Before leaving Belgium we arranged with a priest to have masses said for the souls of our dead chums, and we scraped together what odd money we had, but his Reverence wouldn't hear of it, taking our money for prayers for the relief of the brave lads who had died so far from the old land to rid Belgian soil of the unmannerly German scrubs. Some of the Germans don't understand why Irishmen should fight so hard for England, but that just shows how little they know about us. Seven British soldiers who after the fighting round Mons last week became detached from their regiments and got safely through the German lines arrived in Folkestone to-day from Boulogne. They belonged to the Irish Rifles, Royal Scots, Somerset Light Infantry, Middlesex and Enniskillen Fusiliers, and presented a bedraggled appearance, wearing old garments given them by the French to aid their disguise. One of the seven, a Londoner, described the fight his regiment had with the Germans at a village near Maubeuge. The British forces were greatly outnumbered by the Germans, but held their ground for twenty-four hours, inflicting very heavy loss on the enemy, although suffering severely itself. He declared that the Germans held women up in front of them when attacking. "It was worse than savage warfare." Paddy, an Irishman, stated that the soldiers got little or no food during the fighting. "When we got our bacon cooking the Germans attacked us." A Scotsman of the party said he saw a hospital flying the Red Cross near Mons destroyed by shrapnel. "When we were ordered to retire," he continued, "we did so very reluctantly. But we did not swear. Things are so serious there, it makes you feel religious." FROM MEN IN THE FLEET. Equally interesting are some of the letters from men with the fleet. Tom Thorne, writing to his mother in Sussex, says: Before we started fighting we were all very nervous, but after we joined in we were all happy and most of us laughing till it was finished. Then we all sobbed and cried. Even if I never come back, don't think I've died a painful death. Everything yesterday was as quick as lightning. We were in action on Friday morning off Heligoland. I had a piece of shell as big as the palm of my hand go through my trousers, and as my trouser legs were blowing in the breeze I think I was very lucky. * * * * * A gunroom officer in a battle cruiser writes: The particular ship we were engaged with was in a pitiful plight when we had finished with her--her funnels shot away, masts tottering, great gaps of daylight in her sides, smoke and flame belching from her everywhere. She speedily heeled over and sank like a stone, stern first. So far as is known, none of her crew was saved. She was game to the last, let it be said, her flag flying till she sank, her guns barking till they could bark no more.