It was in the early hours of the morning of the 27th that the commander of the Second Corps personally reported himself at Headquarters. He informed the Commander-in-Chief that the Second Corps and Fourth Division had suffered heavily and were very tired, but were now rapidly regaining order and cohesion. By dawn every available staff officer was _en route_ for St. Quentin, and hour after hour, at their posts on the line of the Retreat, shepherded the troops towards their units, and the longed-for luxuries of food and drink and news. All through the morning detachments of every size and every conceivable composition kept filing past--some with officers, most with none--some hobbling and silent, others whistling and in step--but all with one accord most thoroughly persuaded (such are the fallacies of a retreat) that they were the last and only survivors of their respective commands. Many, after a brief halt, had marched all night, and up to one o’clock in the afternoon they were still coming in. A brief rest, some bread and coffee, and they were off once more, their troubles almost forgotten in the pleasure of rejoining their regiments and recovering their friends. The general Retreat, which the battle of Le Cateau had so dangerously interrupted, resumed once more its normal tenor. Of the behaviour of the men during this trying period it is difficult to speak with moderation. They had passed through an ordeal, both physical and mental, such as few troops have ever had to face in their first week of war; and had displayed throughout a nobility of bearing and demeanour of which none who observed them can speak even now without emotion. Such courage and patience, such humorous resignation and cheerfulness in adversity, are to be paralleled only in the finest armies of history.