tle was practically
lost. This was the last desperate throw of the gambler, the last stake
he could place upon the board. He knew it, every officer knew it,
perhaps even the more experienced grenadiers like old Bullet-Stopper of
the Guard knew it. That did not matter to them. They were his men and
at his word, for him, they were going forward to conquer or die.

Tramp, tramp, tramp, keeping time to the long continuous rolling of the
drums whose notes were heard even above the roar of the cannon and the
tumult of the battle, the Guard, from whose lips came one continuous
cry of "_Vive l'Empereur_!" marched forward. Covered as usual by the
fire of one of those great batteries of concentrated guns so
conspicuous in Napoleonic tactics, through the smoke and the mist and
the shadows of the evening, they passed on. Napoleon himself with
three battalions in reserve followed a little distance behind them.

Now they were mounting the hill, now they were abreast of La Haye
Sainte; now the ridge in front of them was topped with English. Away
off could be heard the thunder of the oncoming Prussian horsemen, the
roar of the Prussian guns. Back of the ridge the brigades of light
cavalry stood ready. The infantry reserve with brave Colborne and the
Fifty-second, thirteen hundred strong, in the lead, were quivering with
excitement. Even the stolid British phlegm had vanished. This was the
last supreme moment. Throbbed wildly the usually steady hearts of the
cool islanders. If they could stop this grand advance the battle would
be gained. The hill would be held. Could they do it? And if not----!

Out of the smoke and mist opposite the English soldiers of the Royal
Guard came their Imperial enemies. The waiting British saw the black
bearskins of the tall Guard, the imperial insignia on cross-belts and
uniforms. They were so near that they could see the grim faces of the
old soldiers, their mustaches working, their lips drawn back over their
teeth, snarling, sputtering like savage beasts. Here and there mouths
were tight shut in a firm line. Here and there men came silently, but
mostly they were yelling. And they came up, arms aport, after the
precept and example of Dorsenne, _le beau Dorsenne_, alas, no longer
with them, to try conclusions for the last time with the soldiers'
white weapon, the bayonet, cold steel! Would the English wait for
that? They would not.

"Fire!" cried an English voice just when the susp