he
first to reach the highest point of the hill. They fire and Death with
his scythe has laid three hundred low. The tricolour flag is riddled
with grapeshot and General Michel has fallen.

Then indeed the mighty wave of steel can advance no longer: for it is
confronted with an impenetrable wall--a wall of living, palpitating,
heroic men--men who for hours have stood their ground and fought for the
honour of Britain and of her flag--men who with set teeth and grim
determination were ready to sell their lives dearly if lives were to be
sold--men in fact who have had their orders to hold out to the last man
and who are going to obey those orders now.

"Up, guards, and at them," and surprised, bewildered, staggered, the
chasseurs pause: three hundred of their comrades lie dead or dying on
the ground. They pause: their ranks are broken: with his last dying sigh
brave General Michel tries to rally them. But he breathes his last ere
he succeeds: his second in command loses his head. He should have
ordered a bayonet charge--sudden, swift and sure--against that red wall
that rushes at them with such staggering power: but he too tries to
rally his men, to reform their ranks--how can they re-form as for parade
under the deadly fire of the British guards?

Confusion begins its deathly sway: the chasseurs--under conflicting
orders--stand for full ten minutes almost motionless under that
devastating fire.

And far away on the heights of Frischemont the first line of Prussian
bayonets are seen silhouetted against the sunset sky.

Wellington has seen it. Bluecher has come at last! One final effort, one
more mighty gigantic, superhuman struggle and the glorious end would be
in sight. He gives the order for a general charge.

"Forward, boys," cries Colonel Saltoun to his brigade. "Now is the
time!"

Heads down the British charge. The chasseurs are already scattered, but
behind the chasseurs, fronting Maitland's brigade, fronting Adam and his
artillery, fronting Saltoun and Colborne the Fire-Eater, the Old Guard
is seen to advance, the Old Guard who through twelve campaigns and an
hundred victories have shown the world how to conquer and how to die.

When Michel's chasseurs were scattered, when their General fell; when
the English lines, exhausted and shaken for a moment, rallied at
Wellington's call: "Up, guards, and at them!" when from far away on the
heights of Frischemont the first line of Prussian bayonets were
silhouetted