The London _Morning Post_ prints an extract from a letter of a
cavalry officer, giving an account of how the Indian troops behaved
in their first encounter with shell fire. Although a cavalry
officer, the writer was serving in the trenches. In his letter,
written from Belgium, he says:
"Night before last we were told that the regiment was going to be
relieved by the Indians. I was delighted till I heard that my troops
were to stay out to give them moral support, as it was their first
go--a compliment, I suppose, although I didn't think so at the time.
It was the most weird sight I've ever seen.
"There were six farms and a windmill blazing, all set alight by
shell fire, when these fellows with turbans and with flashing eyes
and teeth came up out of the darkness. The undefeated dragoons, of
course, became firm friends with them at once. French, Belgians,
Indians--they make pals with them all.
"Well, these natives had hardly got into the trenches on either side
of me when the Germans opened fire. It was the worst half hour I've
ever spent. As, of course, I couldn't make them understand and as
they had never seen shells before I didn't know what they would do.
They behaved splendidly, and I think they thought the shells were
fireworks let off for their benefit.
"The officer in charge of them told me that morning that he was most
frightfully anxious as to how they'd do, but they shouted with glee
when they saw a German and let him know what good shots they are. In
the middle of the attack one native hurled himself into my trench
and spoke excitedly to me. Of course, I couldn't make out what he
wanted, but thought he wanted a doctor for some one, as he kept
pointing at a cartridge, so I sent down for him, but when he arrived
I discovered it was more ammunition they wanted and not the doctor."
"YOU ARE AN ANGEL!"
A vivacious English woman, the wife of a very well known officer
bearing a famous name, returned over the border into Holland, after
an adventurous day's tour behind the German lines.
"I made up my mind to see for myself what was going on," she
said, "so I disguised myself as a Flemish peasant woman, with
the assistance of the national costume--earrings, headdress, and
everything complete, down to the very shoes--stained my face brown
with a concoction of strong coffee, borrowed a pair of spectacles
and a market basket and set off across country on foot.
"On my way out of town I met a German soldier with his arm and hand
dreadfully shattered. His bandages had slipped and he was trying
vainly to replace them. I helped him redress his nasty wounds and
rebandaged them with a pocket bandage I happened to have with me.
The soldier fumbled in his pocket, and at last produced a crumpled
five-franc note which he offered me. I refused it.
"'Why do you refuse good money for a good action, madame?' he said.
"'Because I am an English woman,' I replied, 'and English women do
not take payment for good deeds, however great or small they may be.'
"'I cannot believe you are English,' he said, 'but you are an angel,
and angels have no nationality. May I kiss your hand?'
"I held out my hand. He bent low and kissed it. There were tears in
his eyes, and I rather wish now I had accepted the five-franc note
to keep as a souvenir of Prussian gratitude."