ith fixed bayonets up
the gentle slope. Already the Belgian infantry give way before them. The
brave Brunswickers, overwhelmed by the heavy cavalry of France, at first
begin to waver, then are broken; and at last retreat in disorder up the
road, a whirlwind of pursuing squadrons thundering behind them. "En avant!
en avant! la victoire est enous," is shouted madly through the impatient
ranks; and the artillery is called up to play upon the British squares;
upon which, fixed and immovable, the cuirassiers have charged without
success. Like a thunderbolt, the flying artillery dashes to the front;
but scarcely has it reached the bottom of the ascent, when, from the deep
ground, the guns become embedded in the soil, the wheels refuse to move. In
vain the artillery drivers whip and spur their laboring cattle. Impatiently
the leading files of the column prick with their bayonets the struggling
horses. The hesitation is fatal; for Wellington, who, with eager glance,
watches from an eminence beside the high road the advancing column, sees
the accident. An order is given; and with one fell swoop, the heavy cavalry
brigade pour down. Picton's Division deploys into line; the bayonets glance
above the ridge; and with a shout that tells above the battle, on they
come, the fighting Fifth. One volley is exchanged; but the bayonet is now
brought to the charge, and the French division retreat in close column,
pursued by their gallant enemy. Scarcely have the leading divisions fallen
back, and the rear pressed down upon, or thrown into disorder, when the
cavalry trumpets sound a charge; the bright helmets of the Enniskilleners
come flashing in the sunbeams, and the Scotch Greys, like a white-crested
wave, are rolling upon the foe. Marcognet's Division is surrounded; the
dragoons ride them down on every side; the guns are captured; the drivers
cut down; and two thousand prisoners are carried off. A sudden panic seems
to seize upon the French, as cavalry, infantry, and artillery are hurried
back on each other. Vainly the French attempt to rally; the untiring enemy
press madly on; the household brigade, led on by Lord Uxbridge, came
thundering down the road, riding down with their gigantic force the mailed
cuirassiers of France. Borne along with the retreating torrents, I was
carried on amidst the densely commingled mass. The British cavalry, which,
like the lightnings that sever the thunder-cloud, pierces through in every
direction, plunged ma