Meanwhile the rocketeers had placed a little iron triangle in the road with a rocket lying on it. The order to fire is given--portfire applied--the fidgety missile begins to sputter out sparks and wriggle its tail for a second or so, and then darts forth straight up the chaussée. A gun stands right in its way, between the wheels of which the shell in the head of the rocket bursts, the gunners fall right and left, and, those of the other guns taking to their heels, the battery is deserted in an instant. Strange; but so it was. I saw them run, and for some minutes afterwards I saw the guns standing mute and unmanned, whilst our rocketeers kept shooting off rockets, none of which ever followed the course of the first; most of them, on arriving about the middle of the ascent, took a vertical direction, whilst some actually turned back upon ourselves--and one of these, following me like a squib until its shell exploded, actually put me in more danger than all the fire of the enemy throughout the day. Meanwhile the French artillerymen, seeing how the land lay, returned to their guns and opened a fire of case-shot on us, but without effect, for we retreated to our ridge without the loss of a man, or even any wounded, though the range could not have been above 200 yards. As we had overtaken the rear of our infantry, it became necessary to make a stand here to enable them to gain ground. Major M‘Donald therefore sent me in pursuit of my ammunition-waggons, since all in our limbers was expended. Having before sent for these, we calculated that they could not now be very far off. In going to the rear I passed along the top of the bank, under which, as I have said, the Blues were encased in the hollow road. Shot and shells were flying pretty thickly about just then, and, sometimes striking the top of the bank, would send down a shower of mud and clods upon them.