The Drama of Three Hundred and Sixty Five Days/"Why Shouldn't They, Since They Were Englishmen?"
"WHY SHOULDN'T THEY, SINCE THEY WERE ENGLISHMEN?"
The next flash as of lightning that revealed to
us the progress of the drama of the past 365
days came at the end of the first month of the
war with the terrible story of Mons. That
touched us yet more closely than the tragedy
of Belgium, for it seemed at first to be our own
tragedy. Between the departure of an army
and the first news of victory or defeat there is
always a time of exhausting suspense. At what
moment our first Expeditionary Force had left
England no one quite knew, but after we learned
that it had landed in France we waited with
anxious hearts and listened with strained ears.
We heard the tramp of the gigantic German army, pouring through the streets of Brussels, fully equipped down to its kitchens, its smoking coffee-wagons, its corps of gravediggers, and, of course, its cuirassiers in burnished helmets that were shining in the autumn sun. The huge, interminable, apparently irresistible multitude! Regiment after regiment, battalion after battalion, going on and on for hours, and even days——the mighty legions of the nation that a few days before had "never so much as dreamt" of war!
At last we had news of our men. Against overwhelming odds they had fought like heroes—why shouldn't they, since they were Englishmen?— but had been compelled to fall back at length, and were now retreating rapidly, some reports said flying in confusion, broken and done. What? Was it possible? Our army thrown back in disorder? Our first army, too, the flower of the fighting men of the world? It was too monstrous, too awful!
The news was cruelly, and even wickedly, exaggerated, but nevertheless it did us good. He knows the British character very imperfectly who does not see that the qualities in which it is unsurpassed among the races of mankind are those with which it meets adversity and confronts the darkest night. Within a few days of the report that our soldiers were falling back from Mons, the old cry "Your King and country need you" went through the land with a new thrill, and hundreds of thousands of free men leapt to the relief of the flag.
There has been nothing like it in the history of any nation. And it is hard to say which is the more moving manifestation of that moment in the great drama of the war—the spontaneous response of the poor who sprang forward to defend their country, though they had no more material property in it than the right to as much of its soil as would make their graves, or the splendid reply of the rich whose lands were an age-long possession, and often the foundation of their titles and honours.