so much on top of his prey that it could not even give way to him; but
had to hit such blows as it could in the hope of checking him for the
instant needed for escape. Sometimes the oncoming wave was so close that
a small individual accident, the capture of one man, would mean the
washing out of a whole battalion. For day after day this living death
endured. And day after day a certain dark truth began to be revealed,
bit by bit, certainly to the incredulous wonder of the Prussians, quite
possibly to the surprise of the French, and quite as possibly to the
surprise of themselves; that there was something singular about the
British soldiers. That singular thing may be expressed in a variety of
ways; but it would be almost certainly expressed insufficiently by
anyone who had not had the moral courage to face the facts about his
country in the last decades before the war. It may perhaps be best
expressed by saying that some thousands of Englishmen were dead: and
that England was not.

The fortress of Maubeuge had gaped, so to speak, offering a refuge for
the unresting and tormented retreat; the British Generals had refused it
and continued to fight a losing fight in the open for the sake of the
common plan. At night an enormous multitude of Germans had come
unexpectedly through the forest and caught a smaller body of the British
in Landrecies; failed to dislodge them and lost a whole battalion in
that battle of the darkness. At the extreme end of the line
Smith-Dorrien's division, who seemed to be nearly caught or cut off, had
fought with one gun against four, and so hammered the Germans that they
were forced to let go their hold; and the British were again free. When
the blowing up of a bridge announced that they had crossed the last
river, something other than that battered remnant was saved; it was the
honour of the thing by which we live.