No sooner had the British army fairly landed on French soil than it was faced with the worst trial of war—­a prolonged and perilous retreat before overwhelming odds.  But Sir John French knew all that was to be known of the scientific retreat.  Had he not seen it thirty years ago on an Egyptian desert, and practised its every form time and again on the African veldt?  In four days the British force covered 60 miles in orderly and aggressive retreat, without once giving way to confusion or disorder.  The men who had been with French in South Africa, General Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien and General Sir Douglas Haig, had the situation in hand from the first.  The retreat was a triumph for the British army, and particularly for the cavalry which French had trained.  Nor was its route that desired by the German Headquarters Staff.  Through the vigour of his cavalry charges, French was able to dictate his own line of retreat.  He had held his position long enough to save the French left wing; and he had retreated in order before a force five times that of his own.

[Page Heading:  SPLENDID PRAISE]

French’s old South African commander, Lord Roberts, was particularly struck by the retreat from Mons. He expressed his admiration in the following remarkable letter to Lady French: 

    12 Sept., 1914.

  MY DEAR LADY FRENCH,

I write these few lines to tell you how much I admire your husband’s Dispatch, and how proud I am of the splendid work done by the troops under his command.  When the whole story of the war comes to be known, the masterly way in which the Retreat from Mons—­under vastly superior numbers—­was carried out, will be remembered as one of the finest military exploits ever achieved....[21]

  I trust you will continue to get good news of Sir John, and that
  you are keeping well yourself.  With kindest regards, in which
  Lady Roberts and my daughters join,

  Believe me,
    Yours sincerely,
      (Signed) ROBERTS,
        (F.-M.).

That was only the first chapter in the story of his new achievements.  The authentic history of his latest successes remains to be written.  The French, however, were not wrong in dubbing the British Field-Marshal “the modern Marlborough.”  For French belongs to the same dogged, cautious school as Marlborough and Wellington.  His genius is one of those which include an infinite capacity for taking pains.  Indeed his thoroughness is more than Teutonic.  In this war, French has, so far, found no Napoleon to fight.  It is, indeed, questionable whether the Germans have a commander of his excellence on the field.  But the preparations of the German Headquarters Staff may be admitted to be Napoleonic in their elaborate and far-seeing perfection.  Yet time and again, as in the Napoleonic wars, they have gone down before a British General who unites the dash of von Roon with the caution and the prescience of Moltke.