The Angels of Mons: The Bowmen, and Other Legends of the War

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G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1915 - Apparitions - 77 pages
 

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User Review  - ladycato - www.librarything.com

I read an edition of this book available legally and for free from Archive.org. Machen's work is a fast read, with about half the volume as an introspective on the phenomena he touched off. He wrote a ... Read full review

LibraryThing Review

User Review  - nexist - LibraryThing

I picked up this collection of short stories because the story "The Bowman" took on a life of its own and was considered by many to be true. As a curiosity, it is great. As something I would read, not ... Read full review

Contents

I
1
II
23
III
32
IV
44

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Page 28 - Latin scholar uttered his invocation he felt something between a shudder and an electric shock pass through his body. The roar of the battle died down in his ears to a gentle murmur; instead of it, he says, he heard a great voice and a shout louder than a thunder-peal crying: "Array, array, array!
Page 79 - It is true in its main details," writes Mrs. Barclay, "given as it reached me, in the sublime simplicity of a soldier's letter from the front." This inspiring little tale has been most attractively clothed in deep purple cloth with decorative gold stamping, and each page of the text is surrounded by a floral decoration in color and gold. A gift book that will remain in the heart. New York GP Putnam's Sons London...
Page 29 - And as the soldier heard these voices he saw before him, beyond the trench, a long line of shapes, with a shining about them. They were like men who drew the bow, and with another shout, their cloud of arrows flew singing and tingling through the air towards the German hosts.
Page 27 - Amen,' said one of the British soldiers with some irrelevance as he took aim and fired. And then he remembered — he says he cannot think why or wherefore — a queer vegetarian restaurant in London where he had once or twice eaten eccentric dishes of cutlets made of lentils and nuts that pretended to be steak. On all the plates in this restaurant there was printed a figure of St. George in blue, with the motto, Adsit Anglis Sanctus Georgius — May St. George be a present help to the English. This...
Page 43 - Showed many a prophet, and many a saint, Whose image on the glass was dyed ; Full in the midst, his Cross of Red Triumphant Michael brandished, And trampled the Apostate's pride. The moon-beam kissed the holy pane, And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.
Page 27 - Latin and other useless things,' so now, as he fired at the grey advancing mass, 300 yards away, he uttered the pious vegetarian motto. He went on firing to the end, till at last Bill on his right had to clout him cheerfully on the head to make him stop, pointing out as he did so that the King's ammunition cost money and was not lightly to be wasted. . . . For, as the Latin scholar uttered his invocation, he felt something between a shudder and an electric shock...
Page 29 - I'm talking to ye.' 176 Shut it!' the other soldier bellowed, taking aim. ' What are ye gassing about ? ' " But he gulped with astonishment even as he spoke, for, indeed, the grey men were falling by the thousands. The English could hear the guttural scream of...
Page 73 - ... 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!
Page 25 - German infantry was pressing on against them, column by column, a grey world of men — 10,000 of them, as it appeared afterwards. There was no hope at all. Some of them shook hands. One man improvised a new version of the battle song Tipperary, ending 'and we shan't get there!
Page 30 - ' Shut it,' the other soldier bellowed, taking aim. ' What are ye talkin' about ? ' But he gulped with astonishment even as he spoke, for indeed the grey men were falling by the thousands. The English could hear the guttural scream of their revolvers as they shot, and line after line crashed to the earth. All the while the Latin-bred soldier heard the cry ' Harow, Harow ! Monseigneur ! Dear Saint ! Quick to our aid ! St. George help us ! ' The singing arrows darkened the air, the hordes melted before...

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