In this action, our 11th Light Dragoons, popularly known as Elliot's Horse, charged no less than five times, and broke through the enemy at every charge; but in these achievements they lost a great number of officers, men, and horses. Here for the first time we found ourselves opposed to a corps of Lancers, whose weapon was then unknown in our army. When Preston led us to the charge against them, their tall lances, with red pennons streaming, were erect; but when we were within three horses' length of them, a trumpet sounded, then they lowered them all breast-high and waved their streamers, so that many of our horses shied wildly; but we broke through them, nevertheless, and the spear-heads once passed, all was over with the Lancers.
On the 22nd of August, when we attacked the French rearguard at Zierenberg, as it was commanded by Bourgneuf, and consisted of the regiments of Bretagne and Clermont, I hoped for an opportunity of meeting my personal enemy, but was disappointed; for although we burst into the town, which is surrounded by a wall and has three gates, and in columns of troops charged into the heart of the disordered French, cutting them down right and left, I never saw the Count, though, amid the fury and confusion of such a conflict, I must have been more than once within pistol-shot of him.
Here we had five men and nine horses killed, Colonel Preston and twenty men wounded; but now came the affair which, was known in the army as the battle of Zierenberg, where I had once again an opportunity of meeting my unscrupulous Frenchman face to face.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A NIGHT ATTACK.
We were encamped at Warburg, when, in September, we received orders to hold ourselves in readiness to move on particular service, and at an hour's notice—a troublesome communication, for we could scarcely unharness by day or by night, and had to keep our horses almost constantly saddled. At last came instructions to march, about nightfall, on a dull and gloomy evening, the 5th of September, when, with two regiments of foot (Maxwell's and the famous old 20th), the Inniskilling, and Bock's Hanoverian Dragoons, Bulow's Jagers, and one hundred and fifty Highlanders, we left the camp with all our tents standing to make a night attack upon the town of Zierenberg, which had been reinforced, and where Bourgneuf still commanded.
The forces there consisted of the Volontaires de Clermont and the regiments of Dauphiné and Bretagne—in all about three thousand men. Luckily, we were furnished with the password for the 5th September—Artois; it had been brought over by a deserter, who proved to be no other than the rascal Arnaud de Pricorbin, who had come into Warburg about noon, and thus betrayed his comrades, who passed their time almost careless of security, and having but slender guards and outposts.
The town, he informed us, was still a place of no strength; and, though surrounded by a dry ditch, that was shallow, and the wall within it was crumbling with age and decay.
Led by Colonel Preston, the Scots Greys were to head the attack.
As we marched, the dark and obscurity of the autumn evening deepened on the scenery. The duty was an exciting one, for the whole French army was encamped at a short distance from the point of attack, and we knew not the moment when we might find ourselves in a snare or ambush; for the story of the deserter, as to the password, the real strength of the force under Bourgneuf, and his dispositions for defence, might all be a lure, though the fellow remained in the hands of our quarter-guard as a hostage for the truth of his statements.