“SOFTIE.”

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXVIV, Issue 48, 1 February 1916, Page 8

“SOFTIE.”

•So SHALL IT BE METED UNTO YOU.” •A This true story is written for the “Little Paper” by a wounded soldier now lying in a hospital in Kent. Everybody called him “Softie” from the day he joined. 1 don’t know why, but the name seemed to suit him. He was one of those quiet little fel'owwho never seemed at home in ih,e army. There wasn’t anything special about him ;he couldn’t drill or play. He cared nothing for sport or for any of the usual things other men did. he was quite a “softie.” | He enlisted for the war only, just because somebody said he ought to do it, but fighting was not in him. He made one of a draft and joined us in the trenches, where he was like a lost sheep. Hut lie did what lie v. as fold to do. Many times I thought I would like to Vain the man who enlisted Softie. And then one day he gave us a surprise. It was like this: Everything had been quiet since we went into the trenches this time, and we were taking things easdy. We were all “fed-up,” and didn't care what happened. You get that way out there. Hut if v,e were “fed-up” the Huns were more .so. We had several reports of men giving themselves up to our fellows, but never any our way. One did come, however, at last—a big bully of a Prussian Guardsman. He popped his head o\;er our parapet, and he said, in good English, that he wanted to give in as he was tired of war. Well, we pulled him in and put him under a guard while our captain questioned him. 1 Then something happened. I never saw it, but Softie did. A rifle of one of the men was lying against some sandbags, fully loaded, of course, as all rifles are in the trenches. All 1 remember was that the Hun rushed the gun, and in a fladi with a cry of “You English captain i” put the muzzle of the rifle to our captain’s chest. The finger of that cni was on the trigger. 1 stood rooted to the spot, waiting to see the captain fall, when somc- * body rushed forward, jerked up the gnu, and received the bullet in his head. It was Softie. He had saved the life of the captain, but be lay dead at the captain’s feet. We buried him behind the trenches, and there wasn’t a dry eye among us as we laid him down to sleep. We put a little wooden cross, and on it we put just SOFTIE. One who died for his captain. Greater love hath no man than he who lay down his life for his friend. Softie, God bless him! There is another grave near, of a Prussian Guard, and the cross on that grave bears the words: “So shall it be meted unto you.”