RUDYARD KIPLING’S “Ford o’ Kabul River.” We had a good time before we started fighting. The French people gave us everything they had--cigarettes, chocolate, grapes, everything imaginable. But it is a different France now the German pigs have burnt all the houses. It does seem a shame: _Pte. A. Wilson, Bedfordshire Regiment_. “NO-o-o!” We passed a wounded “Joey,” whose face was deathly white from suffering. He opened his eyes as we reached him, smiled, and called out in a faint voice, “Are we downhearted?” We called back a hearty “No!” that must have drowned the noise of the cannon, and then we gave three hearty cheers, just to liven things up: _Pte. T. Ball, Royal Marine Light Infantry_. A Bold Front Our colonel was a perfect gentleman, and under his gallant lead the Rangers set a bold front. In the midst of the bursting of the German projectiles his clear, stentorian voice rang out, “Rangers of Connaught, all eyes are upon you to-night. While you have fists and a heart within you charge them. If you don’t, never face me in this world nor in the next”: _Pte. W. McConville, 2d Batt. Connaught Rangers_. “Shifting” Them I tell you we were like a lot of schoolboys at a treat when we got the order to fix bayonets, for we knew we should shift them then. We had about 200 yards to cover before we got near them, and then we let them have it in the neck. It put you in mind of tossing hay, only we had human bodies: _Pte. G. Bridgeman, 4th Royal Fusiliers_. Dug It Out Stormed at all the way, we kept on, and no one was hit until we came to a white house which stood in a clearing. Immediately the officer passed the gap hell was let loose on us, but we got across safely, and I was the only one wounded, and that was with a ricochet shrapnel bullet in the right knee. I knew nothing about it until an hour after, when I had it pointed out to me. I dug it out with a knife: _Private Smiley, at Mons_. “Stand Solid!” The captain said, “Get up, men; stand solid.” We formed about six deep. Then we gave them the surprise of their lives. We could just see a black mass in front of our trenches, and we let out for all we were worth. We were like devils possessed. I could feel my bayonet go through something soft. Not a German got his foot in the trench. They ran down the slopes like rabbits, and to help them we gave them five rounds rapid: _Pte. D. Hamilton, Royal Scots_. The Dying German When I was hit I lay for hours on the ground, and got chummy with a German chap, who had got a nasty sabre cut in the head, as well as a bayonet stab in the kidneys, and was “booked through.” He knew his number was up, but he was as cheery as though he were at a wedding instead of a funeral.... Almost the last words he said were, “You’ll win this time, and you deserve to win your victory, but we’ll never forget or forgive, and some day a new Germany will avenge us”: _A Welsh Private_. Disturbed!