This fighting around the Sandbag Battery had cost us very dear:  Cathcart was killed, the Guards were decimated, and Wilders’s brigade, now commanded by Colonel Blythe, had fallen back, spent and disorganised.  So serious indeed were these losses that for the next hour the brigade possessed no coherent shape, and only by dint of the unwearied exertions of its officers was it rallied sufficiently to share in the later phases of the fight.

Meanwhile the centre of our line, where Pennefather stood posted on the Home Ridge, had been furiously assailed.  Gathering their forces under shelter of a deep ravine, the Russian general sent up column after column, first against the left and then against the right of the Ridge.  Gravely weakened by his early encounter, Pennefather had only a handful of his own men to meet this attack.  They were now pressed back indeed, although their general was beginning to wield detachments from other commands.  A portion of the Fourth Division had been put under his orders.

General Cathcart, just before his death, had come to him with a battalion of the Rifle Brigade.

“They can do anything,” he had said.  “Where are they wanted most?”

“Everywhere!” had been old Pennefather’s reply.

But now, having at hand this splendid body of infantry, of whom their leader had been so pardonably proud, he hurled them at the flank of a column that was forcing back its own men.

The effect of the charge was instantaneous:  the Russians could not withstand it; and, the men of the Second Division again advancing, the foe was pressed as far as the Barrier, where he was held at bay.

But the left of the ridge was still menaced, although the centre was cleared.  On this flank Pennefather disposed of some new troops, also of the Fourth Division:  the 63rd and part of the 21st.

He rode up to their head and made them a short but stirring address.

“Now, Sixty-third, let’s see what metal you are made of!  The enemy is close upon you:  directly you see them, fire a volley and charge!”

His answer was a vehement cheer.  The 63rd fired as it was ordered, and then drove the Russians down the hill.

One more trial awaited Pennefather at this period of the battle.  His right, on the Home Ridge, was now assailed; but here again the 20th, with their famous Minden yell—­an old historical war-cry, always cherished and secretly practised in the corps—­met and overcame the enemy.  They were actively supported by the 57th, the gallant “Diehards,” a title they had earned at Albuera, one of the bloodiest of the Peninsular fights.

Thus, for the second time, Pennefather stood victorious on the ground he so obstinately held.  After two hours of incessant fighting the Russians had made no headway.  But although twice repulsed they had inflicted terrible losses on our people.  They had still in hand substantial supports untouched; they had brought up more and more guns; they were as yet far from despondent, and their generals might still count upon making an impression by sheer weight of numbers alone.