THE TOUGHEST MAN IN CAMP.

Kaipara and Waitemata Echo, 9 August 1917, Page 3

THE TOUGHEST MAN IN CAMP.

(By Dr, Alexander Irvine).

At a hut in Wales we had a good crowd of Welshmen—hard to reach, so they said. I delivered the message and closed without asking for any demonstration or show of decision. As the m6n arose and moved back toward the counter, I saw a boy stand facing me for a moment. Then he suddenly laughed through the chair, and, approaching me, said: "I want to decide right now!"

We, went aside to a table, and, standing there together, he made • the great decision. The first thought in his mind was of another lad who had distinguished himself in defying law and discipline. " He's the toughest man in the camp," this boy >said, " and I think you might be able to help him !" " Where is he ?" I asked. " Oh, it's quite a distance from here." ''Well, I have to go to another camp, but to-morrow at five I will be here, and if you will take me to him we will have a talk with him Next afternoon at five I was there. It was raining heavily and very dark. The lad was there, and we started. The camp had become a mud-hole. We slid and waded and splashed through the lines. Now on a broad walk for a minute, now stuck in soft mud, and a^ain on a fairly hard road, dodging fences, wire entanglements, and mud ponde, the boy tightly clutching my arm all the while. We finally arrived at a hut and looked inside. Three men were scrubbing the floor, and a sergeant was supervising the operation, " Sergeant," began my guide, " this is a V.M.C.A worker—he wants to see Jim." "What do you want with,him?" asked the non-com. v " Just to love him for five minutes," I replied. The sergoant loojced dubiously at me for a minute, then turned and called the object of our visit. " The toughest man in the camp " stood up in his shirt and trousers and looked around. He had the face of a mere child. I would have guessed his age to be about 14; of course, he was over .18, but his face was the face of a child. His hands and arms were wet with the slime of the floor; perspiration had wet nis black hair, and it lay in lumps. He had been in gaol several times, but there was nothing of the criminal in his childish features. He had stood before military power, and, with the temerity of hardened age, had openly and absolutely defied its authority. He was confined to camp, and was likely to be for the remainder of the war.

I called him by name and advanced to meet him, He was reluctant aDd slow to respond. I took his slimy hand, and led him out—my guide following closely behind. I entered the first open door. It was quite a cosy sort of room, with a few easy chairs, a table in the centre, several sergeants sitting around reading. In silence they scrutinised the peculiarlooking trio. I lost no time inquiring where I was, or making apologies. We sat down at a corner of the table, and with Jim's slimy hand still in mine I looked into his face and began •'They tell me you have stepped off with the wrong foot, Jim. Is that so?*' "Y-e-s," he murmured, "I suppose so." "There is quite a bunch of men round here who think that you have no other foot. I know you have, and as a big brother I have come to help you —to be yonr chum, and to sticK close to you until you go home to your mother after the war." Then came a soft look into the big round eyes, and they were dim with moisture. "I'm a Catholic, sir," he said, " but I certainly want your friendship." My reply brought the first faint smile to his face ; " I don't care, Jim, if you are a stoker in the Jewish navy! I'm your ohild !" I didn't disparage hia denomina, tional sentiment, however; I emphasised it. In a five-minute talk I spoke to him of the foundation of all religious sects and creeds. I told him where and how he could get help in his fight for strength. There was mo bravado. He was quiet and attentive, and when I gripped his hand in farewell, ho said, with set teeth, "I'm to try." Tnen we left. . I learned later that I had led him into the sanctum sanctorum of the sergeants' mess.