Carted to Hospital
We had not marched more than 500 yards, and got to the outskirts of the town, when we heard a cavalry patrol coming towards us, the officers speaking in French. Our captain immediately challenged in French, and we got no reply. The captain then realized they were Germans, and the order came, “Fire!” The German officers dashed forward and seized the muzzles of the front-rank rifles a second before we had the order “Fire!” and a proper mêlée took place. A German slashed one of our chaps’ head nearly off. All of them (Germans) were wiped out in a few seconds. After that we fired volleys as they charged down on us, and they never got within 50 yards of us. They brought a big gun, and then it was a perfect hell. The gun was only 400 yards away, and was blazing shrapnel into us. Five times we silenced it. It was hell all night. I was shot, and carted off to hospital. My rifle stopped the bullet, and saved my life, or I should have got it in the chest: A Guardsman, at Mons.
[XI. ADVANCE AND RETREAT]
What rights are his that dare not strike for them?
Tennyson.
Kabul town’s by Kabul river—
Blow the bugle, draw the sword—
There I lef’ my mate for ever,
Wet an’ drippin’ by the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
There’s the river up and brimmin’, and there’s ’arf a squadron swimmin’
’Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.
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.