There was a stir at the Modder River for some little time before the actual advance took place.  Lord Roberts had come and gone.  Various little attacks on some part of the enemy’s position—­some real, some only feints—­had taken place.  Every one wondered, none knew what would be the next order of the day.  For two months they had been waiting at the Modder River, and they were heartily tired of their inaction.  Even the shells from Magersfontein, which had fallen every day but Christmas Day, had become a part of the daily monotony.  It had been a glorious time for Christian workers, and that was all that could be said.

But even the Christians were longing for an advance.  By-and-by came the summons to the cavalry, and off they went, not knowing whether it was for an ordinary reconnaissance or for something more serious, and little dreaming what they would be called upon to do.  For them until Bloemfontein was reached all definite Christian work was at an end.  All that the Christians could do was to get together for a short time among the rocks, when the long day’s work was done, to talk and pray.  And yet these cavalry men look back upon those few moments snatched from sleep as among the most precious in the whole war.  They had been in the saddle for many hours at a stretch; on one occasion at any rate the saddles had not been taken off the horses for thirty-six hours.

=Religious Meetings while on the March.=

It seemed as though General French would never tire.  He rode on far ahead of his men—­stern, taciturn, resolved—­as they rushed across the veldt to Kimberley, or hastened to the doom of Cronje.  Our soldiers did their best to follow, and did so till their horses dropped dying or dead upon the veldt.  It says much for their Christian enthusiasm that after such days as these, and knowing that only two or three hours’ sleep was before them, they should step out of the lines and meet behind some rock to pray.  They talked of the old home, of Aldershot, of Sergeant-Major Moss and his class.  They pictured to themselves what we should all be doing at home, and then they knelt in prayer.  Very touching were those prayers, very sweet that Christian intercourse.  Its precious memory is cherished still.  And then they would sing a verse—­one of the soldiers’ favourites—­perhaps:—­

    ’Some one will enter the pearly gate,
        By-and-by, by-and-by;
    Taste of the glories that there await—­
        Shall you, shall I?’

Or may be that soldiers’ favourite par excellence would be rung out—­the ‘Six further on,’ of which they all speak:—­

    ’Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine;
    Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine! 
    Heir of salvation, purchase of God,
    Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.’

And then a verse of 494:—­

    ‘God be with you till we meet again.’

And then back to the lines for rest and sleep.  ‘Good-night, Jim.’  ‘Good-night, my boy.’ ‘494.’  ‘Aye! and “Six further on."’ And so they part.  A delightful picture! a sad one too!  Who knows whether they will ever meet on earth again?