He was mounted on a slight but stout crop-tailed horse, without trappings; a pair of plain holsters were at his saddle-bow, and a short sabre hung from his belt. The exceeding plainness of his attire—a coarse blue cloak, and weather-beaten cocked-hat, totally destitute of ornament—contrasted strongly with the richly laced jacket and pelisse of his aide, an officer of the 10th Hussars, that regiment of exquisite celebrity. Wellington gave a keen but hasty glance along the ranks of the bronzed Highlanders as he rode past, and then bent his sharp eyes on the heights where the dark columns of French infantry appeared in position, their long lines of serried arms glancing as usual in the sun. For about three minutes the marquess carefully made a reconnoissance of the foe through his telescope, and then issued his orders. "Sir William!" said he. General Stuart, a fine old soldier, with hair white as snow, a bronzed visage, and a purple coat adorned with a black aigulet, rode up, and touched his coarse cocked-hat of glazed leather. "With the second brigade you will cross the Bidassoa, by the pathway leading from Elizondo, and ascending the mountains, turn the enemy’s right. You will carry the rock of Maya at the point of the bayonet." "It shall be done, my lord," replied Stuart confidently, as he drove spurs into his horse and galloped back to the second brigade; while Sir Rowland with the marquess ascended to an eminence, to observe the operations and success of this movement. While Stuart with his troops moved off and disappeared among the rocks and orchards of Elizondo, the other brigades remained under arms, and found, with considerable chagrin, that their part of the game was not yet come. After remaining for some time—an hour perhaps, watching attentively the French lines, the sound of distant firing, and the appearance of smoke curling along the hill sides, announced that the gallant Stuart had commenced the attack. Every ear and every eye were all attention. The fire became closer and more rapid; a cheer was heard, and in ten minutes the whole second brigade, consisting of the brave "Old Buffs," the 31st, the 57th, and 66th English regiments, were seen rushing up the hill under a close and destructive shower of shot, which they heeded less than if it had been a shower of rain, although it thinned their numbers deplorably. Forward they went with the bayonet, and the right wing of the French melted away before them. The position was turned, and the cheers of the victors were echoed by their comrades below, whose blood was fiercely roused by the sound of the conflict. "They have done well," said Wellington. "Forward! the light troops."