As the regiments passed the bridge, they planted themselves in loose order on the side of the mountain; the artillery drew up on the summit, and the cavalry were disposed in parties on the roads to the right, because two miles higher up the stream there were fords, and beyond them the bridge of Castello Bom. The French skirmishers, swarming on the right bank, opened a biting fire, which was returned as bitterly; the artillery on both sides played across the ravine, the sounds were repeated by numberless echoes, and the smoke, rising slowly, resolved itself into an immense arch, 102sparkling with the whirling phases of the flying shells. The enemy despatched a dragoon to try the depth of the stream above; but two shots from the 52nd killed man and horse, and the carcases floating down the river discovered that it was impassable. The monotonous tones of a French drum were then heard, and in another second the head of a column was at the long, narrow bridge. A drummer and an officer in splendid uniform leaped forward together, and the whole rushed on with loud cries. The depth of the ravine at first deceived the soldiers’ aim on our side, and two-thirds of the passage were won before an English shot had brought down an enemy. A few paces onward the line of death was traced, and the whole of the leading French section fell as one man. Still the gallant column pressed forward, but no foot could pass that terrible line. The killed and wounded rolled together, until the heap rose nearly to a level with the parapet. Our shouts now rose loudly, but they were confidently answered; and in half an hour a second column, more numerous than the first, again crowded the bridge. This time the range was better judged, and ere half the distance was passed, the multitude was again torn, shattered, dispersed, and slain. Ten or twelve men only succeeded in crossing, and took shelter under the rocks at the brink of the river. The skirmishing was renewed, and a French surgeon, coming down to the very foot of the bridge, waved his handkerchief, and commenced dressing the wounded under the hottest fire. The appeal was heard; every musket turned from him, although his still undaunted countrymen were preparing for a third attempt. This last effort was comparatively feeble, and soon failed. The combat was nevertheless continued by the French, as a point of honour to cover the escape of those who had passed the bridge, and by the English from ignorance of their object. One of the enemy’s guns was dismantled, a powder magazine blew up, and many continued to fall on both sides till four o’clock, 103when a heavy rain caused a momentary cessation of fire. The men among the rocks returned unmolested to their own party, the fight ceased, and we retired behind the Pinkel river. On our side upwards of three hundred were killed or wounded. The French lost more than a thousand men.