A survivor narrated how, exhausted at nightfall, he had lain down on a dung-heap, when Shaw crawled beside him, bleeding from many wounds. In the morning the life-guardsman was still there, his head resting on his arm as if asleep, but it was the sleep which knows no waking. Ponsonby’s Union Brigade was meanwhile making its immortal onslaught, more towards Papelotte, the ground they went over being billowy, and the troops before them infantry of the line. The Royals gave a ringing cheer; “Scotland for ever!” was the war-cry of the Greys; and the Inniskillings went in with an Irish howl. As they passed the 92nd, many of the Highlanders caught hold of their stirrup-leathers and charged down with them; the very ground seemed trembling under the iron hoofs; Marcognet and Alix were broken and trampled, and in three minutes more than 2,000 prisoners were wending their disconsolate way to the rear. “Those beautiful grey horses!” said Napoleon, as he watched the charge. Did he see that struggle round the Eagle of his 45th, I wonder--that famous “Battle for the Standard” which Ansdell has painted so well? What says Sergeant Ewart, the hero of the incident? “It was in the charge I took the Eagle from the enemy. He and I had a hard contest for it. He made a thrust at my groin; I parried it off, and cut him down through the head. After this a lancer came at me; I threw the lance off by my right side, and cut him through the chin and upwards through the teeth. Next a foot-soldier fired at me, and then charged me with his bayonet, which I also had the good luck to parry, and then I cut him down through the head. Thus ended the contest.” [Illustration: Sergeant Ewart Capturing the Eagle at Waterloo (_p._ 62). (_From a Painting by W. B. Wollen, R.I._)] Captain Clarke and Corporal Styles, of the Royals, took an Eagle from the 105th between them--a glorious gilded thing, embroidered with the names of Jéna, Eylau, Eckmühl, Essling, and Wagram--the gallant captain losing the tip of his nose in the struggle. A man of the Inniskillings named Penfold claimed to have taken that colour; but his story is vague, and I incline to think that a blue silk camp-colour of the 105th, now at Abbotsford, was the one that Penfold seized and afterwards lost in the fray. Sir William Ponsonby led the charge on a restive bay hack, and was killed; while some of the Greys got as far as the Great Battery, disabling many of the guns, and getting slain in the end. Part of the 28th lost its head, and charged with the brigade; Lieutenant Deares of that regiment being taken prisoner, stripped of his clothes, rejoining at night in nothing but shirt and trousers. Tathwell, of the Blues, tore off a colour, but his horse was shot and he lost it; and the greater part of the two brigades rode along the battery until heavy bodies of Cuirassiers and Lancers came to drive them back.