e but little
progress: the dark columns of the Guard had now commenced the ascent,
and the artillery ceased their fire as the bayonets of the grenadiers
showed themselves upon the slope. Then began that tremendous cheer from
right to left of our line which those who heard never can forget. It was
the impatient, long-restrained burst of unslaked vengeance. With the
instinct which valor teaches, they knew the hour of trial was come; and
that wild cry flew from rank to rank, echoing from the blood-stained
walls of Hougoumont to the far-off valley of La Papelotte. "They come!
they come!" was the cry; and the shout of "_Vive l'Empereur!_" mingled
with the outburst of the British line.

Under an overwhelming shower of grape, to which succeeded a charge of
cavalry of the Imperial Guard, the head of Ney's column fired its volley
and advanced with the bayonet. The British artillery now opened at half
range, and although the plunging fire scathed and devastated the dark
ranks of the Guards, on they came,--Ney himself, on foot, at their head.
Twice the leading division of that gallant column turned completely
round, as the withering fire wasted and consumed them; but they were
resolved to win.

Already they had gained the crest of the hill, and the first line of the
British were falling back before them. The artillery closes up; the
flanking fire from the guns upon the road opens upon them; the head of
their column breaks like a shell; the Duke seizes the moment, and
advances on foot towards the ridge.

"Up, Guards, and at them!" he cried.

The hour of triumph and vengeance had arrived. In a moment the Guards
were on their feet; one volley was poured in; the bayonets were brought
to the charge; they closed upon the enemy: then was seen the most
dreadful struggle that the history of all war can present. Furious with
long restrained passion, the guards rushed upon the leading divisions;
the seventy-first, and ninety-fifth, and twenty-sixth overlapped them on
the flanks. Their generals fell thickly on every side; Michel, Jamier,
and Mallet are killed: Friant lies wounded upon the ground; Ney, his
dress pierced and ragged with balls, shouts still to advance; but the
leading files waver; they fall back; the supporting divisions thicken;
confusion, panic succeeds; the British press down; the cavalry come
galloping up to their assistance; and, at last, pell-mell, overwhelmed
and beaten, the French fall back upon the Old Guard. This w