THE ANGELS AT MONS.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXVIII, Issue 75, 27 November 1915, Page 7

THE ANGELS AT MONS.

A NURSE’S LETTER, A hospital nurse who saw the early stages of the war in Belgium and who was through much of the awful happenings of those early days, tells the following remarkable story:— The torrent of blistered, bleeding Belgian refugees, which had poured through our hands both night and- day for the first hot weeks of last August was suddenly stemmed by the wounded. The miseries of those first wounded can never be told. To those of us who nursed them they expressed a conviction of swiftly approaching disaster. Whether French or English they told ns we were up against it now. One man, a Highlander, opened his dying eyes and urged us to fly while there was time. “Get ana , lassie, get awa’. They Germans is no men, they’re devils.” I his was the idea all the wounded gave us. Many of our number did go, so our work became very much harder and the wounded poured in. Then came the terrible battles round Moms, and suddenly a change in the wounded utterly unaccountable. The French, who tolerantly accepted badges and medals of the Saints from the Catholics at our post, now eagerly asked for them. But what puzzled us all most was that they all demanded “St. Michael” or “Joan of Arc.” Also in spite of then wounds they were very bright and happy. We thought at first some of them had got at the. wine-bottle, but that was utterly impossible, as they were brought straight from the. held to us without a stop.' This curious condition of the wounded lasted from then on, and they so longer urged us to fly, but “died in hope.” I tremble now that the terrible retreat on .Paris is past.’ Wo had not our clothes joff for-the whole of that week. No sooner did we get away for a sleep [ than the commandants car would ' sound the horn for us all to rush hack 'again to ditty. I was bandaging a horrible wound in a Frenchman’s head one morning when the Matron came land said there was an Englishman in (the fifth waggon who wanted a Holy ‘picture. The idea of an English sol’dier wanting- a Holy Picture made ' me smile eveii in all that misery, but I hurried to him and found it was a Lancashire Fusilier. He should have been is a state of collapse from loss 'of blood, for his uniform was simply | soaked and caked, but he loked at me with bright eyes and asked for a pic--1 ture or medal of St. George-t-he didn t care which. He wanted it because ho had seen him on a white horse leading the British when the Allies turned! There was an R.T.A. man wounded is the leg, sitting beside him on the floor, who, seeing ray amazement, said: “It’s true Sister, we all saw it. First there was a sort of yellow mist like sort of rising before the Germans as they come to the top of the hill. Come oil like a solid wall they did—• springing out of the earth just solid—uo eud of ’em. The next minute comes this funny cloud of light, and when it clears off there’s a tall man with yellow hair in golden armour on a white horse, holding his sword up and his mouth open as if he was saying ‘Come on, hoys! i’ll put the kybosh on the devils.’ Then, before you could say knife, the Germans had turned, and we were after them, fighting like ninety. We had a few scores to settle, Sister, and wo fair settled them.” They both knew it was St. George. Had they uot seen him with his sword on eyery “quid” they’d ever had ? The Frenchmen had seen him too; but they said it was St. Michael, The French wounded were all in rhe same curiously exalted condition. “Yes,” it was quite true, The Bodies were in full retreat, and tho Allies were being led to victory by St. Michael and Joan of Arc. One soldier said: “I know her well, I saw her brandishing her sword asd crying, ‘Turn! Turn! Advance!” He knew others had seen St. Michael. He had fought with the English from Mohs—and lit-

tlo Joan of Arc, who had onco defeated the English, was mm leading them. A little later the Matron drew mo aside and told me ft wounded officer of high rank had told her he had seen St. Michael; he was quite close and there could be no possible doubt on the subject. I then told the Matron the stories I had hoard, and wo decided to compare notes; and among the whole staff there was only one nurse who had not heard the tale of the Angelic leaders, and she was kepi apart to guard three Germans who were dying of tetanus and so had no opportunity of conversation. On discussing the matter between the trains of wounded we remarked: First that the French soldiers of all ranks had seen Joan of Arc in armour bareheaded riding a white horse and calling “Advance,” and St. Michael clad in golden armour, bareheaded, riding a white horse and flourishing his sword, while he shouted “Victory.” Secondly, the British had seen St. George in golden armour bareheaded riding a white horse and calling, while he held up his sword “Come on.” That night we heard the talc again from a priest, two officers and three men. These three men were mortally wounded. They asked for the Sacrament before death, and told the same story to the priest who confessed them. From the ambulance we were removed to the hospital, where wc heard on every liand stories of the same. They told ns of the long retreat from Mons, lighting like Trojans, marching night and day, men falling in the ranks and being forced to their feet by officers; officers falling off their feet from want, of sleep, and being forced on by the men ; horses falling dead, and men doing their work. For forty-eight hours no food, no drink, under a boiling sun, choked with dust, harried by shell, and marching, marching, till even the pursuing Germans gave it up, and the Allies fell in their tracks and slept for three hours—while the exhausted pursuers slept behind them. T hen came the trumpet call, and each man sprang to his arms to find himself renewed. Many made the remark that they felt as if they had come out of the sea after a swim. One said; “Did we feel fit! Just grand. Every man felt the same. The Germans were coming on just the same, when suddenly the advance sounded and I saw the lumijious mist and'the great man on the white horse, and I knew the Bodies would never get Paris, for God was fighting on our side.” There is no “religiosity” about these visions. Everybody has seen them who has fought from Mons to Ypres; they all agree on' them individually, and now have no doubt* as to the final issue of the war. Men coming in who ought to have been unconscious, came in in great glee contemplating- the wonderful thing they had seen of angels fighting with men against one devilish foe to all humanity. The cries of mothers and little children, the suffering of fathers and brothers, the tortures of Nuns and violated wives and daughters, have all gone up in torment and dragged at the Ruler of the Universe for aid—and aid has come!