fantastical for fantasy was accepted in certain occult circles as hard
fact.

Other versions of the story appeared in which a cloud interposed
between the attacking Germans and the defending British. In some
examples the cloud served to conceal our men from the advancing enemy;
in others, it disclosed shining shapes which frightened the horses of
the pursuing German cavalry. St. George, it will he noted, has
disappeared--he persisted some time longer in certain Roman Catholic
variants--and there are no more bowmen, no more arrows. But so far
angels are not mentioned; yet they are ready to appear, and I think
that I have detected the machine which brought them into the story.

In "The Bowmen" my imagined soldier saw "a long line of shapes, with a
shining about them." And Mr. A.P. Sinnett, writing in the May issue of
_The Occult Review_, reporting what he had heard, states that "those
who could see said they saw 'a row of shining beings' between the two
armies." Now I conjecture that the word "shining" is the link between
my tale and the derivative from it. In the popular view shining and
benevolent supernatural beings are angels, and so, I believe, the
Bowmen of my story have become "the Angels of Mons." In this shape
they have been received with respect and credence everywhere, or
almost everywhere.

And here, I conjecture, we have the key to the large popularity of the
delusion--as I think it. We have long ceased in England to take much
interest in saints, and in the recent revival of the cultus of St.
George, the saint is little more than a patriotic figurehead. And the
appeal to the saints to succour us is certainly not a common English
practice; it is held Popish by most of our countrymen. But angels,