While our worn and wearied men were sleeping the death-like sleep of exhaustion, Sir John French spent some of the most anxious hours of his life. He had intended that the retreat should be continued before dawn, and that Smith-Dorrien's corps, with Allenby's cavalry, should hold back the enemy on the left while Haig's corps on the right pushed southwards. Now he knew that this was impossible. Before daybreak he learnt that the enemy was preparing to throw the bulk of his strength against Smith-Dorrien; some three hundred thousand Germans were moving up to encircle his little force, while six or seven hundred guns were being brought into position against it. Sir John had no supports to send to his left, and he had earnestly besought the commander of a French cavalry corps on his right to come to his aid. Alas! the horses of this corps were worn out, and the general was unable to move. Smith-Dorrien's corps must depend on itself, and stand or fall by its own exertions. If it fell, nothing could save the British army from destruction or surrender. The left of the Allies would be gone, and the retreating French would be at the mercy of hordes of Germans. The prospect was enough to make the bravest man tremble. [Illustration: The Lonely Gunner. This picture illustrates an incident during the retreat. A half-battery of the Royal Field Artillery, in a rather exposed position, greatly galled the Germans by the accuracy of its aim, and a combined attack was made on it by the enemy. One by one the British guns were silenced, and the men who had been serving them lay dead around. At last one man alone was left, and he went on working the gun steadily and calmly until he was called away by an officer. Similar instances of resistance to the last man abound in the history of the Royal Field Artillery.] [Footnote 48: _Leh-kā-to´._] [Footnote 49: _Kam-bray´._] [Footnote 50: _Lon-dreh-see´_ (_n_ nasal).] [Footnote 51: _Dū-play´_ (b. 1697, d. 1763), governor of the French Indies. It was Clive's brilliant defence of Arcot which brought about the failure of his plans and led to his recall.] [Footnote 52: _Mā-rwāé._] CHAPTER XIII. "THE MOST CRITICAL DAY OF ALL." Now dawned the fateful morning of 26th August 1914. The rain had ceased; the bright sun shone out; thin mists rose from the wet fields and gave promise of a sultry day. At sunrise the German guns began to thunder, and a shrapnel fire burst upon the British as though "turned on through a hose." The Germans were now determined to make an end of the British army. It had thwarted them again and again; it had refused to be beaten, and it would not yield. To-day, however, was to see the end of it. By nightfall the news of another Sedan would be flashed to all parts of the rejoicing Fatherland.