One or two short stories may put into clearer perspective the personal danger of our chaplains on the field.  Messrs. Hordern and Tuckey were both with their men in the Lombard’s Kop fight.  Mr. Hordern was attached to the Field Hospital, which was sheltering from the shot and shell under the shadow of a huge hill.  By-and-by came the order for the hospital to retire.  It was about a mile and a quarter from Ladysmith, and there were no sheltering hills.  The Red Cross was distinctly marked on the ambulance wagons, and the Indian dhooli-bearers must have been clearly seen; but as soon as the hospital emerged from the cover of the hill a Boer gun opened fire upon it, and very soon shell was falling upon all sides.  With Mr. Hordern was the Rev. S.H.  Hardy, and both of them were exposed to the full fire of the enemy.  Mr. Hordern, thinking there might possibly be a safer place than the very centre of the cavalcade, spurred his horse forward, and the moment after a shell burst on the very spot where he had been.

On another occasion Mr. Owen Watkins was out with the Field Hospital, and he and the doctor dismounted in order, if possible, to bring in some wounded from under fire.  They had just accomplished this self-imposed mission when a shot, coming a little too near, disturbed Mr. Watkins’ horse, which bolted.  In trying to find it he lost sight of the hospital, which had moved away, and found himself in desperate plight.  Neither horse nor hospital to be seen, and a mile and a half of open country between him and safety.  The Boers’ bullets were falling around him, and there was nothing for it but to run, and amid a perfect hail of bullets he fled in the direction of Ladysmith.  That run seemed the longest in his life, but unscathed he came through it, and found another hospital wagon full of wounded, returning to the town.  Into it he got, and other horrors of war were at once before him.  He had no time to think of his own near escape from death, for there was a dying lad upon his knee.  Another was leaning his head on his shoulder, and his hands were busy passing water or brandy to the wounded or dying.

Through such experiences our chaplains go, and go gladly, for Him who is at once their Saviour and their King.  Not much is heard of their work, not often are they mentioned in despatches; only one of them has ever received the Victoria Cross, but most of them are heroes, and deserve well of the country that gave them birth.  It is sufficient for them that they receive the praise of God, and there can be no higher reward for them than the Master’s ‘Well done.’

=Services in Ladysmith.=