Private Edwards of the Royal West Kents writes: ―
“At midnight the order came to proceed to— in fighting order the guns were roaring, it was a terrible sight, an aviator bombed us, killing one or two and wounding others, one poor fellow lay a mass of blood and bits of flesh. But I am sure God is with us. Another night we were ‘bombed’ by an aviator, many poor horses were killed. Those who knew the Lord could see by our safety and death all around us, the Lord’s power to control aviators. I met a dear comrade, Private Hawkins, we used to get together behind some haystack for prayer; and we did pray, although without fear of death, yet death was all around us. The last time we met for prayer was in a barn and we realized God’s presence.
“One day I crossed a road and a shell fell just where I had been standing, this bombardment was terrible, and we got to shelter as best we could to a spot called ‘Hell-fire Corner,’ dead mules, horses, and men all round. I tried to impress upon the men the serious position we were in, and to ‘get right with God.’ I prayed with them, and asked them to trust God. Some seemed relieved, others utterly careless.
“I shall never forget my first place on guard, a few inches from my hand was the corpse of a German soldier sticking out of the parapet. Several of our lads were killed here.
“The next morning my dear comrade H― came up with other wounded, in a terrible state, bleeding from the mouth, trying to say a cheery word. He went to the dressing station and I saw no more of him.
“I was on a machine gun section of seven men. I knew two of them, one I knew in England, and we decided to chum together. In all these times of strain the best possible thing to do, is to trust God. I prayed constantly and pleaded with the men to do likewise. As we lay in a shell-hole waiting to advance, a shell exploded close to us, blowing my rifle and bayonet, which I was holding tightly, out of my hand, leaving me half-buried and dazed, my comrade Frank C― should ‘Edwards,’ thinking I had been killed. I answered as best I could, and be called my attention to the flaming parts of the shell close to my head, it was a miraculous escape, a proof of the power of God. I only had a few cuts on my face and hands. Orders came to advance, and I had to go without my rifle and bayonet. It was simply wonderful to see our ‘Barrage’ at this time. I had to secure a rifle from one of the dead as we advanced. Our officer and sergeant were killed, and Private ‘manned the gun.’ Private T― was shot by my side, I afterward wrote to his wife. At last we had the order to ‘dig in,’ Frank and I dug for all we were worth―I never worked like it in my life―shells were dropping all around, it looked almost impossible for a fly to live―dense gas was passing overhead. It cheered us to see four of our aviators hovering ever us. We had lost touch with our Company. I prayed and prayed as never before, I did not fear death in the least, but thought of home and loved ones―I pleaded with dear Frank—to trust God now and forever, he, said he would and prayed with me. In that ‘fiery furnace’ I felt God nearer to me than ever. I said to Frank, ‘we are coming through.’ He said, ‘It’s impossible.’ I said, ‘I feel sure of it.’ I asked in those hours, that I might live nearer to Him, and by His grace I will. After some time we spied our officer, and made off to him, under shell fire all the time, we reached him finding only a handful of our men left. My daily text for that day was Jer. 23. 23. ‘Am I a God at hand saith the Lord, and not a God afar off?’
“While we were waiting for ‘relief’ amid the terrible bombardment one day, I prayed that our God and Father would prevent any shells dropping near us. Praise Him, that prayer was answered, not a shell dropped near us. At the break of day, we looked for miles over the battlefield, it was a sight to make any man think, we passed men dead and dying, the poor pack mules with their loads, and the driver lying beside them, dead. Transports wrecked, and yet our supplies had been maintained, being almost famished with thirst, we drank the water collected in empty petrol tins. Presently we reached a cook-house where plenty of good food awaited us I, being nearly exhausted, was helped along by a comrade. After a rest we marched to our ‘Rest Camp.’ I was reported ‘sick,’ and then had to go to hospital. It was a pleasure to persuade different boys to go for a walk to some quiet place for prayer, in a meadow or field. It was always refreshing to read the soldier’s Psa. 91. The evening before we left there, dear Frank and I had a time of earnest prayer in a shell hole.
“It was a gloomy time when the roll was called after our return from battle. I was one of seven left in my platoon, and four of us seven had to go in hospital. It was a hard matter to say good-bye.”
M. M. (Worthing.)