The command was obeyed with promptitude. The 6th Caçadores, the 71st Highlanders, and all the light companies moved off double quick, and the ravines among the hills rang with the clank of accoutrements and the tramp of their feet. These auxiliaries scrambled directly up the face of the hill, and the 50th regiment, moving to the front, opened a deadly fire on Gazan’s left, while his troops were making ineffectual attempts to recover the heights on their right. Exposed thus to a fire on their flanks, and galled in front by a cloud of sharp-shooters, who were scattered among the rocks and bushes,—bolting up every instant to fire, and then ducking down to reload, the French began to retreat down the hills towards France, but slowly, and keeping up their fire with gallant yet singular determination. The coolness displayed by the light infantry in this skirmish was truly astonishing. To them it appeared like ordinary shooting,—a mere amusement. The Highlanders and the caçadores were seen scampering hither and thither, leaping from rock to rock, firing and kneeling, or throwing themselves flat on the earth, laughing and jesting in a manner, which none but those that have been eye-witnesses of such an affair can imagine. Even the deep groan, the sudden shriek of anguish, as some comrade when struck by a French bullet tossed aside his musquet and heavily fell prone on the earth, wallowing in his blood, did not cool or restrain them; and thus they continued to advance for several miles, strewing the ground with dead, and peppering the retiring foe from every available point. Gazan threw out a body of chasseurs to cover the retreat of his forces down the mountains, and with them an irregular fight was maintained the whole day. Night scarcely put an end to the contest, and allowed the jaded French to find a shelter in their own country. The night was excessively dark, and yet the firing continued for nearly two hours after the gloom had fairly set in, and only ceased when friends became confounded with foes. Seaton narrowly escaped being bayoneted by two of his own favourite light-bobs. Several of the French went the wrong way in the dark, and, falling among the British, were captured and sent to the rear. The effect of the midnight firing was peculiarly fine, in such a wide wilderness as the Pyrenees. Several thousand musquets flashing incessantly through the gloom, and wakening the myriad echoes of the mountains and gorges, presented a very singular sight, the pleasure of viewing which was considerably lessened by the continual whistling of shot; until the bugles on both sides called in the stragglers, and the British, giving one hearty cheer of triumph and defiance, withdrew to their main body.