The fateful day had passed; the little British army, though its ranks were sorely thinned, was still unbroken and undefeated. Smith-Dorrien's corps had made a stand which will go down to history as a triumph of valour and endurance. It had resisted an army that outnumbered it by ten to one, and it had handled it very roughly indeed. All honour to the men who fought and died at Le Cateau that day, and all honour to the cool, determined, and unconquerable general who commanded them! Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien has written his name high on the scroll of fame, and henceforth he stands in our annals side by side with Sir John Moore[55] of undying memory. His proud boast is that he saved the left wing of the British army, and by doing so made the German conquest of France impossible. * * * * * Sir John French tells us that the retreat was continued far into the night of the 26th and through the 27th and 28th. The cavalry officer quoted above gives us a vivid picture of the weariness of his men and horses, and from the stories of others who took part in the retreat we learn that it was just as trying as the battle itself. The night was black dark, the rain was falling heavily, and the narrow roads were choked with guns, transport, and infantry. The men had to be shaken out of their sleep, but once on their feet they marched steadily. [Illustration: General Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien, G.C.B., D.S.O. _Photo, Russell._ Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien commanded the Second Army Corps during the retreat from Mons. Sir John French, in his dispatch of September 7, ascribed to him the salvation of the left wing of the British army, and described him as "a commander of rare and unusual coolness, intrepidity, and determination." Had the left wing been rolled up, the rout of the whole Allied army would probably have followed.] "There was never a halt nor a pause, though horses dropped between the shafts, and men sat down exhausted by the roadside. A heavy gun overturned in a ditch, but it was impossible to stay and get it out; so it was rendered useless, and the disconsolate gunners trekked on. When the horses could draw their loads no longer, the loads were cast by the roadside. . . . I cannot give a connected account of that night. The overpowering desire for sleep, the weariness and ache of every fibre, and the thirst! I had forgotten to be hungry, and had got past food; but I thirsted as I have only thirsted once before, and that was in the desert near Khartum." On moved the columns, almost at the last gasp, but still undaunted and bent on winning through. When the dreadful night was over, and dawn broke over the hills, men looked at each other and marvelled at the change wrought in their appearance by the terrible experiences which they had undergone. They were as worn and gaunt as though they were recovering from a serious illness. * * * * *