Not a man had a bullet
left. They were hopelessly outnumbered, and it is hard to die when there is
youth and love and strength.
As evening wore on I feared that I too might be captured, and I commenced a
weary struggle to crawl back across the field. It was while I was resting
after such an effort that a wonderful moment came to me. I saw the Lord
Jesus upon His cross, and the compassion upon His face was marvelous to
see. He appeared to speak to me.
"I am dying," I muttered, and then thought, "Shall I pray?"
Of outward praying I had done none. I thought about it and wondered. To
pray now--no, that was being a piker. I had not prayed openly before, now
when I was nearing death it was no time for a hurried repentance and a
stammered prayer. I watched the vision as it slowly faded, and a great
comfort surrounded me. I was happy.
I crawled on and reached a shell hole. It must have been an hour later that
a despatch rider came to me. His motorcycle had been shot from under him,
and he was striving to reach his destination on foot. He spoke to me, and
then placed me in a blanket, which he took from a dead soldier.
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