The First Night in Barracks

He had been a member of a prayer circle and M.S.C. in a town in the Midlands, who found further resistance useless, so was at last compelled to don the khaki and make the best of it. “Perhaps after all,” he mused, “God has some wise purpose in this.” He will never forget his first night in barracks. When the bugle sounded, and each man sought his straw bed and blankets for the night, a miniature war raged in his bosom. Should he read his portion, as he was accustomed to do, and afterward go down on his knees to pray before these thirty careless young fellows? After a time he drew out his pocket Bible and sat down to read his “chapter.” Whilst so engaged the conflict within waxed hotter and hotter. “It is not necessary,” a voice seemed to reiterate. “It would be a mockery to attempt to pray here. You can speak to God after getting into your blankets.” He was about to yield and slip quietly into bed, but, bracing himself for the occasion, he dropped on his knees and began to pray. He was conscious of a strange hush, the curse, the flippant jest, and the loud laughter ceased, and as he rose a feeling of joy thrilled his soul as he realized that God had given him the victory.
Next morning one of the worst of his companions. Taking his hand in both of his, the speaker asked bluntly: “What are you, anyhow?” “I am a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, a sinner saved by grace,” was the quiet answer. “I know that,” said his comrade, “but how did you get saved? I tell you I would have liked to have done what you did last night when you knelt down to pray before us all.” The Christian soldier, not many years old in the spiritual life, had the joy of telling the other the way of salvation. “Now I know,” he told the writer, why it was I was compelled to enter the Army.”
Reader, “Don’t deny Christ! Never deny Christ!”
“Press forward where He led the way,
Close the ranks, speed the charge, win the day.”
Incidents of the War
“Humanity lies wounded, bleeding and robbed on the road of life, and calls aloud, not for priest or Levite, but for the good Samaritan.”―Dr. C―
ONE OF OUR POSTCARDS AN IDENTIFICATION DISC
I have just received the following letter from a Lieutenant in the Yorks Regiment, B.E.F.: ―
“Dear Sir, ― I am enclosing one of your printed post-cards which one of my sergeants handed to me. While on working fatigue I told one or two men to bury as decently as could be some poor British soldiers killed during the Great Push, and this card was found on one to be the only means of identification. Private Gaul was buried decently and a cross with his name put over his grave. I leave it to your discretion as to informing his people (if you know them), as they may think he has been buried some time ago. — Yours faithfully, ―. P.S.―The man evidently wished for one of your books, so trust he was prepared for the great adventure.”
I have the card in my hand now, dirty and blood-stained, the card found on the dead body of a British soldier. He had filled in the card, Pte. A. A. Gaul, 9333, Lewis Gun Section, 1st Norfolk Regt. The opportunity did not come for him to post it, but the desire was in his heart to have the Word of God.
If any reader of this little book should know where he lived, and would send me the address, I will communicate with his friends.