II

We have to grasp a distinction, knowledge of which is essential to discerning true strength.  It can be clearly seen in the contrast between two certain fighting forces; first, a well-organised army, capably led, marching forward full of hope and buoyancy; second, a remnant of that army after disaster, a mere handful, not swept like their comrades in panic, but with souls set to fight a forlorn hope.  Let us study the two:  in the contrast we shall learn the secret.  The courage of the well-organised army is not of so fine a quality as that nerving the few to fight to the last gasp.  Consider first the army.  What is its value as a force?  Its discipline, its consolidation, the absolute obedience of its units to its officers, with the resulting unity of the whole; added to this is the sense of security in numbers, buoyancy of marching in a compact body, confidence in capable chiefs—­all these factors go to the making of the courage and strength of the army.  It is because their combination makes for the reliability of the force that discipline is so much valued and enforced, even to the point of death.  Let us keep this in our mind, that their strength lies in their numbers, concentration, unity, reliance on one another and on their chiefs.  A sudden disaster overtakes that army—­the death of a great general, the miscarriage of some plan, a surprise attack, any of the chances of war, and the strength of the army is pierced, the discipline shaken, the sense of security gone.  There is an instinctive movement to retreat; the habit of discipline keeps it orderly at first; the fear grows; all precaution and restraint are thrown aside—­the retreat is a rout, the army a rabble, the end debacle.  External discipline in giving them its strength left them without individual resource; internal discipline was ignored.  When their combined strength was gone there was individual helplessness and panic.  Consider, now, a remnant of that army, the members of which have the courage of the finer quality, individually resolute and set on resistance, clearly seeing at once all the possible consequences of their action, yet with that higher quality of soul accepting them without hesitation, pledging all human hopes for one last great hope of snatching victory from defeat, or, if not to save a lost battle, to check an advancing host, rally flying forces, and redeem a campaign.  This is the heroic quality.  In a crisis, the mind possessed of it does not wait for instructions or to reason a conclusion.  It sees definite things, and swift as thought decides.  There are flying legions, a flag down, a conquering army, and flight or death—­to all eyes these are apparent; but to a brave company between that flight and death there is a gleam of hope, of victory, and for that forlorn hope flight is put by with the acceptance of death in the alternative if they fail.  That is the quality to redeem us.  Because it is witnessed