It must have been evident to Napoleon, that, notwithstanding the battle had been raging for more than seven hours, the victory which he had calculated upon early in the morning was yet to be gained: although the day was far advanced, he showed no despair, but continued to feed the fight with fresh victims. The result of the operations, up to this time, had been most destructive to both sides; more particularly so to our gallant foes, who, from acting on the offensive throughout, were frequently much exposed to the close and direct fire of our batteries in advancing to the attack and retiring to reform, after each successive repulse. Our troops everywhere maintained a degree of cool forbearance and courage, which none but British soldiers could show under such trying circumstances. About half-past seven P.M. the colours of the 30th and 73d were sent to the rear, to the satisfaction of many; the colonel of the latter regiment, the late lord Harris, who was wounded soon after, taking the 73d’s colour from the officer, gave it in charge of a sergeant, to carry to the rear. The enemy’s cavalry, who were now nearly sobered, would come up singly, and fire their carbines at the squares. Their horse artillery often galloped up, unlimbered, when crash! crash! came the grape into Halkett’s squares, making gaps which it was admirable to see the fine fellows fill up, and that without orders. Whenever the Duke came, which at this momentous period was often, there was a low whisper in the ranks, “Here’s the Duke!” and all was steady as on parade. No matter what the havock and destruction might be, the Duke was always the coolest man there: in the words of an eyewitness of this bloody scene, the Duke was coolness personified[55]. It really appeared that the more desperate the fight, the more determined were the few brave fellows that remained to hold their ground; yet often would a murmur escape them, such as, “This is thundering murderous work! why don’t we go into them?... Let us give them the cold steel,” etc., etc. But such murmurs were soon hushed, and again were displayed those traits of unyielding passive courage, the grandest, the most sublime characteristics of the British soldier. The troops evinced in their resignation a discipline unparalleled in European armies. Though confident in their chiefs and themselves, their foes were not less so: a French cuirassier officer, a prisoner in Halkett’s left square, replied, in a surly and snappish tone, to an officer of the 30th who asked him what force Bonaparte had, “You will see directly, sir.”