the dawn of another Easter morn, I knew it was not the place for an
elaborate sermon. The time was precious and my words must be few
and straight. I had a good time. It was impossible to miss it.
Looking round upon those men as they came pressing closer and
closer, with their hungry souls shining forth through their eyes,
as they listened to the old, old story of the Saviour's everlasting
love, and of His mighty conquest over sin and death, why, it seemed
to me that if I did not preach to them the very _masts_ would cry
out and proclaim the glad tidings. I forgot self, and time, and
place, and remembered nothing but my hearers and my message. And
although I had been warned not to keep them long, as they would
never listen, such was the sympathy between us, and so great the
fascination of the old story of Christ's love and power to save,
that they listened spellbound to the end.

'Then came the last hymn "Rock of Ages," and, oh! how it rolled
out, clear and strong and triumphant, vibrating through the ship
and echoing over the waters, a fitting close to a helpful and
impressive service.'

In such manner ended a typical Sunday upon a troopship. And _only_ a
_typical_ Sunday, for on scores of troopships Sundays of a similar
character were spent. Such sacred hours must have proved splendid
preparation for the approaching campaign. And many a lad who had never
thought upon the great things of eternity before came face to face with
them then.

And so with marvellous celerity the English army was transferred to
South Africa, and all eyes and hearts followed it. The pride of the
castle and of the cottage was there; the heir to vast estates, and the