used to meet in my hut; but that was too
small for us, though only a few from each departing draft gathered
there. Later on I used a room in a neighbouring house.

It was late in the afternoon, generally 6 o'clock, before the
officers and men were ready to come. The shadows had gathered. The
candles on my rude altar shone, giving the little light we needed.
About to face death these boys--to me and especially at that time
they all seemed boys--kneeled to salute their King who rules by
virtue of a sacrifice like theirs. They took His body and His blood,
broken and shed for them whose bodies were also dedicated, just as
His was, for the saving of the world. My hands trembled, stretched
out in benediction over the bowed young heads. Did ever men do
greater things than these? Have any among the martyrs and saints of
the church's calendar belonged more clearly to the great fellowship
of Christs crucified, whose splendid destiny it is to redeem the
world?

These eucharists are among the scenes which it is impossible ever to
forget. There are also others, no less impressive, in the recurring
drama of the departing drafts.

The day closes early in these great camps. At half-past eight the
recreation huts close their doors. Concerts and entertainments are
over. The men stream back to their tents along muddy roads, laughing,
chatting, singing. Lights appear in the tents, and a glow, red or
white, shines through the canvas. One after another these are
extinguished. The "Last Post" sounds from a dozen bugles. The
multitudinous noises of camp life die away. The rifle-fire which has
crackled all day on the ranges has long ceased. The spluttering of
machine guns in the training camps vexes the ear no more. The heavy
explosions of shell testing are over for another day. Save for the
sharp challenge of a sentry here and there, and the distant shriek
of a railway engine, there is almost unbroken silence for a while.

At half-past nine perhaps, or a little later, men come silently from
the tents and assemble on the parade ground. They fall in, small
detachments from four or five regiments, each forming its own lines
of men. They carry rifles. Their packs are on their backs. Their
haversacks, mess tins, and all the kit of marching infantry are
strung round them. A draft from this camp and many drafts from all
this great collection of camps are going "up the line" to-night.

"Up the line." The phrase means a long railway journey, ver