We had just re-formed after repelling the Household Cavalry, when Major Shirley, minus his cocked-hat and kid gloves, and what was more, his presence of mind, looking ghastly pale and wild, and so agitated apparently that he could scarcely articulate, rode up to Colonel Preston (who was sitting on his old horse as cool as a cucumber, with the bullets whistling about him), and inquired for Lord George Sackville, whose whereabouts the colonel indicated, by pointing with his sword to a horseman whose aspect was somewhat shadowy amid the eddying smoke. Shirley's conventional smile had vanished now, and he rode hurriedly on. His instructions were to order the whole line of cavalry to pursue; but this message in his then state of mind he failed to deliver, and hence the omission of an immediate cavalry advance--a miscarriage for which Lord George Sackville, after being victimized by the public press, had to appear before a general court-martial. Shirley's undisguised panic was, however, unnecessary, as _his_ presentiment was not fulfilled, and he escaped untouched amid the horrors of a field whereon lay one thousand three hundred and ninety-four officers and men of our six British infantry regiments _alone_, and I know not how many of our allies. Two thousand French were hurled at the bayonet's point into the Weser, and five thousand more, with Princes Xavier and De Camille, were left dead upon the plain, with many standards and forty-three pieces of cannon. On some of the latter I saw "25th and 51st Foot" chalked, to indicate that these corps had taken them. The Comte de Lutzelbourg and the Marquis De Monti, two maréchaux-de-camp, were captured by the Greys. The passage of the fugitives across the Weser was a scene of horror. Beside the stone bridge already mentioned, the French engineer, M. Monjoy, had chained across the stream two pontoons, which broke under the weight of the passers; thus many waggons full of wounded officers were swept away by the current, and the flower of the Cavalry, particularly the Carabiniers and Mousquetaires, were destroyed. Amid the shrieks, the cries, the scattered shots that filled the air, we heard the hoarse hurrahs of the advancing Germans, with the clear ringing cheers of the British, and the shouts of "Forward with the Light Bobs and Buffers--support the Tow-rows!" The latter was the nickname of the Grenadiers in those days, and they in turn named the battalion men "buffers," or "mousers" in the militia; while the "Light Bobs" were the pet company of every corps, being always the smartest and most active men. The town of Minden surrendered with five thousand men, the half of whom were wounded. By sunset the whole of our cavalry were gone in pursuit, save our Light Troop, which, with a few Prussian Hussars, remained on the field to protect the wounded, to patrol after plunderers, and oversee the working parties who interred the dead.