THE SOUL OF A SOLDIER

Dominion, Volume 8, Issue 2540, 14 August 1915, Page 6

THE SOUL OF A SOLDIER

A SKETCH FROM THE FRONT IThe writer of this sketch, from the front, which appeared in the London "Daily Kews," is a priTate in tho Motor Transport Section o£ tbo A.5.0., who, before enlistment, was well known in business circles in the City."! Abide with me, fast falls tho eventide, The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide. The last time I had heard these words was in an old church; set among trees that strctched up a mountain side, towering in majestic grandeur over ono of 1 Scotland's loveliest Highland lochs; this time it was "somewhere in France." - I bad come back from the firing line through a' veritable Valley of tho Shadows, and in the fading light of that Sabbath evening my ears, worn with tho thunder of battle, eagerly drank in the soft cadences of the old familiar liymn. In the square of that little town, ravaged nine months ago by the Germans, great war wagons were ranged line upon line. Under a grove of chestnut trees a wayside motor repair workshop had been set out, the red glow of its forge told tlie tale of toil that knows no end, of days • thrtt have no settled length, and weeks of days that have no name. But their Sunday's task completed, the choir —as they call it—had assembled in a circlo, under tho trees, with a staff sergeant to lead their singing.

Worn and weary though I was with fifty hours of duty, I could not pas 3 them by, but brought my car to rest. The major commanding the column, his officers by his side, stood just where I was on the fringe of the gathering; in the darker shadows, but dimly seen, many of the townspeople were collected, scarce understanding, yet held in a spell by the soft sweetness of the music. From Yorkshire's West Riding camo most of tlio singers, as one might.have guessed from the great white roses adorning each wagon; but it .was the bread Scots accent of tie "little conductor perhaps which brought to mo a memory of far-off days and the distant land of my birth. In many countries I have wandered, in many strange scenes I have taken some part, but never before in alien land had home come back to me a's there in that twilight hour.

For a moment or two the singing ceased; the hymn -was ended. The roll of the guns but a mile or two away seemed strangely unreal; even they were silent. A few. low, crooning notes, scarce a whisper, like the sighs of a night ivind in the tree tops, and therg came to us who listened—

lead, kindly Light, 'Amid the encircling gloom'. Who in all this world, to whom thes# lines are familiar, could have'remained silent? Many had heiin content only to listen at the precious hymn, but with the grey shadows deepening around us until all waa indistinct—with the dread music of La Bassee's light vibrating on tlio still night air—no mortal soul so dulled and dead but stretched out its being to the Great God of battles. Over that old square lined with highpitched ' gables, its squat • old church tower a shapeless blot on the sky, against which the lurid light of battle stabbed the darkness, thpplca for guidance rolled on and upwards to the verygates of Heaven. No rank and file there, but one great appeal from tho very human souls of that little wayside group;.indeed,-a song of prayer wrung from those tfho felt that amidst the dangers bo real, so near, only one Power could lead tliem in the way of safety.

.That,-.too, endedj.and to us .who have lived,.for..months mtliin'..earshot of the guns, the irnitterings that came from boyond the darkness were as a silence of. their own. Still, though the circle wavered,a little, these soldiers were lot'h to break the solemn spell cast by tho soul-stirring songs. "Just another, Staff!" someone almost pleaded. The circle steadied: pile or two stragglers joined again as, just ..for-a moment,, the guns were silent. Then, with a deafening crash, a near-by howitzer rent the very heavens with a shattering crash and lit tho sky for an instant with blood red glare. There was the silence of awe, then

Onward, Christian Soldiers, Marching as to war — Tho little sergeant felt the call of. tho guns, and boldly led that song of battie. I wonder how. many noted the words! They were, indeed,- marcliing to war, these gallant souls taken from factory, workshop, office, and from tho wide, rolling dales of sunny Yorkshire. That sound of terror so close, so compelling, had roused in every heart the dread call that has taken tliem far from home, from ease and safety, from friends and families—but these be tho things for which they fight. And it is onward they are going. There is no doubt m their minds, no hesitation in their actions; no fear can bo allotted to these brave lads who, 111 tliat _ remote corner of Franco, sang again their hymns of prayer and praise. To some perhaps their words had almost faded from memory, but from homes and Sunday schools, and great clrarclies, too, the lines camo echoing back over all the years.

By this time night has cldsed in, tho great wagons were but vague shadows, and at sunrise their drivers had to go about the business of supplying tlieir brothersat tho front with the necessaries of lifo in the trenches. The last line died away echoing up the narrow streets. "The King l' r said l tho littlo Scotsman. Sharp to attention cama the soldiers as the Britons' appeal for a beloved Sovereign rang out clear as a bugle call, and so ended that gathering full of pathos and devotion. '

Slowly and so wistfully tho littlo hand .broke up; the Major had kindly words for many who passed him 011 their way to rest. Turning to me ho said, "That was .very nice,, was it not?" "Yes, sir," I answered. "Botter than Tipperary!" And smiling lie bade ins God speed. -

; A turn of the starting handle sent mj great engine pulsing again into life and action. Tired, hut with a- new spirit I climbed hack into the driving seat, and with a sweet "silent presenci?' that goes where I 'go, drifted slowly through the shadowed streets, for tho red. hand of war has taken away all lights. The little houses grew still smaller as I reached the outskirts of the town, and blank darkness, with all its hidden dangers, lay in front of me; the tall trees stretching straight abovo left but a lano of sky to guide me on my flying wheels. For a briof moment a soft glow from the_ guttering candles of _ a wayside shrine picked out a kneeling figure, whoso coat of, blue and kepi told me. a comrado of Franco sought comfort there in prayer. And I, though there lay beneath my hand the strength' of a hundred buses, felt as if again a child, I, too, knelt in prayer at my mother's knee; and there echoed up from the sil-ent-town, from the deserted 6quaro oil to my lips: . Lead, kindly Light, Amid the encircling gl«os s ■ Lead Thou me on.