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THE ANGEL WARRIORS AT MONS [continued]

Among the most important records of psychic phenomena occurring on the occasion of the Battle of Mons is that of Miss Phyllis Campbell, who has for many months of the war been a nurse at a hospital near the front. It fell to her lot to tend various wounded soldiers who had witnessed these strange phenomena and she gave a record of her experiences in the form of an article which appeared in the August issue of the Occult Review. 

On one occasion while she was bandaging a shattered arm, the President of the post, Mme de A , came and took her place, asking her to attend to an Englishman who was begging for a holy picture. The idea of an English soldier making such a request at such a time seemed curious enough, but she hurried off to attend to his needs. He proved to be a Lancashire Fusilier.

He was propped in a corner (says Miss Campbell), his left arm tied up in a peasant woman's head kerchief, and his head newly bandaged. He should have been in a state of collapse from loss of blood, for his tattered uniform was soaked and caked in blood, and his face paper-white under the dirt of conflict. He looked at me with bright courageous eyes and asked for a picture or a medal (he did not care which) of St. George. I asked if he was a Catholic. " No," he was a Wesleyan Methodist, and he wanted a picture, or a medal of St. George, because he had seen him on a white horse, leading the British at Vitry-le-Frangois, when the Allies turned.

There was an R.F.A. man, wounded in the leg, sitting beside him on the floor; he saw my look of amazement, and hastened in,
" It's true, Sister," he said. "We all saw it. First there was a sort of yellow mist, sort of risin' before the Germans as they come on to the top of the hill, come on like a solid wall they did — springing out of the earth just solid — no end to 'em. I just give up. No use fighting the whole German race, thinks I ; it's all up with us. The next minute comes this funny cloud of light, and when it clears off there's a tall man with yellow hair, in golden armour, on a white horse, holding his sword up, and his mouth open as if he was saying, ' Come on, boys ! I'll put the kybosh on the devils.' Sort of ' This is my picnic ' expression. Then, before you could say ' knife,' the Germans had turned, and we were after them, fighting like ninety. We had a few scores to settle, Sister, and we fair settled them."

Both these soldiers knew it was St. George, for " Had not they seen him with his sword on every quid they'd ever had ? "

The " Frenchies," however, they admitted, maintained that it was St. Michael. The French wounded Miss Campbell describes as being in a curiously exalted condition — a sort of rapture of happiness. It was quite true, they maintained.

The Germans were in full retreat, and the Allies were being led to victory by St. Michael and Joan of Arc. One of the wounded French soldiers happened to have come from Domremy, Joan of Arc's native home, and declared that he saw her brandishing her sword and crying, " Turn ! turn ! advance ! "

" No wonder," he cried, " the Boches fled down the hill."