The odds too were very great. I am not able to say how many French crowded that hill-side; but sixteen companies of Riflemen only drove them from it. For though the other regiments of the Division were in reserve, and would doubtless have supported the Riflemen, had they been repulsed; yet not a shot was fired on that hill except from a 95th rifle. Lord Wellington in his despatch notes the loss of the enemy as being considerable; that of the Regiment was 11 officers and 80 men. Of the 1st Battalion, Captain Loftus Gray and Lieutenant John Cox were severely, and George Simmons slightly, wounded; 2 Riflemen were killed, and 5 sergeants and 21 Riflemen wounded. Of the 2nd Battalion, Captain Duncan was killed, Lieutenant-Colonel Norcott, Captain Miller, and Lieutenant Dixon were severely, and Lieutenant Humbley slightly, wounded; 1 sergeant and 2 Riflemen were killed; and 14 wounded. And of the 3rd Battalion, Captain William Cox and Lieutenant Farmer were severely, and Lieutenant Sir John Ribton and Quartermaster Surtees slightly, wounded. 1 Rifleman was killed, and 3 sergeants and 32 Riflemen were wounded. Colonel Norcott was conspicuous, riding about on a tall black mare: he was early in the day wounded in the shoulder. George Simmons late in the day was wounded in the knee. When he was down the French continuing to fire at him, his servant, Henry Short, a brave Rifleman, ran up and deliberately placing himself in the line of fire, said ‘You shall not hit him again except through my body.’ Amongst this carnage some curious, some almost ludicrous, circumstances occurred. A captain of the Regiment was struck by a ball on a flask or drinking-horn which he carried at his side. The force of the ball knocked him down and for the moment stunned him. The men thinking he was killed, or desperately wounded, were carrying him to the rear, when he revived and called out ‘Stop, let me feel;’ when finding he was unhurt except by the blow, he leaped out of their arms, and again headed his company. His return was heralded by shouts of laughter, so ludicrous was the whole episode, though the fight was at the thickest, and the men falling fast. When the Riflemen were occupying their camp on the Pyrenees, an owl had taken up its quarters with them, and always pitched on the tent of Lieutenant Doyle, who was killed at the Nivelle. Its accustomed haunt being gone, it transferred its perch to Captain Duncan’s tent. The joke ran, in the rough mirth of the camp, that he must be next on the roster; a joke of which he neither liked the point, nor saw the wit. Yet so it was that he fell in this day of Tarbes.