The Comrade in White | Page 7

had to leave them and lose
them. For the great call had reached him, and he bore the King's
commission, and in his heart of hearts he had the feeling that he would
never come back.
Now the chaff and the parting words of good luck were over, and the
train was panting to be off. "Boys," he cried suddenly, "I want you to
do something for me, something hard." "Anything you like, sir," they
answered eagerly. But their faces fell when they heard their teacher's
word. "Look here," he said, "it's this. You'll meet in the old place every
Tuesday evening for a few minutes and pray for me that I may do my
duty, and, if it please God, that I may come back to you all. And I'll
pray for you at the same time even if I'm in the thick of battle. Is it a
bargain?"
I wish you had seen the dismay on those ten faces. It was any odds on
their blurting out a shamefaced refusal, but Ted Harper, their
acknowledged chief, pulled himself together just in time, and called out
as the train began to move:--"We'll do it, sir. I don't know how we'll
manage it, but we'll do our best. We'll not go back on you."
As Fenton sank into his corner he was aware of the mocking looks of
his brother officers. "I say," said one of them, "you don't really think
those chaps are going to hold a prayer-meeting for you every week, and
if they did you can't believe it would stop an enemy's bullet or turn an
enemy's shell. It's all very well to be pious, but that's a bit too thick."
Fenton flushed, but he took it in good part. "Prayer's a big bit of our
religion," he said, "and I've a notion these prayers will help me.
Anyhow I'm sure my lads will do their part. Where Ted Harper leads,
they follow."
And sure enough the boys did their part. It was fine to see them starting
out in the wrong direction, and twisting and doubling through the
crooked lanes till they worked round to the Mission Hall, and then in
with a rush and a scuttle, that as few as possible might see. The doings
of the Fenton crowd, as they were known locally, were the talk of the
town in those first days after Roger departed. Would they meet? Would
they keep it up? Would they bear the ridicule of the other boys of their

own age? And how in the world would they pray?
Time answered all these questions except the last. They met, they
continued to meet, they faced ridicule like heroes. But how did they
pray? That mystery was as deep and insoluble as before, for whatever
awful oath of secrecy bound them to silence not a whisper of the doings
of those Tuesday evenings was divulged to the outside world.
I was the only one who ever knew, and I found out by chance. Ted
Harper had borrowed "Fights for the Flag" from me, and when I got it
back there was a soiled piece of paper in it with something written in
Ted's ungainly hand. I thought he had been copying a passage, and
anxious to see what had struck him, I opened the sheet out and read
these words:--"O God, it's a hard business praying. But Roger made me
promise. And you know how decent he's been to me and the crowd.
Listen to us now, and excuse the wrong words, and bring him back safe.
And, O God, make him the bravest soldier that ever was, and give him
the V.C. That's what we all want for him. And don't let the war be long,
for Christ's sake. Amen."
I felt a good deal ashamed of myself when I came to the end of this
artless prayer. I had got their secret. I could see them kneeling round
the Mission forms, two or three with crumpled papers in their hands.
They were unutterably shy of religious expression, and to read was
their only chance. The boys on whom the fatal lot fell the previous
Tuesday were bound to appear with their written devotions a week later.
This war has given us back the supernatural, but no miracle seems more
wonderful to me than those ten lads and their ill-written prayers. And,
remember, that liturgical service lasted six months, and never a break in
the Tuesday meeting. What a grand thing a boy's heart is, when you
capture its loyalty and its affection!
It was a black day when the news came. The local Territorials had
advanced too far on the wing of a great offensive, and had been almost
annihilated. The few survivors had dug themselves in, and