The Red Horizon | Page 8

movement, horses strained at their tethers eager to break away and get free from the captivity of the rope; the grooms were busy brushing the animals' legs and flanks, and a slight dust arose into the air as the work was carried on.
Over the red-brick houses of the village the church stood high, its spire clearly defined against the blue of the sky. The door of the café across the road opened, and the proprietress, a merry-faced, elderly woman, came across to the farmhouse. She purchased some newly laid eggs for breakfast, and entered into conversation with our men, some of whom knew a little of her language. They asked about her son in the trenches; she had heard from him the day before and he was (p. 039) quite well and hoped to have a holiday very soon. He would come home then and spend a fortnight with the family. She looked forward to his coming, he had been away from her ever since the war started; she had not seen him for eight whole months. What happiness would be hers when he returned! She waved her hand to us as she went off, tripping lightly across the roadway and disappearing into the café. She was going to church presently; it was Holy Week when the Virgin listened to special intercessors, and the good matron of the café prayed hourly for the safety of her soldier boy.
At ten o'clock we went to chapel, our pipers playing The Wearing of the Green as we marched along the crooked village streets, our rifles on our shoulders and our bandoliers heavy with the ball cartridge which we carried. The rifle is with us always now, on parade, on march, in café, billet, and church; our "best friend" is our eternal companion. We carried it into the church and fastened the sling to the chair as we knelt in prayer before the altar. We occupied the larger part of the building, only three able-bodied men in civilian clothing were in attendance.
The youth of the country were out in the trenches, and even here (p. 040) in the quiet little chapel with its crucifixes, images, and pictures, there was the suggestion of war in the collection boxes for wounded soldiers, in the crêpe worn by so many women; one in every ten was in mourning, and above all in the general air of resignation which showed on all the faces of the native worshippers.
The whole place breathed war, not in the splendid whirlwind rush of men mad in the wild enthusiasm of battle, but in silent yearning, heartfelt sorrow, and great bravery, the bravery of women who remain at home. Opposite us sat the lady of the café, her head low down on her breast, and the rosary slipping bead by bead through her fingers. Now and again she would stir slightly, raise her eyes to the Virgin on the right of the high altar, and move her lips in prayer, then she would lower her head again and continue her rosary.
As far as I could ascertain singing in church was the sole privilege of the choir, none of the congregation joined in the hymns. But to-day the church had a new congregation--the soldiers from England, the men who sing in the trenches, in the billet, and on the march; the men who glory in song on the last lap of a long, killing journey in full (p. 041) marching order. To-day they sang a hymn well-known and loved, the clarion call of their faith was started by the choir. As one man the soldiers joined in the singing, and their voices filled the building. The other members of the congregation looked on for a moment in surprise, then one after another they started to sing, and in a moment nearly all in the place were aiding the choir. One was silent, however, the lady of the café; still deep in prayer she scarcely glanced at the singers, her mind was full of another matter. Only a mother thinking about a loved son can so wholly lose herself from the world. And as I looked at her I thought I detected tears in her eyes.
The priest, a pleasant faced young man, who spoke very quickly (I have never heard anybody speak like him), thanked the soldiers, and through them their nation for all that was being done to help in the war; prayers were said for the men at the front, those who were still alive, as well as those who had given up their lives for their country's sake, and before leaving we sang the national anthem, our's, God Save the King.
With the pipers playing at our front, and an admiring crowd of (p. 042) boys following, we took our way back to