DURING the South African War, a battle had raged all day, and firing was still taking place. Far away in the distance “Long Tom” was booming at intervals. For some time it had gone on thus, and still there was no relaxation of its deadly purpose... Seven miles away, a group of men had stopped to bivouac, and amongst them was Scripture Reader A., who, midst shot and shell, had kept with the men, ready to help where he might be needed.
Not far off, one of the soldiers, Private B—, who had just taken his rations from the cart, was stooping down to tie them up in his handkerchief, and as he did so, a second shot from the ninety-six-pounder burst just over him; a shrapnel bullet struck him in the back, and, entering at the side of his spine, passed right through his body. The Reader and some of the men went to his assistance at once, but the poor fellow was terribly wounded. Having procured a stretcher, they placed him on it and carried him where he could receive medical aid. As Reader A. walked beside him, he put out his hand and placed it in that of the Reader, evidently feeling he had a friend, although he had not known him before.
... The doctor had finished doing what he could for the relief of the sufferer, but the case was far too serious for any remedy, and he only wondered-that the man-was alive.
He told the Reader he might go into the tent to see him if he liked, adding: “He ought to be dead, humanly speaking, and cannot possibly live more than two hours at the most.” Reader A. went in, and spoke kindly to the man, asking if he could do anything for him. “Yes,” he replied, “my feet are, very cold, can I have another blanket?”
Having procured one for him (though he already had seven), he felt he could not leave him thus, and an intense desire for the poor soldier’s salvation came over him.
“Are you ready to die?” he asked. “No,” was the reply, and then followed the story of a wasted life. Being weak, he became tired, and Reader A. left him awhile and went outside the tent, only to pray most earnestly for him.
On his return he asked him: “Do you know you’re dying?” “Yes,” was the answer. “Do you want to go to heaven?” “Indeed I do!” Then, seeing how earnest the-poor fellow was, Reader A. said: “Are you sorry for your sins?” “Yes,” he answered, “God knows I am;
Is It Not Too Late Now?”
The Reader gave the answer: “The blood of Jesus Christ can cleanse from all sin.” Then, kneeling down, he prayed for him, and repeated again the words of life-giving power, adding: “If you are really in earnest about your salvation, will you say these words after me as a prayer to God? —
“Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bid’st me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come’”
In a feeble voice he repeated the words of this grand old hymn, “O Lamb of God, I come!” and added, “Oh, I see now—He died for me.” And then a radiantly bright look overspread his countenance, such a look that the Reader said he never could forget. He asked Reader A. to come back again, but he had to visit other men that night; and when he returned early next morning he found that Private B. had passed away. The General, the doctor, and the Reader were present at his funeral, and the latter put a plain cut wooden cross over his grave, with his name written on it in blacking.
On coming away from the grave, the Reader asked the doctor if he could account for the man living as long as he did. “No,” was the reply, “it was nothing short of a miracle. Can you?” “No, I cannot,” replied the Reader, “unless he had a praying mother, or some praying friends at home, and God may have held back the hand of death to give him a chance of salvation in answer to prayer.”
Six years after, our Reader was holding some mission services at a training-camp on Salisbury Plain. One day he was standing amongst a group of men, when one of them (who was with him in South Africa) came up and asked if he remembered Private B., “because,” he added, pointing to a sergeant a little way off, “that’s his brother.” Following the direction in which he pointed, Reader A. went up to the sergeant, and putting him arm in his, said: “Just come with me a minute, will you? I want to ask you something. Did you have a brother in the War in South Africa?”
“Yes, I had,” he replied, “and we heard from the War Office that he was killed on a certain day, but we never knew any details whatever.” “Then,” said the Reader, “I want to ask you another question—you must not mind my doing so—have you a praying mother?” “Yes,” was the answer; “my old mother has been an invalid for eight years, and she used to spend days in prayer for my brother, when he was in South Africa, that he might be ready to die if he were called into eternity.”
Then the Reader told him the whole story, and asked for his mother’s address. He wrote to her, telling of the answer to her prayer. Thus she prevailed in heaven, and through heaven, on earth, and death’s dark angel was arrested until another soul had stepped out of Satan’s kingdom into the kingdom of Christ, and he was able, through that message of salvation which he accepted, to “read his title clear to mansions in the sky.”
Thus after many days—nay, years—of trusting her loved Saviour, the answer came; and she to whom faith had been the substance of things not seen, received here and now the reward of her faith, and rejoiced in the faithfulness of a loving God, who had heard and answered her prayer.
E. CHRISTIANA CLEEVE.