From Aldershot to Pretoria | Page 7

led. If he gets into a barrack
room where the men are coarse, sensual, ungodly, he often runs into
riot in a short time, though even then his early impressions do not
altogether fade. But if we lay hold of him, bring him to our Homes,
surround him with Christian influences, by God's help we make a man
of him, and the raw recruit, the 'rook' as they call him, not only
develops into a veteran ready to go anywhere and do anything for
Queen and country, but into a Soldier of the Cross, ready to do and dare
for his King.
=An Aldershot Sunday.=
Let me introduce you to an Aldershot Sunday. The camp is all astir at
an early hour. Musters of men here and there on the regimental parade
grounds, the stately march to church, the regimental band at the head.
The short, bright, cheery service. The rattle and clatter of side-arms as
the men stand or sit. The rapid exit after the Benediction has been
pronounced and the National Anthem sung. The 'fall in' outside. The

ringing word of command, and the march back to barracks, amid the
admiring gaze of the civilians.
All this can be sketched in a few sentences; but we want to give our
readers more than a mere introduction--a speaking acquaintance. We
want them to get to know our friend Thomas Atkins before they see
him out on the veldt, or amid the heat of battle. And to know him as we
know him they must get a little closer than a mere church parade; they
must watch us at our work for him, they must realize some of our
difficulties, and be sharers in some of our joys.
Let us then get nearer to him, and in order to this, attempt to get into
the heart of an Aldershot Sunday. And as the most conspicuous and
handsome pile of buildings in Aldershot is the Grosvenor Road
Wesleyan Church and Soldiers' Home, and it happens to be the one
with which we are best acquainted, we will follow the workers in their
Sunday's work.
=The Prison Service.=
And first of all let us visit the Military Prison. There are not so many
prisoners as usual just now, and those who are there are terribly anxious
to have their terms of imprisonment shortened, in order that they may
get to the front--not that prisoners are ever wishful to drag out the full
term of their imprisonment, but now that all is excitement and their
regiments are on the eve of departure, they are feverishly anxious to go
with them.
And yet it is easy to preach, for in prison most hearts are softened, and
just now there are memories of bygone days that make one love the old
hymns and listen with more than old interest to old truths. Of course
there are not a few exceptions. For instance, you see that tall
Guardsman! Guardsman, do you call him? Anything but that in his
uncouth prison dress! But he is a Guardsman, and by-and-by will give a
good account of himself in South Africa. See how his eyes are fixed on
the preacher. How eagerly he listens to every word the preacher says!
Surely there is a work of grace going on in his heart! And so next
morning when the preacher and junior chaplain meet, one says to the

other, 'I am quite sure Robinson was greatly affected yesterday. He
could not take his eyes off me all the time. He seemed in great trouble.
Speak to him about it, and try to lead him to Christ.'
Hence, when next the Rev. E. Weaver, our indefatigable junior
chaplain, visited the prison, he said, 'Robinson, what sort of a service
did you have on Sunday morning?'
'Pretty much as usual, thank you, sir.'
'How did you like the sermon?'
'Oh! all right. You know I've heard him before.'
'Yes, but wasn't there something that specially touched you. The
preacher said you could not take your eyes off him all the time. He felt
sure you were in trouble.'
'Well, sir, I was, that is the fact. I couldn't help looking at him, and I
have been thinking about it ever since.'
'Well, now, you know me, Robinson. Cannot I help you? You have no
need to be afraid to speak to me. What is your trouble?'
And Robinson looked gravely at the chaplain, and the chaplain at him.
And then with an effort Robinson said, 'I've been wondering about it all
the week. I cannot get it out of my head. Don't be offended, sir,
however did that 'ere gent get inside that waistcoat?'
How are the mighty fallen! And the poor preacher who, with cassock
vest, had stood before that congregation of prisoners,