“I’m going to kneel at my cot tonight
By GEORGE P. MILLAR, Army Scripture Reader, Edinburgh Castle
CHOLERA is a swift messenger. It touches, shrinks up, and the “earthly house of this tabernacle is dissolved,” and “the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit to God who gave it,” either clothed in blood-washed robes or sin.
Dear old Francie Rea sat as a father in the midst of us youths, his face beaming with fullness of joy. In that precious ordinance our dear brother had “discerned the Lord’s body,” broken and bruised for him. He also could say, “I have seen you bonny Man.” In a few days his “eyes had seen the King in His beauty, and beheld the land that is very far off.” His end was bright, rind although in the full grip of cholera cramp, he could meet death with unbroken peace of mind. “Fear death? Oh, no, I belong to death’s Master.” He was an old soldier in the service of his Queen; he was also an old soldier in the service of the King. He had lived for Christ and his fellow men, and — he was missed.
Then there was Jim Ryder, corporal in the band. He, too, heard the Master say, “Friend, come up higher.” Sergeant Grant, a man of God, could write to the mother: “Your dear son passed into the presence of his God,” noting the day and hour. He was a consistent Christian, also an efficient bandsman, but our loving Father had promoted him into the band of His redeemed ones that harp the glories of Jesus in bright mansions above.
And young Billy Donaldson, a bright kiddie of the band. One night in the cholera camp, he said to a comrade: “Bob, I cannot speak to the men in the band; they might not like me to do so, seeing I am only a boy; but I am going to kneel at my cot tonight, for, you know, I have trusted Jesus, and that is the way I am going to tell them, and it may be that some will listen in that way, and perhaps come to Jesus too.”
That night Billy, the band boy, prayed by the side of his cot; the following morning he again witnessed “I belong to Jesus.” Were there those who scoffed at that boy? To the honor of the whole band we gladly record there was not one. How sad the feeling amongst us would have been if it had been different. For Billy, that morning as he knelt in prayer, was only a few hours’ march from the “home over there.” Passing on his way to the band practice tent, he was suddenly seized with cholera. At once he was taken to the hospital, and there he lay for a few hours in the full grip of that fatal disease. In the evening, as the usual long procession in funeral slow time was marching to the grave, Doctor Simpson stepped out, and in a low voice said to the officer: Wait a few minutes and I will give you another.” The pipes ceased to play, and the party halted. The soul of our young brother was standing on the brink of eternity. A bright smile lit up his face, a slight quiver of the poor wasted body, and Billy, the band boy, was in the presence of his King.
The mortal remains were wrapped in a blanket — there were no coffins in those days — and, in less than half an hour, laid to rest until the King shall come to awaken His own out of sleep, and there will be a glorious reunion between the ransomed soul and the body raised in incorruption. Think, the one night praying by his cot in a military camp, the next night in the home where tears, pain, and sin are unknown! We dare not say, “Poor Billy.” Nay, but bright, joyous, happy, eternally happy, housed, soul. Would you be there? would I? Then go as Billy went, led by the Spirit of Him who was nailed to the tree, through the open door, opened by the shed blood of the God-Man, right into the Father’s presence. By that way, through that door, you may enter; in that home there is room for you and me.
In these long days military churns were churns indeed. “One had been taken, the other had been left.” The “one left” said, “Geordie, will you pray?” And, for the first time, that individual opened his mouth in prayer in the presence of others. It was by the side of a newly closed grave. Ay, ay, when the judgments of God are abroad in the earth, even the most careless feel the need of prayer. Those who had learned the value of prayer gathered around his feet to pray. Twice daily the gong in the cholera camp rang out the invitation, “Come and pray.” The chaplain and the little band were bowed in prayer, when a stricken woman entered the tent. Laying hand on the kneeling minister, and with sad voice, she says, “Come, sir, and pray with my poor husband.” That night the remains of husband and wife were laid in one grave. Their only child was left, a sweet-faced, bonny wee lassie. Henceforth she became “the daughter of the regiment.”
During these sad days the regiment lost three sergeants, sixty-six privates, eleven women, and eleven children. We were to leave Morar. It had been to our corps “the Valley of the Shadow of Death.” The route was hailed with great rejoicing, vet there was sadness. We sorrowed for
“The friends we held so dear,
We breathed a sigh and dropped a tear.”
The whole regiment went for the last time to view the spot, the last resting-place of our comrades; some to pluck a blade of grass, or to take a little stone from beside the new made grave, to be treasured in memory of the one who was gone. They who think soldiers have no hearts don’t know the Army! The little praying band went together. They wandered in a group among the graves, and spoke of this one and that one. We had seen this large graveyard tenantless, we now saw the many mounds of victims of cholera, and of other fatal diseases; and before leaving we gathered in a corner of God’s acre, read the Word, conversed of God’s glorious, wonderful salvation, and with subdued voice we sang: —
“Oh, spread Thy cov’ring wings around,
Till all our wand’rings cease,
And at our Father’s lov’d abode
Our souls arrive in peace.”
And with bowed knees — and we trust with bowed hearts — we surrounded the footstool of His grace. This meeting in that solemn spot proved a rich means of grace. With uncovered heads we slowly marched out from the resting place of the dead. “Farewell, Francie; farewell, Jim; farewell, dear Billie, the band boy; through His grace and shed blood we shall meet in the morning.”