"'Tis well, my lord," said Colonel Preston, "for those swords have killed as many Frenchmen as any blades in Europe."
As yet all was still—not a shot had stirred the morning air; but we knew that the French were advancing, as from time to time the sky-blue colours, with the golden lilies and the steady gleam of bayonets appeared among the trees, the hedges, and broken ground in front.
James Keith of Inverugie was near me. He was smiling now, and there was a bright flush on his cheek with a feverish restlessness in his eye, for the belief in the old prediction was stronger than ever in his heart, and I pitied the poor lad, for he was brave as a Bayard or a Du Guesclin.
Ere long a noisy murmur—the hum of expectation—passed along the first line, when eight battalions of French—the vanguard, which was led by the Duc de Broglie (who was mounted on a splendid white horse with housings flashing in the sun), and which had passed the Weser at midnight, after marching on with perfect confidence until they reached the crest of an eminence, halted simultaneously, on finding to their astonishment the whole army of the allies now acting in unison, disposed in excellent order, and formed in three lines, the first of which reached almost to the gates of Minden, and covered the entire plain of Todtenhausen!
A discovery so unexpected filled the Duke with embarrassment; but it was too late to retreat.
"St. Denis for France!" he exclaimed, waving his baton, and ordered the Cavalry, which had covered his advance, to charge. Thus, in five minutes, the battle began in all its fury about six o'clock, A.M.: a battle in describing which I shall generally confine myself to a few personal episodes.
On the Hanoverian Guards and the six regiments of British Infantry—our brave 12th, 20th, 23rd, 25th, or Edinburgh, 37th, and 51st—fell the chief fury of the action. They were all formed in one division, protected by a brigade of British artillery under Captains Drummond and MacBean; and we writhed in our saddles when we saw them knocked over like nine-pins—their red coats dotting all the green plain in our front; and yet no order was given for us to advance and support them.
After repulsing the French Infantry they were assailed by a column of Swiss, with whom they exchanged several volleys at twenty yards distance.
Shoulder to shoulder they stood, our splendid British Infantry, the rear-ranks filling up the gaps in front, the men never pausing under fire, save to wipe their pans, renew their priming, or change their flints, for none would fall to the rear. In the words of the old ballad—
"So closing up on every side,
No slackness there was found,"