last Sunday we also got together for an hour and pleaded with God for an outpouring of His Spirit upon the congregation assembled for the service. One young fellow of the R.A. was very deeply impressed, and I trust that the next news I hear is that he has surrendered to the conquering power of the Holy Spirit.'

Stirring Events Related by Mr. Watkins.

In the camp with his men Mr. Watkins was having stirring times. His was the excitement and dash, and when there was any fighting, he was sure to be near. He narrates some strange experiences in the Methodist papers. We venture to quote one or two paragraphs from the Methodist Recorder.

'On December 7, there was a brilliant attack by the British on Gun Hill, where three of the Boer guns were captured. This brilliant attack was made by Colonial volunteers, led by Sir Archibald Hunter, and was entirely successful. The next morning there was a further attempt by the cavalry to cut the telegraph wires and tear up the railway which brought the Boers' supplies. This, however, was not so successful. The Boers were ready for our men, and they suffered severely. Then came the chaplain's opportunity.

'Hearing that there were wounded still lying on the field, I hastened off to see if I could be of any use, and had not gone far before I met a young medical officer, who had galloped in under a heavy fire. He told me that out in the open Captain Hardy (Medical Officer of the 18th Hussars) was lying in a hole with a severely wounded man, whom he could not get in because the firing was so hot. So, having with me a Red Cross flag, we turned our horses' heads and rode out to their assistance. For the first few seconds the bullets flew fast around us, but as soon as our flag was seen the firing ceased, we released our friends from their uncomfortable predicament, and sent back the wounded man in a dhooli.

'We were then met by two armed burghers carrying a white flag, who told us of yet other wounded lying in their lines, and offered to guide us to them. Under their care we penetrated right behind the firing line of the enemy, who were holding the ridge now between us and the town, and firing heavily. Here we found two of our gallant fellows dead—shot through the head—and several wounded men, and it was not long before the dhoolis we had brought with us were full. The burghers had shown every kindness to the wounded; each man had been provided with food and drink, and nothing could exceed the courtesy shown towards ourselves by these men, who were in the very act of firing on our comrades. A queer thing, war!

'Having started the dhooli-bearers with their heavy loads on their way to town, Captain Hardy and myself continued our search along the ridge for wounded and dead, but were thankful to find there were no more. Once again we turned our faces to beleaguered Ladysmith, having collected, in all, two killed and fifteen wounded men, many of them badly hurt, poor fellows.

'The two following days were unusually quiet, and on the Sunday I was enabled to hold four services, which were very well attended, and to us all seasons of rich blessing. But on Sunday night the Rifle Brigade made an attack upon Surprise Hill, capturing a gun that for weeks past had been worrying us considerably, and blowing it into fragments in the air. The attack was well planned, and would have resulted in very small loss to us, only in blowing up the gun the first fuse used proved defective, and another train had to be laid, thus causing a delay of over ten valuable minutes. The result was that the Boers had time to turn out in force from a neighbouring laager, and were waiting to receive our men as they came down the hill. Then ensued a scene of indescribable confusion; in the darkness it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe, and the shouts of our men were answered in English by the enemy, thus making the confusion a hundred times worse. One who was present told me that it was the most terrible experience of his life. They came down the hill between a lane of blazing rifles, sometimes the flash not being more than five yards from them. Few ever expected to get out alive, but the men behaved splendidly, charging with the bayonet again and again, and when at last the foot of the hill was reached asking their Colonel (Lieut.-Colonel Metcalfe) for permission to charge again.

Within the Boer Lines.

'Of course, as soon as it was light the doctors of the Bearer Company, with dhoolies, were out to seek amongst the rocks for the wounded and the slain, and it was not long before I was on my way to join them. But on reaching our outpost on Observation Hill I was told that the Boers were so infuriated at the loss of another gun that they had taken the doctors prisoners and were going to send them to Pretoria. But just at that moment a native came in with a note from the senior medical officer, asking that surgical necessaries be sent at once, for many of the wounded were seriously hurt. After much parley through the telephone with head-quarters, it was at last decided that the things be sent at once, and if I were willing that I should be the bearer, for the Boers were more likely to respect "the cloth" than anything else; also by previous visits I had become known to many of the burghers. So forthwith I started upon what many said was my way to Pretoria, and on reaching the enemy, truth to say, it looked very much like it. They were furiously angry, and I was made to join the little group of doctors, bearers and wounded, who, under a strong guard, were sitting and lying under the shade of a tree.



'But before very long we were at liberty again. A flag of truce had been sent out by General White, expostulating with the Boer general, and resulted in the general in question—General Erasmus—galloping up to tell us we were at liberty to continue our work, only we must be as quick about it as possible. Fifty-one wounded men we found, three of them officers, and nine killed, of whom one was an officer. At the foot of the hill that they had won we buried them, marking the place where they lay with stones heaped over the grave in the form of a cross. Then we wearily returned to camp, for by then the day was far spent, and we had had nothing to eat since dawn. That night I was again called to perform the sad ceremony of burial. Four men had died of their wounds during the day, and in darkness it had to be done, for the cemetery is within reach of the enemy's guns, and we feared to show a light, lest it should "draw fire." So I recited as much of the Burial Service as I could remember, and offered an extemporary prayer. It was a strange experience thus to bury our comrades by stealth; but, alas! during these latter days it has ceased to seem strange, because of its frequency.'

Work in Ladysmith Town.

Meanwhile in the town, and sometimes with the soldiers in the fight, Mr. Cawood and Mr. Hardy were rendering splendid service. Mr. Cawood kept in good health throughout, but when, on the relief of Ladysmith, the President of the South African Conference (Rev. W. Wynne) visited the town, he reported that Mr. Cawood looked ten years older. No wonder that such was the case, for he was in labours more abundant, and nothing was too mean or trivial for him to perform. Such was also the case with Mr. Hardy. He did not seem to know fear. Brave when the bullets fell thick, he was just as brave in the midst of the strain of hospital work. He was but a visitor in the town, and had no official connection with either troops or civilian church. But he turned his hand to anything, and when the hospitals were crowded and workers were few, he actually had himself appointed a hospital orderly, and performed the meanest and most loathsome duties of the hospital nurse. He kept in good health to the last, and then almost every disease seemed to come upon him at once. For long he lay in the agonies of enteric fever, and almost lost his life. But he counted that not too great a gift for his Master and his country. We honour them both—the old veteran and the young missionary. In fact, where all were brave and devoted, it is invidious to pick out one or two of these devoted men for special mention. Each in his own special sphere tried bravely to do his duty. Meanwhile the town was becoming full of enteric cases, for Intombi camp had no further accommodation, and only the most serious cases could be sent there. The churches were then, as already intimated, utilised as hospitals, and it was in them that the chaplains left in Ladysmith and with the soldiers performed their ministry of love. Most of these buildings at some time or other felt the force of the Boer shells, and the native minister's house by the side of the Wesleyan church was shattered. He, poor fellow, lost both wife and child during the siege, and himself was laid low by enteric fever.

Terrible Scenes at Intombi Hospital.

But let us return to Intombi. Slowly the average number of cases was increasing. Daily at 9.30 the mournful procession passed to the cemetery. That cemetery contained at last about seven hundred bodies. Every grave was marked and numbered. Mr. Hordern began this work, but when his health failed, Mr. Murray continued and completed it. So that there is a strict record left of every one lying there, and any one wishing to erect a tombstone can do so. Such service as this was thoughtful indeed, and friends at home will greatly appreciate it.

For three weeks at Intombi they were on quarter rations. Then, as Buller's guns were heard in the distance, they were allowed half rations; but on Ash Wednesday morning, the morning of relief, they were reduced to quarter rations again. What this meant who can tell? How could they resist disease? There are horrors over which we throw a veil. Sufficient that they were necessary horrors—that they could not be prevented. But only the doctors and the chaplains know what our men passed through in Intombi camp. But no one complained—that was the wonder of it. 'Oh! sir, when do you think Buller will get through?' was the nearest to complaint ever heard. They suffered and they died, but they murmured not.

'The Way He was Absent-minded was that He Forgot Himself!'

Listen to what Mr. Hordern has to say about it:—

'Every morning they had the awful procession of dead carried down to the cemetery, each man sewn up in his own blanket, and reverently buried, each man having done his duty and laid down his life for his Queen and country. And the brave old Tommy Atkins was called "an absent-minded beggar," a fine title itself, though it referred to him in the wrong way. He was not absent-minded, for he had a warm corner in his heart for those at home. The way he was absent-minded, was that he forgot himself. I knew one man who had two or three letters from home, which he carried about in his pocket, and although he longed to read them again, he dare not do so because, he said, he should break down if he did. The boys never forgot their homes. There was one dead soldier, a poor lad of the Irish Fusiliers, who was shot through the body, and afterwards in searching his clothes they found a letter ready written and addressed to his mother. He hadn't a chance of posting it. He was not an absent-minded beggar. He didn't forget to write to his mother. When they pulled his letter from his pocket, it was impossible to post it, as it was covered with his blood. I re-addressed it and sent it off to the dead soldier's mother.'

There was another story which showed the forgetfulness of the soldier for himself. That happened in the relieving column. An officer was badly wounded. It was dusk, and our troops had to retire down the kopje under cover, though next day they took it. When they retired that night, the wounded officer could not be moved, and so four men refused to leave him. They remained with him all night without food or water, in order to protect him from the bullets which were flying about—one lying at his head, one at his feet, and one on either side. Those were absent-minded beggars—absent-minded for themselves!

Mr. Hordern was talking to a starved wreck of a man one day, and he asked him what was the first thing he wanted when the relief came through. He expected to hear him say food of some sort. But no; this absent-minded beggar said, 'The first thing, sir, medical comforts for the sick.' He then asked him what was the next thing he should like. He thought he would say food this time; but no, his reply was, 'The English mail.' He then asked what would he like after that, and the soldier replied that he would then have his food.[17]

Of such stuff were British soldiers made in Ladysmith, and of such stuff are they, with all their faults, the wide world over!

[Footnote 17: Burnley Express, May 5, 1900.]

Lads, We are Going to be Relieved To-day.'

But the time of deliverance was drawing near. Hope deferred had made the heart sick. Time after time had Buller's guns seemed to be drawing nearer, and time after time had the sound grown faint in the distance. They were on quarter rations again, and that meant that Colonel Ward, careful man as he was, had feared a longer delay. One of the chaplains—he has told the writer the story himself, but prefers that his name be not mentioned—was lying on his back in his tent at Intombi, reading the morning service to those gathered round. He was weak from disease and starvation, and it was no easy task to stand or walk. As he read the Psalm for the day (Ash Wednesday, Psalm vi.), it seemed to him a very message from God. His eye caught the tenth verse, 'All mine enemies shall be confounded and sore vexed: they shall be turned back, and put to shame suddenly.' He read it again and again. Surely God was speaking to him through His Word. 'Turned back,' he said to himself; 'ashamed suddenly.' It seemed as though it was a personal illumination from God. He rose to his feet, and going into the tent which contained the worst cases, he said, 'Lads, I've come to tell you we are going to be relieved to-day or if not to-day, at any rate very soon—suddenly. Listen, lads; this is my message from God.' And he read them the passage. Every face brightened as he read, and his own was doubtless lit up with a light from another world.

That night, as he was lying down worn out with fatigue and excitement, he heard a British cheer, and everybody rushed out to inquire what it meant. There in the far distance a column of mounted troops, were slowly marching along. Who were they—British? 'No,' said one of the soldiers; 'they are marching too regularly for that.' 'Boers?' 'No,' said another; 'they are marching too regularly for Boers.' 'Who can they be?' 'I know,' said a third; they are Colonials.' He was right. 'But wait a minute,' said another; 'let us see if Caesar's Camp fires upon them.' But no, Caesar's Camp kept on pounding away at Mount Bulwane as it had done for months, only with more energy than usual. And then cheer upon cheer broke from these poor emaciated wrecks in Intombi. Hand clasped hand, and tears rained down all faces.

Back into the marquee into which he had been the morning rushed the chaplain. 'Lads, I told you this morning! "Suddenly," lads, "suddenly," they were to be turned back "suddenly." It is true; my message was from God. Buller is here!' And then the dying roused themselves and lived, and voices were uplifted in loud thanksgiving.

And so Lord Dundonald's Colonial troops marched into the town, to be greeted as surely men were never greeted before; to be hailed as saviours, as life-givers, as heroes. Watch them. They have only twenty-four hours' rations with them, and they have had a hard, rough time themselves, but they give it all away. How can they deny anything to these living skeletons standing around!

And what did it mean in Ladysmith? It meant this—at Intombi, at any rate. When Buller's guns sounded nearer, the poor fever-stricken patients brightened up, and roused themselves with a fresh effort for life. When the sound of his firing receded into the distance, they just lay back and died. His entry into Ladysmith was life from the dead.

'It was Time He Came.'

It was time that he came. Food was at famine prices. Eggs sold at 48s. per dozen, and one egg for 5s.; a 1/4-lb. tin of tobacco sold for 65s.; chicken went for 17s. 6d. each; dripping, 1/4-lb. at 9s. 6d., and so on. Chevril soup (horseflesh) became the greatest luxury, and was not at all bad; while trek-oxen steak might be looked at and smelled, but to eat it was almost impossible. One of the most pathetic, and at the same time most comical, sights to be witnessed during the siege, was surely that of one enthusiastic lover of the weed, who, unable to procure any of the genuine article for himself, followed closely in the wake of an officer in more fortunate circumstances, in order that at any rate he might get the smell and have the precious smoke circle round his head.

It was time, we say, for Buller to come. Relief came not a day too soon. But a short time longer could the beleaguered men hold out. But he came at last, and when next day he entered the town, bending low over his saddle, worn out with his great exertions, the sight that met his gaze was one never to be forgotten. These men whom he had known in the greatness of their strength at Aldershot were little more than skeletons, hardly able to show their appreciation of his splendid efforts, so weak were they.

'You should have seen the general cry,' said a group of men from Ladysmith at the Cambridge Hospital the other day. It was their way of putting the case. The apparently stolid, dogged, undemonstrative Englishman broke down completely, as he gazed upon the sights around him. And no wonder! He had come not a moment too soon. But he had come in time. 'Thank God,' said Sir George White, 'we have kept the flag flying!'

A Story of Devotion.

One story of devotion more, and our tale of Ladysmith is at an end. There was a certain much-loved chaplain shut up in Ladysmith, who greatly enjoyed a smoke. In Buller's relief column there were men who loved him well, and who knew his love for a pipe. When they left Colenso, eleven of them each carried under his khaki tunic a quarter-pound tin of tobacco for the chaplain. And then came all the horrors of that terrible struggle to reach the beleaguered town, culminating in the awful fight at Pieter's Hill. One after another, vainly trying to keep their cherished possession, parted with it bit by bit during those dreadful weeks; but one of them carried it all the time, and never so much as touched it. When at last he reached Ladysmith, he had to march right through to encamp several miles beyond the town. But next day he got a permit and tramped back to Ladysmith, found out his friend the chaplain, and handed over his treasure to him. All black and grimy was that sacred tin of tobacco, black with the smoke of battle, and dented by many a hard fight; but it was there—intact—an offering of devotion, a holy thing, a pledge of love. That chaplain has it still; he could not smoke it, it was far too precious for that. It has become one of his household gods, to be kept for ever as a token of a soldier's love.

And now we say good-bye to our gallant Ladysmith garrison. We shall meet many of them again on other fields. The siege proved that there was not a man of them without a religious corner somewhere. Hundreds of them turned to God with full purpose of heart; and to every one of them Old England owes a debt of gratitude. As we say good-bye, we are reminded of Tennyson's lines about the soldiers of Lucknow—lines just as true of the men of Ladysmith as of them:—

'Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart and in limb, Strong with the strength of the race, to command, to obey, to endure; Each of us fought as if hope for the garrison hung but on him;

* * * * *

And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.'



Chapter XVI

'IN JESU'S KEEPING'

At the annual 'Roll Call Meeting,' held in Wesley Hall, Aldershot, in January, 1900, we took as our 'Motto' for the next twelve months the words of Bishop Bickersteth's beautiful hymn—

'In Jesu's keeping we are safe, and they.'

All of us had friends in South Africa. Most of us had relatives there; and as we bowed in prayer together we thought of the famous prayer of long ago: 'The Lord watch between me and thee when we are absent one from another.'

All the way through we have realized that there was a God of love watching between us. All the way through we have been quite certain that 'in Jesu's keeping' they were safe.

Some of them we shall never see again on earth, but they are still 'in Jesu's keeping.' Some of them are still far away from us fighting for their country. But they, too, are 'in Jesu's keeping,' and for them we are not afraid. We said 'Good-bye' many months ago, but it meant 'God be with you,' and our farewell prayer has been answered. Here or there we expect to clasp hands with them again.

And the comfort that has been ours in Old England has been theirs in South Africa. They, too, have thought of loved ones far away. They, too, have realized—

'In Jesu's keeping we are safe, and they.'

'The Soldier's Psalm' has been read and rejoiced in all through South Africa.

'He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in Him will I trust. Thou shall not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.... He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him. I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him. With long life will I satisfy him, and show him My salvation.'

Chanted in many a service, repeated in the darkness on outpost duty, remembered even amid the fury of the battle, this Soldiers' Psalm has been to thousands a source of comfort and strength.

* * * * *

With its blessed words ringing in our ears we close this book. The war is not yet over. Disease has not yet claimed all its victims. The fateful bullet has not delivered its final message of death. But our loved ones are 'in Jesu's keeping,' and we are content to leave them there. With them and with us it may be 'Peace, perfect peace.'

Butler & Tanner. The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.

THE END