ll 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[21] Published by courtesy of Lady French and Earl Roberts.

CHAPTER XII

FRENCH, THE MAN

A Typical Englishman--Fighting at School--Napoleon
Worship--"A Great Reporter"--Halting Speeches and Polished
Prose. A South African Coincidence--Mrs. Despard and the
Newsboy--The Happy Warrior.

So far, this book has necessarily been chiefly a record of events.
That was inevitable, for the man of action writes his story in deeds.
Nor was there ever a great soldier who made less clamour in the world
of newspapers than General French. He has never adopted the studied
reticence of Kitchener nor yet the chill aloofness of certain of his
colleagues. War correspondents are not anathema to him; neither does
he shudder at the sight of the reporter's pencil. Yet, somehow, few
anecdotes cluster round his name.

Perhaps that is because his modesty is not a pose, although it has
become