=Prayer under Fire.=

Now and then the monotony of ordinary duty was broken by an engagement.  Such an interlude is pictured for us in vivid language in the following extract from the pen of one of our Christian soldiers:—­

’On January 22, my battery advanced to a position directly in front of the hill occupied by the Boers, and almost within rifle range of their trenches.  We had no cover whatever, and they dropped shell after shell into us for nearly two hours; and after dark we retired without a man or horse wounded.  One of our gunners was hit with a splinter on the belt, which bruised him slightly, but did not wound him or stop the performance of his duty.  One of their shells hit one of our ammunition wagons, and smashed part of it to matchwood.  If God’s mercy was not plainly shown in this, I say men are as blind as bats, and less civilized.  During the whole of the two hours after I had taken the range, I had to sit, kneel, or stand with my face to the foe, and watch the Boer guns fire, then await the terrible hissing noise, next see the dust fly mountains high just in front of me, finally press my helmet down to prevent the segments hitting me too hard should any fall on me, but not one touched me, though they pattered like large hailstones on a corrugated iron roof.  We amused ourselves by picking them up between bursts.  I prayed earnestly all through that battle....

’I sit and muse over the chatter of my little children many a time, and almost reach out for them, as though they were here.  They are near to my heart, and in the precious keeping of my Saviour.’

With those last pathetic sentences we may well close this chapter.  The picture they call before us is one we are not likely to forget.  The soldier grimed with the heat and dirt of battle; shells flying round him on every hand; Death stalking unchecked but a few yards away; and then the vision of little children, their chatter striking upon the father’s ear in that far-off land, hands even stretched out to receive them.  Absent-minded! nay, thou soldier-poet, thou hast not got the measure of Thomas Atkins yet.  ’They are near to my heart, and in the precious keeping of my Saviour.’  Thank God for that!

    ’Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away;
    In Jesus’ keeping we are safe and they.’

Chapter VI

MAGERSFONTEIN

At a dinner party in 1715, in the Duke of Ormond’s residence at Richmond, the conversation happened to turn upon ‘short prayers.’  Among the distinguished guests was Dr. Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester, who listened with special interest.  ‘I, too,’ said the Bishop, ’can tell you a short prayer I heard recently, which had been offered up by a common soldier just before the battle of Blenheim, a better one than any of you have yet quoted:  “O God, if in this day of battle I forget Thee, do Thou not forget me."’[2]