with them. He is himself one of those who stay
behind; but there is something in the way he speaks which makes us
sure that he would gladly go. He does not say this. It is not his way
to talk heroics. But more certainly than if he had said the words the
men know that it is not of his own choice that he stays behind.

It is my turn to speak, to pray. Surely never to any minister of God
has such opportunity been given. But what words can I find? What
supplication fits the time and place? I beg the men to pray, to seek
from above courage, strength, patience, inward peace. I make my
prayer for them, that God will lighten the surrounding darkness and
deliver us all from the perils of "this night." I am feeble,
helpless, faithless, without vision; but at least I can give the
benediction. "The Peace of God----" Even war cannot take that from
the heart of him who has it.

From a neighbouring camp comes the sound of men singing as they tramp
down the muddy road. Another draft is on its way. From a camp still
farther off we hear the skirl of bagpipes. There, too, men have said
good-bye to security and are on their way. A sharp order rings out.
Then another. The men on the parade ground spring to attention, turn,
march.

They begin to sing as they go. "Tipperary," in those days was losing
its popularity. "If I were the only boy in the world" had not come to
its own. For the moment "Irish eyes are smiling" is most popular. It
is that or some such song they sing, refusing even then to make
obeisance to heroic sentiment. The little group of officers, the
sergeants, the orderlies with the lanterns, stand and salute the
columns as they pass.

Far down the road we hear a shouted jest, a peal of laughter, a burst
of song.

In what mood, with what spirit does the soldier, the man in the
ranks, go forth into the night to his supremely great adventure? We
do more than guess. We know. We chaplains are officers, but we are
something more than officers. We are, or ought to be, the friends of
men and officers alike. We have the chance of learning from the men's
own lips what their feelings are. Hardly ever do we get the least
suggestion of heroic resolve or hint of the consciousness of great
purpose. Very often we hear a hope expressed--a hope which is really
a prayer for God's blessing. But this is almost always for those left
at home, for wife and children, parents, brothers, friends. It is as
if they and not the men who fight had dan