THE TOUGHEST MAN IN CAMP.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 1739, 21 July 1917, Page 4

THE TOUGHEST MAN IN CAMP.

(By Dr. Alexander Irvine). At a but 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 men arose a fid 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, saidi “I want to decide right now!" We went aside to a table, and, standing there together, h<s 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 buy 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, hut to-morrow at live 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 wo started. The camp had become a mud-hole. We slid, and waded, and splashed through the lines. Now on a board walk for a minute, now stuck in soft mud, and again on a fairly hard road, dodging fences, wire entanglements, and mud ponds, the boy tightly clutching my arm all the while. Wo 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 Y.M.C.A, worker —he wants to see dim.” “What do you want with him?” asked the non-com. “Just to love him for live minutes,” 1 replied. The. sergeant looked 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 fourteen; of course, he was over, eighteen, but his face was the face of a child. His hands and arms were wet with the slime of (he Hour; perspiration had wet his black hair, and it lay in lumps. He had been in jail several times, but there was nothing criminal in his childish features. He had stood befoi’e 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 and slow to respond. I took his slimy hand and led him out—my guide folloAving closely behind. I entered the first open door. It was quite a. cosy sort of room, with a few easy chairs, a (able fti the centre several sergeants’ sitting around reading. In silence they scrutinised (he peculiar-looking trio.- 1 lost no time inquiring where I was or making apologies. We sat down at a corner of (he table, and with Jim’s hand still iq mine 1 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 around here who think you have no other foot, j know you liavc, and as a big brother I have come to help you —to be your chuifl, 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. ! ‘fm, a Catholic, sir,” he said, "but I certainly want your friendship.” j\ly reply brought the list smile (o his face: “I don’t care, Jim, if you are a stoker in the Jewish navy! I’m your chum.” I din’t disparage his denominational sentiment, however; I emphasised it. in a live-minute talk I spoke to him of the foundation of all religious sects and creeds. 1 told him where and how he could get helj) in his tight for strength. There was no bravado. He was quiet and attentive, and when I gripped tighter his hand in farewell, he said, with set teeth: “I'm going to txy.” Then wc left. 1 learned later that I had led him into the sanctum sanctorum of the sergeants’ mess! Jim went back to his knees on the floor with his scrubber, and my guide and I slid back through the. rain. 1 charged him with the care of Jim, He promised to see him often, and as I said good-bye he murmured an apology for dragging a “star speaker” through the rain and mud, “-My dear boy,” I said, “1 would rather swim through mud to love Jim for live minutes than speak to a thousand men for an hour, and as far as a ‘star speaker’ is concerned, a Y.M.C.A. star who can’t shine in mud can’t shine anywhere!”