
Rev. E. Anderson
HEAVEN AND HOME
ALL of us know the name of Lord Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scouts.
But I wonder how many know this story, new to me and to the Lady of the House. When Baden-Powell died in Kenya in 1941, the Dean of Westminster wrote to Lady Baden-Powell, offering her a place of honour in Westminster Abbey for her husband. The grave, he said, would lie between that of David Livingstone and the tomb of the unknown Warrior.
The family was deeply touched. But they knew Baden-Powell’s wishes. He was a modest man. He would have wanted no pomp and ceremony at the end. So instead he was laid to rest in a little cemetery in Kenya, and was borne there by soldiers and scouts, both black and white. Above the grave is a simple stone which bears his name, when he was born, and when he died. But there is one other inscription. It is a sign carved in the stone - a circle with a spot in the centre.
To you and me, perhaps, it would mean little. Yet it is something every scout in the world understands, even the very youngest. For it is the Scout sign that means - ” I have gone home.”
I can think of no finer tribute to the faith of the founder, nor one which would have meant more to him.
GRACE
It was the eve of Waterloo, 18th June, 1815. The rain was coMing down steadily and relentlessly, and round the farm-houses of Hougemont and La Haye Saint the sheaves of corn grouped in stooks looked soddened and spoilt.
Napoleon had ordered Marshall Ney to place picked sentries to patrol these strategic farms, and so prevent Marshal Blucher and the German army from joining their British allies.
Now in the large cornfield outside the wall of La Haye Saint, a tall Corporal of the Old Guard had been detailed for sentry duty. He did his heat, up and down, in the pitiless rain. On one side, in the far distance he could see the sullen glow of British camp fires. On the other, no sign of the Prussian. Up and down up and down! he was getting weary and he was feeling still’ and chilled. The corn stooks looked inviting; underneath them it was dry; one big sheaf turned over would make a good mattress. The foe would not be abroad on such a night as this; not a sound anywhere but the swish and splash of the rain. Oh for twenty minutes’ rest and warmth, no officers likely to be about – no one would know! He looked each way - nothing stirred but that monotonous swish of the steady rain. Bien! He
rolled up his greatcoat for a pillow, laid down the dry sheaf, and taking off his tall ’shako’, and placing his long musket with its fixed bayonet by his side, was soon comfortably ensconced and clear of the rain, and a few minutes more and he was fast asleep.
Now that night Napoleon was taking no chances in spite of his orders to Ney. So, telling his orderly to bring out his favourite horse, ‘Marengo’, and muffled up in his well-known long cloak, the two started to make a tour of the sentries round the farmhouses. All, alert, challenged these riders till the great cornfield was reached. The rain had at last ceased, the clouds were breaking and scurrying away. Napoleon strained his shaded eyes to find a sentry there and failed. So leaving Marengo with his orderly, he quietly went round the field. No sentry anywhere! A fitful ray of light from a still fitful moon, shines on something bright in the middle of the field. Stealthily he makes for it, to find a musket and bayonet on the damp ground, and a sentry asleep under a stook! Quietly the Emperor picks up the musket, stands like a statue, keeping guard, yet watching his man. Presently the moon shines on the sleeping sentry who wakes, rubs his eyes, looks, misses his musket, rolls out on hands and knees and, looking up, meets the bent bead and the stern eyes of the Emperor.
‘Mon Dieu! c’est l’Empereur!’ Springing to attention, he stands shaking before Napoleon. Falling on his knees, he falters out, ‘Sire, take my bayonet and kill me yourself.
‘It is said that Napoleon replied, ‘Corporal! you know your fate tomorrow morning, but listen - I have kept your watch and guard - your life is spared. Resume guard!’ What would not that soldier do for his Emperor?