As soon as the fugitives could be scraped together in a lump, they once again moved forward to make a second attack, led on by a group of Spanish officers, on foot, and on horseback. The shot levelled them to the earth, without any chance of success: the disorganized column once more stood in a mass on the bank of the fatal hollow road, by this means bringing all the enemy's fire to a focus; but at the sight of the mangled bodies of their dying comrades, their last sparks of courage forsook them, and they fled from the field, heedless of the exhortations of many of their officers, who showed an example worthy of their ancient renown. The French again bounded over their entrenchments, and at full run came round the left flank of the disconcerted Spaniards (at a point where the road was not so deep), and plied them with more bullets, nor ceased to follow them, until they were stopped by the fire of a brigade of guns, (supported by a regiment of English heavy dragoons), and attacked on their left flank by the rifle corps, supported by our brigade. This movement prevented them from cutting asunder and separating the two wings of our army. The enemy, finding that they had totally defeated the Spaniards, immediately moved a body of troops to make head against the _fourth_ and _sixth divisions_, and cavalry, which were now moving along the river Ers, parallel with the heights of Calvanet, before bringing up their left shoulders to attack that position; but, owing to the marshy state of the ground, the troops were much impeded on their march. After the repulse of the Spaniards, the battle almost ceased, with the exception of an irregular musketry-fire amongst the detached houses bordering the canal. During this pause in the grand event, several of us fell asleep (under the gentle rays of an April sun), from want of rest, having been under arms all the previous day, and marching nearly the whole of the night. How long I enjoyed this slumber I cannot say, for a round shot whizzing, close over my head, caused me hastily to start on my feet. For a few seconds, I almost fancied I was at a review, or dreaming of it, for the right wing of the British army were within less than cannon range opposite the left wing of the enemy, whose bright arms and brazen eagles glistened on the venerable towers of Toulouse. Soon after this, we descried an officer of our regiment, (who was an extra aide-de-camp to Gen. Baron Alten) riding at the base of the enemy's position, and turning and twisting his horse at full speed, which induced us to imagine that he was wounded, and no longer able to manage the animal, which appeared to be running away with him. Suddenly he fell from his saddle to the ground, and the horse made a dead stop. Of course we thought he was killed, when, to our great surprise, he remounted, and came towards us at a canter with a hare in his arms, that he had ridden down.