We opened a rapid fire with our Maxims and rifles; we let them
have it properly, but no sooner did we have one lot down than
up came another lot, and they sent their cavalry to charge us,
but we were there with our bayonets, and we emptied our
magazines on them. Their men and horses were in a confused
heap. There were a lot of wounded horses we had to shoot to
end their misery.
We had several charges with their infantry, too. We find they
don't like the bayonets. Their rifle shooting is rotten; I
don't believe they could hit a haystack at 100 yards.
We find their field artillery very good; we don't like their
shrapnel; but I noticed that some did not burst; if one shell
that came over me had burst. I should have been blown to
atoms. I thanked the Lord it did not. I also heard our men
singing that famous song, "Get Out and Get Under." I know that
for an hour in our trench it would make any one keep under,
what with their shells and machine guns. Many poor fellows
went to their death like heroes.
The writer of the following letter, too, was telling of Mons. To friends
far away, at peaceful Barton-on-Humber, he wrote:
Just a line to tell you I have returned from the front, and I
can tell you we have had a very trying time of it. I must also
say I am very lucky to be here.
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