For some moments it continued so, and the effect to the spectator was very curious. The air was so filled with the roar of musketry that it seemed to come from nowhere in particular. There was nothing, in the absence of all smoke, to connect it with these two long lines of men, whose rifles spasmodically rose and fell. Along the front of the French, owing, I suppose, to the angle at which I saw them, a row of little blue sparks scintillated like the spark discharge from an electric brush, and over both there lay a blue-grey mist which gave a curious mirage effect to the whole. The shooting must have been vile on both sides, for according to practice-ground results, thirty seconds should have sufficed for mutual extermination; but, though men fell fast, the net result appeared wonderfully small. This may have lasted some three minutes, but it was impossible to keep the run of the time, and then above the roll of the musketry I caught the beat of the drums, and a reinforcing line, closed and in perfect order, came over the brow to our assistance. The sight of these closed lines was enough for both sides; the French gave way, and our fighting line dashed forward. But only for some 300 yards or so, for again French reinforcements brought the movement to a check. And now the French Artillery opened fire on our following lines, and we had a taste of what it means to come down hill in the sweep of shrapnel. Our gunners were, however, quickly on the spot. They had been waiting behind till room was made for them, but till they picked up the range our losses were terrible, and I think that that following line must have lost a larger percentage than any other troops this day. The French fighting line was now sagging to the rear, and their last reinforcement—a still intact division—was yet some 500 yards away from them, when I noticed a couple of cavalry officers pass close to where I stood in the copse, take in the whole scene at a glance, and gallop away.