NEWS OF BATTLE.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 4, Issue 16, 26 February 1915, Page 3 (Supplement)

NEWS OF BATTLE.

A AVAR INCIDENT

Bv Rev. Lauehlan Mac Lean Watt in

"Scotsman."

We lived remote from the stir of the busy world. The echo of its unsleeping activities only peached us every evening, when a handful of newspapers from tne Capital brought the tidings of the South to our doors. Everybody mado a point then of hanging about the Pest Office in the hope of hearing scraps of news, and gathering some ■gleanings of gossip to carry home to the village firesides, or the cottages across the moors.

Suddenly we were stirred out of our drowse by the tiding* of the Territorial march of the famous regiment which, for a hundred years of history, had been our pride. The name it bore upon its colours had shone with the romance of tha Stewarts in their final effort for the crown of their fathers. The green tartan had been dripping red on dark CuL loden, whenco the sorrow of the Highlands had crept with wailing through the glens. The genius of Pitt however, had gathered "nfco the service of the kingdom against th e enemies of Britoin, the courage and devotion of the clans. And now this corps which proudly bore one of the bravest names, was to pass through our village; and our hearts were stirred to the thought of welcome. THE HEIGHT OF HOSPITALITY. The minister was nothing if not patriotic, and he roused us to the thought of welcoming our brave kilted lads. "We must give them a banquet," said he. "They will be tired and hungry on the march. We must rise to tbe occasion. Our village has not seen soldiers since the day when Cumberland and his troops came up he long lane beside the manse, and rested in the glebe. They forced the minister's wife to bring food out to them, though her own boys were hungry enough, away with Charlie's men."* So the village immediately formed itself into a committee, and decided that the men should have broth and beef, and the officers be entertained in Patereoii's granary to a more refined feast, to be called a banquet. The minister was to welcome them with a speech; the old schoolmaster was to propose the lloyal Family; and the bookseller, who kept the circulating library at a penny a night, was to wish them God+speed. Everybody set to work preparing; and \ever had the odour of good things so ei.vriched the village air as on the day when we expected the brave fellows of our kin. In midst of our anxieties the cry got up, "They aro coming!" A handful of little barefooted boys, who had played truant and gone along the road to do oomo scouting on their own account, came rushing in shouting the news. I he whole village husMd its talk and listened above the beating of its heart. Far off could be heard the skirl of the bagpipes, faint and intermittent. The breeze on the moorland caught it up and seemed to carry it about with laughter, to die away again into stillness through which came on the moving throb of drums. The imagination was stirred—the breath of some came thick and short. For it made men think o Lucknow, Delhi, and Cawnpore; ot forts beleaguered; m garrisons at the last gasp; of dying men who raised themselves upon their elbows to join in the cheer of welcome to the We-bnng-ers tlie bronzed H'ghlandeis, Rattlescarred, fighting their way onwards and onwards, to the relief of these whose hope had been dying. Never came the wind-blown music, till at last with the colonel whose brave name was known to half the world riding at their head, the long dusty column of feathei-bon-neted men swung out of the moor, and all the panoply of war took sudden po,cession of the place. At a sharp woid of command the martial music ceased, and the drums fell into silence, lh-e great moment had arrived. The village was linked on to empire. History had come into our streets. That day was unforgettable and unforgotten *oi many a day it served as the chief topic of conversation; and far and wide, at lonely firesides in the hills, women and children were wont to listen to the story of the marching of the brave. A THING REMEMBERED. Tlio little bookseller never weaned telling what the colonel had said to him, and what he said to the colonel. \nd that wlrch was to come afterwards intensified the remembrance in a sense deeper than words could co\ er, for with the swiftness of a thunderbolt tho message fell upon the glens. at, hut hushing our very hearts with some thin,, Uko dread, and then accelerating our pulses till we scarce could hear what our neighbour was saying. It was war -the most terrible thing that can enter the Hie of man. A strong enemy had sworn to drive our people into the sea Our flag had flapped too long about the world, and at length our foes had felt it flick into their faces, and had resolved to tear it down. Then we em 'inhered the brave fellows m the tartan We recalled the thrilling pibroch strain. The drums across the sea found echoes in our hearts. And so, all through our dreams at night we saw the dark ships—oh. so slowly, btaiinir over the ooean the help and the hone of Empire, the troops tor whose advent the brave were praying, as they struggled facing beleagurement. soio conflict, death, and wounding, llese became familar top es of the 1 ost OfhCe in the evening, and long into the nigii . Tho pulpit was in constant touch with the front. The opening psalm seemed tuned to the roar of cannons, the rattle of musketry, the cheer, the groan of tho battlefield. We had our Black Saturdays," when wo heard ot what hoeinod irretrievable losses—wlien « stood at tbe corner of the lane askii g the old soldier how many men were in a battalion, and what the capture oi a company might mean. And then came what- crushed us. so that we could n ys si.-ah to one another when we nie •- tho overwhelming disaster in the oar-?, when the very men whom we had w.-i----comed in our village, whose martial tramp had stirred our rural drnwM. caught m bar'vd wire eiitangleiiieu s. had" been shot down like vermin in 11 trap. Wo could not shut from our < ars the groan of their d spatr; 111 our sh'.p we saw them stumbling, bleeding, dving. And it was all for u . hat thought clutched our hearts. 1l lk.-at upon us with th o pain of icver. LIKE A TRUMPET BLAST. The news was like a trumpet-blast, and it acted as a rallying call to our people. And then the, next thing was that tho remnant of our brave fellows were shut up in a little town in the desert with scant hope of escape and scarce'a shelter from tho sharpshooters of the foe. That bit of tidings was all that was required to make and keep the recruiting sergeant busier than lie nan ever expected to Man upon man left the plough and the spade the cattle and the horses, and set their fa<v to tho stern ta.k of meeting to the utmost the call of their country s need. ! tie f.'egc dragged wearily on. Now we would hear of young lives known to us suddenly snapped short in valiant sortie

or being .extinguished by slow fever; and our ho arts weresore because we Kit. so helpless and so far away. Time passed more swiftly, however, than we reckoned, and occasionally some of our own brave fellows camo back with wounds, in order that the fresh air of the moors might speedily restore them. And then one could not help feeling both touched and amused by the way in which they looked upon the spirit and principles of the campaign. It was not so much to relieve tbe beleagured town that they had been enduring hardship, strugglo, and pain—it was to get Willie MacPlierson out or to set Donald Paterson free!

"All, you see," said one. standing in my garden, "I couldna but laugh at Hugh Mac Lean. He was foot-sore and sick, and could hardly crawl, but he wouldn't go to the rear V'hen the day came for us to enter the town after we had taken it. So I took his rifle, and my neighbour took his knapsack, and, limping and all as he was, we oxtered him in beween us. For. ye see, he was keen on Willie MacPlierson, for he kent his mother w«eel."

It was beautiful to hear such comradeship that considered amidst its own hardship. What would Will'* MacPherson think, after all that he had endured. when lv'j walt-dhied the marching ranks of the deliverers go by. if ho were to miss the faces of his comrades whom he had so often thought of in his hunger and his pain? BREAKING THE NEWS.

Then began for many of us sad and trying experiences. I remember how the elder came for me, because h'.s own resolution had collapsed, when he was on his way to break to old John Murray the news of the loss of his only son, who was dead when the relieving troop 3 marched into the town. "You micht com© with me," said lie. "I darena wound the poor folk.' So I went. But when we reached the door, and saw the light in the window, we could not help picturing the peace of the Lome wo were about to invade with our tidings of sorrow. We stood together for a minute, and then, with a sob, the elder said, "Go you. 1 daro llOi."

I tapped upon the door, and. as our custom was in the village, I lifted the sneck and entered. Tho old man was sitting by the fireside—a fine, grave figure, h ; s grey beaid spread over his besom. At his elbow lay the Bible, which he had just laid down on hearing my knock, with the horn-rimmed spectacles marking the place in it. The old woman hud usen, and I could see she was perturbeel, wondering what this late call m'ght signdv. She pulled forward a chair, and w.tj her snow-white apron dusted it as she asked me to sit down. And now I felt myself in an environment ot immense difficulty not knowing cither how. to begin or what to say. " When did you last hear from Jamie?" I ventured, feeling my words brutal in their directness, though T tried to say them lightly and casually. The old man lookeu at me from underneath h:s eyebrows, a glance keen, incisive, and searching. The old woman clutched the hem of her apron. There was a moment's dead stillntss, and then he replied, "I know. I have felt it all the while, and I wondered why you came so late. I'll never look on the face of my boy again." Margaret, without a word, sat down in her chair, threw her apron over her face and rocked to and fro in 6'lent, heart-breaking grief. I r t.ld not find anywhere a single word of comfort. AH my prearranged speeches fell into mock, cry of silence before that great sorrow of a woman over her only son. The uoor opened and the little grandchild entered with a pitcher in her hand. It was but a moment, yet all the world seemed stirring, 'h lt>- To and fro I hoard the moving step of the elder out th-eio in the dark, and a bell jvir.ed sore* where in a rSop al< ng the t-ti oet. I hid not the strength to speak. I eon,a but wring their hand?, and leave them there, a picture of anguish never to he forgotten, as I quietly drew the door to behind me; and in silence the elder anel I walked away together.