Our losses are considerable. It would be premature to enumerate them. The same holds good for those of the German army, which has nevertheless suffered so much as to be obliged to arrest its counter-attack movement in order to take up fresh positions. Although some vigorous fighting had been going on during Sunday morning, August 23, the extreme peril of our troops was not realised until late in the afternoon, when Sir John French received tidings of extreme gravity that large reinforcements of the enemy were advancing towards the British lines. This enormous host of Germans, strengthened no doubt with troops released from Namur, was hurling itself forward furiously, and the British left wing on the west was especially threatened with a dangerous flanking movement from the enemy. On the east towards Charleroi the position was equally perilous, because no support could be expected in that direction, as the French troops had already withdrawn. Sir John French therefore ordered a retirement, which began on Sunday evening and continued till the following morning. But the men fell back unwillingly, while they engaged in a terrific conflict with the oncoming forces of the enemy. Everything possible was done by the Germans to harass the British and to convert their withdrawal into a rout. With the aid of powerful searchlights, which continuously swept towards the country selected for the retirement of our troops, the enemy endeavoured to deprive them of the advantage of the night, and covered them with a murderous hail of shot and shell. But, as we know, the plans of the Germans failed owing to the skill of our Generals and to the splendid nerve of our men: our lines remained intact and their spirit unbroken. Mr. Alfred J. Rorke, special correspondent of the Central News, sent the following early account of the fighting at Mons:— PARIS, Monday (received per Courier, Tuesday). Graphic stories of how the British troops at Mons fought during the two days in which they bore the brunt of the main German advance reached Paris in the early hours of this morning, when officers arriving from the front reported at the War Office, and, in subsequent conversation with their closest personal friends, told of the wonderful coolness and daring of our men. The shooting of our infantry on the firing line, they said, was wonderful. Every time a German’s head showed above the trenches and every time the German infantry attempted to rush a position there came a withering rifle fire from the khaki-clad forms lying in extended formation along a big battle front. The firing was not the usual firing of nervous men, shooting without aiming and sometimes without rhyme or reason, as is so often the case in warfare. It was rather the calm, calculated riflemanship of the men one sees on the Stickledown range firing with all the artificial aids permitted to the match rifle expert whose one concern is prize money.