“Our echelons came up into line at the time, and we spread out as we met them hand to hand. Many surrendered without fighting, and those that made off came under the fire of our guns. The German cavalry have excellent mounts, and the horses are well trained. Somehow the men haven’t got the same grit as our chaps. When they hear our yell and see our swords they turn pale, and want to be off. If it wasn’t for their officers I believe they’d never face us.” The Rev. Owen Spencer Watkins, who was one of the chaplains attached to a Field Ambulance of the British Expeditionary Forces, contributed to the _Methodist Recorder_ a story of the retreat with the army from Mons to Paris in care of the wounded. We have ventured to quote from Mr. Watkins’s article a few passages:—He left Dublin on August 16 and embarked on the transport _City of Benares_, which carried, besides himself, three Anglican and one Roman Catholic chaplain. During a voyage of forty-eight hours, they were “convoyed” from Ireland to Land’s End by British men-of-war, and through the English Channel by French warships. At Land’s End the British ship that had been watching over them passed within hailing distance, and the “blue-jackets” crowded to the ship’s side shouting their good wishes, to which the men on the outgoing boat responded with ringing cheers. After a train journey from Havre of twenty hours, they reached Valenciennes on Sunday morning, August 23. “With as little delay as possible,” said Mr. Watkins, “we detrained, for we were told the great fight at Mons had already started, and we were urgently needed in the fighting line. Then followed a twenty miles’ march, almost without a halt, through villages where the population received us with enthusiasm—showered flowers upon us as we passed, pressed gifts of fruit, wine, cider, tea, and coffee upon the troops, whilst our men, to show their gratitude, shouted ‘Vive la France,’ chanted the Marseillaise, and cheered until they were hoarse. Then the dark and sleeping villages were suddenly awakened by the tramp of men. The troops were now marching doggedly and silently, the monotonous tramp, tramp almost sent me to sleep in the saddle, and would have done so but for the aching of bones and muscles which for long had been unaccustomed to so many hours on horseback. “Towards the morning of August 24 we halted in the little town of Bavai, and bivouacked in the main square. Here we found a Red Cross Hospital in charge of a priest and a few sisters, and in it were already some of our men; one, a man of the Dorset Regiment, was apparently dying of pneumonia; another, a Royal Engineer, smashed in a motor accident, had just died, and, at the request of the Sisters, Mr. Winnifrith, the Church of England Chaplain, held a little service, where he lay in the mortuary. Then, fully dressed, we threw ourselves down on vacant beds in one of the wards and snatched a couple of hours’ sleep.