When the thunder stopped, which it always did as the leading files reached the crest of the ridge, our men could hear in the momentary intervals of their own firing the jingling of bits and scabbards, and the heavy breathing of the horses. Mounted skirmishers came close to the batteries and commenced firing at the gunners, who were literally dripping with perspiration from the exertions they made. One fellow took several pot-shots at Captain Mercer, who was coolly walking his horse backwards and forwards along a bank to set an example to his men. He missed each time, and grinned grimly as he reloaded, but as the head of the squadrons closed up the skirmishers vanished and were succeeded by the rush which threatened death to every soul on the plateau. Wellington’s orders were to retire into the squares and leave the batteries, but Mercer’s men stuck to their guns, repulsing three charges of the Horse Grenadiers, and dealing such slaughter that the position of “G Troop” was known next day by the enormous heap of slain lying before it, visible from a considerable distance. The carnage on the slope was shocking--the oldest soldiers had seen nothing like it: men and horses lay piled one on another, five and six in a heap, every fresh discharge adding to the ghastly pyramid. The 1st Cuirassiers numbered 300 of the Legion of Honour in its ranks--it lost 117, including two lieutenants and the brave Captain Poinsot, page to the Emperor in 1807, wounded at Moscow and Brienne. One officer, finding the fire from a particular gun playing havoc with his men, rode straight at it and was blown to atoms. [Illustration: “A GALLANT ARTILLERY DRIVER RUSHED HIS HORSES TO THE WALL” (_p._ 66).] The horses during the battle suffered cruelly, and some of the details are heartrending: the charger of a very stout officer with the Duke’s staff, probably Müffling, was seen to rear for some time without the rider being able to bring it down--its front legs had been both shot off. Another trooper’s horse was seen next morning sitting on its tail, its hind legs gone; and one poor beast ran for sympathy to six guns in succession, and was driven off from each with exclamations of horror until it reached “G Troop,” where they mercifully killed it: the whole of its face below the great brown pleading eyes had been carried away by a round shot! After a repulse and a re-attack, the remnant of the seventy-seven squadrons reeled back to their own lines: the cavalry of France, magnificent, irresistible, brave as lions, and nobly led, had shattered itself without result, and _the third great attempt had failed_! * * * * *