by manoeuvring so as to menace the enemy of the flanks, in skirmishes he
did good service. But at length came a day of pitched battle. The enemy
had mustered in unusual strength, and would certainly have accomplished
the usual result of putting us to flight with more than usual ease,
but, under the turn which things took, their very numbers aided their
overthrow, by deepening their confusion. O. had, on this occasion,
accompanied us; and, as he had hitherto taken no very decisive part
in the war, confining himself to distant "demonstrations," the enemy
did not much regard his presence in the field. This carelessness threw
them into a dense mass, upon which my brother's rapid eye saw instantly
the opportunity offered for operating most effectually by a charge.
O. saw it too; and, happening to have his spurs on, he complied
cheerfully with my brother's suggestion. He had the advantage of a
slight descent: the wicked pony went down "with a will;" his echoing
hoofs drew the general gaze upon him; his head, his leonine mane, his
diabolic eyes, did the rest; and in a moment the whole hostile array had
broken, and was in rapid flight across the brick fields. I leave the
reader to judge whether "Te Deum" would be sung on that night. A Gazette
Extraordinary was issued; and my brother had really some reason for his
assertion, "that in conscience he could not think of comparing Cannae to
this smashing defeat;" since at Cannae many brave men had refused to
fly--the consul himself, Terentius Varro, amongst them; but, in the
present rout, there was no Terentius Varro--_every body_ fled.

The victory, indeed, considered in itself, was complete. But it had
consequences which we had not looked for. In the ardor of our conflict,
neither my brother nor myself had remarked a stout, square-built man,
mounted on an uneasy horse, who sat quietly in his saddle as spectator
of the battle, and, in fact, as the sole non-combatant present. This
man, however, had been observed by O., both before and after his own