most part, from furniture belonging to the camp. Everything was very rough in those days, and the roads well-nigh impassable; but when we got there what a welcome we had! The late Colonel Gordon, R.E. (nephew of Gordon of Khartoum), lent us his piano and his wife often played it for us.

I was standing on Petersfield Station platform one night looking sadly at a group of drunken and half-drunken soldiers, when a non-commissioned officer came up, and, after saluting, said, "They would not be like that if you had a Home for them, sir."

By and by it was not only a hut we had, but a permanent Soldiers' Home, and when it was opened by the Earl of Donoughmore, it became crowded at once. Brigadier-General Campbell stood our friend through all those difficult days, and rejoiced as much as we did in the prosperity of the Home.

It must be remembered also that for many years past there has been an increasing leaven of Christian men in the Army. The Home to which I have just referred could not have been the power it became had it not been for this. I remember a lance-corporal who, so far as he knew, was the only Christian in his regiment. He used to go out among the solemn pines at night and pray for his comrades. Soon another joined him there, and many another, and by the time the Home was opened we had a company of Christian men ready to work among their fellows.

During my ministry in Aldershot I saw this illustrated in much larger measure, and the Christian men were, all of them, Christian missionaries working with great success.

I have already told the story of Christian work during the South African war in my book "From Aldershot to Pretoria." The story is one for which all the churches may well thank God. Though that war was child's play compared with this, the higher war waged—the war for Christ and His Kingdom—was one of constant victory. Large numbers of men gave themselves to Christ, and when the war was over remembered the vows they had vowed to Him.

Now we have witnessed a mobilisation of Christian forces, such as would have been impossible hitherto. The Chaplaincy Department has developed into a great and well-organised agency for good. Over two hundred chaplains are already at the front, and the ministers of all the churches are busily at work in the camps at home. All the old Christian and temperance organisations are to the fore, only developed out of all former knowledge, and the Young Men's Christian Association has astonished and delighted the whole Christian world.

The Christian men in the Army—more numerous before the war broke out than they had ever been—are carrying on their noble work and are constantly receiving additions to their ranks.

We have known for years what Thomas Atkins was like—susceptible as a child. I have heard sobs all over the room while picture slides of a little child's story, such as "Jessica's First Prayer," were being shown. But what will the new army be like? Will it be as susceptible as the old? Will the men still thrill when the Gospel story is told? They are different men—men drawn from all classes, actuated by a common purpose to save their country. Will they think only of that, or will their hearts also be "strangely warmed" by tidings of their Saviour's love? Already the answer comes to us "Yes." Never before has such deep seriousness fallen upon our men, and in their quiet moments, and even amid the stress of battle, thoughts have turned to Christ and hearts have been surrendered to Him.

"The truth of the matter is," wrote the Bishop of London, in the Times, after his visit to the front at Easter, "that the realities of war have melted away the surface shyness of men about religion; they feel they are 'up against' questions of life and death; and I have heard of more than one censor who has for the first time realised the part religion bears in a soldier's life by censoring the innumerable letters home in which the writers ask for the prayers of their relations or express their trust in God."

It is the purpose of the following pages to tell, so far as it is possible, in these early months of the war, something of the Christian work attempted and accomplished among our men at the front and at sea, and to answer the questions I have just asked.

WITH OUR FIGHTING MEN

CHAPTER I

AT THE HOME BASE

A troop train slowly passing through Winchester Station. Heads out of every window. One great shout by hundreds of eager young lads, "Are we downhearted?" And then, not waiting for those of us on the platform to answer, the emphatic response "No!"

Winchester Station looked strange that morning, early in August 1914. Its dignified quiet had gone. No one would have dreamt that this was the station of an ancient cathedral city. Armed sentries were posted at every point of entrance and departure. With fixed bayonets they guarded the signal-boxes. Their beds were in the waiting-rooms. The whole station was given up to the military.

And this was not the only case. All down the line it was the same, while every few yards by the side of the metals, all the way to Portsmouth and Southampton, soldiers with fixed bayonets were on guard. Here and there Boy Scouts were assisting, and enjoying themselves immensely.

Portsmouth Harbour at that time was closed to ordinary traffic. The few passengers who still ventured to the Isle of Wight, in what should have been the height of the holiday season, had to betake themselves to Southampton, and be thankful if after long waiting they could get across from there.

The Solent was full of troop-ships. We counted over forty at one time waiting to take troops across, while many more were in Southampton Water. The Isle of Wight was an armed camp. At night search-lights played all over it.

What touching farewells there were! Stand on almost any platform and see—that is if you have the assurance to look on at that which is sacred. A mother brings her little ones to say good-bye to their soldier father. An old woman with difficulty slowly comes to the edge of the platform to give her blessing to her soldier son. A wife is locked for a few brief moments in a loving embrace.

The father, or son, or husband brushes the sleeve of his tunic across his eyes, and then, as the train begins to move, says "Good-bye. I'll soon be back!" And as the train steams out those brave lads ask again, "Are we downhearted?" and the mothers and wives and sweethearts, with tears streaming down their faces, strive to answer "No!"

Those were stirring times at Aldershot. The old scenes at the outbreak of the war in South Africa were re-enacted, only on a larger scale. That was mere child's play to this, and every one realised it. Incessant coming and going as troops gathered from all parts of