One was instantly disabled by a German sh.e.l.l, and Driver Osborne was thrice wounded. A shrapnel bullet deeply grazed his cheek, another caught his shoulder, a third grazed his ribs and inflicted a nasty chest wound. The second gun was shattered in ten minutes, and then for another hour and a quarter one gun fought the German battery. It was an inferno. The screaming dying horses, the shattered groaning men, the sh.e.l.ls in hundreds digging holes of four to five feet deep, and shrapnel bullets by thousands searching the ground made it a Gehenna.

"Men fell fast. The officers were killed or wounded, but the one gun fought on. Driver Osborne, thrice wounded, fetched the ammunition from fifty yards away amidst showers of shrapnel. One sh.e.l.l dropped within six feet, but did not burst; another hit a gun muzzle, but the fragments missed him. He was running behind a shattered gun for ammunition when a sh.e.l.l hit the wheel, and the concussion of the broken wheel knocked his knee up, and he could go no more. An officer started for ammunition instead and was instantly killed.

"Osborne holds Captain Bradbury in high honour. 'He was a hero and a gentleman.' His courage, prompt.i.tude, and resource inspired his men.

One by one the German guns were hit, shattered, silenced, and their gunners fell, under the terrible accuracy of that one British gun. Ten guns ceased fire, and the Germans fled from the other. The Middles.e.x Regiment of infantry arrived at this point and found three men wounded, covered with blood from horses and men, but working their one gun with their ebbing strength.

"Dashing forward, they captured the German guns, brought out the English battery and rescued the wounded men. The three men, with their fallen comrades, had saved the battery, destroyed the German attack, saved the village beyond, and secured the English rear."

For this splendid service Driver Osborne was rewarded with the Medaille Militaire for distinguished conduct. This is the French V.C.

It is equivalent to the Legion of Honour in France, and carries with it a pension of a hundred francs a year.

Driver Osborne was also recommended for the British V.C., but it does not yet appear to have been given.

The first Wesleyan soldier in this war to receive the V.C. was Bandsman Thomas Edward Rendle, 1st Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry.

The reward was, according to the official notification, conferred--

"For conspicuous bravery on November 20, near Wulverghem, when he attended to the wounded under very heavy sh.e.l.l and rifle fire, and rescued men from the trenches in which they had been buried by the blowing in of the parapets by the fire of the enemy's howitzers."

Still another story of Christian heroism, the hero of this being a member of the Salvation Army. I quote from the _War Cry_ of October 17, 1914.

"Jumping into a carriage of an already moving train the other day (writes a _War Cry_ representative) I was seized by a soldier in war-stained khaki, who gave me a tight hand-grip and said, 'Good luck to you! G.o.d bless you and your people!'

"'I'm afraid I don't know you,' I replied.

"'Perhaps not,' he responded, 'but I know some of your people, and the one I met in the firing line was one of the pluckiest fellows I know of. We had been lying in the trenches firing for all we were worth. On my right, shoulder to shoulder, were two Salvationists. I remembered them as having held a meeting with some of us chaps about a week before. As we lay there with the bullets whistling round us these two were the coolest of the whole cool lot!

"'After we had been fighting some time we had orders to fall back, and as we were getting away from the trenches one of the Salvationists was. .h.i.t and fell. His chum didn't miss him until we had gone several hundred yards, and then he says, "Where's ----?" calling him by name.

"I must go back and fetch him!" and off he hurried, braving the hail of shot and sh.e.l.l. I admired his bravery so much that I offered to go with him, but he said, "No, the Lord will protect me; I'll manage it!"

"'So I threw myself on the ground and waited. I saw him creep along for some yards, then run to cover; creep along, and take shelter again; and, finally, having found his chum, he picked him up and made a dash for safety.

"'How the bullets fell around him! Into the shelter of some trees he went; out again and in once more; and when he did get into the last piece of clearing I couldn't wait any longer, so rushed forward to help him.

"'Then I got hit, and was, of course, bowled over. But your man quickly came to me.

"'What do you think the brave fellow did? He just put his other arm round me and carried us both off! Darkness was fast coming on, and presently he laid us down and bound the wounds, which he bandaged up with strips which he tore from his shirt. I shall never forget that terrible night!

"'The three of us struggled on, we two getting weaker and weaker, until just as dawn was breaking we all collapsed.

"'How far we had gone I don't know, for the next I remember was that I was in a field hospital. I could find no trace of my brave rescuer nor his chum, and have heard nothing of them since. But he's a brave boy, and if ever I chance to meet him again I'll ask his name, and the _War Cry_ shall know it as soon as word can reach you.'"

The next story is one altogether different. I quote it from the United Free Church of Scotland _Record_. It speaks for itself.

"It was a Sunday morning in Belgium. There had been a sharp engagement, and the British troops holding a village had been hurriedly forced by great ma.s.ses of the enemy to retire. In the confusion three Scottish privates and a corporal had been cut off in the streets and had backed into the first open door they came to. The occupants had fled, and they made their way up a long staircase, intending to find the roof and watch events from there. But it ended in an empty loft, where there was only a skylight beyond their reach.

"'Better lie low for a while,' suggested the corporal as they stood listening to the terrible sounds outside. The Germans were evidently burning, looting, and killing. Now and again they heard screams and the discharge of rifles: sometimes an explosion would shake the building, showing that houses were being blown up; while the smell of burning wood penetrated to their retreat. This went on for hours. The soldiers knew they would be discovered sooner or later, and expected no mercy, as the enemy would be sure to invent some excuse for putting them to death.

"Suddenly the corporal said: 'Lads, it's time for church parade: let's hae a wee bit service here; it may be oor last.' The soldiers looked a little astonished, but they piled their rifles in a corner and came and stood at attention. The corporal took out a small Testament from his breast pocket and turned over the pages.

"'Canna we sing something first? Try ye're hand at the 23rd Psalm.

Quiet noo--very quiet.'

"Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale, Yet will I fear none ill: For thou art with me; and thy rod And staff me comfort still."

"There wasn't much melody about the tune, but the words came from the heart.

"Then the corporal began:

"'Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in h.e.l.l. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.'

"As he read there were loud shouts below: doors banged, and gla.s.s was smashed. But he went on:

"'He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.'

"He ended, and his grave face took on a wry smile.

"'I'm no' a gude hand at this job,' he said, 'but we maun finish it off. Let us pray.'

"He stood, with the book in his hand, and the others knelt and bowed their heads. His memory went back to the days of family worship in his father's cottage, and he tried to remember the phrases he had heard. A little haltingly, but very simply, he committed their way to G.o.d and asked for strength to meet their coming fate like men.

"While he prayed a heavy hand thrust open the door and they heard an exultant exclamation and then a gasp of surprise. Not a man moved, and the corporal went calmly on. After a pause he began, with great reverence, to repeat the Lord's Prayer.

"That a German officer or private was standing there they realised: they did not see, but they felt, what was taking place. They heard the click of his heels, and they knew that he also was standing at attention. For a moment the suspense lasted, and then came the soft closing of the door and his footsteps dying away.

"The tumult in the house gradually ceased, and soon afterwards the storm of war retreated like the ebb of the tide, and quiet fell upon the village and remained upon it. At dusk the four men ventured forth, and by making a wide detour worked round the flank of the enemy and reached the British outposts in safety."

One other story will suffice. Sergeant William Taylor of the 1st Royal Berkshire Regiment died of wounds in the Herbert Hospital, Woolwich, on Thursday, December 10. A beautiful character, a devoted Christian soldier, he was promoted on the field from the rank of lance-corporal to sergeant for conspicuous bravery. On one occasion he stood over a fallen comrade with bullets whizzing all around, until eventually the comrade was carried to a place of safety. On another occasion Sergeant Taylor volunteered with others to attack a position held by a strong force of the enemy. The Berkshires lost heavily until reinforced, and then the position was carried. He was the ideal soldier--the "righteous man" who is "brave as a lion."

The late Rev. T.J. Thorpe, who cared for him while he was in hospital at Woolwich, says: "The Lord Jesus was very precious to him amidst the agony of his last days, and he died more than conqueror." This grand Christian hero was only twenty-four years old.

Before I close this chapter, let me give extracts from two letters sent home by two Baptist chaplains and published in the _Baptist Times and Freeman_.

The Rev. T.N. Tattersall writes:

"I have made inquiries as to how the men behave in the trenches. What effect has the imminence of death upon the character of the men? Some use language more forcible than polite. Some find the Black Marias and sh.e.l.ls a source of entertainment. Some turn their feelings into the songs of Zion. Many vows to G.o.d are made on the field of battle, and a Christian soldier has a great opportunity of which he is not slow to make use. In a chat with one such, Private J. Downs, of the Welsh Regiment, a good Baptist, whom I found in hospital recovering from a wound, he told me how he lost his chum. They were sharing a dug-out together, and had agreed, should either fall, to write home the terrible news. His friend said, 'You will tell my wife I am ready, that to G.o.d I have given my trust.' Just before he fell he sang 'Jesus is tenderly calling thee home.' Little did he realise how near was his own call. A bullet struck him in the head. Last Thursday the letter was written."

The second is from the Rev. E.L. Watson, and forcibly depicts to us the highest form of courage--courage that triumphs in spite of fear and triumphs through Christ. Such courage is the possession of every Christian soldier.

"At another farm-house in absolute darkness and silence we reached our second dressing station. The regimental medical officer was absent, but the sergeant in charge was ready to deliver over his charge. I stepped into what appeared to be a large living room covered with straw, upon which some fifteen men were lying in absolute silence. No groans, no word of complaint escaped the lips of a single man, no asking for drink, nor claiming first a.s.sistance. I felt my way over several, and was able to whisper a word of cheer here and there. One badly wounded man guided my hand to that of a lad near by with the words, 'Speak a word to that lad, chaplain, he must need his mother.'

Out of that darkness one by one they were carefully lifted on to stretchers and put into the ambulances.

"One incident impressed me very much that night in that chamber of agony. Just as the last man was being carried out I heard a sob near by me, and putting out my hand touched a stretcher-bearer who had become jumpy. Poor boy, and no wonder. Only seventeen years of age, and away from home for the first time. Empty stomach and soaked clothes, bringing in and remaining with the wounded till relieved, with death outside at every step. This first night of his experience with war was trying his strength and testing his nerve. I took his hand, and whispered a message, and I heard him go out with his little company again towards the trenches over a fire-swept area.

"Men claim that heroism always comes to the front in a crisis, and so it does, but I have learned too that the heroic soul is not always the fearless one. In the case of this lad the sense of duty overcame his sense of fear, and away he went to face death, brave and heroic, in spite of a trembling heart and unsteady hand."

Yet one more picture of heroism, and it is, indeed, a strange one.

There is a touch of unconscious humour in it, but for all that it is grandly heroic.

Six Royal Field Artillery men, soldiers of the King and of the Salvation Army too, have been holding daily prayer meetings just behind the guns, and have succeeded in capturing several of their comrades as "trophies." There was no "penitent rail" to which to invite them, and so, notwithstanding the cold, they piled their overcoats together, and kneeling at this improvised "rail" their comrades gave themselves to Christ.