All now remained in breathless anxiety, gazing on the approaching masses
of the enemy; not a word was spoken amongst the well-planted squares of
the British. The French are within fifty yards of them, and the battle
begins.

"There," cried a trooper; "how our men give it to them!--there's a
volley!--look how the horses fall!--see, they can't stand it--hurra!--the
rascals are staggered--the 27th are after them--they deploy into line;
there the French go, with the bayonet at them, helter-skelter. But
observe, at a little distance from them, the enemy's dragoons are at the
42nd--the Scotch open and let them pass; but now they get it right and
left. Down they go; bravo! old Scotland."

"By heaven!" cried Gray, "here come the Brunswick horse in confusion,
pursued by the cuirassiers along the road, near the village."

All turned to gaze at the point: it was too true: their leader had fallen;
they had advanced too incautiously, and were therefore obliged to fall
back.

"Here they come, and the French cavalry are close upon them. But see the
Highlanders in the ditch. Hark! there--they give them a volley. Down
tumble the horsemen!--look! they are in a heap on the ground."

A shout from the troopers acknowledged the glorious truth. It was the fire
from the 92nd that achieved the triumph.

The artillery, the musketry, and the shouting of the combatants, became so
deafening, that even the group of troopers unoccupied in the fight, and in
the rear, could scarcely hear each other's voice. Gray's party mounted