P.
21
MY DEAR ANTONY,
In the great emprise of war it must often happen that the most awful
scenes of manifested human power, and the most godlike deeds of
human glory, are lost to the contemporary world, and utterly unknown
to succeeding generations, because they were witnessed by no man
with the gift of expression who could record for after time, in adequate
language, the majestic spectacle.
In the great war against Germany no great writer has yet appeared
who was personally in touch as a living witness of the countless deeds
of glorious valour and acts of heroic endurance that were everywhere
displayed upon that immense far-stretched front.
But in the wars of former times, a whole battle could be witnessed from
its beginning to its end by a single commander, and no scenes in
human life could be more terrible and soul-stirring than the awful ebb
and flow of a great combat in which the victory of armies and the fate
of nations hung in the balance.
The battle of Albuera in the Peninsular War might easily at this date
have long been forgotten had not the pen of Sir William Napier been as
puissant as his sword. The battle had raged for hours, and the British
were well-nigh overwhelmed; the Colonel, twenty officers, and over
four hundred men out of five hundred and seventy had fallen in the
57th alone; not a third were left standing in the other regiments that
had been closely engaged throughout the day.
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