as the
decisive moment of the day;--the Duke closed his glass, as he said:

"The field is won. Order the whole line to advance."

On they came, four deep, and poured like a torrent from the height.

"Let the Life Guards charge them," said the Duke; but every aid-de-camp
on his staff was wounded, and I myself brought the order to Lord
Uxbridge.

Lord Uxbridge had already anticipated his orders, and bore down with
four regiments of heavy cavalry upon the French centre. The Prussian
artillery thundered upon their flank, and at their rear. The British
bayonet was in their front; while a panic fear spread through their
ranks, and the cry "_Sauve qui peut!_" resounded on all sides. In vain
Ney, the bravest of the brave; in vain Soult, Bertrand, Gourgaud, and
Labedoyere, burst from the broken disorganized mass, and called on them
to stand fast. A battalion of the Old Guard, with Cambronne at their
head, alone obeyed the summons: forming into square, they stood between
the pursuers and their prey, offering themselves a sacrifice to the
tarnished honor of their arms: to the order to surrender, they answered
with a cry of defiance; and, as our cavalry, flushed and elated with
victory, rode round their bristling ranks, no quailing look, no craven
spirit was there. The Emperor himself endeavored to repair the disaster;
he rode with lightening speed hither and thither, commanding, ordering,
nay imploring too; but already the night was falling, the confusion
became each moment more inextricable, and the effort was a fruitless
one. A regiment of the Guards, and two batteries were in reserve behind
Planchenoit; he threw them rapidly into position; but the overwhelming
impulse of flight drove the mass upon them, and they were carried away
upon the torrent of the beaten army. No sooner did the Emperor see this
his last hope desert him, than he dismounted from his horse, and,
drawing his sword, threw himself into a square, which the first regiment
of chasseurs of the Old Guard had formed with a remnant of the
battalion; Jerome followed him, as he called out:

"You are right, brother: here should perish all who bear the name of
Buonaparte."

The same moment the Prussian light artillery rend the ranks asunder, and
the cavalry charge down upon the scattered fragments. A few of his
staff, who never left him, place the Emperor upon a horse,--and fly.

* * * * *

_Wellington,
Thy great wo