After his horse had been shot under him, Fassifern fought on foot, and four times led his victorious Highlanders on to the charge, sword in hand, and four times successively the stubborn masses of the enemy gave way before them. But the Celtic impetuosity was not to be resisted. Their black plumes were seen dashing on through bayonets, blood, and smoke, as they hurled the columns of the French before them as clouds are driven by the gale. Every regiment distinguished itself, and many charged desperately with the bayonet. Even old Dugald Mhor, animated by the gallant example of his master, forgot his white hairs and failing powers, and distinguished himself by his prowess, and by the address with which he unhorsed and captured a French staff-officer. But as this volume is drawing to a close, the historical part of it must be abridged as much as possible. On the 27th of February, 1814, the allies gained the battle of Orthez, a victory which was succeeded by the passages of the Adour and Garonne, and by the most signal defeat of the Duke of Dalmatia before Toulouse, on Easter Sunday, the 10th of April. Many of the British regiments suffered severely. The gallant 61st were reduced to scarcely fifty men, I believe; and the Gordon Highlanders were also roughly handled by the enemy. Stuart was wounded, and he lost many of the friends who survived the fatal battles of the Pyrenees, and among them was Evan Iverach, the faithful and affectionate young fellow who had become a soldier for his sake, abandoning his home, his sweetheart, and his aged father, and who had followed and served him with the love of a younger brother, the respect of a vassal, and the disinterested devotion of a Highlander.