By The Editor
My Dear Soldier-Friend
AT the time of the South African War God taught me a lesson I hope I have never forgotten. In His infinite graciousness He allowed me to bring a soul to Christ, in spite of my blind indifference to the need of that soul.
I used in those days to go from London to Exeter every Saturday to preach in the Victoria Hall on the Sunday, returning to London on the same Sunday night or the following Monday morning.
On a certain Saturday I took my seat in a train leaving Waterloo for Exeter. The carriage was empty when I got in, and I was glad of the opportunity for quiet and reading.
I was alone in the carriage until we came, I think it was, to Yeovil Junction. There a man staggering, with what I thought was drink, came into the compartment where I sat alone. Sitting down he took a bottle from his pocket and saying, “Excuse me, sir,” took a good drink from it.
He tried to enter into conversation, but I did not encourage talking. He saw I did not want to speak, so he subsided into a broken sleep in the corner. About half an hour after, we stopped in a station, where we were all requested to leave the train, as there had been an accident, and we were told another train was waiting for us, beyond the sphere of the damage done to the rails, to take us on. I got out of my compartment and walked quickly by the side of the rails to where the other train was standing, and got into a carriage near the engine, which was empty hoping, I sadly confess, that I should not see my traveling companion again. But just as the train was about to start, he opened the carriage door, and came in where I was, and seated himself in the corner opposite to me. I was not very pleased at what I thought was an unpleasant happening. I did not know, what I was soon to find out, that God had made him follow me from carriage to carriage, so that I might be His instrument, to bring comfort to a sorrowing heart, and to lead a sinner to Christ. Why did I not know? Why was I not in communion with God, as to His divine purposes that day?
I sat silently reading, and he sat looking at me for a while — and then he began to speak. He said, “Sir, I have been called up to serve in the war, and I have to go to Exeter to join my regiment. I have left my wife heartbroken and my children crying around her — but I had to leave her with a neighbor, and to try and forget my sorrow, I have taken a drop of drink.” He stopped, and began to weep.
In a moment my deepest sympathies were awakened. I came over beside him, and taking his hand said, “My dear friend I am so sorry for you.” My sympathy led him to unburden himself, and he told me about his life, and his home, and his wife and children, and how sorry they were to be separated the one from the other. I spoke to him of One Who could comfort him far better than I could, and would if he would put his trust in Him. As we were nearing Exeter, he dried his tears, and I wrote my name and address on a piece of paper and gave it to him. I told him also I was preaching on Sunday evening at the Victoria Hall, Queen Street, at 6.30, would he come? “I will, sir,” he replied, “you will see me there,” We shook hands and parted.
On Sunday evening, I stood watching near the door inside the hall, while our congregation came streaming in. I was afraid he would not come, but to my joy I saw him as he entered. I hastened to him, and welcomed him warmly. I showed him to a seat, telling him I should like to see him again after the service was over.
When the meeting was closed, I came down from the platform and looked around for my soldier-friend. I found him in deep distress about his soul―God had convicted him of sin during the preaching. We pointed him to Christ, and kneeling around him, some of us prayed that God would save him, and give him the joy of salvation. He was very anxious to be saved, but with all his trouble, he had to leave, to get back to the Barracks. Before he left he gave me his home address and asked me to write to his wife. He thanked me over and over again, as he said “Good-bye.” He told me that before I came to Exeter again he would be on his way to Africa.
Two or three months passed, and I often thought of the dear soldier in Africa, and wondered how he was. To my joy in April, 1900, a letter came to me from him. I wrote to him in answer, but I never heard from him again, so I expect he fell in battle. I shall see him in heaven―my dear, soldier-friend.