“I can’t mistake those tones,” said a bronzed old veteran beside me; “those are the brass bands of the Imperial Guard. Can Napoleon be there? See, there they come!” As he spoke, the head of a column emerged from the wood, and deploying as they came, poured into the plain. For above an hour that mighty tide flowed on, and before noon a force of sixty thousand men was collected in the space beneath us. I was not long to remain an unoccupied spectator of this brilliant display, for I soon received orders to move down with my squadron to the support of the Eleventh Light Dragoons, who were posted at the base of the hill. The order at the moment was anything but agreeable, for I was mounted upon a hack pony, on which I had ridden over from Crawfurd’s Division early in the morning, and suspecting that there might be some hot work during the day, had ordered Mike to follow with my horse. There was no time, however, for hesitation, and I moved my men down the slope in the direction of the skirmishers. The position we occupied was singularly favorable,--our flanks defended on either side by brushwood, we could only be assailed in front; and here, notwithstanding our vast inferiority of force, we steadily awaited the attack. As I rode from out the thick wood, I could not help feeling surprised at the sounds which greeted me. Instead of the usual low and murmuring tones, the muttered sentences which precede a cavalry advance,--a roar of laughter shook the entire division, while exclamations burst from every side around me: “Look at him now!” “They have him, by heavens, they have him!” “Well done, well done!” “How the fellow rides!” “He’s hit, he’s hit!” “No, no!” “Is he down?” “He’s down!” A loud cheer rent the air at this moment, and I reached the front in time to learn, the reason of all this excitement. In the wide plain before me a horseman was seen, having passed the ford of the Aguada, to advance at the top of his speed towards the British lines. As he came nearer, it was perceived that he was accompanied by a led horse, and apparently with total disregard of the presence of an enemy, rode boldly and carelessly forward. Behind him rode three lancers, their lances couched, their horses at speed; the pace was tremendous, and the excitement intense: for sometimes, as the leading horseman of the pursuit neared the fugitive, he would bend suddenly upon the saddle, and swerving to the right or the left, totally evade him, while again at others, with a loud cry of bold defiance, rising in his stirrups, he would press on, and with a shake of his bridle that bespoke the jockey, almost distance the enemy. “That must be your fellow, O’Malley; that must be your Irish groom!” cried a brother officer. There could be no doubt of it. It was Mike himself.