In the first instance (November 1912-March 1913) Dawnay[2] and I worked together. His original notes and memoranda are to a large extent incorporated in Parts III. and IV.--so closely, however, that I cannot now disentangle his from my own. The calculations as to numbers and probable distribution of the opposing forces, were almost entirely his. I have merely endeavoured here--not so successfully as I could wish--to bring them up to the date of the outbreak of war. Dawnay took out his squadron of the 2nd Life Guards to France early in August. Already, however, he had been appointed to the Headquarters General Staff, on which he served with distinction, until early in October, when he succeeded to the command {xxvii} of his regiment. He fell at Zwarteleen near Ypres on the 6th of November 1914--one of the most anxious days during the four weeks' battle. His friends have mourned his death, but none of them have grudged it; for he died, not merely as a brave man should--in the performance of his duty--but after having achieved, with consummate skill and daring, his part in an action of great importance. On the afternoon of this day General Kavanagh's Brigade of Household Cavalry[3]--summoned in haste--dismounted, and threw back a German attack which had partially succeeded in piercing the allied line at the point of junction between the French and English forces. This successful counter-attack saved the right flank of Lord Cavan's Guards' Brigade from a position of extreme danger, which must otherwise, almost certainly, have resulted in a perilous retreat. The whole of this Homeric story is well worth telling, and some day it may be told; but this is not the place. Dawnay was fortunate inasmuch as he lost his life, not as so many brave men have done in this war--and in all others--by a random bullet, or as the result of somebody's blunder, or in an attempt which failed. On the contrary he played a distinguished, and possibly a determining part, in an action which succeeded, and the results of which were fruitful. He was not merely a brave and skilful soldier {xxviii} when it came to push of pike, but a devoted student of his profession in times of peace. The mixture of eagerness and patience with which he went about his work reminded one, not a little, of that same combination of qualities as it is met with sometimes among men of science. Hunting accidents, the privations of Ladysmith followed by enteric, divers fevers contracted in hot climates, and the severity of a campaign in Somaliland, had severely tried his constitution--which although vigorous and athletic was never robust--and had increased a tendency to headaches and neuralgia to which he had been subject ever since boyhood. Yet he treated pain always as a despicable enemy, and went about his daily business as indefatigably when he was in suffering, as when he was entirely free from it, which in later years was but rarely.