“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 their horses now, in order to have a better view of the battle, and from the situation of the ground on which they were standing, they beheld, in awful anxiety, rush after rush made against the British infantry, whose duty was evidently that of firm defence; they beheld wave after wave of blue ranks advance over the rising bosom of the ground, and saw them successively battered by the rocks they assaulted—­the ground covered with men and horses by the well-directed fire of the squares.  The other divisions of the English army were fast arriving, and taking up ground on the left, in spite of the efforts of the French to prevent it, and thus divide them from their comrades engaged.  A “lull,” (as the sailors say, when the storm pauses a little,) took place, and both armies stood, as it were, looking at each other.  But another and more desperate attack soon followed; the tempest returned with double violence.  The mouths of Ney’s numerous cannon opened again; the smoke drifted over on the English, and under its cover were seen advancing an immense force, for another struggle with the right of the duke’s line, in order to turn it, and possess themselves of the village.  The duke and his staff were in front of the 92nd regiment, and the balls playing on them had knocked down several of his aides-de-camp.  As the foe came near, the artillery ceased, the close fight began, and several regiments at once poured in their fire:  both sides kept their ground, and hundreds fell at every discharge of musketry.  The duke now, in the pithy and familiar language of the soldier, cried out to the Scots, “Ninety-second, you must charge these fellows.”

The word was magic; the kilts rushed against the blaze of the tirailleurs!  Their leader and their officer fell amongst them:  but, alas! their blood only enraged the men; fiercely as tigers they rush, and their bayonets sink into the mass before them.  The whole fly before them, while the victorious Highlanders pursue them almost out of sight of their general.  Alas! many of these heroes fell in their gallant work.

This glorious charge was beheld by Gray and his comrades with delight; their shacos waved over their heads, and their cries of exultation fully showed what a catching thing is the fever of the fight.  One of the dragoons now turned his eyes to the wood on the right, which the French had possessed themselves of, and exclaimed, “But look, the guards have come up, and are in the wood.  Where did they come from?  I didn’t see them before.  Hark! how they shout; they are all amongst the trees.”