I saw it, and Jim did too.  I heard a shout, and saw him rush forward madly at the French column; and, as quick as thought, the whole brigade took their cue from him, officers and all, and flung themselves upon the Guard in front, while our comrades charged them on the flanks.  We had been waiting for the order, and they all thought now that it had been given; but you may take my word for it, that Jim Horscroft was the real leader of the brigade when we charged the Old Guard.

God knows what happened during that mad five minutes.  I remember putting my musket against a blue coat and pulling the trigger, and that the man could not fall because he was so wedged in the crowd; but I saw a horrid blotch upon the cloth, and a thin curl of smoke from it as if it had taken fire.  Then I found myself thrown up against two big Frenchmen, and so squeezed together, the three of us, that we could not raise a weapon.  One of them, a fellow with a very large nose, got his hand up to my throat, and I felt that I was a chicken in his grasp. “Rendez-vous, coqin; rendez-vous!” said he, and then suddenly doubled up with a scream, for someone had stabbed him in the bowels with a bayonet.  There was very little firing after the first sputter; but there was the crash of butt against barrel, the short cries of stricken men, and the roaring of the officers.  And then, suddenly, they began to give ground—­slowly, sullenly, step by step, but still to give ground.  Ah! it was worth all that we had gone through, the thrill of that moment, when we felt that they were going to break.  There was one Frenchman before me, a sharp-faced, dark-eyed man, who was loading and firing as quietly as if he were at practice, dwelling upon his aim, and looking round first to try and pick off an officer.  I remember that it struck me that to kill so cool a man as that would be a good service, and I rushed at him and drove my bayonet into him.  He turned as I struck him and fired full into my face, and the bullet left a weal across my cheek which will mark me to my dying day.  I tripped over him as he fell, and two others tumbling over me I was half smothered in the heap.  When at last I struggled out, and cleared my eyes, which were half full of powder, I saw that the column had fairly broken, and was shredding into groups of men, who were either running for their lives or were fighting back to back in a vain attempt to check the brigade, which was still sweeping onwards.  My face felt as if a red-hot iron had been laid across it; but I had the use of my limbs, so jumping over the litter of dead and mangled men, I scampered after my regiment, and fell in upon the right flank.

Old Major Elliott was there, limping along, for his horse had been shot, but none the worse in himself.  He saw me come up, and nodded, but it was too busy a time for words.  The brigade was still advancing, but the general rode in front of me with his chin upon his shoulder, looking back at the British position.