urid glow on red coats and black coats, white facings and
gilt epaulettes; it drew sparks as of still-living fire from
breastplates and broken swords, discarded casques and bayonets,
sabretaches and kilts and bugles and drums, and dead horses and arms and
accoutrements and dead and dying men, all lying pell-mell in a huge
litter with the glow of midsummer sunset upon them--poor little
chessmen--pawns and knights--castles of strength and kings of some
lonely mourning hearts--all swept together by the Almighty hand of the
Great Master of this terrestrial game.

But with returning consciousness Bobby's gaze took in a wider range of
vision. He visualised exactly where he was--on the south slope of Mont
Saint Jean with La Haye Sainte on ahead a little to his left, and the
whitewashed walls of La Belle Alliance still further away gleaming
golden in the light of the setting sun.

He saw that on the wide road which leads to Genappe and Charleroi the
once invincible cavalry of the mighty Emperor was fleeing helter-skelter
from the scene of its disaster: he saw that the British--what was left
of them--were in hot pursuit! He saw from far Plancenoit the
scintillating casques of Bluecher's Prussians.

And on the left a detachment of allied troops--Dutch, Belgian,
Brunswickers--had just started down the slope of the plateau to join in
this death-dealing pell-mell, where amongst the litter of dead and
dying, in the confusion of pursuer and pursued, comrade fought at times
against comrade, brother fired on brother--Prussian against British.

Down below behind the farm buildings of La Haye Sainte two battalions of
chasseurs of the Old Guard had made a stand around a tattered bit of
tricolour and the bronze eagle--symbol of so much decadent grandeur and
of such undying glory. "A moi chasseurs," brave General Pelet had cried.
"Let us save the eagle or die beneath its wing."

And those who heard this last call of despair stopped in their headlong
flight; they forged a way for themselves through the mass of running
horses and men, they rallied to their flag, and with their
tirailleurs--kneeling on one knee--ranged in a circle round them, they
now formed a living bulwark for their eagle, of dauntless breasts and
bristling bayonets.

And upon this mass of desperate men, the small body of raw Dutch and
Belgian and German troops now hurled themselves with wild huzzas and
blind impetuousness. Against this mass of heroes and of conquerors