It was his intention to engage deeply with his right and centre and bear the enemy on, before he closed up with the left wing, in which he placed the flower of his troops, including the Highland Regiments, hoping thus to bring on a decisive battle, and have the French so handled by the bayonet that he might continue the remainder of the retreat unmolested. Further hope than this, alas! he had none. As the French deployed along the mountain ridge in front of Lugo, they could not see distinctly either the strength or position of the British; so Soult advanced with four field guns and some squadrons of horse under Colonel Lallemand, to feel the way and throw a few shot at the vineyard walls on speculation. "Bah! M. le Maréchal," said Colonel Lallemand, confidently; "they are all fled, those pestilent English, or 'tis only a rear-guard we have here." "I suspect, M. le Colonel, you will find something more than a rear-guard," replied Soult, as fifteen white puffs of smoke rose up from the low walls in front, and a dozen or so round cannon-shot came crashing among their gun-carriages, dismounting two twelve-pounders and smashing the wheel of a third. On this Soult drew back his squadrons and made a feint on the right, while sending a strong column and five guns against the left, where these fresh regiments were posted. Coming on with wild halloos, and not a few of them chanting the "Carmagnole," the French drove in the line of skirmishers, when Moore, followed now only by Quentin Kennedy, all the rest of his staff being elsewhere, came galloping along and called upon the left to "advance." They were now fairly under fire and fast closing up. How different from such work in the present day! Now we may open a destructive fusillade at a thousand yards rifle-range, and so fire on for hours; then, after coming within range with Brown Bess, scarcely three rounds would be fired, before British and foreign pluck were tested by the bayonet. Perceiving that the skirmishers of the Borderers were also falling back before a peppery cloud of little voltigeurs in light green. "Mr. Kennedy," said Moore, "ride to the Honourable Colonel Crawford--tell him to advance at once in line; I will lead on the regiments here." Quentin, who was tolerably well mounted, dashed up to where Cosmo, cold and stern as ever, sat on his horse at the head of the regiment. "Colonel Crawford," said he, with a profound salute, "it is Sir John Moore's order that you advance with the bayonet--the whole left wing is to be thrown forward." Cosmo's eyes flashed and dilated with anger at having to take an order from Quentin; he frowned and lingered. "Did you hear me, Colonel Crawford--that your battalion is to charge?" "Orders, and from _you_?" said Cosmo, grinding his teeth. "From Sir John Moore," urged Quentin, breathlessly.