Now I must tell you a few stories relating the adventures of our own countrymen during the advance to the Marne. Here is an account of fighting on the river, from the pen of Sapper Gilhooly of the Royal Engineers: "Last week on the Marne we spent two days on a long mine[121] out towards the German lines, and just as we were getting to the close of our job we heard pickaxes going as fast and hard as you like, and then the wall of clay before us gave way, showing a party of Germans at the same game! You never saw men more astonished in your life. 'Fancy meeting you!' was written all over their faces, and they hadn't recovered from their shock when we pounced upon them. One German was just caught in time with a fuse, which he was going to apply, with the mad idea of blowing us all up! One of his mates was the first to rush on him. They weren't having any 'death or glory,' and I don't blame them. There's a Highlander beside me who is rigged out in the boots of a Belgian infantryman killed at Mons, the red trousers of a Frenchman, the khaki tunic of a Guardsman, and the glengarry cap of his own corps. When he wants to look particularly smart he wears a German cavalryman's cloak. The other day we came on a party of the enemy washing their shirts in a river, and we were on them so fast that they had to fly, leaving shirts and everything else behind. One chap, however, managed to collar his braces!" * * * * * The splendid devotion to duty of our doctors on the battlefield is well illustrated in the following letter, which was written by a fellow officer to the brother of Dr. J. O'Connell, of the Highland Light Infantry:--"I am only too pleased to tell you anything I can about your brother, as he was one of us, and in all your life you can never have a prouder boast than that you were his brother. Our first show was near Mons, where he at once came into notice. He personally went into the trench, and helped to carry out the wounded, though the German guns had the range to a T, and were raining shells on it. Then they turned on to his cottage, which was fixed up as a dressing-station, and knocked it to bits. He carried every one out, not losing a single man. During the retreat your brother had the worst of it, because he had to do with the footsore and the sick, who could not keep up, so he was usually behind the rearguard; but he always kept cheery when cheerfulness was worth far more than pluck.