"Kennedy," said he to Quentin, whose coolness delighted and even amused him, "ride to my friend Paget, and order him to wheel to the right of the French advance, to menace and attack their gun battery. Stanhope, spur on to Fraser and order him to support Paget." While his aides rode off with these orders, he threw back the 4th Regiment in person, and opened a heavy fire on the French, now pouring along the valley on his right, while the old "Half Hundred" and the Black Watch confronted those who were breaking through Elvina. "Well done, 50th--well done, my majors!" he exclaimed to two favourite officers who led the corps; but in the deadly struggle that ensued, one, Major Charles Napier, was taken prisoner, and the other, the Honourable Major Stanhope, was mortally wounded. Strewed with killed and wounded, the field was now a veritable hell upon earth, all along the lines in the valley and on the hills. The boom of the heavy guns from the rock pealed solemnly on the ear, and their bright red flashes came luridly out of the dusky vapour where the haze of a winter eve and the smoke of battle mingled. Then there was the shrill scream of the shells as they soared aloft, describing fiery arcs through the cold grey sky, seeming to streak it with light; and there was the _whirr_ or deep _hum_ of the cannon shot as they tore along the corpse-strewn ground, or through the empty air. After delivering his orders to Lord Paget, Quentin turned his horse to the right and pursued the Aris road in rear of Hope's division, rushing at full speed over a great cork tree which the cannon shot had cut down; but he reined up for a moment near the flank of the Borderers. Issuing from Palavia Abaxo, a corps of Delaborde's came furiously on with a savage yell, their bayonets fixed and tricolours flying defiantly, though torn by grape and musketry. They were grenadiers of the Imperial Guard, and their long grey coats seemed black and sombre amid the smoke. Twice those men, the heroes of Austerlitz and Marengo, wavered, though never ceasing to pour in their fire; for the resolute aspect of the Borderers--calm and voiceless, but determined--seemed to arrest them, so the human surge paused in its onward roll. Then it was that the Master of Rohallion, though cold-blooded, or animated chiefly by that selfish cosmopolitanism which is so peculiar to the Scottish aristocracy, felt something of his father's gallant spirit swell up in his heart. "The 50th and the Highlanders are carrying all before them on the right," cried he, raising himself in his stirrups and brandishing his sword, "come on, 25th, let them see that we on the left are brother Scotsmen, as well as British soldiers--follow me--_charge_!" And now, with a loud hurrah and like a living wall, while the pipes rung shrill and high, the regiment rushed headlong on the foe, and plunging into the mass with the bayonet, hurled it back in ruin and bloody disorder beyond the village.